Author's Note: In this installment, we find out part of the back story for Rita and Ethan, and Harry finds out something else…

Responses:

Earwen Telrunya: I'm glad I've converted you. Thanks for the recs to your friends! I'm not a Naruto reader/watcher, so didn't get most of your ships, but I always respect authors that do great things for more unconventional or uncommon ships. As for the pairing, well, it's pretty much cemented at this point but Lucius isn't going anywhere. ;)

sarabara, loveismagic, dracoshott: Thank you! Glad you're enjoying the story.

silverlovedragoness: Yup, this story is definitely plot heavy and has a lot of twists and turns to deal with. I try to mix the emotions in to make it suspenseful and it seems like it's working! I should make it known that I'm a grammar and proofreading nazi; I do occasionally bend sentence structure for my own personal style, but otherwise I try very hard to not destroy the English language, hehe.

mrs.twizzler: Yeah, Lucius is having a rough day. Considering it a good sign, though, that he is feeling remorse and guilt. He'll be okay. :)

loveangelli: Some people have expressed a desire for a triad fic...tempting, but my muse does what she wants and she wanted to make this a Dramione fic. However, I love Lucius, so there will be no shortage of him. Incidentally I am working on a triad fic with Hermione, Draco, and Lucius...perhaps I'll post it soon since so many people seem to want to see that! Thanks for reading.

September 12

Lucius's body had raged with a high fever for two days, he'd laid in bed for the next, and the two after that gave them a manic man, one who would not sleep or eat or acknowledge that he had to. He finally succumbed fifty sleep-deprived hours later, hours in which neither she nor Draco nor anyone else who came and went knew what he was doing in his study. He didn't care if people walked in and out, didn't try to prevent them from seeing the papers splayed out on the desk in front of him, but none of them were courageous enough to actually look. He was too intense in that state; even being in the room with him was enough to raise one's blood pressure. And in light of that, the knowledge of what he so zealously slaved over might prove to be too much.

Hermione was perched on the couch watching the muggle news and nibbling cereal out of the box. She had spent the night in the guestroom with Draco, who was still asleep. Poor Draco was worn down by worry; seeing his father in such a precarious state had been a nasty shock and even if he did not say it out loud, he felt like it was his fault. She was going to let him sleep as long as he wanted. Lucius had other plans.

He emerged, freshly showered and looking like a whole person for the first time in five days. He was a little thinner from not eating but the haunted look was gone from his eyes. He proved his wellness a moment later, when he swiped the cereal box from her as he walked by and proceeded to help himself.

"Someone's feeling better," she said, mildly annoyed.

He ignored her and picked a stray cheerio out of the couch. It didn't pass his inspection; he tossed it to Oberon, who gobbled it up as if it was filet mignon.

"I figured it out," he said at length.

Hermione tore her eyes from news of a mudslide in Honduras. "Figured what out?"

"Skeeter."

She turned, contemplating him. Aside from the dark bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes, he looked himself. His eyes were clear and quick, his pale hair combed and air-drying, and he wore plain white t-shirt and black sweats with an Armani logo on them. Of course, she thought wryly, his lounge pants are worth more than my entire wardrobe.

"That's it, then?" she asked softly.

"What's what?"

"You know what I mean."

For a moment he didn't know what to say. It was odd to see him that way, struggling for words, groping for meaning and clarity. It was something he simply didn't do.

"I cannot guarantee that that's it for the rest of my life," he said. "But for now…" his hand fell to Oberon's head, seeking the dog's soft, unprejudiced comfort, "for now, I am done."

She nodded. No more would be said of it; she knew Lucius wouldn't speak of what he had thought or felt or seen. There were things inside him, things she couldn't even hazard a guess at, and even if she would never know exactly what they were, the fact that they existed changed him. She had seen. She knew. And he knew that she knew and he was…comfortable. This truly was a different man.

Shacklebolt had commented upon it, too. He had stopped by that second day, a day where Lucius raged and moaned, febrile and incoherent. He had brought a healer to make sure it wasn't some infection from his time in St. Mungo's; such occurrences were rare but not unheard of. As they suspected the only infection was that of his soul.

"That's a man," Kingsley had said, "who has finally gone from feeling remorse at being caught to feeling remorse for ever doing the things that required the catching." And he had looked amazed, happy, and sympathetic while he said it.

