Disclaimer: Surprisingly,I don't own the characters, I don't own the places... You know how it is. Nothing's mine. There, I've said it.

Warnings: CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM THE BOOK 7/ Half-Blood Prince!

Prologue:

It had been raining six days in Wiltshire before the stormclouds finally decided it was their time to retire. Consequently, the evening was damp and chill, even if the sky wasn't crying anymore, and the sharp wind was penetrating straight through a warrior's supposedly inpenetrable armour. In the open lawns of the south-central Britain, not even the hungriest Thestrals were as cruel and treacherous as the nature itself, after a particularly boisterous autumn thunderstorm.

Harry Potter was lying on his back on the grass, the handsome boulders of Stonehenge tearing up towards the darkening stratosphere above him. His hands were playing with the straws that had once been as green as a baby basilisk, but were now tainted with a thick layer of blood.

His own blood.

The moonlight was wavering but bright, yet not completely outshining its distant sisters in the depths of the black void. Harry had counted eight hundred and sixty-four stars when he finally heard voices echoing around him.

Chapter 1:

No time of the day is more beautiful than the utmost end of it; the moment when the sun touches the boundaries of the unreachable, allowing the darkness silently to conquer its throne. The moment when the flowers cease to blossom in the chill of the approaching night, closing their beautiful faces from the cold; the moment when the merry fires spring into life in the stony hearths of wizarding homes, creating the illusory picture of warmth and safety, despite the fact that fires in general are so very inconsistent and deceiving, if not guarded properly.

In this moment of time, Draco Malfoy was sitting in his library, silently enjoying a glass of red wine. He was watching the different hues of the fire, deep in thought. Outside, he could hear how the fifth autumn of the new century was raging: the winds were howling in sorrow at the momentary loss of the pouring rain. To Draco's relief, the merciless winter would soon coat the landscape with rigid ice.

The grandfather clock near to one of the several doorways struck ten with low, thundering booms and, for a moment, the entire room was pulsating with its magic. Stirring slightly from his thoughts, Draco leaned back in his chair and glanced around the shadowy room. He was alone again, just like every other night before this. If he wanted to be more exact, he could easily count it had been at least four weeks since he had last seen anybody besides himself. But this, of course, was no surprise. After all, he rarely ventured outside of his house anymore, if not for the obligatory three times in a month when he was out on very important business.

But loneliness, no matter how frustrating it sometimes was, was not what essentially bothered him. No... Loneliness was actually quite soothing. During the many months of its indisputable reign, it had gradually enveloped him into such a tight embrace that he sometimes wondered if he could break free from its grip, anymore. Or, rather, if he would ever want to break free from its grip. He had gotten used to it; the noise of silence around him.

But something was bothering him, tonight. He could not quite put his finger on it; it was just a feeling of paramount apprehension, a feeling that somethingwas bound to happen, soon. Something threatening was looming in the sunset of this day, something disquieting in the tides of the dusk. The creaking noises of the house, the weakest ripple of the curtains, as well as the serene rustling of the oak leaves outside the window –they all suddenly forecasted the end of the Manor's peaceful atmosphere.

And Draco Malfoy did not like it.

If anything, Draco Malfoy detested disturbance. Disturbance always meant that his carefully sealed memories would be stirred, the unattainable secrets within a man's heart invoked. The veils would be torn down, replaced by windows. A painful resurrection of reality would follow, blinding the existing darkness with the light of truth, making him see and hear and feel things he had hoped he would never have to remember again.

The fire crackled in the fireplace. Its glow was not very warm, but it still created an ambience of false cosiness in the cold library. Draco raised his eyes to the ceiling, excessively decorated with golden sprouts of ivy and grapevine. Several opalescent stone angels were reaching down from the impressive heights, tears of desolation gleaming in their gemstone eyes, soft whimpers echoing like silent whispers of wind in the air. Draco shut his eyes and exhaled with fatigue. He wished he knew the charm that would make the angels lifeless again, make them stop worrying about him, worrying about the very shadow that was left of the brilliance of the old days, when the name of a Malfoy was still respected. But the days of grandeur were over, the nights of distinction gone by. The Manor was now asleep.

Draco jerked out of his gloomy thoughts when a chill shiver, cold as a dribbling water from the garden's fountain, slithered down his spinal column. He immediately understood that the wards had become activated, even though they hadn't done that in several years. The only visitors that ever really came to the Manor were Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott, and the wards recognized them already as his friends. Not soon after, a series of heavy, boisterous blows began to intrude in his hearing. They came from the direction of the massive mahogany front doors.

"I knew it!" Draco muttered, and heaved himself up from his luxurious armchair. "I fucking knew it."

