The Things We Do For Love

The first thing he heard upon returning to the Manor was laughter, harsh and deranged, coming from the passage. Without hesitation, Albus flung a locking charm at the door, and rushed to his brother's side. He needed to get James and get out, because it was already painfully evident that Francesca had fallen.

If a Guardian couldn't stop Rose, then he, a Potions Master, stood no chance.

James was awake and looked more alert than he'd been in days, sitting up in bed, his arms trembling as he watched the door. With one hand clutching the sheets and the other curled around a lamp, his brother was paler than a ghost, wearing an expression of utmost dread.

Outside, he could feel the wards shudder and shift under an onslaught of spells – probably the Aurors trying to get in, and he cursed, knowing that this made Apparition all the harder. For a moment, he wondered if he could drop the wards and let them in, but then he realised that such an act was not within his power.

He was not a Malfoy. He was just a consort of the current Lady of the Manor, Cassiopeia, the last trueborn child of the Malfoy line. Whilst he could come and go through the wards, he could not control them as she could, as his children one day would. There was nothing he could do other than get himself and his brother out of this place and away from the murderous bitch cackling in the hall.

The laughter drew nearer, eerie and haunting, causing the hairs along the back of his neck to stand up on end. Casting one last furtive glance at the door, Albus grabbed his brother and said,

"Hold on, James, this is going to be a rough ride."

"It's Rose, isn't it?" asked James, clutching at his arms. "She's here."

Albus nodded and prepared to Apparate, but it was already too late. The door flew off its hinges, and had he not thrown up a shield, he was certain that the splintered wood would have taken off his head. She stood in the doorway, a savage grin upon her face, and Albus realised that he didn't have a choice.

All who were born on this earth had instincts. In times such as these, they had to choose between fight or flight, between running or standing tall. When one option was removed, as his chance of escape had been, it would break something within the prey. He experienced that now as he raised his wand, for if he had no choice but to fight, then he would do whatever it took to survive.

He felt a shivering hand upon his shoulder and glanced out the corner of his eye, his teeth clenching as he saw James stand beside him, unsteady and tottering, yet also holding his wand aloft. Rose stared at them, and the only sound she made was laughter.

Then, she attacked, and the force of her spell against their conjoined shield was such that every bit of glass in the room shattered. He slashed his wand through the air, levitating the bed and sending it whizzing towards her. A split second later, James had turned the bed to stone, which Rose then blasted to dust before releasing a barrage of hexes and curses.

Albus ducked, rolling towards the window, and cried out in pain as a shower of blue sparks hit him in the eye. Blood spurted across his face, wetting his hair and flowing into his mouth, and he howled, gasping for breath. He was barely aware of James, somehow still managing to stay upright, but then he was distracted by the searing pain filling his head.

His eye, the bitch had taken out his eye.

He staggered and yelled, "Expelliarmus." Not sure where the notion had come from, he spat out the blood was still pouring into his mouth, and almost missed the curse shot his way before Rose's wand went spinning out of her hand. The jet of light streaked towards him and the world seemed to slow, because he knew that shade of green.

"Expulso," bellowed Jamed, whirling around and slamming a spell into his gut. Albus screamed as he was hurled through the window, the killing curse flying through the space he had just forcibly vacated, and the last thing he saw before losing sight of the fight was James crashing into a painting, his wand rolling from his grasp.

The ground rushed up, faster and faster, and he closed his uninjured eye, not wanting to see death as he hurtled towards it. The wind whipped at his body, his eye screeched in pain, and shards of glass were digging into his back. He was almost ready to die, just to escape the pain.

He was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Wait, how long had been fucking falling? He'd been no more than three floors up. He should have hit the ground by now.

Then, with a start, he realised that he was floating, enwrapped within the glow of a levitation charm. Below him, he could make out the flash of red hair and a pale, heart-shaped face contorted with fury.

"Lily," he muttered, as the world began to dim around him.

Slowly, gently, he felt himself being lowered towards the ground, but by that point, all he could feel was cold, and all he could see was black. All he could hear was footsteps sprinting towards the Manor, and a malicious voice screaming,

"Bitch, you took the man I loved. You are not taking my brothers."

.o0o.

"The Malfoys built this place to survive a siege, Uncle Harry," said Yuna as she flung hexes from her wand, the jets of green and red bursting against the translucent bubble surrounding the Manor. "We're throwing everything we have against them, but it's going to take hours at this rate."