"Was that what you were doing in the study?" she asked, pushing Kingsley's discourse out of her mind for the time being. "Figuring out Skeeter?"

He shook his head. "I did that this morning, lying in bed."

"Then what was it?"

The corners of his mouth lifted in a strange smile that seemed more sad than happy. "That is for Ginny Weasley to know, and everyone else…never to find out."

Harry contemplated the mail with a sigh. The stack was larger than usual since his transfer to Puddlemere United. The rented box was nearly exploding. Oh, there was a howler from a Caerphilly fan…it triggered, shouting obscenities at him in Welsh, most of which he understood, and the others in the post station stared at him. Until they figured out who he was; then they smiled.

That was the only howler today. That was a good sign. Leaving the shreds of the angry letter on the floor, Harry dumped the mail into a large messenger bag slung over his shoulder and apparated.

Ginny was still in her underwear. He loved when she deemed it necessary to walk around the flat in her bra and panties. He never got tired of her. Today she had donned a particularly alluring thing, something she referred to as a balconette, possibly because it pushed her breasts up and suspended them like some terribly tantalizing shelf. It was a saturated amethyst color, and the black panties that sat low on her hips had matching ribbons that held them on. She had something on her mind, clearly, because with one tug of those ribbons she'd be revealed in all her glory. She played her cards well, this Ginny Weasley.

He thought to himself, as he snuck up behind her and pressed a hand to her toned stomach, that he was going to have to make her Mrs. Potter soon. Yes, soon…he toyed with the end of one ribbon, rubbing the satin between his fingers. If he won the upcoming exhibition match against the Sofia Slaughterers, Viktor Krum's Bulgarian side, he'd propose to her right there on the pitch. If not…well, that wasn't really a consideration, was it? With the motivation of the love of his life consenting to marry him, there was no way he'd lose.

"What was in the mail?" Ginny asked. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing that is more important than me removing these silly garments and doing vulgar things to you."

Ginny giggled. "They're not vulgar."

"Okay," he agreed, sweeping her hair aside and kissing her neck, "maybe just naughty, then."

Lucius looked down upon his sleeping son for the second time in a week. This time he wasn't in the endorphin-soused somnolence that followed intimacy. His sleep was lighter, more troubled; he reached out to shake his strong shoulder and Draco's eyes opened.

He appeared perplexed at first. Then he stretched, possibly to give himself time to try to understand the fact that his father was sitting on the edge of the bed and gently waking him. That had rarely happened, even in his youth. Lucius regretted it like he regretted many things, lately.

"You're looking better today," Draco commented, covering his awkwardness by sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees.

Lucius nodded. "I am feeling much better." Draco's eyes watched him as he moved backwards, raising his legs and moving toward the middle of the bed. He sat Indian-style, facing his son. "You need to know…" he frowned and chewed his lower lip, but only for the briefest of seconds, "that it wasn't about her. It wasn't about Hermione. I like her, but I do not love her, and as such, she is yours."

"Then why did you become so upset at the mention of her?" Draco asked softly. "And you were looking at us, knowing what we did…"

"I was not upset at the mention of her," he said, looking down at his hands twined in his lap. "I was upset by your reaction - by your belief that I was lying to you."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Lucius cut him off.

"I have been miserable at keeping promises, absolutely miserable. I lied to you for your entire life, led you into circumstances you never would have chosen for yourself, and have therefore given you no reason to trust me. But I never felt the full brunt of that until that moment."

"Father--"

"Draco, for all the dishonesty I've perpetrated on you, I want you to know that I would never steal the woman you loved from you." A slightly pained expression settled on his face. "Because I have had it done to me."

Draco's eyes widened. "Are you saying…Mum…?"

Lucius nodded. "Giacomo Cannavare snatched her right out from under me. It is my fault for being too distracted to notice."

Draco blinked and shook his head. "I…she told me she met him after the divorce."

"Do not judge her," Lucius was quick to say. "I gave her even fewer reasons to care for me than you."

"He's a shit, Dad," Draco said. "Half the man you are."

Lucius looked up sharply, as surprised by the sentiment as he was to the rare use of the less formal parental title. "Why do you say that?" His eyes narrowed murderously. "He has not done anything to her, has he? If he has, I will be in Milan so fast that the aurors won't catch me until after I've killed him," he growled.

"Don't even think about it," Draco warned, not doubting his father's assertion for a minute. "He hasn't done anything to hurt her, but he treats her like she's stupid."

