Chapter 12

Malfoy Manor

Ginny Weasley didn't dare move or open her eyes. He must be close – she could hear someone breathing very close to her. Mentally checking over her body, she almost sobbed in relief that her clothing seemed intact. He hadn't defiled her. Not yet. But she could feel her soft surroundings and knew she was in a bed. She surely didn't have long.

She listened intently for a full minute before deciding that whoever was beside her was breathing too deeply to be awake. Slowly – carefully – she opened her eyelids a fraction, but was aggravated to find that she couldn't see anything from her position on the bed. Before she could decide on her next move, she heard him take a deep, waking breath and felt him move beside her. She was terrified – frozen in place. It was his touch that kick started her self-defense instincts. He had strewn an arm across her body, and she knew this was her best and only chance to act. She threw her elbow sideways as hard as she could and heard a satisfying crack. There was a loud cry of shock and pain, but she didn't wait to see the damage she had done. She had bolted away from him in an instant and vaulted from the foot of the bed. She had her hand on the handle…

"Giddy," he said, holding his broken and bloody nose, "Giddy wait! You're stafe."

Looking back in shock, Ginny saw Harry looking at her through pained features. The next moment saw Bill burst through the door, wand drawn.

She looked from Bill to Harry slowly before breaking down into tears.

"I'm… sorry," she sobbed. "He stunned me from behind and… he took my wand… and he… he was trying… he hurt Fleur too. He was trying to…"

Harry was at her side in a moment, holding her in one arm while gesturing for Bill to do something about his nose. As soon as he could speak properly, he murmured what he hoped were comforting words while rocking her gently in his arms.

"You're safe, love... it'll be alright… it'll be alright… all that matters is you're safe..."

Back and forth - her head on his shoulder – they swayed until her breathing evened out. At last, Ginny gazed softly up at Harry, her eyes asking once more for forgiveness.

Bill would check on his sister later. This moment was theirs, and he had been waiting to "check in" on the bird demon in the dungeons since they had arrived in the Manor.


Hermione had waited in the Slytherin Common Room staring at the dark wooden doors in agony for nearly an hour. She had convinced herself several times over that if Draco, Harry or Ginny were still alive, they would have come back already. No one had spoken. No one had dared to say aloud what hung heavily in the silence.

When she had seen Draco emerge from the cabinet unharmed, her legs had buckled beneath her and she had stayed kneeling on the floor as he addressed them all. The other cabinet, he had told them, was at Malfoy Manor. He had assured them that the place had been searched and was completely safe. The creatures' attacks on the Manor, it seemed, had tapered off after the first few days. He had also told the group that there were beds and food in plenty at the Manor and proposed moving all the survivors there at once. Despite the initial reactions that had followed his statements, his proposal was eventually (if grudgingly) agreed upon. Kreacher had been dispatched to gather the others at the cabinet and one by one, they had found themselves in the former headquarters of Lord Voldemort.

Although no one was thrilled by the situation, Draco seemed the most grim of them all. He hadn't spoken to Hermione since they had come back through the cabinet. He wouldn't even look in her direction.

When she saw him slip away from the group, she followed him, hoping to give him some sort of comfort, but as she neared the door he had entered, she could hear him deep in conversation with someone. Creeping closer, she could see that the door was open just a crack. Draco's outline was leaning against an imposing desk.

"Ravvi," she heard him say in a low voice. "Can you hear your masters call you even if you can't reach them?"

"Yes, Master Draco," she replied sadly.

"Did… did anyone call you? Recently?" his voice was anxious, full of hope and dread.

"Master Lucius calls for Ravvi the day of the animals, sir. Ravvi could not go to him… Ravvi has punished herself most severely, sir."

"And… and since then?" his voice was anguished now.

She could hear the little elf sniff.

"Ravvi thinks she belongs only to Master Draco now," she said sorrowfully.

She could see Draco swallow hard, blinking back the inevitable tears. He nodded his head three times, trying to take deep breaths.

"Why is the vanishing cabinet here, Ravvi?"

"Mistress has it brought once you goes to school, Master Draco. She thinks you might need it, sir."

Something inside of Draco was breaking – his mother's death was painful – his mother's love was more than he could bear.

"She wanted to give me a way home," his said hoarsely.

Hermione watched him sadly – a strong man bent over in pain, fighting for control of the storm within. She watched him achingly, as the battle was lost and tears streamed unchecked across his beautiful face. He pressed his fists against his brow and clenched his teeth as silent sobs wracked his body… And she watched him, heartbroken.

She knew he wouldn't accept her comfort if she went to him now – he couldn't. He needed this time for himself.


An entire mansion to explore, and the expanded group of survivors had congregated in the kitchen. The irony wasn't lost on them - it was just the least evil-feeling room in the Manor. As the house elves bustled around, creating a small feast, the group huddled together, talking and laughing nervously.

