A/N: A guest review mentioned this, I thought I'd explain.
Basically, the review brought up Elder Wand ownership and how it differs from the book. (Essentially, why is Harry still its master if he was disarmed like, three times in chapter 29)
So, for one thing, in this fic it has been established that because Harry is a true descendant of the Peverells, and the wand approves of him, it won't ever bend its allegiance unless Harry himself personally hands over ownership.
"But Voldemort is too! His family had the resurrection stone!" I mean, okay, but that doesn't mean anything because the stone was abandoned by its first owner after he killed himself. I don't think that guarantees that it has been passed down the Peverell line like the cloak.
Some relation to Slytherin found the stone, put it on a ring, and then began to pass it down.
Besides, Harry has claim over it because as a Peverell descendant, he took it first, and claimed it as his own first. So even if Voldemort is a descendant, the wand wouldn't join him.
But ignoring that entirely, it doesn't really matter because no one actually used a disarming charm on the wand. They summoned it from Harry.
In Fantastic Beasts, Tina uses "accio" on Grindelwald, but doesn't become the master of the Elder Wand.
So, there's that explained.
Shorter chapter. More tomorrow or later today.
The Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross. The excess steam of the locomotive swirled and enveloped the platform. Hundreds of parents stood in apprehensive silence.
The Wizarding World had been incredibly unstable as of late. In April, a ritual of unknown origin accelerated the planet's rotation for just the right amount of time to allow the full moon to arrive earlier. Despite the sudden pushback, the werewolf legislation was passed without much trouble not a week after that. Minister Fudge claimed that it was for basic human rights and that his administration would not be caught with unnecessary blood on their hands.
Then, the terrorist attacks earlier in the week. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, kidnapped. Their whereabouts and condition were unknown.
Then, just when the chaos seemed to calm somewhat, Bartemius Crouch Sr. attacked Hogwarts. None were killed, thankfully, but hundreds were injured, including two staff members; Professors Sprout and Sinistra respectively.
Then, the attack on the Ministry not an hour later. The culprit remains unknown, but the words etched on the Atrium's ceiling spoke volumes to those who'd been paying attention.
"THE DARK LORD KNOWS ALL"
Minister Fudge and Amelia Bones were found impaled on a display of sorts where the fountain of magical brethren once stood. Since then, their community had been thrown into turmoil. Fear of a new Dark Lord rising was of constant discussion. People were hiding, waiting for their children to return home. If anything happened over the summer, it was unlikely many would return to Hogwarts the following year.
The locomotive came to a halt, its train sliding into itself as the couplings clattered and banged.
The buffers sprung into themselves, diminishing the sudden halt in motion.
Narcissa Malfoy stood off near the end of the train. It was where she'd once waited alongside her husband, Lucius, year after year for their beloved son, Draco.
They waited here for many reasons. For one, it put distance between themselves and the others, but it was also aligned to where the Slytherins typically dismounted the train.
The doors to the carriages swung open. Prefects and heads alike waited by the doors and showed the students out of the train. Amos's boy, Cedric, beamed at each and every student that passed by.
Draco's shock of white, blonde hair caught her attention. Narcissa watched as he scanned the platform, his eyes finally landed on hers and he smiled faintly, hauling his trunk after him down the platform towards their little corner.
"Hello mother," he greeted. Narcissa smiled and pulled him in an embrace. He fought, but eventually accepted it and waited, hands by his sides for his mother to relinquish her hold over him.
"You used to do that to me too, you know," she said, brushing back his hair.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I was ten. It's different,"
Narcissa nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is,"
Draco lifted his left hand and waited for her to cast a feather weight charm on his trunk. She did so without hesitation and was thanked by a nod and a relieved smile.
They strode out, off the platform, unseen by the many parents still milling about.
They re-entered the muggle side of King's Cross and Draco scowled. "It reeks on this side. I wish we could just apparate straight to the manor."
Narcissa's breath caught. She hadn't been quite as involved in her letters to her son this year. There had been other things to focus on. As such, Draco hadn't learned of their change in residence. "Yes, that would be quite convenient, wouldn't it?"
"Is everything alright, mother?" Draco looked up at her with raw concern. "You seem a little on edge…"
Narcissa took a deep breath and pulled her son aside. "There are some things I need to set straight with you, but they cannot happen here, do you understand?"
Draco frowned and gave a curt nod. "Alright…"
Narcissa let a faint smile grace her elegant features and continued to lead her son out the station.
They stepped out into muggle London without fanfare. Strode to their typical first choice of alleyway and Narcissa quickly side-along apparated Draco to Fife.
They hit the road awkwardly. Its graveled roots shooting out from under them. Draco immediately noticed they weren't in Wales and drew his wand. "Where are we?" he asked.
"Harry Potter lives at Potter Manor near Crail, Fife, Scotland," said a male voice from somewhere ahead of them.
Draco whirled around; wand raised. "Who's there…" he trailed off as the words died in his throat.
Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody, Bill, Newt, Tina, Dumbledore, Severus, Alyssa, and Percy stood around an ornate set of wrought iron gates with the large Potter family crest emblazoned onto its front like a shield.
Their wands were held aloft in Draco's direction. Some, like Sirius and Severus, wore identical smirks at Draco's stunned appearance.
"What… what is going on," blurted Draco unceremoniously.
Dumbledore lowered his wand. "We are here to speak to you, Draco,"
Draco lowered his wand in return, recognizing when he was outmatched. "What did I do?"
"Guilty conscience, eh?" Moody growled with what Narcissa assumed was a smile.
"Quit scaring my son. He's got a lot to catch up on," Narcissa grabbed hold of Draco's elbow and led him forward towards the gates of Potter Manor.
