Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I might own a house soon - so I guess that's pretty cool? Idk, I'm mostly freaking out. Which is why this is late. Also because I went on vacation. So it was really busy in real life. Sorry for making you all wait.
OoOoOo
The Aurors left. Draco sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was the fourth pair he'd talked to. Once the first Aurors had realized what Draco was reporting, they'd immediately got their supervisors, and then the supervisors had gotten their supervisors – and then continually up the chain of command.
It was now four hours later, and the Aurors who had just left were the Chief of Operations and the Supervisor of Domestic Affairs. Reporting the kidnapping of the Assistant Minister's little sister was going to get a lot of political attention.
Draco glanced at the clock. It had been four hours. Four hours since he received a box full of Ginny's hair. His mind – during that time – hadn't stopped sending him images of what might be happening to her. He could see it all, in perfect detail. Claire would only be able to scare her – to superficially harm her. There was a lot of damage one could do with those parameters.
But that was only if Voldemort was aware of what was going on. If Claire had kept Ginny's kidnapping a secret, or if Voldemort wasn't reigning Claire in –
Flashes of blood and limbs filled his mind. Draco let out a breath, like he'd been punched. It felt like he'd been punched, the way his stomach dropped and curled. He leaned over his desk as nausea rose up. His face felt hot. His chest grew tight.
Anxiety, his mind supplied. It was all in his head.
But that, really, was the trouble with it all. His head was full of thoughts. Thoughts, and probabilities and possibilities, endless possibilities, all played out in perfect detail.
But no. Logic said Ginny was fine. Logic said that Voldemort was protecting Ginny from the worst damage. They had a bond, that Draco knew. Voldemort let Ginny call him 'Thomas' and that proved – right there – that he cared more for Ginny than Claire in some strange, twisted way.
But there was a chance. There was always a chance that he was wrong, and his brain helpfully supplied all the ways he could be gravely mistaken.
What if Voldemort valued hurting Draco more than he cared for Ginny's safety?
What if Claire was hiding this from Voldemort?
What if Draco was reading the whole situation wrong?
What if – ?
Draco stood abruptly. There was a cabinet full of liquor in the corner. He retrieved a glass from the sideboard, then thought better of it, and picked up the full crystal decanter of whiskey.
Whiskey. Not his drink at all. He took a long pull form the bottle, and then coughed, his eyes stinging from the burn, but no tears forming. He waited for it to hit him – and it did, because his stomach was empty and it twisted and clenched as the whiskey hit. He waited longer, waited for the alcohol to hit his bloodstream, waited for the depressive qualities to be felt, needing his brain to slow down. It wasn't enough.
He took a longer pull from the bottle, and then another. Getting wasted sounded like a good idea. Anything to shut his mind off.
He slumped into a chair in front of the fireplace. The fire flickered to life, activated by his presence. Draco shut his eyes as the world suddenly spun a little. The whiskey was working then.
He was doing the right thing, wasn't he? Logic said yes. Logic said he was doing everything right.
He took in a bracing breath and held it, let the statistic comfort him. He opened his eyes to gaze into the fire. He'd done everything right. He was making the right moves. He let out the breath slowly and felt the fear subside. Good. Rationality was returning. Draco took in another measured breath.
But what if he was wrong?
Draco flinched from the thought, and then quickly gulped down several more swallows. What, in Merlin's name, was wrong with him?
He pulled back from the bottle, coughing again. He grimaced as he felt his stomach churn with the alcohol. But the alcohol wasn't helping. If anything, the fear was growing.
He was so sure of himself – so arrogant when he had first decided what to do. But he'd been wrong before. He wasn't infallible. And if he was wrong, he wouldn't be paying the price. Ginny would pay it. Ginny could be hurt if he was wrong. She could be tortured and maimed and raped and killed.
More pictures in his head – no, not pictures. Pictures were stationary. Pictures didn't move. It was a vision. A vision of Ginny screaming and crying and bleeding and –
Draco took another swig of whiskey. The vision didn't fade.
He needed something stronger.
He got up, moving swiftly for the kitchens. His mind automatically filtered through the ingredients that would be stocked, waiting for him. Not all of them – of course not all of them, but enough.
There were a few house-elves there, startled to see him. He ordered them to leave, and then flicked on the cauldron. Then it was two bottles of wine – the good kind – and ground dragon-claw powder. And a really good wakefulness-inducer – the type that was kept behind the counter at the apothecaries, and after that –
"Draco?"
Draco turned. Bill was in the doorway. It looked like he'd run here. His hair was disheveled, his expression tight. But that could be because he was worried about Ginny.
