After much consolation, Harry relaxed into the sofa, letting Molly fuss about him. Ron plopped down on the couch opposite, exhausted- he along with Bill and Charlie had produced patronus after patronus to reassure Harry he wasn't a dementor.
''Dunno – he kinda looks like one.'' Ron grumbled, eyeing Harry's disheveled look.
''Ron!'' Ginny snapped, forcing an alarmed Harry back into the sofa.
''Why on earth would you think you are a dementor, Harry – how the bloody hell does that make sense?'' George grumbled, pulling out a chair to sit on.
George had been rather unceremoniously awakened by all the shouting downstairs. He had cracked the door open just a bit and heard an absurd series of conversations –
''Ron, no, don't shake him – ''
''Don't come close, I am dangerous- ''
''Nah mate, you're just smelly – when was the last time you showered?''
''Ron!'' Mum's voice was very shrill – ''No Ginny put your wand away-''
''Look at my hands- they are scabbing over-''
''Oi! What'd you think you're playing at, sending a horse patronus my way!''
''Shut up, Ron – look, Harry – it's a patronus- you'd be dispelled if you were a dementor-''
''Ahhh it's too bright-''
''Close your eyes then, Charlie, you prat – maybe you are a dementor- ''
''Ginny! Don't call your brother a prat-''
''But Mum-'' Ginny's complain was abruptly cut off by Hermione.
''Don't be silly, Harry, look – you need to lose your soul to even start being a dementor-''
''Ah yes a dementor crash-course – just what we need right now – ''
''You know Ronald if you're going to be a pain in the arse why don't you shut up and – ''
''Well it's obvious, innit? Dementors are freakishly tall – this scrawny git – ''
''My voice is gone – '' Harry's panicked whispers cut through –
''You prat, how are you speaking then?''
''Ron, don't call him- ''
''He's my mate I'll call him whatever I want- ''
It went on until George lost his patience and stomped downstairs and yelled – '' Can't a man sleep in peace in this house? – Harry, quit moping and eat that tart – and you better not lose that book, Hermione – Fred's favorite, it is!''
Everyone had gaped at him, while Harry looked at the otter swimming in the air in front of him – Hermione had conjured one earlier.
Now they all surrounded Harry, who was slumped on the couch holding a mug of steaming tea in his hand, while Hermione flicked through pages of the book she was holding- '' Magical Creatures and their Uses '' – Fred had thought it would help them expand the joke business after they started using Doxy poison for Puking pastilles.
''Harry, dear – why don't you eat a little something and go on up to bed?'' Molly tried for the third time.
Harry simply shook his head, lifting the mug up to his lips with trembling hands.
''If you would just tell us why you thought you were a dementor it would be great.'' George grumbled.
Ginny glared at him, and Ron poked his arm as if to shut him up.
Hermione snapped the book shut, and stood up so suddenly that Percy toppled off the edge of the sofa.
''Right. '' She said, her brown eyes very bright.
She grabbed her wand from the table and stood in front of Harry. Harry glanced up, startled.
''Patronum memorias corsis!'' She said, firmly.
Nothing happened for a second. Then, a corporeal otter swam out into the air, and made a beeline for Harry. Harry yelped, startled, while the otter slammed into him and disappeared into his heart. Hermione continues casting her spell, fine strand of blinding white light emanating from the tip of her wand and disappearing into Harry's heart.
Ron stood up, and dragged Ginny up with him. They both tried to cast the same spell, copying Hermione, and succeeded on the fifth attempt. A Russell terrier and horse joined the otter, and Harry was slowly rising up, mug of tea forgotten on the table, his expression rapidly changing from startled to calm, then finally relaxed. His emerald eyes shone from within, and when Hermione finally stopped, a little short of breath, Harry dropped back into the sofa, promptly losing consciousness.
''What- what just happened?'' Bill asked, prodding Harry's unconscious form. Harry snored a bit, and Ron rolled his eyes.
The git was sleeping.
''Well, I thought he might need it – I modified the Patronus spell a bit – ''
''You modified a spell?'' Percy asked, immensely impressed.
Hermione nodded, blushing, as Ron beamed at her proudly.
'' I sent all the happy memories I had into him- the patronus carried the memories within it and surrendered it to Harry.''
Charlie gave a low whistle. Mrs. Weasley covered Harry with a thick blanket and put her hand on her hips.
''Very well done, dear – no wonder you are the best in the class! But you lot go back to your beds now-''
''What's the point it's almost six now- '' Charlie complained, pointing at the east sky.
''I'll stay here, Mum.'' Ginny said, looking very stubborn.
''I'm hungry.'' Bill stated, seating himself at the table.
''Hah- good one, 'mione.'' Harry exclaimed, apparently in deep sleep.
''Reckon he's talking about the time you punched Malfoy.'' Ron snickered.