Harry growled before flicking his wrists, releasing the springs within his holsters and causing his wands to shoot into his hands. Without missing a beat, a slew of curses erupted from their tips, shockwaves ripping through the air his curses made contact. Despite it taking almost all his concentration to maintain two wands at once, a long thought crept into his mind, one that was not wholly unfamiliar to him.

This would be so much easier with the Elder Wand at his disposal.

Still, his power seemed sufficient. He was not Hermione, with her brilliant mind and knowledge of magic, but in raw magical energy, he more than made up for it. There was no denying it or need for modesty – he had always been the strongest, she the wittiest, and Ron the balance between the two of them that had kept them on track.

For the longest time, he'd considered leaving this all behind. Without the two of them, it had just felt different – they were a team, a family, the original trio that had saved the world – and he hadn't wanted to keep up the fight without them at his sight. It had changed, though, when the alcohol had burned away and his mind had cleared, because this was not about him anymore, and when he'd gotten the call from St. Mungo's.

It was about them, his two best friends, and the rest of those who had fallen at the hands of Rose that he had to finish this. It was for them that he had to stand tall as their sky fell, and it was for them that he would finish this one last raid. He owed it to them, to all of them, to everyone, to make sure his niece got what was coming for her. The same rage now filled him, keeping him going, the anger that had flared within him when Sirius had fallen through the Veil and he'd cast his first Unforgivable. The rage that had filled him when Snape had flung Dumbledore from the Tower, and when Amycus Carrow had spat in the face of Minerva, when he'd saved Molly Weasley from Voldemort's curse.

It was wrath. It was dark. It was vicious.

It was the demon within, the darkness that existed in all of them, and when it came to Rose, he was going to let it win, just so that he could make her feel his pain, feel the pain of every person she'd hurt.

A noise like thunder filled the air, followed by an impossibly bright flash of orange light, and he cocked his head to the side, taking in the sight of Hugo kneeling on the ground with some sort of large rifle aimed at the barrier. Without hesitating, the boy – no, the Guardian – cranked the weapon and fired again, a round the size of a fist whipping through the air. Harry just had the time to see the coppery light flashing from within the bullet and the runic engravings upon the weapon before it exploded against the wards.

It was an odd sight when compared to the various Aurors around them, all flinging curses, and it was then that he realised that they were not alone.

Others were Apparating around him, their wands held aloft, firing hexes before their feet had even landed upon solid ground. He recognized faces, so many faces. Arthur, Bill, and Ginny seemed to be leading the public assault, but his nephews and nieces were everywhere, spells springing from their wands, and his heart about gave out at the sight of Dominique's Muggle fiancé – a police officer – casually strolling up to Hugo and asking for one of his spelled guns.

Without hesitation, the Guardian tossed one into the air, and the Muggle opened fire.

"Potter," barked an elderly female voice. "Get down."

Instinctively dropping to his knees, Harry felt his hair whip about his head at the crackling beam of energy which roared above him, the sound causing his eardrums to pop. The beam intensified, fine cracks spreading from the area of impact, and Harry turned to see the source of the blast, even if he was already pretty certain of the caster.

Minerva McGonagall stood tall despite her status as a supercentenarian, chanting under her breath, her grey hair whipping around her hair, and the energy poured from her staff. It was staggering – the power of the former Headmistress, and when she finally broke her assault, he gave her a nod before rising to his feet.

"Harry," bellowed Bill, coming up beside him. "We've barely made a dent in that fucking thing."

"I know." Harry spat, as he watched windows in the Manor flare with coloured light. A battle raged within, and it was the very spells defending the Manor and its inhabitants that now put them in such a state of peril. "Any ideas?"

"These wards are woven with blood, only a –"

"Oh Merlin." Harry whirled around, just in time to see Cassiopeia Apparate into the area, her clothes stained with blood. Before he could react, however, an explosion rocked the air, and when he looked back he saw the fire raging through that the entire western wing of the Manor had been obliterated.

"Cass, what the hell is going on in there?" Harry asked, not missing a beat before turning to his daughter-in-law.

"I . . . I don't know," she said, her voice breaking. For a second, she looked as though she was about to faint, but then she shook herself, and seemed to become aware of her surroundings. "I had to get Louis to St. Mungo's –"

"You had to take my son where?" shrieked Fleur, her eyes widening.