"Woah," Draco breathed. The grounds of Harry Potter's residence stretched out before them. Its beautiful coastal views. Dozens of magical topiaries danced in the summer breeze. All of it was enveloped by trees rising high enough in the sky to play Quidditch without the fear of anyone noticing. A large black bird, a raven, perhaps, soared high above the whole thing as the large group made their way to the manor home's gates.
The doors and windows of the home were open, letting in as much air as possible. Narcissa led Draco through the now familiar halls and doorways, to the kitchen. The Order of the Phoenix gathered around the table as usual. Draco sat in one of the four chairs. Alyssa sat next to him, Narcissa across from him, and Snape next to her. Everyone else stood imposingly around them.
"Draco we are here to speak with you today to inform you that Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore spoke calmly.
Draco paled. "What? That isn't possible. He's dead. Potter killed him."
"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore smiled through his beard. "You see, unfortunately, he has returned, and you and your mother are in grave danger."
Draco sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "How are we in danger?" he asked pompously. "Father was loyal to him. As far as I am aware, we have remained loyal to his ways,"
Narcissa laid her arms on the table and clasped her hands together. "Well, the thing is, I haven't done very much to get your father out of Azkaban. Voldemort will see that as a betrayal to my husband, and by extent, to him,"
Draco flinched as she said Voldemort's name. "I still cannot see how I myself am in danger," Draco continued. "Perhaps you are, seeing as you've fallen in with this lot," he gestured to the people around the table. "But I haven't done anything wrong,"
"Perhaps you haven't directly opposed him," Snape cut in, "But your father and mother both have. You are their most prized possession. The Dark Lord will use you against them. Send you on suicide missions and torture you until your parents comply with him.
"Your father, of course, will come back begging on his hands and knees," Snape continued, "but your mother is stronger than him, and won't hesitate to fight for what she believes is right. For what we all believe is right,"
"And what is that?" Draco spat bitterly.
"Your safety, lad," Moody grunted from his corner of the room. "You're dead without us. Nothing but a pawn."
Draco shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe this is the side you chose, mother. Mudbloods and half-breeds running rampant? You disgust me,"
Narcissa bowed her head in shame.
"No, Cissy, don't do that," Sirius spat. "You've worked for months to stand your ground in face of whatever opposition Voldemort throws your way. Don't cower for this pathetic little ferret,"
"Do you know who you're talking to?" Draco fumed at Sirius. "I am-"
"A dead man," interrupted Remus. "You are nothing but a dead man if you chose his side,"
Draco stared up at Remus for a full five seconds before abruptly rising from his seat and storming out of the kitchen. Narcissa shot after him.
"Draco! Please, Draco wait," she pleaded.
But Draco didn't wait. He kept going, climbing the grounds of Potter manor towards the gate.
"He'll kill you!" Narcissa shrieked. "Please, you can't do this!"
Draco whirled around. "What makes you think I'm off to join him?"
Narcissa skidded to a halt and frowned.
Draco scoffed. "You don't know who I am," he muttered. "You've never been a part of my life. It was always father, and you gave up on him."
Narcissa gaped at her son. "Your father was a terrible man! An awful, horrible, manipulative, foul man. Can you not see that?"
"I suppose you should have shown me that side of him more often, because no, I cannot see that," Draco turned to stalk off, but faltered and whirled back around to face her. "You ignore me for a whole year! You tell me to be wary, make connections, and then nothing."
"I'm sorry, Draco. There was just so much going on, I couldn't-"
"Yes, you could've!" Draco insisted through gritted teeth. "Do you have any idea how awful it's been? I've no friends, no connections. I'm not respected among any of my peers, but you know what? I held on to the one thing I knew to be true which was that I still had you,"
Draco took a step toward Narcissa. "So, I wrote to you. I wrote three times a week sometimes, and you know what you did?"
Narcissa waited.
"Nothing. You responded with curt, non-descript wanderings of paragraphs. Sentences, even. When I wrote, practically begging to come home for Christmas, you told me no. Tell me, besides the Ball, why couldn't I come home? Are you truly so revolted by your actions that you don't see me as your son?"
Narcissa took a step back as though she'd been hit. "That's ridiculous! I brought you here to save you. To ensure that my son doesn't end up dead or enslaved! I have worked tirelessly to make this future work for us, but you seem keen on throwing it all away!"
Draco threw his arms up into the air. "You don't communicate with me! You don't explain things, you never have! Why do you think I respected father so much? He actually told me things! No matter how vile they were. You always try to protect me, I'm not a child!"
"Yes, you are," came the oily voice of Severus Snape from behind Narcissa.
Draco huffed and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Snape to speak.
"You have been pampered and spoiled your whole life," Snape began. "You have never been told the truth. You've been told the bent lies your father believed in. You were purposely kept away from your cousin and told glory stories of a time you could not, and would not wish to remember,"
"Why do you all think I'm going to join the Dark Lord the minute he comes knocking? I don't want to be a part of it. I'll happily sit on the sidelines,"
"And you honestly believe The Dark Lord will give you the chance to… sit on the sidelines?" Snape raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
Draco shrugged. "I'll run,"
"You cannot run forever. He will find you, magically or otherwise. You are incredibly easy to track,"
"This isn't even about you!" Draco shrieked. "This is between me and my mother,"
"Your safety is inherently tied to me, actually," said Snape. "What you fail to understand, is that when the Dark Lord inevitably breaks into Azkaban, he will use your father's mark to seek you and your mother out. He will be able to apparate to your position without warning. Through any charm you can possibly come up with, save those of legend, you will be in his clutches."
Draco exhaled. "If this is so incredibly important, I want the full story. Not from you!" he pointed to Snape. "Her," he turned his hand to his mother.
Snape nodded and turned away, striding down the drive back towards Potter Manor.
Narcissa opened and closed her mouth a few times, but no words formed on the tip of her tongue. "Let's walk," she offered, finally.
Draco clenched his jaw and nodded.