For a brief moment, he swayed in the haze of his slight drunkenness, but managed to compose himself rather quickly. He straightened his back and glanced briefly down at his clothes. It could have been worse; he was at least wearing a pair of dark grey trousers, if nothing else. Wiping the fine silvery hair that fell over his eyes, he forced himself to move.

With rapids steps, he walked into the Entrance Hall. He had no house elves to do such a plebeian job as opening the doors, anymore; shortly after the war had ended they all had been freed by a new organization called SPEW. The green marble stone floor was cold underneath his feet, but he chose to ignore it.

The booming got much louder now, and if the doors would have been more delicately made, they surely would have broken down.

"Lord Grindelwald's fucking name, I'm coming!"

Draco silently scolded himself of getting such a violent vocabulary over the past few years, but he was too angry and too drunk to do anything about it right now. Instead, he concentrated on unlocking the doors and pushing them ajar.

Soon, he found himself face to face with a pink-haired, round-cheeked young woman.

"Draco Malfoy?" the woman asked, smiling nervously.

Draco tilted his head and glared at her. "Yes, obviously."

"I'm... Nymphadora Tonks. Your cousin." The woman would not meet his eyes.

"Tonks... Oh, yes." Draco now truly recognized as his cousin Nymphadora from his aunt Andromeda's side. She had been prowling along the aisles of Hogwarts sometime during his sixth year at school, and they had never talked to each other. "What brings you here? Had trouble sleeping and decided to pay a visit to the long-forgotten black sheep of the family?"

Tonks blushed. It was true; she had never paid much attention to his cousin Draco. Despite the youngest Malfoy had been declared mostly innocent of his war-time actions during the trials, the Tonks family had shunned him and left him, a seventeen-year-old boy, to deal with all the following hardships alone. The war hadn't certainly ended at Voldemort's death; the aftermath had been almost as bad as the actual battles. Especially for a young man supposed to be a Death Eater through and through. Tonks knew not the isolated life Draco had been living in the depths of his grand mansion, keeping a low profile, hoping against hope that the true judgement day would never come.

Tonks cleared her throat quickly. "In the name of the Ministry, we would like to benefit from your kindness in a matter of great emergency."

"I'm sure you would." Draco arched a brow.

"You are aware, of course, of the series of rather brutal assassinations that have taken place lately around Wiltshire and especially New Forest?" A short, blond-haired witch pushed Tonks aside and glared at Draco with sharp, blue eyes. Her hands were playing with her apron that was decorated with green and red and gold. Draco got the strange mental picture of a demented, multi-coloured owl from her, and he did not even want to know why she was wearing an apron in the first place, when the others were wearing robes that were clearly meant for fieldwork.

"No, actually, I wasn't aware of that." Draco eyed her calculatingly. He now vaguely remembered her face from Hogwarts; she had been a year below him, and in the snobbish house of Ravenclaw. Luna Lovegood. Draco decided she couldn't have been an Auror for very long, since the training took at least five to six years, and she couldn't be older than four and twenty. From her over-enthusiastic and, admittedly, rather strange behaviour, Draco easily gathered that this case was one of her first in the field. Just as to what 'this case' was, Draco had the feeling he was about to find out.

Lovegood's eyes were round with surprise as she stared at Draco's face. "How can you not know about these murders? They're hardly a secret. The Daily Prophet..."

"I cancelled my subscription of the Prophet already years ago," Draco drawled with a bored tone. "And I don't associate with people much. Least of all with people like you."

"Alright, whatever. Let's get to business." Tonks grumbled. "We have a man down. Hexed with several dangerous curses. We need to get him medical help as soon as possible and our hope relies on you and your possible supplies of healing potions, and your possible skills in healing magic."

Indeed, there was a form of an unconcsious man leaning against a hedge behind the two women, a short distance away. The figure was entirely wrapped in a thick, black cloak, yet his shivers were still clearly visible despite the mass of canvas. Draco glared. "Why did you bring him to me? Why woudln't you just drag his sorry arse to St. Mungo's? I don't want people dying on my doorstep, thank you very much! That wouldn't look good, especially given my current reputation."

Tonks watched him in silence for a moment. "You really don't know much, do you?" she realised. "St. Mungo's was the main target of last month's attack. It doesn't exist anymore."

"Oh." For the first time in his life, Draco felt a little stupid. Maybe he really should start to follow the news again. "Alright. What about Hogwarts, then?"

"Hogwarts, as you very well know... Well, in case you don't know," she sneered. "Hogwarts doesn't work as a school and a hospital, anymore. It's the new Headquarters of the Ministry."

"So why didn't you bring him to the Ministry, then?" Draco growled. "I'm sure they would've done anything to..."

