A/N: Thank you so much for the kind reviews!  I loved reading them all- a special thanks to the reviewer (sorry I didn't look up your name!), who pointed out two things for me to look at.  My e-mail will be on my profile soon enough, but right now, I'll answer your comments here:

1) I know they live in Ottery St. Catchpole- I actually almost made it Ottery St. Catchpole, but decided against it.  I will explain how they came to live near Norfolk in this chapter.  I meant to do it last chapter, sorry!

2) I completely understand how you want me to "flesh it out".  I just was desperate to get these ideas out that I rushed it slightly.  I apologize for that, but I promise they'll be longer now!

        OK, I lied, this one is slightly shorter, but the story will slow down from here on in. Hope you enjoy.

        Onward.

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        It wasn't just the dismal appearance of the house that made Arthur wary: the fact that the snow was more furious than ever around it made him suspicious.  However at that point, he really had no other alternative besides sit in the car and freeze to death- he had already tried to Apparate.  It didn't work.  A fizzy feeling went through him like Muggle electricity, making him frown and jump at the same time.  "I have to get an owl," he said to himself while battling against the raging wind to get to the door.  "Why didn't I bring one?" All of a sudden, he found himself standing outside the door.

        Imposingly black and sturdy, it seemed to look down at aged Arthur Weasley and laugh.  He sighed wearily and started to turn back to the car, thinking that the old house must be abandoned, and froze when he heard it creak open.  The awful sound it let out gave him the impression that they had not been opened for years.  Too tired to think of the consequences, he trudged back and walked through.

        A door as big as the gates was his next obstacle; huge and polished wood as tall as Hagrid stood before him.  He knocked with a sigh and didn't seem surprised when it opened of its own accord.  Exhausted from two days of driving and cold, he collapsed on the marble floor in a heap.

        Draco came out silently from behind his heavy velvet curtain, looking down at the man on the floor before him.  His red hair glared at him through the snow patches on his head, making flashbacks of a Ron Weasley punching him in his first year at school and growling at him throughout.  Scowling, Draco turned to leave- however his ghost servant had other thoughts. 

        "Now Mr. Malfoy, what do we do with guests?" she scolded him, smiling at his discomfort when he walked through her accidentally.

        "Well as we've never had a guest," Draco mused mockingly, "I say we throw him back where he came from."  The ghost's face went very stern.

        "I won't abide by cruelty Mr. Malfoy.  And besides, you very well know you'll never get back to the way you were if you throw this poor man out."  Draco glared at her through tufts of fur, but sighed in defeat.

        "Damn you Matilda," he muttered, walking back over to Arthur. 

        "It's Mrs. Potts to you," she replied cheekily, tutting and floating up the stairs.  Draco scowled at her back and picked up the man roughly, slinging him over his back. 

        "The one advantage of beasthood," he said grimly, referring to his strength.  He looked at the load on his back.  "Well, it doesn't take much to lift a wiry bloke like you now does it?"

        "Mr. Malfoy!" came the reprimanding tone.

        "Oh sod off!" he yelled back, started to ascend the staircase.  "Stupid witch," he mumbled as he neared the summit of the steps.  He stopped and looked around.  "It's been awhile since anyone came here," he said to the exhausted form of Arthur Weasley.  "Don't know why you bothered."  Pushing open the door of a vacant room, he placed him down softly on the king sized bed; it was clothed in a deep red curtain and the room was decorated splendidly with dressers and flowers.  No one could accuse Draco Malfoy (had they known he was still alive) of having bad taste. 

        Looking back briefly at the sleeping man, Draco closed the door quietly (with difficulty due to his claws) and turned to face a smug looking Matilda Potts.

        "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

--

        "Whereth Grandpa?" Faye shrieked, making the adults in the room wince.  Hermione, who had taken a day off to greet Mr. Weasley, pulled Faye onto her lap and held her close.

        "I don't know honey, but he'll be home soon I promise."  Faye pouted and dug her face into her mother's sweater.

        "He faid he'd met a mecklat," she said muffled.  Ron, who had also come to join the family, raised a red eyebrow in amusement, taking Faye's head out of her mother.

        "Mind repeating that darling?" Faye glared at her father defiantly.

        "He thaid he's get me a necklace!"  Ron and Hermione exchanged confused glances behind her back.  Ginny sighed and picked Faye up.

        "I'm sure he'll bring one," Ginny consoled her niece fondly.  Faye however, had nestled into Ginny and was fast asleep.  Smiling, Ginny kissed the top of her head and handed her over to Ron, who rolled his eyes and grinned stupidly like a proud father does. 

        "Any minute now…" Molly breathed, making the glass of the window fog up temporarily. 

        But many minutes went by and the sun stained the sky pink, and Arthur had still not come.

--

        "I hate this," Draco growled, tapping the arm of his chair impatiently.  Morning had come and gone, but it made no difference to the people trapped in the ever darkened manor.  "He could be up there doing God knows what and we're not up there to make sure he doesn't do it."

        "He's perfectly harmless!" Matilda argued while dusting a chair.  "You see the condition he was in last night!"

        "Was in," Draco replied grumpily.  Matilda just sighed and continued with her work.

        "Sir!" Draco jumped in surprise and came down with a large 'THUMP' which rattled the room.  He looked up dangerously at the little boy ghost in front of him. 

        "What do you want Henry?" he asked through clenched fangs.  Henry looked terrified, but at the last second he seemed to realize that Draco couldn't possibly hurt a ghost and pulled himself together.