"Rose got him with an explosion curse," she supplied, and without another the word the Frenchwoman had Disapparated. Bill looked at Harry for a minute, pained, and then he took off as well, but before a word could escape his lips at the development Hugo was standing between them.

"Who's in there, Cass?" he asked, and Harry doubted he'd ever heard a voice sound so grim.

"Albus, James, Francesca, Lily, and Rose," she said. "The four of them were there when I left with Louis, and I can only assume Rose got through somehow as well."

"Can you drop the wards?"

"Not from out here."

"Let's go then." Cassiopeia nodded, and Harry opened his mouth to protest. Before he could, however, the blond had grabbed Hugo's arm and they were gone. For a minute, he waited, and then with a loud whoosh the wards came crashing down, followed by a resounding cheer.

"Aurors, form up," he bellowed, instantly breaking into a sprint across the ground. "Civilians, stay where you are." Behind him, the steady thumping of the Auror's boots against the ground filled his ears, and he looked up at the rapidly approaching Manor.

Rose was staring back at them, her arms crossed above her head, her hands creating an x. It was almost archaic, her form, and he could already hear the alarm bells begin to sound in his head. He could barely make out the crumpled form of a man lying limp beside her, but at this distance and with his vision he just couldn't make out who it was. Then, his attention was drawn to Rose, and his heart stopped at the sight.

"Animus Exsultans!" she shrieked, and Harry threw out his arms, signalling the Aurors to halt. The spell was unfamiliar, but he knew the energy that had begun coalescing above her. Ancient, chaotic, powerful – Merlin, the last time he'd felt such a power, it had killed the caster. This was not the magic he wielded on a daily basis. No, this was old magic, the likes of which could only be found in the most ancient of books.

Books which Hermione, Rose's mother, would have no doubt made a point of collecting.

"Ludicium," she said, her voice more levelled, and all hell broke loose. The energy ripped forth from between her palms in a frenzied barrage of inky tentacles, whipping through the air. Narrowing his eyes, Harry crossed his wands and channelled his shield through both.

The force of the tentacles meeting his shield nearly sent him sprawling, and the backlash was enough to cause another segment of the Manor to crumble. Harry dug his feet into the ground, feeling the massive gale roaring around them, and gritted his teeth under the pressure. Just a little longer – he'd just have to hold for a little longer – for he could see that Rose was already staggering.

The girl was knowledgeable and skilled, it would seem, but she lacked the raw power to properly execute her attacks. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the tentacles entwined into a single beam of crackling black energy, and it was all he could do to keep his shield in place.

He felt his lungs grow hot and scorched, his breath rattling in his throat. His heart was ready to burst, beating like a locomotive, and his veins burned. He could feel his hair burn, his eyes growing dry as paper, but he didn't move from his position, even as the flesh was being ripped from his bones.

"ENOUGH," he roared, separating his wands from their crossed position and jabbing them forward. The shield shuddered, the beam wavered, and then the world seemed to take flame. Air charged with Ozone, Harry was barely aware of the way he was flung through the air, his body hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. The Manor quaked, ancient spells woven into the very structure straining and snapping, and then just as quickly as the blaze began, it was gone.

Harry groaned, spitting blood, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Death approach on skeletal wings. He looked back at the Manor, shocked to see it still standing, and then he felt his blood run cold.

She was swaying on her feet, weakened but still deadly, and she grinned at him. It was a wild look, unhinged, and as if to mock him she waved a knife at him. Then, she kneeled, lifting up the crumpled body at her feet, and all Harry saw was the stirring body of his son, James, with a knife pressed to his throat.

Harry reached for his wands, determined to stop her, to save his son, and realised that they were both lying in smoking splinters. Still, he realised, as he watched Death press a skeletal hand to his chest – there was still a weapon he had left.

Death reached out, bony fingers curling upon his sluggishly beating heart. Harry spat, jaw set, and he forced everything he had into his strike. His hand sank into Death's chest and curled upon a still, stone heart, and without hesitation, he clenched his fingers.

"I mastered you long ago, old friend," he said, coughing. "Now, serve me."

.o0o.

The moment Albus left her in Grimmauld, she knew that she had to go back. Her brothers, her parents, almost her entire family was there, and the engagement ring on her finger burned with their magical signatures crashing against the wards.

Her link to the family was incomplete – all but broken by her fiancé's death, but the barest traces of the bond were still there. It was the magic of the Manor, of the ten centuries of Malfoys who had lived there, and the very energy of the land. She had accepted the invitation into its fold, and the House of Malfoy did not easily relinquish its grasp.