Regretfully Uncaring
Chapter 32: Magic is Might
Draco didn't know what to think. He'd just had the longest one-sided conversation of his life, and was in a state of shock as he sat on the lowest step to the back garden.
Though he knew it was ridiculous, he mourned the destruction of his childhood home. He'd had many belongings there. Numerous things simply could not be replaced. Family heirlooms had all been generously returned to them by the Weasleys after their fortune had been unceremoniously dropped on their shoulders. Still, the personal artifacts Draco had collected over the years were lost to the fiendfyre of his mother's wrath.
All year she'd worked on rebuilding something called the Order of the Phoenix. Recruiting high-status purebloods from around Europe to the cause. It was a multi-layered underground organization that, since February, had been keeping eyes on all magical action in Europe.
The main group resided in Britain, but that was still a significant number of people. Roughly a dozen talented witches and wizards.
He'd been told of his mother's reasonings for completely and totally abandoning his father, and he was rather disgusted.
She'd brought up many points, but it was the way she worded them. With little meaning and weight to her words, even though the actions she spoke of were incomprehensible.
He'd been betrothed to Astoria Greengrass for a long time. He was six or seven when his father returned from the Greengrass estate with a wide grin and a slip of parchment, but now he knew the full story.
What Lucius Malfoy had done to force Lady Greengrass's hand.
The way she spoke of his early years before his mother and father had been wed. When the world was at war and families were torn apart. How little he cared for his fellow human. How much he truly enjoyed harming others.
Draco enjoyed a good taunt or mischievous jab, but the thought of torture and murder on the regular…
Yes, they were mudbloods and halfbreeds, but he'd always been told it was their unfortunate duty to eliminate them.
He was never told that his father enjoyed it, and truly believed that killing them was the best solution.
Though Draco was loathe to admit it, he'd been humbled over the past year.
He was talented, it was true. He was a proficient wizard in multiple branches of magic. Including Runes, Arithmancy, Potions, and Defense, but he was never top of the class.
Hell, even Ron Weasley was beating him in defense, though that wasn't entirely surprising after the motivation to succeed following his brother's death.
After everything being pointed out to him, especially by Snape earlier in the year, he'd begun paying attention to everyone's performance. Becoming more observant in the process.
For one thing, blood status evidently had no effect on magical skill. Yes, if you were a pure-blood you were less ignorant of the magical ways, but Hermione Granger could out-perform practically anyone in most classes. She'd just have to learn the traditions.
He'd always known this, of course. It was impossible not to. But acknowledging it was entirely different.
It made his father's actions all the more horrendous. Draco felt like his entire world had been thrown to the dirt and stepped on brutally by an army of goblins.
He heard footsteps behind him and was greeted by an unfamiliar sight.
"We're cousins, just so you know," said the girl, no, woman beside him. Her bright pink hair was fading to a dull mousy brown.
"You're a metamorphmagus?" Draco asked, gazing up at her morphing features.
The woman nodded.
"You must be Nymphadora then," Draco concluded, having studied his family tree. Even the more unpleasant side of it. Like that of his Aunt Andromeda.
Nymphadora nodded. "Yeah, but you better call me Tonks, or I'll hex you into next Thursday,"
Draco nodded his understanding.
"So, what's up?" she asked pleasantly.
"I don't want to talk about it right now,"
Tonks hummed in agreement. "Sounds good then," and with that, Tonks got to her feet and returned to the house.
Draco's rucksack weighed heavily on his shoulders, so he finally slid it off, groaning in satisfaction as his back straightened. He brought it down over his knees and leaned against the step behind him. He sat there, staring up into the now darkened sky, thinking.
He thought of many things. Of his lack of any friends, of his lack of a home. How alienated he felt in this strange manor with strange people he would've met long ago had his mother let herself think for once.
He thought of his insecurities and failures. Of his lack of discipline and arrogance. His pride and resolution.
Over the past year, he'd had absolutely no one to talk to. He'd remained silent, head bowed, and completed his work. He never pushed himself but didn't hold back either. He'd attended the Tournament but had never allowed himself to grow interested in what the tasks had to offer. He'd carried his father, his family name, on a pedestal he'd been so sure to uphold.
Now he didn't want anything to do with any of them. The Malfoy's, the Black's, any of it.
The light and the dark had both made terrible mistakes. Sirius Black evidently carried more guilt around than anyone in that room, besides his mother perhaps.
His mother.
She'd done everything she could to hide him away. Keep him naïve and innocent. She'd created a larger problem in the process. If she'd allowed him to see who his father had been, to truly grapple with that reality, it was possible that Draco would be in a completely different situation.
Upon further reflection, he'd spoken to two people multiple times over the course of the year. Though he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to speak with either of them again, especially now that he knew the context of the… connection.
He wanted to leave all of them behind. He'd make his own name for himself. His mother wished to control him, and his father wished to use him.
In the balance stood the Dark Lord, who would do anything he could to abuse him.
It was all so incredibly unfortunate, but it was the truth.
He pulled at the strings of his bag and reached inside. He took out a quill, ink, and a scrap of parchment and hastily wrote a note which read: "Owl me when you complete the task. I need some time to think, but I'll be there regardless. -Draco"
He laid it flat on the step and with full assumption that Potter's wards were as strong as his old home, tapped the parchment with his wand and muttered a sticking charm. He retrieved a small hand mirror from his bag, glanced left, then right, before hauling the bag over his shoulders and sneaking off into the night.
He snuck behind topiaries and flower beds. Gazebos and fences, before he finally made it to the gates.
The raven, naturally, witnessed the entire thing. Though Draco did not know this.
There was no guard, animal, or human. So, quietly as he could, he snuck through the bars of the gate and set out down the long drive to whatever town this Manor was attached to.