"Everything okay, Draco?"
Bill was concerned about him then. But why would he - ?
Draco looked back at the ingredients he'd pulled out on the counters, and the cauldron, already heating up over the flame.
Oh.
Draco turned the cauldron off, and then glanced down at the decanter of whiskey still in his hand.
"Tolly said he was concerned," Bill explained. "Something about Narcissa-?"
"Yes. She used to - ," Draco gestured at the ingredients and then scrubbed a hand over his face.
"You okay?" Bill asked again.
"Not entirely," Draco admitted.
Bill took a few steps forward, eyebrows furrowing.
"I just wanted to stop thinking," said Draco.
"You said that having the Aurors handle it is the best thing to do."
"And it is," Draco insisted. 'Logically it makes the most sense. Logically it is the best way to get her out. Logically it's… It's right. I just – keep thinking, what if I'm wrong? And then I wanted to stop thinking."
"Are you craving it?"
"No," Draco shook his head, and then reconsidered. "Well, I mean, now, sure I am. But I didn't even realize that's what I was doing until you came in." Draco huffed out a breath, a little nonplussed that he didn't even have enough higher brain function to send him a warning signal, and then he swayed a little, because the whiskey had definitely hit him now. "Funny. For wanting to stop thinking, I seem not to have been doing to much of it."
"You're not really thinking," said Bill. "You're feeling. Big difference. Makes you do stupid things sometimes."
Draco made a face. "Then I guess that's what I'm trying to stop. The feeling."
Bill laughed and then reached out and took the decanter from his hand. Draco let him take it, but to his surprise, Bill didn't put it away. Instead he took a large swallow. He shrugged a shoulder when Draco raised his eyebrow. "We all feel too much sometimes. Come on, let's get something to eat, and then find something to distract you."
"Like what?" Draco asked, somewhat darkly.
"I don't know," said Bill. "I assume that all you're thinking about is Ginny, so it should be something related to her."
"But I can't use any of my contacts. They'll get back to her; they'll play into what Claire's doing."
"All of them?" Bill asked.
"The trouble with people who sell information, is that they sell it to other people too," said Draco. "There really isn't a whole lot of honor among thieves."
"Yeah, but surely you have some allies that aren't that unscrupulous," said Bill. "Or contacts that aren't on the dark side."
Draco's mind sparked because Bill was right. Lucius had always played both sides, and while the dark side might spy and sell information, there were a few honest contacts out there.
"I can make a few calls," he said, and made to walk to his study, but Bill pulled him towards the dining room. "Food first. I'm serious. Besides, you're a little drunk right now.
He was. There was no point denying it. So Draco ate lunch, and then took a few sobering-up potions to negate the alcohol in his system. And then he called all the contacts he'd neglected before. Honest Aurors. Good custom agents, moral magical law enforcement agents, and honorable experts in tracking spells and locations charms. Anything to give more assistance to the Aurors.
He stayed up all night, barely slept the next day, and by the next night he drank a dreamless sleep just to get a few hours of escape from the thoughts that plagued him. Because the fear wouldn't stop, and his mind was always his worst enemy, and he was terrified to think what his Boggart would be now if he let him out. Would it even be Lord Draco anymore? Or would it be Ginny, betrayed and bloodied and dead?
"Draco!"
He shot up from sleep, certain that someone had said his name, but he wasn't sure where he was or who was with him at the moment. He turned. Bill was beside him, smiling.
"They found her. She's okay."
It took a moment for Draco to process that information. They had found her? So quickly? Last Draco had heard they'd narrowed it down to Southern Europe – Italy or Greece – maybe Croatia. And narrowing it down to Southern Europe meant it'd be another two days at least. Something must have happened.
"Where?" Draco demanded, immediately getting out of bed.
"Italy," said Bill, and Draco was reaching for his wand when Bill added, "The Aurors are setting up a portkey. We leave in twenty."
Twenty minutes.
Draco blinked and considered twenty minutes.
No, not fast enough. He could get there in five. A quick floo to the France estate. From there, a permanent portkey to the Italian villa – which would mean a quick stop at customs, but there were men on the payroll that would let him through without too much trouble.
Five minutes of action versus twenty minutes of waiting. It wasn't even a choice it was so obvious.
Draco grabbed his wand, but Bill stopped him. "Draco, she's okay. Twenty minutes. We're all going."
Draco paused. Bill was right. He couldn't very well leave the Weasley family here, could he? Not when they were her parents. He'd have to take them with him. He could round them up in five minutes, have then through to France in one minute. Another four to get to Italy and – at that point, it all evened out in the end.