        "Please sir, but the man upstairs has woken up and had some of the coffee you told me to put out."  Draco wished he could have stopped Henry from saying that last bit- Matilda was looking at him with a triumphant air.

        "Don't get any ideas Potts," he warned before turning back to the boy.  "He's not disrupting anything?" Henry shook his head vigorously. 

        "On the contrary sir, he's just reading the paper and drinking his coffee peacefully." Henry paused. "If I may ask sir, why is his hair such an odd color?" Draco snorted and turned his brooding back back on the dire.

        "Maybe he's a Weasley," he replied somewhat sarcastically.  The boy tilted his head, confused.

        "A what?"

        "Never you mind," Matilda interrupted, shooing Henry away with her duster.  "Go play with Camille."  Henry scampered off, only too happy to obey.  Draco sighed and put his head in his paws.

        "What did I do to deserve a house of ghosts?" he moaned.  Matilda gave a short, no-nonsense laugh.

        "Do you really want to know, or shall I just continue dusting?" Draco sighed again in exasperation. 

        "Neither. Just-just leave me in peace."  Matilda gave him a strange look, but put down her translucent duster and drifted away.  Draco looked into the flickering flames, feeling the warmth but not able to go near- if a spark landed on his fur it could end in complete disaster.  His eyes fell soft with pain and frustration…if only that witch hadn't come knocking on his door…

--

        Arthur Weasley had woken up amidst splendor he wasn't accustomed to.  He had been laid down in a bed of the finest cotton, draped with curtains the color of pomegranates he never tasted.  Reaching his shaky hand out to feel the curtains, he was shocked to find they were real- he had been sure it was a dream. 

        The aroma of freshly made coffee and toast soon came to his attention.  His sense of smell was rewarded when he saw the silver platter at the trunk at the foot of his bed, an eerie see through blue.  As soon as he touched it, it became solid to the touch and patterned prettily with flowers.  He poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped it tentatively, wondering if it was poison or something equally dangerous.    To his surprise, again, it was delicious and slipped down his throat like honey- in fact, it had a slight honey taste to it. 

        Arthur enjoyed his coffee and morning paper (delivered with the coffee and toast) immensely, although in the back of his mind he couldn't help but worry about his family.  There wasn't an owl to be seen, and even if he could find one Arthur didn't think it could fly through the raging snowstorm outside the mansion he was now in.  He had no idea where he was or who lived there even, so it wasn't like he could find his way back.  And, as previously mentioned, he was unable to Apparate.      

        After breakfast, he fell asleep again as he was completely exhausted from his journey.  When he woke up, a fluffy towel had been placed next to his bed with the embroidered initials plucked out by someone with a very sharp needle.  Too grateful to consider the consequences, he took this as an invitation to stay a while longer and took a long, luxiourious shower. 

        "This is the life," he sighed as he looked out the window afterwards, onto the snow covered acres that unfolded before his tired brown eyes.

--

        "You're getting the hang of this being nice thing," Matilda teased as she stitched a ghostly pillow.  Draco didn't respond; he was busy trying to flip the pages of a book, but was having some difficulties.  They were sitting in Draco's prized library, the one he had compiled of the books he hoarded from all corners of the earth.  There were old tribal inscriptions, diaries, scribblings, old recipes, ancient curses, anything you could think of.  Picking up a quill and dabbing it in a bottle of ink, Draco attempted to write something on a piece of parchment.  Much to his anger, the ink came out blotchy and uneven as opposed to his previous perfect script.

        "Bloody hell!" He bellowed suddenly, throwing the ink bottle against the window.  Instead of cracking the window, the bottle shattered, leaving a trail of black ink slowly inching its way towards the red carpet.  Matilda gasped and wafted quickly over to the mess.  Draco didn't look a bit sorry or embarrassed.  "Oh calm down woman, just do a spell."

        "I refuse," she replied primly, sitting back down with her stitching.  Draco rolled his eyes.

        "Fine, don't."  He walked over to a large bookcase and ran his claw along the sides of the spines- it created a large rip linking the books together by the torn parts.  He smirked with satisfaction. 

        "Oh Mr. Malfoy," Matilda sighed, sounding hopeless.  Draco didn't say anything: just stood by his window and watched the freezing snow build up before his eyes.

--

        "That's it," Hermione said abruptly at the breakfast table, causing everyone to jump.

        "Heavens alive Hermione, what is it?" Molly asked, clutching her hand to her heart.  Ginny looked at Hermione and saw the determined glint in her eye people at Hogwarts were so scared of in their school days.

        "We have to contact the Ministry.  I'll get a few people on the case- I've had owls from other International Warlock Convention participants, and they were home ages ago."  Ron nodded in agreement with his wife, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

        "She's right Mum," he said to Molly, who sighed and shrugged.

        "Whatever you can do to get him back," she replied simply.  Hermione and Ron got up simultaneously, Hermione taking Faye gently from Ginny's arms.

        "Great breakfast Mum," Ron put in before they left, closing the door loudly behind them.  Molly sighed and got up with her wand in hand, ready to do the dishes.  Ginny watched her silently, toying with her necklace in the uncomfortable silence.  Her mother looked older than Ginny liked to realize, elbows up in dish soap and wrinkles forming along her brow.  She bit her lip, and then got up from the table and went to help her.  Picking up a dish, she took out her wand and cleared it with some soap from her wand.  Molly looked up at her and nodded gratefully.  Ginny smiled back, although worried about her father.

        One day went by, and no one heard from him.

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