Draco brought the mirror to his face and hesitated. He really didn't want to do this, and he doubted she even carried the mirror anymore. They'd been given it as young children and had sort of forgotten about them, but Draco had been told to always keep his with him, and he had.
They'd spoken fairly often over the past year. Both stayed up late, gazing into the swirling flames of the cold fireplace in the common room. They talked about everything and nothing.
It was strange, really. Speaking to a twelve-year-old to which he knew he'd eventually be married.
It was rather frustrating, actually. He couldn't say he particularly fancied her, but she was… there, he supposed.
With all the confidence he had left within him, he brought the mirror to his face and whispered, "Astoria,"
His breath fogged up the glass, and he waited. His focus was entirely on the mirror, and he hadn't noticed the curve in the road. He plowed headlong into a tree and fell onto his back.
Groaning, he pawed for the mirror and found it buried among the grass.
Again, he tried. "Astoria,"
The glass fogged once more, and he sat there, leaning partially on his rucksack and tapping the side of the mirror impatiently.
Then, he heard something from the other end. A scuffling, heavy breathing, and finally, "Draco?"
Astoria's face came into view and stared confusedly at Draco. "I'd forgotten we had these," she mumbled. It seemed as though she'd recently woken up.
"Were you sleeping?" he asked incredulously.
Astoria didn't answer. "Why are you calling?"
Draco sighed. "I just… I need to talk to someone, and I haven't got a place to stay at the moment-"
"What?" she shrieked. "What do you mean?"
Draco shushed her and turned to make sure no one was around him. "Loads of things, but I really need this. What are the odds that it's possible I could stay…" he trailed off.
Astoria frowned. "You know how much my father hates you, despite what he tells us and everyone around him,"
Draco bit his lip. "I know, but this is important. Terrible things have happened, and… Listen I just need a place to sleep. I could sneak in?"
Astoria nodded slowly. "Can you apparate?"
Draco rolled his eyes. He'd been taught to do so before he'd attended Hogwarts. "Of course,"
Astoria smirked and turned to look at something out of Draco's line of sight. "Apparate to the west side of the grounds. There's a break in the wards there for animals and such. It's small, but you should be able to fit. I'll get a rope or something…"
"What about house elves?" Draco needed everything to be sorted out before he arrived.
Astoria shrugged him off. "I'll order them to avoid my room. You can just stay in here for a bit,"
Draco sighed in relief. "Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means-"
Astoria rolled her eyes, this time. "I'll see you in a few minutes,"
Draco watched the mirror fog over once more as she broke the connection. He sighed. He knew Astoria didn't really care for him, but she was relatively invaluable to him.
Hell, if his mother's magic is rewritten, and he's successfully blood adopted by Sirius, he may be free of the betrothal.
She'd appreciate that news.
Despite his bragging. Draco had only ever apparated once, and it was based on theory alone. He'd done it in a safe testing environment, but now he wasn't so sure.
He'd spent many hours around where Astoria had instructed him to arrive, but the image wasn't forming clearly enough in his mind. Intrusive thoughts and worries kept clouding his vision.
He stood up and settled himself, focusing all his energy on picturing this strange little patch of dirt to the west of the wards.
Destination, Determination, and Deliberation.
He turned on the spot and knew he'd done something wrong. A searing pain all up his left arm broke his focus and he arrived with a crack over the, thankfully recognizable, patch of dirt outside Greengrass manor.
He felt warm liquid pouring out of his arm, soaking into his white button-down.
He got to his feet and tried to move his arm as little as possible. He saw the small pit under the hedge which marked the location of this necessary hole in the wards. Something his own home hadn't had. All their animals had been trapped and controlled by the wards. Just another strange thing his father had done, on top of everything.
He reluctantly dropped to his knees and performed the equivalent of waddling on all fours down and through the pit. His arm scratched against the earth, sending shocks of pain through his body. It burned and itched, and his blood-soaked clothing felt terrible as it moved against the splinch, but he persisted either way.
He felt like a bit of a dolt, now. He could have stayed with his mother in a comfortable bed. She'd made him a room, apparently, and he could have just stayed there.
He shook his head at his own thoughts. He didn't want to be in the same room as her, or Snape, or Dumbledore, or anyone who felt they had the right idea in mind for what he should do and who he should be.
Gritting his teeth, he continued to use his right arm to pull his body forward through the mud and grime.
He must have looked truly dreadful when he came out the other end. Scratched, covered in his own blood. His face was streaked with dirt and leaves. He wouldn't be surprised if some tears had made their way out of his eyes.
He got to his feet, basking in the feeling of the cool summer air brushing against his fine features. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, staring up into the sky.
He sighed and focused back on the task at hand. Readjusting the strap on his left shoulder to ease some of the pain, he marched through the perfectly cut grass, down the elegantly aligned orchard trees, and up towards the manor itself.
It was exceedingly tall and absolutely stunning. It took the appearance of a castle rather than a manor home, but it did nothing to dissuade a visitor. Draco would've given anything to grow up here.
He reached the west wall and was greeted by a makeshift rope made up of various articles of clothing. He would have laughed had the thought of climbing the thing not brought an involuntary twitch up his arm.
He felt dizzy and sore. He was losing blood and he knew it. Running purely on adrenaline.
He grabbed the rope with his right hand and attempted to station his feet in a way that lined up with the wall.
If it wasn't a vertical climb, he could have walked right up it with one hand, but it was a wall, and he couldn't realistically accomplish this.
He tried to move his shoulder, but it felt like it had been buried in cement. Nothing he did could force it to move. He grimaced as his legs gave out and he fell flat on his back again. It cracked against the lump of his rucksack and his arched back forced another twitch of his left arm.
He sat up and, with one arm, removed his bag and dug within its depths. He drew out the mirror once again and whispered her name.
Her face appeared shortly after with a worried expression. "Are you here yet?"
He watched her face leave the mirror and he glanced up at the window seated high on the manor's walls. Her head popped out and stared down at him. Her hair fell around her face.