Lucius snorted. "He is the stupid one if he thinks her silly and harmless. I hope she is cleaning him out."

Draco shrugged but smiled. In all likelihood, she was.

"Anyway," Lucius continued, "I mean it. She is yours, yours alone." He reached into his pocket for something which turned out to be a Swiss Army knife. He opened one of the short blades and held it over the palm of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked with wide eyes, alarmed.

"A blood oath." He pressed the blade into his skin, drawing a thin slash of blood. "So you will know how serious I am."

"I believe you, Dad."

"What conditions do you want on the oath?" Lucius asked, ignoring him.

"None. There isn't going to be an oath."

"I need you to trust me, Draco."

"I do." He took the knife from his father's hand. He then reached for his wand and with a quick spell, the cut healed. "No more of this."

"All right," Lucius said after a long while, his voice distant and muted. "No more."

He'd left Ginny wrapped in a blanket on the living room floor, which was where they'd succumbed to temptation. When he came back with two glasses of water, she had begun to go through the bag of mail.

"It's like I don't even exist," she mock-grumbled, tossing letter after letter into what was presumably his stack. He thought she was quite sexy, sorting mail in the buff. "Wait," she amended, pulling out a particularly thick stack of parchment, "I stand corrected."

"Did someone write you a novel?" Harry asked, lowering himself to the floor and insinuating himself into the blanket with her. The "letter" must have been thirty pages long, at least.

"Seems that way," she nodded, breaking the seal. He looked over her shoulder; she'd tell him to bugger off if she wanted privacy, she'd never been afraid to do that. But when she unfolded the papers, they were empty.

"Someone sent you a bunch of blank paper?" Harry asked, confused.

"Blank?" her eyes darted up to him. "Harry, they're not blank."

"I don't see anything written."

"The entire page is full."

Harry frowned. "Who is it from?"

For a moment she shuffled pages. Then, arriving at what was evidently the last one, her eyes widened in surprise. "Lucius Malfoy."

"What's Malfoy doing writing you?" he nearly snarled. It was one thing for Malfoy to write Harry a letter after their confrontation, during which so little had been said. But why on in the world would he be corresponding with Ginny? And how had he made it so that only she could see the words?

Ginny chewed her lip. Her blue-green eyes had taken on a troubled expression. She put the pages back in order and set the stack down. "Harry…I'm going to tell you something…and you have to promise me…that you won't go ballistic."

That made his gut sink. Anything Ginny had to say that she thought would make him ballistic could not be good. He steeled himself. Please, Merlin, please, Malfoy could not have seduced her; Harry hadn't objected to her going to St. Mungo's because it was for Hermione, not them, but so help him, if Malfoy had…

"That face is not making me want to tell you, Harry," she said gently.

"It's just…it's never anything good when there is a Malfoy involved," he said, attempting to find some kind of center.

"You promise me right now that you won't go and hurt anybody," Ginny demanded.

"I promise," Harry returned grudgingly. This was sounding worse and worse and she hadn't even said anything yet.

His girlfriend, the love of his life, took a deep breath. "I'll hold you to it. Now…listen."

He nodded.

"Do you remember when you found me in the Chamber of Secrets?"

He nodded again.

"Did you notice anything…off?"

Harry looked at her incredulously. "Well, aside from the giant basilisk, you being nearly dead, and the teenaged incarnation of Lord Voldemort, no."

Her lips twitched. "About me, Harry. About the way I looked."

He shook his head. "You were lying on the ground and not moving. You were so pale. I thought you were dead. I was terrified."

"What about my clothes?"

"Ginny, I wasn't looking at--" he stopped abruptly. Horror flashed through his emerald eyes. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You're not saying…?"

She nodded, blinking back tears. "Right before you came. He had sucked enough life out of me that he was solid. He raped me." She swallowed. "I guess I was the only one who noticed that my buttons were done wrong and my skirt was on backwards."

Agony broadsided him and made his eyes well up. He had thought he was done with this, the terrible guilt of people being hurt by Voldemort because of him, but apparently not. He still cropped up. He still ruined lives.

"Oh, Ginny. Oh, Gin. I was just so glad to have gotten you out of there. I didn't…" he breathed raggedly, trying to process it. Tears dripped down his face and he reached out to touch hers. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell Madame Pomfrey?" he whispered.

"She knew. I asked her not to tell anyone. She said she was there if I needed to talk, and I did go once or twice, but really…I just wanted to forget about it."