"The cats would be marrying dogs before Potter wanted us to bring him anywhere near the Ministry when he's injured," Tonks snorted. "Now, how is it? Will you let us in, or...?"

"P-Potter?" Draco nearly choked, which was not very elegant, but he blamed it all on the atrocious mold that hovered invisibly the nightly air, to which he fancied himself severely allergic.

"Yes. Harry's the one who's injured. Certainly now you must understand our worry. And our hurry."

Draco was just about to tell the whole lot to sod off, when someone stepped right in front of him and grabbed him sharply from the shoulder.

"Excuse me." Neville Longbottom, of all the near squibs on earth, decided it was his time to intrude into the conversation and make the dangerously lenghtening chat short. Draco had absolutely no idea from where he had emerged so suddenly and, frankly, he had even less desire to find it out. "His condition is weakening rapidly. If you w-won't help us, I assure you the Ministry won't look at y-you with a friendly eye any longer. Refusing to help an injured man, especially an Auror, is a s-severe crime, the consequences o-of which may be very, very unpleasant."

Longbottom was shaking like a leaf –surely Draco didn't resemble Severus Snape that much? He should certainly hope so. Gathering his wits, Draco heaved an irritated breath.

There would be a beautiful winter dawn in hell before the Ministry would look at his dealings with a friendly eye. Yet, the last thing he now wanted was to get arrested, and thus become unjustly exposed to the world again. It would be a field day for the press. Draco could picture it well in his mind's eye: the headlines of the Daily Prophet declaring the son of Lucius Malfoy indisputably guilty of refusing to help a dying man, demanding justice in the means of execution for the last Malfoy heir. His face would be plastered in the cover of every magazine, old, out-of-date pictures from his school days spreading like fire across the country.

Draco couldn't' have that. Especially when the pictures showed him with indecently short hair and very bad skin. It would be unbearable.

"Alright." Draco pushed the door slightly more open. "Would you like to come in?"

Longbottom released a breath he had been holding. "Good decision, Mr. Malfoy."

"As long as you stay the hell away from my potions lab in the cellar, and away from my mother's antique porcelain collection in the library, I have no instant obligation to hex you, Longbottom."

"Thanks, I will. Tonks, come with me. Let's go and get Potter."

Draco tried to stop his head from spinning, and leaned weakly against the doorframe. "Just kill me now, why don't you?" he muttered.

Lovegood shot him a strange, misty look. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing!" Draco frowned. "It just came to my mind that the bedrooms are in a dreadful condition. I haven't had very many guests, lately."

"Doesn't matter." Tonks snapped, her cheeks red with the effort of lifting Potter in Longbottom's arms. "We'll take care of that. Just show us in."

Draco bit his lower lip in slight nervousness, as he watched his cherished home being invaded by strangers. Yes, it had been a very long time since this grand house had last harboured guests other than his closest friends. Therefore, it was very strange to hear unfamiliar footsteps echoing against the dark green marble floor, after so many years of quietude and solitude. It was strange to hear gasps of surprise and awe when the three Aurors stepped into the Entrance Hall and raised their gazes towards the high glass ceiling, through which moonlight was seeping down and silently covering the hall with a wavering, milky glow.

"Beautiful!" Lovegood whispered.

"Which way?" grunted Longbottom, who was breathing heavily under Potter's dead weight on his arms.

Draco gestured towards the grand staircase at their left. "There. The bedrooms are located on the third floor. I'll show you."

The strange group ascended the staircases in a gloomy silence. Only Potter's occasional, raspy coughging fits interrupted the quietude. It was very dark everywhere, since Draco had not bothered to light the torches on the walls, nor the candles in the chandeliers, let alone the fireplaces in the numerous unused rooms. After all, he had not expected any outsiders to be walking along these aisles in the immediate future.

"So... You live here all alone?" asked Tonks, eyeing the moving portraits on the walls. One of them presented her grandmother, Mrs. Black, but luckily she was sleeping. From her expression, Draco gathered she was half expecting a tantrum, the main message of which could have been compressed in one single word: 'bloodtraitor'.

"Naturally." Draco eyed the pink-haired woman with slight curiosity. After all, she was his family, and he could recognize many Black features from her facial expressions. "You don't really expect that anyone would want to live here with me, do you, Tonks? Not after what happened with the war, and all."

She shrugged, her fingers lightly touching the gloomy tapestry of the wall. "Well... I'd rather think you would want someone to live here with you. This place is upright creepy."

Draco swallowed a bitter response, and leaped up the last steps two at a time. "This way."