It vanished immediately after and returned to her mirror. "What are you doing?" she asked in an angry hush.
"Splinched," Draco explained, grimacing as his arm violently twitched once again. "Feeling a bit lightheaded, really,"
Astoria glared at him through the mirror. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Draco,"
Draco chortled quietly. "Not very ladylike,"
He watched as she threw her mirror down somewhere, prohibiting him from seeing her. "I'm not my sister,"
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not like the other girls," he mocked in a shrill whisper.
He felt a tug on the rope which pulled his arm up, and in turn, forced his left arm to move. He hissed in pain, and she hummed in acknowledgment. "Oh, sorry,"
Draco let out a long breath of exasperation and waited. He was grateful for her help, but he couldn't honestly admit that he was happy with his current situation. He was losing blood, fast.
Everything was spinning, and his grip on the rope was the only thing that truly felt real. Then, quite suddenly, he felt his body become feather-light, and the rope began to pull him upwards. His one-handed grip on the makeshift tool was more than enough to support his weight as he ascended the tower.
He was pulled in by delicate hands and laid on the floor carefully. She quickly uncorked a potion vial and forced it down his throat. Instantly he felt more aware of his surroundings, but the pain grew tremendously.
Biting back a groan he stared up at Astoria pleadingly. She took his meaning and quickly muttered a severing charm on his shirt sleeve. She removed it, leaving his pale, skinny arm exposed.
He refused to look down at it but tried with all his might not to scream at the pain of her applying droplets of dittany onto the wound.
He felt it seal up, saw the steam rising from the cut, and Astoria's bloodied hands moving faster than ever.
Finally, she sat back on her haunches and sighed. "Are you alright?"
Draco took in a deep, steadying breath. "No. No, I'm not,"
There was a knock on the door then, and Draco managed to scurry under the bed without much fuss. Astoria quickly mumbled a few cleaning charms over her hands and stalked up to the door quietly, her nightgown flitting behind her. She opened the door and Draco heard Daphne's voice.
"What are you up to?" Daphne asked.
Astoria shrugged. "I was just getting ready for bed,"
Daphne hummed in mock confusion. "Interesting. You typically get to sleep pretty early. In fact, I thought I saw you brushing your teeth over an hour ago,"
Astoria folded her arms over her chest and leaned her hip against the doorframe. "Why does it matter when I get to bed? You aren't my mother,"
Flashes of what his mother had described to him mere hours earlier entered his mind.
The body of Lady Greengrass, clothing torn apart, cast aside to the floor without care.
He shuddered.
Daphne nodded. "Thought I heard something though,"
"I'm allowed to do my own things when I'm in my room," Astoria grumbled, beginning to close the door.
Daphne smirked. "Is that what all that noise was then? Merlin… alright,"
Astoria continued to close the door. "What? What is that supposed to mean?"
Daphne continued, moving her head so it was still in view through the crack of the door. "Have you even been told the birds and the bees talk yet?"
"What are you on about?" Astoria continued, as she forced the door further.
"You should probably learn silencing charms!" Daphne shouted before the door finally gave way and shut on her face.
Draco waited a whole twenty seconds before feeling that it was safe enough to leave his hiding place under her bed. He slowly, without using his left arm, slid out from under it.
Astoria was leaning against the door, her eyes closed. "You're going to have to be really quiet while you're here," she told him.
Draco nodded. He hadn't planned on hosting a party. "Alright,"
Astoria nodded. "How long will you be here?"
Draco shrugged. "Until my mum is ready,"
Astoria pushed off the door and slowly walked towards where he sat on her fine carpet. It was ornate and expensive, but Draco hated the way it scratched against his exposed ankles.
"What happened, Draco," she asked, quietly, leaning against her bed a foot away from Draco.
He sighed and ran a hand through his dirty hair. He decided to start from the beginning.
From when Andromeda Black left Grimmauld Place for the last time.
One week later.
Bill Weasley strolled past the tellers' desks, waved at a few goblin acquaintances, and took a sip of his morning tea. Gringotts was practically empty this early in the morning, and he had no clients on his itinerary for the day. He walked past office doors for what felt like miles, burrowing deeper into the mines and chasms of Gringotts.
Finally, he arrived at his door and hauled it open.
There was a woman sitting there, and he instantly recognized who it was.
"Madame Delacour," he greeted reluctantly, walking around his desk and sitting to face her. "What can I do for you?"
"I am here for a job interview," Fleur explained. "I want to work here in England to improve my Eenglish."
Bill raised an eyebrow. "Your English really isn't that bad," he offered, "But which job are you wishing to apply for?"
Fleur hesitated, folding her hands over in her lap repeatedly. "Your assistant?" she asked cautiously.
Bill frowned. It wasn't that the position was made up. He'd needed an assistant. After returning from Nurmengard, Bill had explained everything to the goblins and had provided pensive recorded proof of the attack on their dig site. Luckily for him, a lot of that memory was of him attempting to save the goblins and fighting alongside them.
Needless to say, it had helped him secure a position. He'd been informed of needing an assistant by September the first, and so far, he'd been rather complacent with the idea. He just hadn't bothered to actually find one.
He'd been forced by his department, (Local Curse Breaking and Ward Creation) to post a job application form in Diagon Alley.
He'd chosen to create the smallest slip of parchment he could feasibly acquire, and wrote the application there.
It seems nothing could dissuade Fleur Delacour, however, for clearly, she'd found it.
Somehow.
"And what makes you think you're good for the job?" he asked, not bothering to bring out a notepad or pay much attention to what she had to say.
She started rambling off her grades and experience at home and with neighbours. How she'd learned from a young age. It was all rather generic, and Bill needed someone who'd actually be able to hold their own. All he'd seen of her was her relatively average performance in the Triwizard Tournament and a horrible night where no one was thinking straight.