"I wish I could go back and kill him all over again!" Harry exclaimed, swiping angrily at his tears. "I'd do it very painfully this time…"

She shook her head. "It's all right, Harry. I'm okay with it now. For a long time I wasn't, but…" Ginny took a deep breath, "then I confronted Malfoy."

Ah. This was why she'd made him promise not to hurt anyone. Because Malfoy had started the entire chain of events. He had slipped her that diary. He had given that malicious horcrux access to Ginny. He had made it so that it could all happen. And Harry was usually a man of his word, but not this time. Not. This. Time.

He began to struggle to his feet, but her grip and the tightly wrapped blanket obstructed him.

"No, Harry. You will stay here and listen to me and you won't hurt him."

"You're right. I won't hurt him, I'll kill him!" Still, he let her hands subdue him. He had not heard the full story yet.

"When I heard about the fiasco with Hermione I was suspicious. I hated him. I didn't want her anywhere near him. I made her bring me to his flat. I wanted to kill him, Harry. I wanted to pull out my wand and use the Killing Curse."

That shut him up. Ginny had a temper, but she was not a killer.

"I went in there with a chip on my shoulder and I pushed him until I got the response I wanted. I was ready to do it. Hermione wouldn't have been able to stop me."

"Why didn't you?" he asked. Malfoy deserved it.

"Because he looked like he wanted to kill himself when I told him what Riddle did." She sighed, resting her cheek on his chest. "And then he got on his knees and apologized. He nearly cried, Harry."

That didn't sway him. "He'll do anything to get out of trouble, Ginny, you know that!"

"It was real. I could see in his eyes that it was real. He didn't know what the diary was. He didn't know that it contained a piece of the Dark Lord." She paused. "He said that if he had known, he would never have given it to me…and I believe him."

"Ginny…" There was so much doubt in that one word.

"You've seen for yourself." She looked into his eyes, peaceful in spite of the things she was talking about. "He's changed."

Harry thought about him. Yes, it was obvious that Malfoy Sr. had changed, and Malfoy Jr. as well. But so much that he could be forgiven? He struggled out of her grasp and groped for his clothes. She watched him, her eyes sad.

"This is the only time I will ever break a promise to you, Ginny," he vowed. "I love you."

They at last managed to be in the same place at the same time. Draco had rather shamelessly pulled her into the shower with him, and she thought her late-July fantasy might come true with the minor substitution of son for father, but he was too tired and too wrapped up in his thoughts to pay her that kind of attention. Oh, his eyes were on her, that was certain, but the week he'd had was the kind that tended to subdue the libido. She was glad; it still seemed strange to be so intimate with him at all, let alone in his father's flat while Lucius was actually present. Call it a holdover from her teenaged years…

Lucius truly didn't give a damn what they did, aside from his two rules and the obvious expectation that they not be stupid enough to become pregnant; she found it absolutely amazing and a little confusing. It didn't matter that she was nearly twenty-five – her father would have made any significant male other sleep on the couch. Though that might just be a double-standard at work…if Lucius had a daughter instead of a son, there was no telling how he'd behave.

They emerged to find the dining room table covered in photographs, newspapers, and other documents. Lucius was standing over it all, frowning thoughtfully.

"Are we ready, then?" he said after they shuffled up to the table.

"This looks complicated," Draco sighed. "Is that a birth certificate? How did you get that?"

Lucius shrugged, but looked decidedly wicked. "I have my ways."

An image of Lucius seducing and/or bribing librarians popped into her head. She shouldn't smile – that was probably exactly what he had done. The smile came anyway.

"So," Draco read the birth certificate, "Rita Medea Mancini, born the 29th of February, 1960. A leap year baby."

"Medea is right," Hermione snorted. "That woman would kill her own children."

"Does she have any?" Draco asked.

Lucius shook his head. "But she is married. And that's where things become interesting." He leaned over and picked up a faded, pink-tinted newspaper. "Cast a translation spell, and you'll begin to understand."

Hermione and Draco reached for the paper at the same time. They both hesitated in midair, then withdrew, then reached forward again. Hermione felt herself blush for no good reason and dropped her hand; with a dirty look at his father, who was doing a bad job of suppressing a smirk, Draco finally took the paper.