Draco let out a breath. "Twenty minutes."
"Go take a shower," said Bill.
Draco nodded and numbly did as he was told. It only took ten minutes to be ready to go, and when he went down to the blue parlor, the Weasley family had already gathered. Arthur and Molly were exhilarated, holding hands and smiling largely. The Weasley boys were rambunctious with relief.
Draco couldn't quite muster the same excitement. It was strange. He was relieved to hear she was okay. He was pleased that she was safe – he knew that, and yet, instead of excitement, or joy, or reprieve, he felt strangely hollow inside.
Draco curled up his hands into fists and felt the bite of his nails sharp against his palms. Perhaps he was still tired. Perhaps he needed to wake him up.
But the hollowness remained, despite the pinch in his hands. It made him feel uncomfortable. Almost detached. Slow. Merlin, he hated feeling slow.
The minutes dragged until the Aurors arrived with a Portkey, and then suddenly they were in Italy. They'd arrived in the lobby of a hospital, but Draco could only tell by the smell of anti-septic and healing potions. The physical appearance of the lobby couldn't look any different from a hospital. It was decorated like a resort. The walls were a bright terracotta. The windows were large and opened up to the beach outside. The weather was obviously charmed to stay warm, and the scent of the ocean did it's best to mask the hospital smell. The halls were quiet, but with a comfortable murmur of the waves on the shore.
"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!"
Draco looked over. There were two high-ranking Italian Aurors accompanying a man in a very well-tailored suit. Draco recognized him to be the Italian Secretary of Foreign affairs. He immediately approached Arthur and Molly, his hands held out to grasp theirs.
"Please, Mr. and Mrs. Wealsey," the Secretary said in heavily accented English, "let me express, on behalf of the Italian Government, how appalled we are about this terrible event. Please, accept our humblest apologies. We pride ourselves in having a safe and secure nation, and to think that our country was used as a vehicle for such an unthinkable crime – well, it is too awful to consider. We are devastated. Absolutely devastated."
Draco watched Arthur Weasley fumble for a response, obviously not used to having foreign dignitaries fawn over him.
"You must stay in Italy while your daughter recovers," the Secretary continued, but now a Healer was approaching, and Arthur and Molly were no longer listening. Instead they beelined for the Healer, leaving the Secretary to bustle after them, trying to hold their attention. "Your accommodations will be covered by the Italian government. If you have any needs, please, only let us know."
"How is she?" Molly demanded of the Healer.
"She'll make a full recovery," said the Healer.
Molly Wealsey grabbed her husband's arm, obvious relief on her face.
"Can we see her?" Arthur asked.
"Please, follow me," said the Healer. He gestured down the hall.
The Secretary trailed after the family, still talking, "We've already apologized to the Assistant Minister, and we will be working with your Aurors to identify how this came about."
The Healer showed the family into a private room. The Secretary stayed outside, calling after them, "Please, do not let this unfortunate incident impact the relationship of our two countries!"
Draco paused at the door, not quite knowing if he wanted to go in or not. He looked at the Secretary instead, who looked a little unnerved.
"Is the Assistant Minister still here?" Draco asked, wondering if Percy had hung around.
"No, he left just moments ago," said the secretary. "Mr. Malfoy, please accept our nations apologies. If we had any idea that such criminals were crossing our borders, we would have done everything in our power to stop them."
Draco held out his hand for the Secretary to shake. "I completely understand," he said, and then he let the Secretary run through the entire gamut of apologies because someone needed to listen to them and offer absolution. No doubt Percy had gotten the speech as well, but double assurances were always necessary in such delicate situations.
Besides, Ginny had her family to greet. Draco could wait.
It took twenty minutes until the Secretary felt comfortable enough to leave, and then Draco stalled another twenty by getting Ginny's chart from the Healer and reading over the injuries sustained.
It was nothing too bad. Some nerve damage from the Cruciatus that would heal with time, two weeks tops. A brand on her stomach that had already been treated with the most advanced healing spells and cosmetic procedures. "All expenses paid," the nurse was quick to reassure him. A few bumps and bruises. A few scrapes and cuts. Nothing more.
Draco put the chart down and waited for the relief to come. He waited for the joy. Waited for the happiness. Waited for the elation.
It didn't come.
Something was obviously wrong with him. What kind of man wasn't pleased that their girlfriend was okay after such an ordeal? Why wasn't he pleased?
Draco walked numbly to Ginny's room and paused in the doorway. He saw Ginny, propped up in bed, pillows surrounding her, her family at her side, holding her hands, patting her head. Grinning and laughing, and he was struck dumb and numb in the doorway.