Atop a peak in Austria, where Charlie died.
He shook his head and held up a hand to halt her speech. She seemed a touch offended but kept her strong stature.
Bill leaned down and opened a drawer. There was a small box inside of it.
It was a gift he'd purchased not long after he'd returned from Nurmengard. It had been something he'd intended on giving to Ginny for her fourteenth birthday, as that had been when he'd first received one of these, but he had a gut feeling that she'd likely never receive the gift.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he brought the box up to the desktop. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, staring pointedly at Fleur.
She shook her head and Bill smirked. "This is a curse breaker's box. It is a tool to test your ingenuity and problem-solving skills. This," he shook the box, "is a simulated tomb. There are traps that can be set off, spells to trip, and loads of enchantments you'll have to dismantle. It is all done without a wand, so this is truly a puzzle of the mind,"
He pushed it across the desk. "This one is high difficulty. I've tested it myself, and I can confirm that it is rather difficult,"
He knew he was being a touch harsh, but he needed someone who'd take this seriously. So far, she'd gone on about how many times she'd seen him in curse-breaking magazines and papers, and how she'd always looked up to him.
He couldn't hire someone just so they could fawn at him, he needed a partner in arms. A brother, of sorts.
She took the box in her delicate hands and turned it over. "This was made in the United States," she observed from the engraving on the bottom.
Bill nodded, not following her point. "I bought it up around the Peverell Chamber," He'd gone to inspect the sight earlier in June to make sure there hadn't been any vandalization or magical interference. He'd worked on the site quite a bit the previous summer.
Fleur nodded. "Then this form of magic will be rather modern," she concluded, speaking to herself. "They won't be using many physical traps,"
Bill raised an eyebrow, impressed. "True, but this is meant to simulate-"
"An Egyptian tomb, yes," she filled in for him, pointing to the hieroglyphs on the side. "I know,"
She continued to turn the box over and Bill began to wonder if she'd ever understand that you had to open it to start the puzzle. Then again, he respected the level of seriousness she treated the situation, though he still couldn't tell if she was feigning the whole thing.
She placed the box on the desk and lifted the lid. A plume of fake dust rose from its depths and Bill watched as she stopped herself from breathing in the fumes. He knew that the box was non-lethal, but still, he was impressed with her reflexes.
She waved her wand and cast a freshening charm on the air and her nose, forcing whatever may have been contained in that dust to leave her body.
She tucked her wand away and began fiddling with the wooden blocks inside. Moving them around, tripping certain traps and spells on purpose, which was something most armature curse-breakers avoided at all costs. It wasn't exactly a bravery thing, more something acquired through experience.
Bill sat in silence for the better part of an hour before he realized Fleur had yet to fail the puzzle. He got up from his chair and stood behind her, making sure he wasn't pressing into her space, but watching her actions either way.
He watched her hands move slowly over each possible option. Every move was calculated, and she seemed to recognize and interpret multiple dialects and languages in runes.
She nearly misinterpreted a Druid rune, but quickly fixed her mistake before the trap went off. She let out a slow shaky breath and continued.
It was when she purposely set off a trap to dismantle a different one that he realized he had something special on his hands.
Using the tomb against itself was something even he rarely managed to do on purpose. Most of the time, it was entirely accidental.
He had to know.
"Did you do that on purpose or was that an accident?" he asked, then added, "Be honest."
Fleur hummed. "Is it wrong to say a bit of both?"
Bill thought for a moment. "No, I reckon that's fine,"
She continued to work on the puzzle for two hours. Never breaking a sweat. Bill waited for her to fail, and he knew that even if she did, he'd probably hire her, but he wanted to see her complete it.
It was mesmerizing in a way, how quickly she figured things out, and how when she was truly stumped on something, she'd move to a different part of the contraption.
She was on layer five of the puzzle when Bill checked his watch. Another hour had passed, making this whole ordeal nearly four hours long. "You can stop, Delacour, you're hired,"
Fleur huffed in indignation. "Thank you very much for the position, Mr. Weasley," she continued to fiddle with the blocks and rods of the puzzle.
She was toying with a string fifteen minutes later and pulled, hard, bringing the whole thing to a stop. The tomb was open, and every curse, trap, spell, dummy, and guise had been dismantled. She sighed and sat back in her seat.
"When do I start?" she asked.
Bill fought the smirk on his face with a vengeance. "Today, if that's alright,"
Fleur nodded. "Dress code?"
Bill eyed her up and down. "What you're wearing is fine,"
"How is the pay?"
"How often do you want to work?" Bill countered. "If you want to be my full-time assistant, you're getting paid the same as me. If you want to be more of a secretary…"
"I want to come with you," she assured him, blushing slightly. "Your expeditions, your voyages, your tombs. I want to help. Full time,"
Bill nodded, smiling through the way she spoke. Every once and a while, a word that was shared with both French and English was pronounced in her native tongue, causing the whole sentence to sound incredibly disjointed. He felt that his French-speaking abilities would come in handy more than once. "Well, I think you'll find the pay quite reasonable,"
One week later. The night of the full moon.
Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned into his tea. It had been a tumultuous few weeks. Severus had declared his neutrality, Harry and Ginny had gone missing, and his mind had never felt so heavy.
His blackened hand mocked him from the corner of his vision, and he turned to stare up at Sirius, Tonks, Molly, and Arthur.
"Any news, Albus, any at all?" Sirius asked again.
Dumbledore shook his head. "As I have told you, I am still waiting for any intelligence,"
"If Severus had remained a spy this would have been far less problematic," Tonks grumbled, and Molly and Arthur nodded.
Truthfully, this was Dumbledore's opinion as well, however, his judgment of the man wasn't heightened. He respected his choice and accepted that Severus had truly grown since Lily had died.