It called to her through the ring, urging her to return, but it didn't need to. Her mind had already been made up the moment she'd felt Francesca's magical signature fade – almost as though a blip had suddenly disappeared from a radar – and she closed her eyes.

The suffocating darkness enveloped her and when she opened her eyes, she was standing in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Light was flaring from James' room, and she could hear raised voices splitting the air. She took off at a run, before hearing the shattering of glass.

Pausing to levitate Albus safely to the ground, she felt her rage bubble up in a way that it never had before. When Scorpius had died, she had wanted to curl up in a ball and sob until her tears could fill the sea, but she had not wanted revenge. All she had wanted was peace and the knowledge that the killer had been caught and imprisoned.

Seeing her brother fall through the air with his eye a bloody ruin and hearing James yelling above, she felt something within her break. It snapped, filling her veins with a molten steel, and she all but obliterated the doors on her way into the home. Without hesitation, she charged up the stairs.

When she reached the top, she came face to face with a bloody, unarmed Rose. The bitch was unsteady on her feet, for the life of her looking like some deranged ballerina dancing on broken strings. Before the bitch could react, however, Lily had grabbed her, digging her nails into the bloody flesh with all the strength she had.

Her wand forgotten, she brought up her knee and caught Rose in the stomach before ripping back her arms, her nails leaving deep shreds across her foe's cheeks. Like a wildcat, she leapt, drawing back her fist before slamming it into Rose's face, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone breaking beneath her fingers.

The broken nose, however, seemed to snap Rose out of whatever shock she'd had upon encountering Lily. When she tried to punch the murderous cunt again, she felt fingers yank on her hair, and before she could steady herself her head had been slammed against the railing.

"Nice one," snarled Lily, spitting hair out of her mouth. "But I've taken bludgers that hurt more." Balancing herself against the railing, she kicked out with both legs, knocking Rose off balance. On the edge of the stairs, Rose stumbled, and Lily lashed out with her fist.

As Rose fell, she flung out an arm and yanked Lily with her. A shriek escaped her mouth as she went hurtling down the stairs, tangled with the killer. The rich carpeting did little to soften the repeated blows to her body, the sharp edges of each step catching her in the most unlikely of places. Even as she fell, though, she was clawing at the other girl and receiving punches slaps and punches in return.

Then, her head struck the last stair with a sharp crack, and her world spun. Tears welled in her eyes at the blow, but she got to her feet nonetheless, staggering as she tried to regain her balance. When she looked up, her eyes falling on Rose, she took a step back in shock.

In her bloody hands, Rose held a halberd, taken from a nearby suit of armour. The weapon was long, giving her range, but she swung it in a way that showed her inexperience. Still, Lily realised as she backed away, her eyes darting this way and that for a weapon, one good swing and she'd be dead before her head hit the ground.

"What's the plan, Rose?" Lily asked, her hands falling upon the breastplate of another suit of armour. "Everyone knows. You can't cover this up."

"I don't care," she replied, her eyes wide. "This is your fault!"

"You're delusional." Lily snorted. "An absolutely batshit insane whore." With those words, her hands closed upon the handle of the weapon and she hefted it. Oh, fuck me! The weapon was a morning star – heavy, deadly, and most-likely magical – but the weight was just too much for her to fight with. Still, she was not stupid enough to take on an armed murderer with her bare hands.

She lunged, swinging the weapon with all her strength. The momentum sent it flying from her grasp and for a split second, Lily thought it would hit its target. Then Rose dodged and swung the halberd, the pole catching her feet and knocking her to the ground.

Lily groaned, trying to get up on her hands and knees when she felt a shoe press against the back of her neck. It forced her back to the ground, and she snarled.

"Are you going to kill me now, Rose? Go ahead – my heart died with Scorpius."

Out the corner of her eye, she thought she could see him, watching the pair of them fight. It was strange, almost, how her mind was hallucinating him of all people. He'd betrayed her in the worst way, but she had loved him.

Was it not fitting that she see some conjured spectre of him before she die?

Then, the spirit launched itself of the ground, and hurtled towards them. Lily's eyes widened, unsure, as she saw him approaching, getting closer and closer, but her attention was quickly turned back to Rose.

"Kill you?" Rose snapped, the heel of her boot digging into Lily's neck. "You're the one person I won't kill. I want you to suffer for what you did to Scorpius and I . . . I want you to feel it for every day of a very long life."