They arrived on the third floor. Draco showed them along the aisle that spread on their right-hand side. It was wide and high, and the floor was covered with deep red carpet. Several, heavy crystal crowns were hanging from the ceiling, but they were cloaked in the shadows and spider web because Draco hadn't lighted the candles in years, and because he had never bothered to clean the glassy gems that were now covered with dust.

Draco opened the double doors at the very end of the aisle and gave way to his new guests. "This is currently the only room in the house with any warming spells activated. It's also the only one without dust and debris all over the furniture. There's the bed –may I change the sheets, or...?"

"No, this will do just fine." Tonks helped Longbottom to lay Potter down on the mattress. "Luna, fetch warm water and some towels. Neville, help me take off Harry's clothes. We'll need to see his injuries for what they truly are. Be careful –we don't want to make it worse. Malfoy?"

"Yes?" Draco looked seemingly confused in the middle of all the rapid activity.

"Would you be so kind as to check if there's anything useful in your potions cabinet?"

Draco shrugged, giving up on understanding what was happening. "I would. But I doubt there will be anything. I haven't been exactly eager to keep it up the date."

"Well, check it out, anyway! How do you think we're supposed to keep him alive if we don't even try?"

"It's not any of my concern, is it?" Draco snapped. "I would suggest you run to Willowbend and ask some barkeeper if they would allow you to use their fireplace to contact real Medi-Wizards."

"We need to keep this a secret!" Tonks hissed, taking off Potter's shoes. "We don't want anyone to find out he's in this condition."

"What a stupid way of thinking!" Draco hissed back. "If you want to keep him alive, you will contact professionals. I can't help you. Besides, the ones who did this are already aware of it! And if they think they've managed to finish off the fabled Chosen One, I doubt they will be wanting to keep it a secret. It's all over the press tomorrow."

"I don't fucking care! Maybe it's better people think he's dead! Just go and check the fucking potions cabinet already, will you?"

Tonks' eyes were suddenly filled with tears. Draco felt very awkward; he didn't actually know how to deal with crying people. Then, a strange urge to keep Potter in fact alive ran through his mind as he shifted his gaze to the helpless, black-haired young man shivering on his bed, now half undressed. How ironic it would be, should Potter survive and find out that it had actually been Draco Malfoy who had helped him out of near certain death? Yes... Draco would help his cousin to save the sorry arse of the Chosen One. If nothing else, Draco might as well enjoy the possibility of spending the night doing something else than drinking old wine in the library, like usual.

"Why don't you go and see what I have, Tonks? I might as well see his injuries. How am I supposed to know what will help him if I don't take a look at him?" Draco sauntered to the bed and leaned over Potter. "I have some experience in dealing with dark curses, as you might know."

"So you will help us?" Tonks breathed, amazed.

"I will." Draco touched gently one of Potter's gaping wounds. They weren't bleeding, per se, but it looked like as if the blood was boiling in the deep gashes. "Hm. You will need to bring me fresh dittany. As a matter of fact... Bring me my whole potions kit up here. I might need to brew something."

Tonks sighed with relief and dashed out of the room. Lovegood was just arriving from the bathroom carrying a bucket of hot water and a few towels, and she jumped out of Tonks' way with a small yelp.

"You do one wrong movement, Malfoy, and I swear it'll be your last." Longbottom was glowering at Draco from the other side of the bed.

Disbelief showed clearly from Draco's face."You swear? Longbottom, despite the fact that I don't own a wand these days, the Ministry having confiscated it, I still feel rather confident to say that I could fight you any day without it -and without losing."

Draco turned back to Potter and keenly examined his face that was contorted into a painful expression, even in his unconciousness. If he managed to draw some kind of perverse satisfaction from it, he didn't let it show.

Lovegood came over and laid the towels down on the bed. "Do you know what he was hit with?"

"Of course." Malfoy took one of the towels from Lovegood's hand and dipped it into the water. "It was a favourite of my uncle Rodolphus'. Aequitas Inferi."

"Is it bad?" Lovegood looked slightly scared.

"Nothing more than what Potter deserved, I'm sure." Draco shook his head. Then he glared at the young witch. "Well do something useful and just not sit there looking stupid, woman! For the love of all money in England, I don't want him to die in my bed!"

Lovegood swirled into action. Under Draco's guidance, she finished undressing Potter's lithe form, wiped away the blood that had spilled from his nose and his mouth. Draco made certain they did not go near the boiling gashes; he had the vaguest recollection of Snape's face telling him never to touch poisoned blood –not even with a towel.

Draco was glad to hear Tonks finally scrambling up the stairs with his potions supplies. It was a near impossible task he had ahead of him, but for some curious reason he'd yet to clarify to himself, he would do his best to keep Potter alive. He closed his eyes and, concentrating hard, tried to remember what his uncle had once told him about the curse and its effects.

..To Be Continued...