"Yes, but we would have had an unwilling double agent, something which can be far more dangerous," Dumbledore explained for what felt like the hundredth time. "Is Bill ready to perform… the task?"
Arthur nodded. "I think so. If he isn't, well…"
They lapsed into silence.
"Harry's going to turn tonight," Sirius noted. "I hope they're being kept in separate cells, so Harry doesn't…" he trailed off, eyeing Molly warily.
She sniffled. "Is it wrong to hope they are kept together? That my daughter isn't alone down there with those terrible men,"
Arthur wrapped an arm around his wife. "No, Molly, it isn't,"
The following silence was interrupted by a howl. Remus had transformed, it would seem. He was under the effects of the potion, and therefore non-lethal, but he was out in the grounds to roam free. Sirius would have joined him, but he, like the rest of them, had grown obsessed with finding Harry and Ginny.
Minutes past. They heard the odd yelp or bark from outside, but for the most part, it remained silent.
"Couldn't we send a letter and follow the owl?" Arthur asked after a long moment. His face lit up with optimism for his idea.
Dumbledore shook his head. "We've tried," he said, waving to Sirius, " Voldemort has cast spells on them to repel owls and other various tracking charms, it would seem."
Sirius sighed and dropped his head to his hands in frustration and fear. "They're strong," he said through his hands. "They're strong, and they'll make it out together. I'm sure of it."
One. Week. Later.
Azkaban was cold. So very cold.
Barty Crouch Jr. has a job to do, however.
The Dark Lord had been off on his travels for a week now. The escape of his prisoners was to be met with utmost disdain, but Crouch had a plan.
He'd… accelerate their plays. And so that was why he stood on the barren rock he'd managed to avoid far longer than he should have.
The plan was unbelievably simple: Speak to the dementors.
Crouch walked forward towards one of the foul creatures guarding the prison. It instantly recognized him and swooped in for the kiss.
"I have an offer," Crouch spoke coldly, and the dementor hesitated.
"Complete freedom over these lands if you join Lord Voldemort," Crouch spoke clearly, even though speaking his master's name brought a sting to his very core. He had to utter it aloud, however, or else the dementors wouldn't follow The Dark Lord's wishes.
"Complete?" The Dementor whispered. Its rattling breath forced Crouch to shudder.
"Over these lands, yes," Crouch repeated. It was important that the wording of the vow was correct. The dementors were far too greedy to pay close attention to such trivial details
The dementor reached forward. Its rotting hand cracked at the sudden movement and waited for Crouch to acknowledge it.
He reached forward and clasped hands with the horrific creature.
The dementor inclined its head, and Crouch felt the magic of the bond flow through his dark mark, and by extension, The Dark Lord.
He knew his master would know of his actions now. He had to act fast.
"Now that you're loyal to a… different cause," Crouch began inching his way towards the hollowed doors of Azkaban. "You won't mind if I… make a few changes around here?"
The dementor flew off, high into the sky in answer. Crouch smirked. They were such simplistic creatures.
He strode into the frigid walls and watched as the dementors parted for him. They must have been connected by a hive mind because they all seemed to respect him.
Then, a sudden thought occurred to him. "Guards!" he called, clapping his hands and swirling around to face the dementors. "Release every prisoner on every level," he paused, "Save high security for me,"
The dementors hesitated and seemed to use their own form of communication before nodding and turning to each cell. "Inform the prisoners to await my arrival in the courtyard!" was crouch's final instruction.
The prisoners gaped at him as all their cell doors swung open. They smiled and cheered, and Crouch did a little bow for a young woman with a feral grin.
He found the lift, quite similar to the ones in the Ministry Atrium. He pushed the button for high security and waited through the long wait times.
He'd once been kept here. Long, long ago.
There would be human guards at this level. At least, sometimes there were. It all depended on the day.
The lift doors opened, and Crouch stepped off it. To his surprise and subtle delight, two human guards were stationed at the entrance. They quickly drew their wands but Crouch kicked one in the knee, shattering his shin and forcing him to topple over. Then, over his shoulder, he cast a quick yet effective spell of Snape's design, sectumsempra, on the other guard.
The man with the broken leg twitched and tried to move, but Crouch kicked him hard in the jaw, forcing the bone back and through his neck. He made a vain attempt to gasp for air, but none came.
His wheezing and the other's screams and cries for help from the bleeding were almost too much for Crouch. He shook himself, using his typical "Not now," approach to things, and made his way through the corridor.
"Lumos maxima!" he cried, throwing a ball of light out of his wand and through the air. "Alright ladies and gentlemen, it is time for my miraculous return!" he announced, letting off a loud bang from the tip of his wand which would surely rouse someone from even the deepest of sleep.
"Barty?" a woman to his right asked. "I thought you'd died!"
Crouch cackled. "Bella, Bella, Bella… I am a Ravenclaw. I do not weep and scream and go insane," he walked slowly and deliberately toward her cell. "I outsmart, and design strategy. So yes, I deceived my mother into sneaking me out, and dying in my place… wouldn't you say that's… brilliant?" he finished with a flourish.
Bellatrix wrapped her hands around the bars, her perfect teeth and matted hair coming into light. "Good," she smirked, "You always had too much potential to be killed off in a matter of seconds, I think,"
Crouch placed a hand over his heart and feigned a sheepish look. "Oh, stop, please! You're too kind,"
Bellatrix snorted.
"I take it you're well aware of The Dark Lord's return?" Crouch whispered through the cracks. "Care to join? Or have you seen the error of your ways after being locked up in here," he casually leant against one of the cell bars and Bellatrix laughed.
"Yes, I'm a changed woman. Come now, Barty. Stop with the games and let me out,"
Crouch rolled his eyes and waved his wand. The cell doors were blasted off into the corridor and Bellatrix stepped out. "What of the other prisoners?" she asked. "The ones… down there,"
Crouch shrugged. "They aren't good enough to join The Dark Lord… but they could join me,"
Bellatrix shifted her weight as Crouch opened more cell doors. Her husband, Redolphus, and his brother Rabastan were next. "You deceive the Dark Lord?" she asked.