(With that said, Rose raised the halberd and brought it down into Lily's back, taking care to let the spike cut through her spine. Lily screamed, a bloodcurdling sound, and before her eyes she watched as Rose was hurled off her and into a wall.)

.o0o.

"You came back to me," she whispered, struggling to her feet. She smiled and reached out to caress the spirit's cheek, wanting to lean into his insubstantial form. He was just as gorgeous as she remembered him – if a little blue and transparent – with his lean muscle, high cheekbones, and platinum-blond hair. "You do love me, don't you? You know I did all of this for us, Scor. Because you loved me."

The spirit cocked his head to the side and smiled, reaching out a hand to lay against her chest. Then, before she could react, he had landed a fierce backhand against her cheek and sent her sprawling.

"You killed me," he said, teeth gritted. "How dare you show your face in my ancestral home?" Without letting her recover, he bent over her and yanked her by the hair. Pulling her to her feet, he slammed his spectral fist against her stomach.

Merlin, those potions she'd taken earlier were wearing off. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to keep going. In the name of Merlin, why hadn't Louis just died? He'd just had to go to the Manor so that she'd have to expedite her plans – and now look at her. She hadn't been prepared for one fight after another, and the battle against Harry in particular had nearly broken her.

Finally, when she'd just managed to get rid of Lily – that bitch who stole Scorpius from her, who forced her to kill the man she loved – he'd come back. He'd fucking attacked her! For Lily!

Even now, she could see him kneeling beside her, gently extricating the halberd from her back. No! No! Why was he back! What ghostly magic was this? He was dead! She'd killed him herself nearly six weeks ago, and not even the Malfoys would have wards at their disposal that would keep their dead around as guardians.

Why was he here? Why was he still with Lily? After all that bitch had done to him. He'd died because of Lily – because of how Rose had never been enough for Scorpius once Lily waggled her scrawny arse into the picture.

"You're supposed to love me," she said, leaning on a heap of debris as she got to her feet. "You told me you loved me."

"I loved you," said another ghost, stepping out from behind the pillars. "My love was unconditional . . . a mother's love for her daughter . . . and you killed me." Hermione shook her head and frowned, moving to stand between Rose and Scorpius. "You will do no more murder this night."

Rose spun, looking to the stairs, but someone was already walking down them, tapping a cane. Platinum-blond hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail, and the man walked with a quiet dignity. That did not stop her from taking a step back at the sight of him. She froze, feeling an elbow dig into her lower back, followed by a kick to her side.

She fell to her knees, watching them circle her. Where they came from, she did not know, but there was nothing but rage beneath their familiar faces. Her victims, she realized, were surrounding her, boxing her in, and whilst some – like her mother – wore expressions of pity, the rest just emanated the desire for vengeance.

"You don't know what love is, Rose," said Draco with a sneer. "You will die alone, knowing you are alone, knowing that you will never be loved, you monster."

"Your name will be reviled throughout history," said Parvati, circling her. "You, the Butcher of Britain, Rose Granger-Weasley, will never be respected, loved, or accepted. Your sins will haunt you for all time."

"And even in death," said Lavender, eyes narrowed, "you will not know peace. We will make sure of that."

Their voices were blurring together, a bitter medley which clawed at her ears. Backing away until she was pressed against the wall, the dead advanced, and it was all she could do not to fall to her knees. Dead – they were all dead. They weren't supposed to be here. Merlin, she'd gotten rid of them, ensured her safety . . . how were they here?

How could they torment her in the world of the living?

(Within her, the last shred of humanity shattered, and her glass castle came crashing down.)

"Let us make an end of this," said Hermione, her voice breaking. Rose watched as her mother hung back and turned away, as if not wanting to see her die. As if she cared? This was the second time Hermione had condemned her to die – and as she'd proven the last time, she would not go quietly into that dark night.

She'd take the lot of them with her and fuck the rest to oblivion.

"What's the rush?" asked Lorcan, grabbing Rose by the chin and lifting her off the ground. "I'm sure we have time for a few more games. She spat in his face, her eyes narrowing as the spittle passed through him. They were ghosts. She couldn't fight ghosts.

Something must be keeping them here, she reasoned.

"Potter isn't going to last much longer," said Draco, jabbing his cane against Rose's stomach. "I'm surprised he's managed this long."