"It's in Italian…" his eyes scanned, picking out a few words that he knew from spending time with his mother in Milan. "November 19, 1934. Translatio." The Italian words shimmered and rearranged themselves into English. It was clear that it was a wizarding newspaper; ads for wands, potions, and new state-of-the-art cornhusk brooms were scattered across the page. "Mafia war shuts down Adriatica Alley," he read. "Adriatica Alley – that's the wizarding high street in Milan."

Lucius nodded.

"Wait a minute," Hermione said, her mind catching up with the words. "There's a wizard Mafia?"

"Of course," Draco answered. "Is there a muggle Mafia?"

"Yes," Lucius answered for her. "Haven't I forced you to watch The Godfather?"

"No."

"Goodfellas?"

"No."

"The Sopranos?"

"No," Draco negated patiently.

"Then I have been remiss." He chuckled. "And my waste management jokes have been falling on deaf ears."

Hermione stared at him in wonder. Lucius would watch mob shows. He probably had more in common with Tony Soprano than he cared to admit. Except that he was far better looking and wouldn't be caught dead in the company of people with nicknames like Paulie Walnuts. Not that she knew anything about the show. Of course not.

"So the Mafia is active in Italy. Big surprise," Draco said.

"Keep reading."

Draco took a breath before continuing. "The battle for dominance between the Mancini and Scattori crime families continued today when Benedetto Mancini, brother of patriarch Melchiorre, was murdered in broad daylight while shopping at Furio's Famous Outfitters. Instant panic broke out…" Draco skimmed ahead, his grey eyes devouring the words. "The perpetrator was never caught, though witnesses claim to have seen Ulisse Scattori fleeing the scene."

"Skeeter's a Mafia princess," Hermione breathed. "Unbelievable."

"Correct." Lucius dug up two more pieces of parchment. "It gets better." He glanced at them both reproachfully. "You had better appreciate this, because you have no idea of the lengths I had to go to in order to obtain these."

"Do we want to know?" Draco muttered.

Hermione took them carefully from Lucius's outstretched hands. She couldn't help but feel that she was in a War Room, plotting for a war that was much bigger than her. She now held two family trees, one for the Scattoris, and one for the Mancinis. There was Melchiorre Mancini at the top, along with his four siblings: Benedetto, Flavio, Orfeo, and Octavia. On the opposite table there was Prospero Scattori. He had one brother, the aforementioned Ulisse.

"Follow me, now," Lucius said. "Rita's grandfather is this Melchiorre character. Her parents are Malvolio Mancini and Eufemia Alessi. They had Rita in 1960 and her sister Rosa in '62."

"Ugh," Hermione grimaced. "There's two of them?"

"It seems that way. Now, direct your attention to the other tree. In particular, Gaetano Scattori."

"Born in 1960 – same year as Rita," Draco noted.

"Yes. And that's not all they have in common."

"My head is beginning to hurt."

Lucius gave his son a look. "You've dealt with worse, but I'll make it easy. Rita Mancini and Gaetano Scattori were married in 1979."

"Married? But they're from warring families," Hermione protested. "That would result in a bloodbath."

"Up until that point, it was a bloodbath." Lucius dug up more pink newspapers. "1935, Ulisse Scattori seizes control, and was by all reports an unstable drunk and a devil incarnate. No one on either side liked him. 1937, he's murdered by his own brother, Prospero, who then takes control. 1941 – Melchiorre orchestrates a coup and the Mancinis come to power – but Prospero lives through it. 1944, Melchiorre dies under suspicious circumstances. His brother Flavio is suspected of the murder, of wanting the power for himself. It doesn't work – he's murdered by the other brother, Orfeo, and the internal conflict weakens them. The Scattoris take over again. 1954, Prospero dies. His son Saturnino takes over, the Scattoris maintain control. A decade of relative peace goes by, during which everyone on all sides reproduces…" Lucius glanced at a list he'd made, "twenty-nine children, counting both families, are born from 1925 to 1965, twenty of them from '54 to '65."

"How many of them are still alive?" Draco mused.

"Eight. On the Mancini side, Rita, her sister Rosa, and cousins Desiderio, Innocenzo, Luca, and Providenza. On the Scattori side, Lorenzo and Gaetano."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Of course he would know the answer – but only eight of them? Eight out of twenty-nine? It really had been a bloodbath.

"What happened in 1965?" she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

"Tacito Mancini, then eighteen, accidentally killed Renata Scattori in an attempt to rape her. He charmed the restraints too tightly and she suffocated before he could lay a finger on her. She was fourteen."