She saw him and smiled. She reached out her hand, and so beckoned, he stepped forward. Charlie pushed Fred and George out of the way so he could come up to her bed side, and he did, all the while the hollowness growing, until he was sure that she must see it.
She did. Her head tipped to the side. Her eyes questioned him, and then her hand grabbed his.
Her fingers were warm.
Her skin was soft.
Her hand was strong, and it squeezed his, reassuring, and then something finally clicked into place.
Draco dropped to his knees by her bed. He wasn't sure if it was deliberate, or if his legs no longer worked. Something hot and bright released in his chest, and he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers, like it was the most natural thing in the world – no matter that her family was there.
"Hello," he said, eyes only on her face. Her hair was cropped short, but her eyes were bright, and her smile brighter.
"Hi," she said back.
That warm feeling swept through his body, wiping away all traces of numbness. Now that he could see her, now that he felt her, alive and well, now he could be relieved. Now he could be happy.
Draco heard Bill shepherd the rest of the Weasley family away. He heard them leave the room, but all he could see was Ginny's face. Her beautiful, gorgeous, completely unblemished face.
"I was worried," he said, even though he couldn't help but return her smile, a smile that was so pure, it was as if she had never known what worry or fear was.
She reached up with her free hand and cupped his cheek. He turned into her hand, and pressed a kiss on her palm as well. She laughed.
Draco felt his cheeks redden. "I was really worried," he admitted.
"I'm fine," said Ginny.
"But you weren't for a while." Draco had read her file.
"You've been hurt before," said Ginny. "You've worried me before."
Draco frowned, because that wasn't the point he was trying to make – but he couldn't quite figure out what he wanted to say.
"Now you look confused," Ginny said, and laughed at him again.
"I was worried," Draco said again, and then paused, because that wasn't what he was trying to say. He tried again, "I was scared. You scared me. I was scared that you were hurt, and in pain, and that you were going to die and I - ," he stopped. He suddenly knew what he was trying to say.
He sighed and then got up to sit on the side of the bed. She pushed herself up a little higher in bed and took both his hands. "And you?" she prompted.
Draco frowned. "I was scared because I love you."
She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss on his lips. He tried to lean in, to kiss back, but she pulled away too fast. "What was that for?"
She smiled. "Because I love you back."
Draco sighed again, because wasn't this just a complete mess of emotions?
"Well, good," he said, but he couldn't help but think how this complicated things, and she laughed at him, bright and happy and utterly lovely.
"You don't need to sound so cross about it."
"Yes, well…," but Draco couldn't quite think of an objection, and he was uncomfortable with the emotion, so he changed the subject, "Can you tell me about what happened, so I can go find Claire and kill her?"
Ginny's expression changed. Draco tensed. "What?"
"She's already dead," said Ginny.
Draco blinked at her. "Did you – ," but he could already tell that she hadn't, even before she shook her head, and then she reached for her neck. At first, her hand closed around nothing, and then she pulled something forward, like she was trying to show him something. "Do you see it?"
It appeared in her grasp, the perception charm falling away and revealing a pink rose pendant. A pendant that had been in the Malfoy family for over a century. A pendant that Draco hadn't given her.
"Your father gave me this for Christmas," said Ginny.
Draco tried not to flinch at the mention of Lucius. He was more or less successful. "And you wore it," he said, not quite sure that was a smart thing to do, but it obviously had saved her. "Did it have a death curse on it?" he asked, because some charms would rebound lethal curses back onto the caster – not an Avada curse, nothing could rebound that – but if Claire had used a different spell…
Ginny shook her head. "He… he found me. Lucius found me, and he killed Claire."
At first, Draco didn't understand. The words made sense as words, but the message was too unbelievable. Draco blinked. "He's dead."
"He found me," Ginny repeated. "And he… he was solid, not a ghost, and he used the Avada on Claire. The Aurors have her body. He was there."
Draco shook his head this time, still not able to understand. "He's dead."
"He's not," said Ginny.
"His body was just released from Azkaban," said Draco. "I'm going to bury him this week."
Ginny looked up at him, eyes perfectly clear, expression completely serious. "Draco. Lucius is alive."
OoOoOo
Percy expected the visitor charm to light up on his desk. He'd been expecting it ever since he'd seen that necklace on Ginny's neck, the necklace that no one else seemed to notice, not even the Healers when they were performing the skin graph surgery.
But Percy had always had a knack for perception charms – that is to say, Percy had a knack for seeing past them.