Or someone . . . it came to her, and she laughed. A cold, cruel cackle escaped her lips. Had they been alive, she was sure that the sound would send shivers down their spines, for it was a deranged sound – even to her own ears. The pain was becoming almost pleasurable as she laughed, and it seemed to flabbergast the spirits, for they did nothing but watch.

She Dissaparated, knowing what she needed to do.

.o0o.

"Cass . . ." he murmured, and her heart broke at the agony that was his voice.

"I've got you, Al," she said, balancing his weight as best she could. With one of his arms slung across her shoulders, her hand holding his firm with her other arm around his midriff, she was dragging him towards the large group of people standing on the outskirts of the estate. She was thankful that her husband wasn't a heavy man, but in the very same breath she cursed his injuries and the bitch who'd given them to him.

Without knowing the spell that had taken his eye, Cass had no idea if she could safely Apparate with him – hell, she didn't even know if she'd be able to cast a featherweight charm on him without killing him. As it stood, all she'd been able to do was roughly bandage the eye with strips of cloth torn from her blouse, and she hoped it would be enough.

At least until they reached St. Mungos. The Healers would know what to do.

Behind her, she heard the sounds of fighting but she pushed on regardless, forcing them from her mind. James, Hugo, and Lily were in there . . . but her priority was her husband. She couldn't abandon him to enter the fight. Her priority was getting Albus to safety, for his sake, for her sake, and for the sake of the child within her womb.

"Is Rose?"

"Last I saw, Lily was beating the living daylights out of her," said Cass, dragging them both forward. Physically, she knew that she was not the strongest of woman, but at this moment she was certain she could have carried Albus off the estate if need be. She supposed this was the strength she'd heard women talk about – the adrenaline rush that increased their strength tenfold, allowing them to lift burning cars of their children or break down doors with their bare hands to protect their families.

She said as much to Albus, desperate to keep him talking and not let him pass out. He chuckled faintly against her ear, but the sound of his mirth, however pained, was enough to lift a fraction of the weight from her trembling shoulders.

"My father called it the power of love," he replied, "I kind of agree."

It was at that moment she saw it and froze. The Aurors had formed a perimeter around the place and, upon catching sight of her, two of them broke into a sprint to get to her side. She recognised one – Yuna, Albus' second cousin on his father's side – but her eyes were fixed on something else entirely.

The Grim Reaper was standing on her front lawn.

"Of course he is," she said, shaking her head and passing Al's weight to the Aurors. She heard Yuna barking commands, calling for a medi-wizard, but she couldn't focus on anything other than the scene playing out in front of her. Death was there, his hand upon her father-in-law's chest, and Harry was reaching up, his arm disappearing into the tattered folds of Death's cloak.

The sight was both macabre and intimate in the same breath, and she understood what was keeping the Aurors from entering the home. This was an immortal – a primordial being – and she doubted if even the bravest man in the world would dare try walking past him.

It was then that the crack of Apparition echoed through the air. She drew her wand when she saw Rose appear. The redhead was laughing, her head cocked to the side, and holding a broken knife. Before she could react – or the Aurors, for that matter – the knife had come down, the broken blade disappearing into Harry's throat.

(The ghosts within the Manor flickered and vanished, their cries of outrage echoing through the air.)

The entire world seemed to stand still as Harry broke into spasms, his body beginning to smoke. Within seconds, he was on fire – the flames black and laced with silver – and she was running, tearing across the front lawn with her wand aimed at Rose. Death had already vanished, faded into the shadows that he created, but Rose was unarmed, standing there in plain sight.

Hexes rained from her hand, aimed directly at the redhead, but none made contact. The Aurors were firing off their spells as well now, dozens of curses shooting through the air, each and every one of them aimed at that one spot.

It was too late, though. Rose was already gone, but she could still hear the laughter. It rang across the lawn, spilling forth from the ruined Manor, and a part of her wanted nothing more than to charge in there and deal with the bitch once and for all.

Then, she stopped, her hand falling to rest on her flat stomach, and she let out a sigh. She couldn't risk it – for the sake of her child, she could not get into a battle with a deranged sociopath. The Aurors darted past her, heading for the Manor, but she turned to walk back towards her husband.

"He's stable enough to Apparate," said Yuna, looking from her to the Manor.

"I'll take him," said Cassiopeia. "Go kill the bitch."

