A/N – Chapter 5, as promised. Here we have the Weasleys coming to check up on Ginny, and her reaction to their entry into her contained world.

Disclaimer – I don't own any of the canon concepts or characters. HP belongs to JK Rowling and ors. No profit made from this.

V

Bill Weasley had always had a soft spot for his sister Ginny. It wasn't just because she was the youngest, or the only girl – although that may have had a great deal to do with it – but because she was fiercely competitive but willing to laugh about it, and because she was brave, resilient, and backed down to nothing and no one.

He remembered her at her wedding, laughing and smiling despite the grim realities of the outside world. She had been happy with Draco, not even Ron could deny it. But then it had all ended, and she had retreated here, to this silent, still house in a land bypassed by time –

Malfoy Manor had blazed with light, once, when Lucius Malfoy had been young and still building and consolidating his power. In the days when the name Voldemort was still a whispered rumour and no one had ever heard of the Death Eaters, Lucius and his beautiful wife had dominated wizarding society. Invitations to the Manor had been fiercely coveted, and the house parties held there had been legendary.

The revels of later days were also notorious, albeit for very different reasons.

Draco had been nothing like his father. What the hell had the Ministry been thinking, allowing Lucius Malfoy anywhere near her, so soon after Draco's death? Surely they would have known how vulnerable she would be…

Ginny was brave and strong, but this was Malfoy.

"Bill!" Ginny shouted, laughing, as she ran out of the front door and threw herself into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

He laughed, picked her up off her feet and twirled her around. "I've come to check on my favourite sister," he answered. "Mum threatened to come herself, but I talked her out of it." He set her back on her feet, laughing, her face flushed. "You look pale, Gin. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Of course I'm all right," she said, patting her hair back into place. "Why shouldn't I be?"

Bill only looked at her, his eyes dark. "We shouldn't have left you alone with him."

She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "He hasn't done anything, Bill. We've left each other alone…" Even as she spoke, she wondered why she didn't tell her brother about Lucius' outrageous proposal.

There was a soft step behind them, a whisper of rustling fabric, and she saw Bill's gaze go past her shoulder and harden.

"Malfoy," he said, his voice hard and dangerous. Her family might have accepted Draco, but that didn't mean they'd forgiven his father.

Ginny didn't need to turn around to see the expression in Lucius' eyes. She knew that it would be ironic and utterly infuriating.

"Mr. Weasley," he said dryly. "I trust you are satisfied your sister is unharmed?"

Bill glared at him.

Ginny sighed. She should have known that this would happen. For the last few weeks, since he had so calmly shattered her complacency, Lucius had been surprisingly good company; so good that she had forgotten how thoroughly unpleasant he could be.

She thought about interfering, of growling at them both in exasperation, but somehow it did not seem appropriate; she might have shouted at Ron and Draco and ordered them to behave like men instead of boys, but Bill and Lucius were two very different prospects.

Lucius was quite capable of ignoring her. Bill would not appreciate his younger sister scolding him in front of Lucius, especially when he had come to rescue her from him.

"You must stay for dinner," she informed Bill, smiling pleasantly, ignoring his mounting frustration. "I'd love to hear all the news about the family."

In the face of her relentless courtesy, with Lucius looking on, cool and ironic, Bill was forced to acquiesce. He forced a smile. "Sure. I'd love to stay. Mum ordered me not to come home until I've got the answers to a whole list of questions…"

And in that way, Ginny got her brother willingly – if not precisely happily – over the threshold and into Malfoy Manor. As she ushered him into the foyer and passed him off into Libby's care, she sent a cool, pointed look Lucius' way, and was rewarded with a bland, noncommittal inclination of his head.

He would behave. For now.

The officious, overly dignified house elf conducted Bill to a luxurious set of rooms – well, all the sets of rooms looked luxurious, from what he could see – and told him that the Master and Mistress dined at seven, but met at ten minutes before for a drink in the Queen's drawing room.