"You see what is," Trelawney had told him after he miserably failed divination. The crystal ball hadn't even clouded up. It had been completely clear, and it had only reflected the table it was placed on, and Percy's own exasperated face. "You are not fooled by what others want you to see. You are not swayed by what may yet-to-be. You are attuned to this moment, fully present and fully aware. It's quite the gift."
And then she had tried to teach him how to see auras, convinced that he must have the ability since he was so "attuned with the present moment". But Percy hadn't been able to take her instruction seriously, because he could see her for what she was and not what she wanted him to see. She was a fraud.
So was Dumbledore, really.
And actually, interesting fact, most of the others who were deemed 'sensitive' to the Dementors did have the ability to see auras. Percy still hadn't learned, but that was fine with him. He enjoyed the ability to see past perception charms, and there were a lot of them in politics. It was far more useful than reading someone's mood by their aura, and Percy could do that simply by reading body language.
So as soon as Percy had seen that necklace on Ginny, seen how expensive it was, and how powerful and dark, he knew that it came from the Malfoys. And when Ginny had been found by the Aurors, already escaped from the Death Eaters, Percy knew that she'd had help. And Draco had been in England the whole time, wisely staying out of the way while funneling a whole slew of resources and information to the Aurors, and so that left only one person who could have helped her.
Lucius Malfoy.
And Percy had just gone through the trouble of getting a fake body.
That was just poor timing.
So when the visitor's charm lit up on his desk, informing him that someone was in his office, he knew exactly who it was. He sighed, paused his work, and then Flooed over.
"Where is Lucius' body?" Draco demanded as soon as he stepped into his office.
Percy sighed again, walked past the agitated teenager, and put on the kettle for a cup of tea.
"I swear to Merlin-," Draco started, and there was an edge to his voice that said this wasn't going to be pretty.
So Percy turned around and faced it head on. He was a Gryffindor after all. "Your father's body disappeared from Azkaban soon after the coroner signed off on the death certificate. After an expansive search, it was never recovered. We assumed that someone had taken it for revenge purposes. The body that was going to be released to you is fake."
He watched Draco's face change from angry to ominously blank. "My father's body was stolen?"
The kettle whistled. Percy poured two cups of tea, handed one to Draco, and then moved over to his desk. "We both know that's not the case anymore, don't we?"
He sat in his chair. Draco took the seat in front of his desk, still looking a little shell-shocked. "Ginny said she saw him. And that he wasn't a ghost."
"He used the Avada on Claire," Percy confirmed. "A ghost can't do that."
Draco reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"I take it you had nothing to do with this," Percy surmised.
Draco shook his head, looking slightly pained. "I have no idea what happened."
"Well, that's hardly comforting," said Percy. "I'll add that to the list of things that need attending to."
"Send me the fake body," Draco said.
Percy raised an eyebrow.
"I want to follow through with appearances," Draco said. "Keep public attention away from it until I know what happened."
Percy nodded. "When you find out what did happen, tell me."
Draco gave a curt incline of his head. He got up, tea untouched. "Don't lie to me next time."
"I make no promises."
Draco glared at him, and it was actually a rather good glare. Percy would know. He got glared at a lot.
"It's my father," Draco said.
"Who murdered the Minister of England, was imprisoned, committed suicide – aided by yourself, I might add, and then his body disappeared. Releasing that information would have sent the whole nation into a panic."
"I'm not the whole nation," said Draco.
"No," Percy agreed. "But you're part of the nation. It was a call I made, and you don't have to like it, but it still stands."
Draco took a step forward. "Any information about my family, or that impacts the wellbeing of my family, is information I will be privy to – whether it comes directly from you, or I have to buy it from another source."
"You'll have to buy it then," said Percy. "And I can guarantee you that it will be hard to come by."
He met Draco's gaze. There was a brief moment of tension, and then Percy sighed, because he really didn't have time for staring contests. "Any other idle threats you want to impart while you're here?"
Draco huffed out a breath that might have been laughter. "I have to go back to Italy."
"How's Ginny?"
"She's fine, but you already knew that," said Draco. He pursed his lips for a moment, then said, "You could have stayed longer."
Percy shrugged. Perhaps. Sometimes it was just easier to avoid an argument by avoiding his parents. "Look after her."
"Always," Draco promised, and then he stepped through the Floo and out of the office.
Percy sat back in his chair and considered all the horrible ramifications of having Lucius Malfoy returned from the dead.
"Well... shit."
OoOoOo
Author's Note: Again, sorry for the delay. Real life took over. In other fun news...I think this might be the second to last chapter on this book. And then it's time for the End Code. Which has really just been a figment of my imagination over the past...oh, seven years or so. Lol.