As she sank to her knees to wrap her arms around Albus, she whispered soft words in Latin, a tight smile appearing across her face as she spoke. Around her, the wards snapped into position, already recognising her unborn child as the next Master of the Manor.

This would end tonight. Rose may have been able to gain entry the last time . . . but she would not be able to leave. No, the only way out for her now was in a body-bag.

.o0o.

He came too, cursing his own stupidity. It was embarrassing, really, that he'd have been knocked out by a timely block of debris hitting his head almost immediately after Apparating into the Manor. It was more than embarrassing, it was downright humiliating, especially to one such as he.

He was a Guardian, after all.

Gathering himself, he heaved himself to his heat, just in time to hear the crack of Apparition coming from upstairs. The Manor was becoming a death-trap, he noted, as he slid in the magazine loaded with Cruciatus bullets. He couldn't risk anything else – these walls looked like a Disarming charm could bring them down.

The torture curse would not have any effect on non-living matter, so he'd rely on that as his weapon. In the distance, he could make out Lily's soft whimpers, but there was no way he could stop to help her now. Rose had proven herself to be a true force of nature – absolutely lethal in the way she'd taken out so many skilled witches and wizards – and putting her down was his first priority.

He shuddered at the thought. This wasn't a stranger that he'd been tasked with assassinating, and nor was it a criminal that he'd taken out in a fight. This was his sister, a girl he'd grew up. It was Rose, dammit. Rose, who'd been there for him whenever he'd needed his big sister.

He thought he'd known her. Now, he wondered if it had all been a lie – if Rose had always been a sociopath, and he'd just blinded himself to the truth. Hugo swallowed, not wanting to contemplate that line of thought, because it raised another question, one that was far more horrifying.

Had he not been blind, could he have stopped her? Could he have saved his mother? Could he have saved Francesca?

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs, listening for the slightest sounds. Rose was in the third room, he realised – a guest room, if he remembered correctly. He could hear her laughter ringing through the doorway, and it forced a shiver down his spine.

His sister sounded as though she'd truly lost what was left of her mind.

Hugo paused just before he reached the door, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. Reaching for his belt with his free hand, he drew out a tiny mirror and positioned it to look into the room. His gaze flickered, taking note of his sister laughing at the window, shooting curses into the front yard.

He winced – every one of those curses were dark and lethal in nature, and judging by the cries outside, it was all the Aurors could do to contain the Fiendfyre and other horrors his sister had unleashed. She must be exhausted, though, he thought. With the amount of magic she'd used throughout the night, not to mention her injuries . . . Merlin, it was impossible for her to still be fighting.

How had she even gotten another wand?

Not impossible, really, but everyone had their limits. His sister was not a fighter. She was not trained in combat or warfare – she shouldn't have this much power. Then again, perhaps it was just that he didn't want to accept the truth of all his senses. Maybe, Hugo just didn't want to believe that Rose had utterly and completely lost her mind, and that the barriers within her – those restraints within each and every one of them which kept them from expending too much of themselves – had shattered.

Whatever the case, this was not his sister anymore.

He swung around the door and pulled the trigger.

The window shattered, the bullet disappearing into the night.

He felt a cold, steel muzzle press against his temple, and the soft click of the safety being turned off. Hugo swallowed, glancing out the corner of his eye to see his sister, a wicked grin on her face as she aimed the gun – Francesca's gun – at him. How the fuck had she moved so fast?

Bloody hell, he thought, thinking of the mirror. He'd never actually looked into the room – as was protocol – and his sister knew a great deal of his tricks. How hard would it have been for her to jinx the mirror with a glamour?

"For all your talk of separating yourself from your emotions, baby brother," she said with a leer, "you really let your rage drive you." She giggled, pushing the gun into his skin, and motioned for him to drop his weapon. He did, a plan already forming in his mind.

"True," replied Hugo, adopting a conversational tone and slowly moving around so that he was facing her, the gun now fixed firmly between his eyes. He tried not to look at it, wanting to avoid getting cross-eyed, and continued. "But, that's for the best, I suppose."

"And why is that?"

Instead of answering, he back-flipped, throwing himself through the air and lashing out with his legs. Rose fired, but the bullet missed, and his kick sent the gun flying through the air. She shrieked, leaping towards him, but he dropped to a crouch and swept out a leg, knocking her off balance. Balancing on one arm, he launched himself forward, his kick catching her falling body in the jaw, and he grinned.