Looking around, Anthony Goldstein asked no one in particular: "Where's Malfoy? Checking on the skeletons in his closet, d'you think?"

A few people snickered, but the many in the kitchen group, having become acquaintances (if not friends) with Malfoy, glared at him.

"What? I just-"

"WHO?" demanded a furious Bill Weasley as he crashed through the kitchen doors.

The group all stared at him, stunned.

"Who killed him?!" he shouted at them.

"Wha-?" "…killed…?" "Who's been…?"

"It was my right," he said through clenched teeth. "Death was too quick for someone like him! It was my right to question him, to torture him, to do as I saw fit with him!"

By now, the group understood. The man in the dungeons must be dead.

"It was not your right to kill him, Bill," Fleur said quietly. "It was mine."


Muggle scientists were baffled. The Ministry had a team of Obliviators working on those scientists, but truth be told, the Ministry was baffled too. As far as it could be worked out, Hogwarts had been the epicenter of the bizarre animal occurrence. The further away from Hogwarts the animals were, the less severe their aggression. Take the East coast of America for example – the pets were decidedly ill-tempered that day, and there was a record amount of bird waste on cars and people (although the muggles simply would not believe that the birds were targeting them). There were even a few zoo animals that had snapped at their trainers. All in all, though, the Americans had failed to notice the event entirely.

In London and other large cities in the UK, magical and non-magical creatures alike had attacked humans aggressively for three days. On the fourth day, they could be seen milling about aimlessly in public places, intent only on grazing, roosting, dozing, and doing everything that animals were meant to do. Massive cover stories had been publicized in the muggle media. Everything had been reported from anti-government activists releasing zoo animals to 'scientists' discussing the finer points of animal mating rituals. There was even a muggle theory floating around that genetically modified animal feed was the culprit, prompting a boycott on all such products lest the same behavior surface in humans. In the smaller muggle communities, the Ministry had called for all witches and wizards to help modify memories in their own areas. Thankfully, the muggles were ready either to accept the far-fetched Ministry stories or create one for themselves. No one had cried "magic."

The temporary Minister of Magic thought that, on the whole, things could have been worse. Dawlish hadn't wanted to be Minister of anything – temporary or not. He'd had just a few too many runs of bad luck, and he was not keen to have a Minister-sized target on his chest. Especially not in times like these! But here he was sitting in the damned chair, sending the damned owls, and answering too many damned questions. The fact was that no one had bothered trying to imperius him (by which, he was slightly offended), and he was one of the only Aurors who had not gone to fight at Hogwarts (for which, he was very relieved). With the public clamor about trust, and the need for order and action… well, there you have it. Minister Dawlish, at your service.

Although things had begun to achieve some level of normalcy in the weeks following the animal attacks, one point still concerned him exceedingly. Hogwarts evacuees had reported that they left on the brink of a battle between Harry Potter's supporters and Voldemort's forces. But no one had heard of any survivors out of the Hogwarts battle, and a large number of Hogsmede residents were missing too. The Ministry was able to deduce from the large numbers saying they suspected they had been imperiused, and the cooperation of the Dementors, that Voldemort was dead. They could only hope it was for good this time.

Dawlish had sent scouts by apparation to Hogsmede, but they reported back that they had all been transported to different locations, none of them remotely close to the village or the school. They kept trying, both by apparation and by broom, but in the two weeks they had been trying, not one scouting party had been successful. It seemed that no matter how seasoned the fliers or how sound their navigation, no one could find Hogsmede or Hogwarts. No one could even get close.

So when 107 Hogsmede residents and Hogwarts survivors apparated into the Ministry, Dawlish was overcome with emotion. He was overjoyed that there were, in fact, survivors, but he was dismayed that there were so few. He was bewildered that they were suddenly able to apparate after weeks of failed attempts (and immediately sent a scouting party back). Most of all, he was gravely disappointed that no one knew what had become of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Had Lived Again.

It was a chaotic day, full of reuniting students with parents, finding temporary housing for displaced residents, and releasing several carefully-worded owls to the press. The Minister had not had so much to do since he was first thrust into office. He was relieved to see the day come to a close, and was preparing to retire when a Ministry aide burst through his door in a state of great agitation.

"Suetonius Black, sir!" he exclaimed.

"What in Merlin's-"

"He wants to speak to you sir – he says-"

"Please tell Mr. Black that it will have to wait until-"

"He says it's about Harry Potter, sir!"

"What? Who is this Black?"

"His portrait's on level 8 sir! And he has another in Malfoy Manor."

The Minister took a deep breath, thinking that no good news had ever come out of Malfoy Manor.

"Very Well," he said, resigned.