Bill blinked. The Queen's drawing room? How many drawing rooms did they have? From what he had seen, the place was huge; unlike all his earlier expectations of a rich, fussy Palladian palace, the misnamed Manor was a bloody great fortress.

"Does Master Weasley want Libby to press his clothes while he bathes?" the house elf interrupted his thoughts.

Clothes? He hadn't brought any extra clothes.

"Does Master Weasley not dress for dinner in his own home?" There was disapproval in the house elf's voice now, as if she were reproaching him for not measuring up to Malfoy standards.

"No," he said almost defensively, knowing full well how ridiculous it was, "No, I don't."

The house elf sniffed.

"Then Master Weasley will have to borrow some clothes." She sounded resigned, but looked him up and down, no doubt guessing his measurements down to the size of his socks. "Master Weasley will probably fit into old Master Abraxis' clothes." She nodded to herself. "Libby will be back in half an hour."

And with that, she left, leaving Bill to take his bath alone in careless luxury. However, before he could unbutton his shirt he heard a soft shushing behind him, and turned to find Lucius Malfoy in the doorway, watching him quizzically.

"Malfoy!" he said, startled, unconsciously clutching the edges of his shirt together. "What are you doing here?"

The older man's eyes dropped to his hastily concealed chest, and Bill could have sworn he saw amusement in their depths. "Relax, Mr. Weasley," he said, sitting down gracefully on a delicate, spindly chair, an antique of some sort. "Rest assured that I have no designs on your virtue."

Bill stared at him, unsure of whether he should be infuriated or amused. Older and more tolerant than Ron, laughter won out; he relaxed and deliberately turned his back to strip off his shirt, feigning a nonchalance he didn't feel. He would not let Malfoy know that he had affected him.

"Why then?" he asked, dipping his fingers into the bathwater, unsurprised to find it at his preferred temperature. "I can't see that we have anything to speak about."

There was a soft, almost sinister chuckle of laughter behind him. "Gryffindor strength," Lucius Malfoy said quietly. "Matured and hardened by war and adversity. You are not very like your brother Ronald."

Bill forced himself not to bristle. "Ron tends to see things solely in absolutes. Of course, the war changed that a little…"

"But only a little. And the rest of your family? Are they all like young Ronald? Or do any of your other brothers share your patience?"

"Why?" Bill demanded, instinctively mistrusting this line of conversation. "Why would you possibly care?" He rounded on the other man suspiciously; he was willing to be patient and tolerant, yes, but only to a point.

Cool, flat grey eyes met his without a shadow of irony or amusement. "Because I want you to understand. You may have accepted Draco, but I'm not sure if you accepted all of him."

"All of him? You mean we made him into what we wanted him to be?"

"Yes. But then, I think Draco made himself into what others wanted him to be."

Bill's mouth twisted. "And why is that, I wonder?"

This time Lucius' eyes were amused. "As you say, Mr. Weasley. But come, put your shirt back on and I will show you what I mean."

Mystified, suspicious, and alert to any kind of danger, Bill shrugged back into his shirt and followed Lucius Malfoy out into the corridor.

The way Lucius took to the battlements wound past the Crimson gallery, down the Baroque stairs, and through the portrait gallery, where the portraits of Malfoy ancestors hung on the wall. Bill noticed that none of them were enchanted – they were all as still and frozen as muggle portraits: strange, in this stronghold of pureblood values.

Lucius saw his interest in them. "My esteemed ancestors," he said dryly. "However, I shudder to think of them invested with even a limited ability to move and speak; they are not as…benign as the portraits at Hogwarts."

Looking at a portrait of an ancient Malfoy, his sword drenched in blood, triumphantly holding up a severed, snarling human head, Bill could only agree. As they progressed along the gallery, coming to more modern, more civilized Malfoy, he saw old Abraxis Malfoy, Lucius himself, and a portrait of Draco as he was at fifteen years old.

And then there were no more.