Without missing a beat, he had his ankles crossed on either side of her throat, and he spun, yanking her over him and slamming her into the ground. As he got to his feet, he cracked his knuckles, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

He readily admitted that he wasn't the strongest man in the world – his build being far too lithe and lean to pack any serious muscle – but that didn't mean his body as a whole was anything less than lethal.

"You see," he said, striding over and placing one foot onto her throat, forcing it down to cut off her air supply. "I don't hold back when it comes to love, and you took away two people who meant the world to me. So, how about I keep my foot right where it is, and watch you suffocate."

She smiled.

"Oh, Hugo, you'll never know what hit you," she managed to choke out, and he saw it.

Before he could react, she'd fired his gun. In his zeal, he'd thrown her right where he'd dropped it, and he let out an ear-splitting scream as the curse was released. He was blasted back, his back hitting a chair, and he tried to control his screams.

He couldn't.

He felt as though his lungs had filled with barbed wire, as if his heart was pumping acid. His skin was being scraped against sandpaper, his bones were being broken, again and again with a sledgehammer.

Rose knelt beside him and pressed a bloody lip to his cheek. He was writhing beside her, his body a vessel of pure agony, but she just giggled. He wanted to shove her away, to fucking stab her in the face, but he could do little more than scream and contort himself in an attempt to rid himself of the pain.

If the bullet had just incapacitated him, he'd have found himself laughing, though.

Poor Rose, she seemed to think that he was her biggest threat. If only she'd turn around . . . maybe she'd be able to make peace with the devil before her death came closing in. After all, of all those who had suffered at her hands, one person really stood out.

And Hugo only had to look up to see that James wore murder in his eyes.

.o0o.

When he'd heard Hugo scream, all his thoughts off leaving the Manor and heading for safety had deserted him. Bare-chested and bruised – his shirt having being bound around the deep gash in his thigh as a make-shift bandage – he'd been hobbling for the stairs when he'd heard the screeches.

Fuck it, he couldn't turn tail and run now. All his life, he'd run and hid. The one time he'd stood up for himself, it had only been enough to get his brother out of the line of fire, and who the hell knew if Al had even survived the fall out that window.

Well, the chances of surviving a fall was much higher than surviving the killing curse.

James was done running. He was a quivering, shuddering wreck because of Rose. She'd framed him – basically served him to Azkaban on a silver platter, and that had nearly broken his mind. He'd been violated, victimised, abused . . . but he was done with all of that.

He refused to let her win.

James turned around and headed for the sound of the screams, keeping as silent as possible. His eyes scanned the corridor for some weapon, until they at last fell upon an urn. There was a soot-blackened portrait hanging behind it of a stern man with his long, platinum blond hair styled into a ponytail.

Oh well, thought James, picking up the urn and noting that it was full. The man was dead. It wasn't like he'd be needing these. In fact, it almost seemed fitting, since, because of Rose, the Malfoy name was extinct.

He only realised what he was going to do when he was standing an inch or two away from a cackling Rose. He hefted the urn and nearly took her head off with the first blow. The force was such that the lid popped off, ashes clouding the air, but he didn't care.

"This is for sending me to Azkaban, you cunt," he said, slamming the urn down a second time, ignoring the fact that she was already lying prone across a writhing Hugo. He didn't care. This was payback.

He didn't even care that he was beating his cousin to death with some dead Malfoy's ashes.

"This is for Uncle George."

He slammed it down.

"This is for Scorpius."

He slammed it down.

James kept at it for a while, lost in a haze of blood and splattered brains, until at last he felt a woman's hands on his shoulders. Swallowing, he allowed the urn to taken from his grasp by an Auror, and the first thing he noticed was the red ruin he'd made of Rose's head.

Well, what was left of it at any rate.

Hugo was still screaming, still thrashing on the ground. Rose was dead, her blood and brains on his hands, and he was suddenly acutely aware that the room was filled with Aurors. There were ashes on his face, in his nose, in his hair . . . his blood was seeping out through his makeshift bandage. His head throbbed, his chest was covered in a barrage of blue and purple.

His mother was the one holding him. He could hear the Auror's talking. They were talking about him.

"Had to call Ginny up in the end," said one.

"Don't know what came over the boy," said another, "Wouldn't stop beating her even after her head was gone."

"Couldn't stun him. Who knew how much damage that could cause given his history."

James did the only thing he could. He slumped into his mother's embrace, tears streaming from his eyes, and promptly lost consciousness.