Hermione realized that both she and Draco were leaning forward, mouths open. This was unreal; how could these kinds of things go on entirely under the radar? True, it had been before her time and in a different country, but she felt like she ought to have heard of it before. This was a major, major crime rivalry. From the looks of the old Milan newspapers, it had dominated the wizarding culture of Northern Italy for decades.

"That must have set it off all over again," she shook her head.

"Yes. Fifteen years of intermittent warfare ensued. Fully two-thirds of Milan's wizard population migrated elsewhere because of it."

Draco exhaled, incredulous. "That explains why there are so few magical folk there. The Mancinis and Scattoris are probably the only ones left."

Lucius nodded gravely. "Yes, and those loyal to them."

A flash of alarm moved across Draco's face. "Cannavare?"

"I checked. Nothing." Lucius blew out a sigh. "Either he has no loyalties, or he hides them well."

"We have to owl Mum."

"Already did."

Once again, it took Hermione a moment to catch up. "Wait…your Mum lives in Milan now?"

Draco nodded.

"Oh, Merlin, we have to get her out of there."

"She is a very capable witch," Lucius said. "I have given her the information and indicated our desire for her to leave, but she'll do what she wants."

"And you're okay with that?" Hermione pressed.

"To a point," he responded curtly.

She relaxed. In those three words, she understood that Lucius still cared for his ex-wife and if pushed far enough, he would go retrieve her whether she liked it or not. Hermione smiled.

"Anyhow," Lucius elaborated, "you can probably guess what Rita's marriage to Gaetano was supposed to do."

"A cease-fire," Draco stated immediately. "A treaty, by joining the two families."

"Exactly."

"Did it work?" Hermione asked, rapt with interest.

"Swimmingly, for two years," Lucius replied. He indicated three photographs on the right corner of the table. In spite of the fact that at eighteen, Rita had not yet begun to own her beauty, it was in full evidence in her wedding photos one year later. The curls were tamed, the glasses gone, and the familiar confidence simmered behind her eyes. She recognized Gaetano, as well – he was Ethan, the brown-haired paparazzo, though age had obviously beaten some of the youthful vigor out of him. Not so much with Rita; she had that kind of face that never looked old, the lucky bitch.

"Then what?" Draco questioned.

"Anybody's guess," Lucius said. "All I can gather is that in the summer of 1981, there was some kind of falling-out and Rita and Gaetano were forced to flee. The families were then jointly taken over by Lorenzo Scattori and Desiderio Mancini."

"They escaped to England and changed their name," Hermione nodded as things fell into place. "From Scattori to Skeeter."

"And Gaetano started to go by Ethan. I guess Rita was too proud to give up her name." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yes. I've been able to uncover that Ethan and Rita Skeeter entered the United Kingdom on 4 November 1981. There are no employment records for Ethan, but Rita worked for two newspapers the following year, both of which fired her for fabricating stories."

"Shocking," Hermione muttered. "With that track record, how could she have gotten the job at Witch Weekly?"

Lucius's eyes flickered back and forth between Hermione and his son. "You have Harry Potter to thank for that."

"What?!" they exclaimed as one.

"August 1, 1983. By some stroke of fate, Skeeter was freelancing one village over from Godric's Hollow. She saw the Dark Mark in the sky, knew it would make her career if she got there first…and she did. Rita Skeeter was the first reporter on the scene of the Potters' murder. She coined the term 'Boy Who Lived'."

Hermione was about to open her mouth, to voice her dismay that Skeeter's career had been made by Harry's misfortune, and Merlin, did Harry know that? – when Lucius's posture changed very subtly. She recognized the slight stiffening, the drawing up of his spine – someone else was present. Both she and Draco turned and found themselves faced with the very person they had been discussing.

"Did someone call for me?" Harry said. But there was no humor in his voice, and Hermione had not seen him look so deadly since the fall of Voldemort.

Author's Note 2.0: Yes, the mob. Yes, I actually sat and drew out family trees and timelines for the Mancinis and Scattoris. Choosing all the names was so much fun! I know it was probably a bit confusing for some…feel free to ask questions and I will respond at the start of next chapter. A quick note about Rita's middle name, Medea. Medea was a figure in Greek mythology who did all sorts of interesting things, including leaving her children to die (or in some versions, actually killing them herself), hence Hermione's comment. That is all, R&R!