Leaving the portrait gallery, they climbed a stark stone stairway twisting around the inside of an ancient tower, and emerged into open air, high above the ground on the battlements of the castle. From here, they could see the land for miles around in all directions, stretching into the horizon where the slightest suggestion of a shimmer defined the limits of the estate.

Lucius leaned against a stone parapet, his eyes narrowed against the wind. His fair hair windblown and tangled, he did not look very menacing – but Bill remembered the bloody portraits, and saw the ancient, stone strength of the fortress walls. "I spent nine years in Azkaban, Weasley. Until I was released, I never knew just how much I had missed looking at the sky."

Bill said nothing.

"There is a special spot, on the side of that hill there," he nodded at a hill to their right, "from where you can see the whole estate stretched out at your feet, and the sky stretching above you like a vault. My father took me there, when I was seven years old, and showed me my whole world. I took Draco there, when he was seven years old – and Draco should have been able to take his son, too, in turn. But Draco is dead, now, and only I remain…"

He turned to Bill, those silver eyes intent and glowing. "I will not let the Ministry get their hands on this land."

"I don't see how you can stop them."

Lucius smiled. "Don't you?"

Later that night, after dinner, Lucius tactfully left them alone so they could talk. Ginny was eager to hear about the rest of the Weasleys, the sudden homesickness taking her by surprise. However, before she got a chance to interrogate him, Bill spoke first. "Ginny, are you…happy, here?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "Happy? I'm content, Bill. There are memories, of course, but Lucius doesn't let me mope…"

He stiffened. Ginny wondered why, wondered why Bill had come, if only to criticise Lucius and pick at her for getting along with him. She had to get along with Lucius, otherwise living in the same house would be impossible.

"Listen Gin," Bill said seriously. "Mum, and Dad, and the rest of us, we have some serious concerns about your staying here, alone, with Malfoy." She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand, staying her. "No, just listen. I know you think he's mellowed –"

"Bill," she interrupted, "I know exactly what he is, and what he is capable of. It's alright; I can handle him."

Her brother took her hand in his own, his expression grave and worried. "He's got an agenda, and he's planning something that almost certainly involves you. Don't fool yourself; he can'tbe trusted."

She said nothing.

"Ginny," he urged softly, "you've mourned him long enough. It's time to come back to the real world."

She forced a laugh. "The real world?" She looked around at the room, deliberately reached over to touch the side table, demonstrating its solidity. "Bill, this place is solid enough. It's not going to vanish when the sun rises."

He made a small sound of frustration. "You know what I mean. The Manor – the whole damned estate – is frozen in time. Merlin's Beard, villagers who still pull their forelock? Drinks before dinner in the Queen's drawing room? The people here have no concept of the outside world. Even Malfoy buys into it; he still thinks himself a feudal Lord. The whole place is one great illusion."

"I know," she replied. "But it's not an illusion; the people truly believe that they have the right to his protection. And Malfoy – sophisticated, ruthless Lucius Malfoy – honestly believes that it's his duty to protect them. Don't you see? To them, it is real."

Bill looked exasperated. "Don't tell me you're starting to believe it too. Ginny, you've been isolated here with Malfoy for too long; you're starting to lose sight of reality. You need to get away from here."

He reached out and took her other hand, deliberately linking their hands together. "Come home, Gin. We miss you."

She swallowed, fighting the pressure in her throat. She squeezed his hands, feeling the reassuring strength, simple, honest and steadfast, of her eldest and favourite brother. Bill and her family offered comfort, love and strength freely. She could go back to them, bask in their uncomplicated world where there were no questions of onerous duty or ancient responsibility.

Draco was dead, and there was nothing left to bind her to the Malfoy and their enchanted, illusory world.

They will take responsibility from you.

You want to shuffle off your responsibilities to someone else because you find them too hard, too painful.

But she had turned the control of the estate over to Lucius. What more could he possibly want?

"Yes," she said faintly, lifting her head to meet Bill's concerned eyes squarely. "I think it's time that I returned home."

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