Crouch shook his head as he grappled hands with the two men. "No, it's a plan we came up with together, actually. I'm the foil. The world will believe that I am the new Dark Lord, here to finish my master's work," he turned to face her, walking backward to get to the next few cells. "But all the while, the Dark Lord is the one pulling all the strings, while the world hunts me!"
"I take it that was your plan and not Master's?" Rabastan asked with a smirk.
Crouch nodded. "Yes, but he saw the value of it,"
"Only a fool wouldn't!"
Crouch approached the second last cell. "Ooooohh… Luuucyyyy," he taunted, clattering his wand against each bar of his cell. "Didn't even make it one year without having to be broken out,"
"Crouch?" Lucius's hoarse voice broke like an axe on stone. "You're dead,"
"Haven't been payin' much attention to the conversation then," Redolphus jeered.
"I'm alive, actually," Crouch confirmed, wiggling his fingers. "Have been for quite some time… Now," he clapped his hands together and leaned away from the bars. "If I break you out, The Dark Lord is going to be most frustrated with you. Well, he may thank you for some things… but for the most part, I think you're… how would you say… inforit,"
"Then leave me here," Lucius pleaded, backing into the corner of his cell.
Crouch snickered. "Fuck no," he shot a stunning spell at Lucius and levitated his crumpled form out of the cell. He bound Lucius with conjured chains and handed him to the Lestrange brothers.
They were almost all done now, only one to go.
Dolohov.
"Hey mate," Crouch greeted, leaning casually against the cell door. "Want out or… you just going to wait in here?"
Crouch heard a cackle from inside. "Oh, Crouchie… You've done some growing up,"
Crouch smiled. "Yes, well, time tends to take its effect,"
Dolohov's hands appeared out of the darkness and wrapped around the cell bars. "So, you going to break me out then?"
Crouch took a step back. "All you had to do was ask," he bowed and waved his wand, transfiguring the bars into a molten mess of wet clay.
"What's happened since his return?" Redolphus grunted, dragging Lucius's unconscious body behind him.
Crouch shrugged. "Took prisoners, they escaped last week. The Dark Lord doesn't know about that one yet, so I figured I'd deliver that news after successfully breaking you lot out,"
"You've gotten quite powerful," Bellatrix noted, stepping over the bodies of the two guards. "Destroying these cells with magic alone… it's impressive,"
"I'd hope I'd get better, not worse," Crouch sniffed. "I feel like this isn't quite as spectacular as I expected it to be…" he trailed off.
"What do you mean?" Dolohov sneered. "You've broken every prisoner out of Azkaban. That's no small feat,"
Crouch grinned. "Yes… it's impressive but is it…" he pointed his wand at the opposite wall from the line of cells "Spectacular?" A jet of blue light erupted from the tip of his wand and crashed against the rock. Azkaban's walls gave way and blew out into the lands beyond, leaving an enormous, gaping hole in the side of the prison. Dementors swirled about, Bellatrix cackled, and Crouch turned to his friends with a wide grin.
Dolohov clapped him on the shoulder and brought him round to the lift. "Let's get these boys on our side then,"
The ride down to Azkaban's base floor was spent with Crouch detailing everything that had led up to the Dark Lord's return. He spoke of the plans for Ginny Weasley, how they'd evidently fallen through, (something Crouch had anticipated) and how they were likely to win the Ministry election tomorrow.
"Thicknesse is noble to the cause?" Rabastan asked warily, adjusting Lucius's form on his shoulder.
Crouch bobbed his head from side to side in hesitation. "I mean… he's easy to control under the imperius so it isn't like he won't work as a puppet on the side, but so far he's been more than loyal,"
"Good," the others said in unison.
The doors to the lift opened and Crouch stepped forward. Hundreds upon hundreds of inmates were gathered outside in the lowered courtyard. Waves crashed against the rocks and dementors gathered around.
"Greetings, friends," Crouch began. "Do you know who I am?"
A few shakes 'no' but an overwhelming majority of the group nodded. "Then you are well aware that I am supposed to be dead?"
Everyone, save a few, again nodded.
"Well then, I believe you should know that I have cheated death more than once, I am not weak like our government! I will lead you into a new age. Join me and rise to the top of our society. This world will be nothing but your own. Join me," he waved his wand, and a small luggage case came flying from its hiding spot among the rocks. "And you're all free,"
He knew he wouldn't need much to convince these people to join him. They were the dregs of society. Castoffs who had done nothing but mange around. Men and women who had been nothing but followers and would quickly go to the next richest man in town.
And today, Crouch was that man.
They lined up and stepped into the case, disappearing within its depths. One after the other shook his hand, or Bella's, and entered the case.
It must have been thousands, in the end, who had unknowingly pledged fealty to The Dark Lord.
Finally, as the last member stepped in, he closed the lid of the case and sealed it shut. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the small sailing ship docked in the miniature harbour.
Bellatrix grinned alongside her peers and led the way back to the boat.
Crouch felt a warmth spread from his left arm. The Dark Lord knew of his actions and was praising him. Oh, how wonderful it felt.
It was a shame that once he found out what had happened to his prisoners, this trust and affection would be lost, but for the time being, the instant gratification of it all was well worth it.
The Dark Lord's most loyal followers were free. Bella, Dolohov, and the Lestrange brothers alone were well worth it, but Lucius's return to custody would be quite the event.
His punishment would be most… manipulative.
The game was set, and the Ministry was in Check.
The next Chapter "Black" details the rewriting of Narcissa and Snape's magic, and the takeover of the Ministry. Should come tomorrow or in the hours following this chapter.