''You did what?'' Ginny asked, sitting up straight.
Hermione ducked her head, reddening slightly. 'Err… it was a tough year…besides Malfoy was being a jerk – ''
''It was brilliant! She walked right up to him and – ''
Arthur smiled slightly as Ron recounted Hermione's punch. He was very tired, and he knew he should probably get some shut eye before going to work at eight, but for the first time since the war the family was together, and he wanted to simply watch them all. Molly bustled about, preparing breakfast. George listened to Ron rant on about Malfoy – he still looked a little lost and very hollow, but at least he wasn't avoiding company anymore. Charlie banged his fist on the table and laughed as he listened to Hermione describing Buckbeak thrashing Malfoy, and Bill was sneaking out cookies from the pantry. Ginny sat close to Harry, occasionally fussing with his blanket, and Fleur was fast asleep on the opposite sofa, cradling her protruding belly.
Yes. It took time, but they were all healing.
Malfoy Manor felt haunted. Draco twisted and tossed and turned in his bed, finally throwing the silky covers aside. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, and walked out into the silent hallway. The marble floor was chilling, but he couldn't care less. He felt as if he could hear groans and screams from within the dungeons, but that was absurd. For once, the dungeons were empty of prisoners. Also, he was on the second floor – how could the voices reach him here?
The portrait of Arminius Malfoy sneered at him as he padded over to the central staircase. The house was silent.
The silence both bothered and consoled Draco. He kept expecting to hear a high, thin voice, demanding obedience from his Father, Mother and Aunt, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone.
He could almost hear Bellatrix's maniacal laughter as she scarpered through the halls, crucio-ing their new house elf Tilly, or some unfortunate muggleborn that had been brought in by the Snatchers.
No, the silence, welcome as it was, bothered him.
Draco sat down at the bottom stair, hugging his knees close to his chest.
Mother had contacted the best Wizarding Law Firms out there, but out of the six firms only one had agreed to take on their case. Two of the Firms had refused to associate themselves with Death Eaters, while the other three said there was no way Father could avoid being sent to Azkaban.
Mother was adamant – Draco would be spared, one way or another.
Draco wasn't so sure. Potter and Weasley hated him, and Granger was not to be trifled with. It was clear to him that the Ministry, with Shaklebolt acting as Interim Minister of Magic, would give a great deal of importance to whatever the trio said. He couldn't imagine they had anything nice to say about him.
Draco looked down at his left forearm. The Mark wasn't black, but it hadn't faded completely either. It was a sickly grey hue, standing out against his pale skin.
Draco shook his head. His future had never seemed bleak to him – he was the Malfoy Heir, after all – but now, sitting on the ice-cold stairs of his childhood home, he couldn't help but despair over his fate.
Mother had something up her sleeve- she alluded to it, once or twice, but never explained what it was. When Draco had kept pushing, she only said – '' Potter is indebted to me.''
Draco couldn't imagine how.
There was a familiar crack, and Draco looked around, startled. The sound came from outside, and Draco hissed for Tilly.
The tiny elf appeared with a soft pop. ''Young Master is looking for Tilly, Sir?''
''Go outside and check who's there. I heard something.'' Draco demanded.
Tilly bowed her head low and disappeared to do his bidding. Draco waited, but she didn't appear again.
Now Draco was scared. He remembered what Mother had said three weeks ago in the Great Hall.
''All we have is each other, Draco. Everyone else is our enemy now.''
It could be a vengeful Death Eater, or the relative of one of the numerous muggleborns tortured to death in the manor or its dungeons, or perhaps….Potter and his gang?
As several vivid scenarios popped into his head, each worse than the other, Draco wrung his hands – he would give the world to have his wand back – when Tilly reappeared.
''Master Zabini waits outside for Master Draco, says he needs to meet him.'' Tilly squeaked.
Draco furrowed his brows. Blaise Zabini?
As far as Draco remembered, Zabini wasn't a Death Eater. That, however, didn't stop him from picking the Dark Lord's side during the final battle.
Did Zabini consider him a traitor?
Draco straightened up, and said – '' Well, show him the way in, but tell him to leave his wand at the living room.''
He wasn't sure- should he wake his mother? Father would be of little use- he was mostly incoherently drunk these days, be it morning or night.
After a while, he shrugged into his dark green silk house robe and walked into the parlor opposite to the opulent living room.
Zabini was escorted in seconds later by a harried- looking Tilly .
''Please, Master Zabini, you must leave your wand elsewhere – ''
''Malfoy! Do you really think I'd attack you here? '' Zabini dismissed the elf and addressed Draco.
Draco looked up haughtily, and gestured for him to sit.
''This is most unusual, Zabini. I am sure you are aware 6:30 in the morning isn't a very appropriate hour to call on someone.''
''Urgent matters. Couldn't wait till the noon.''
Draco spread his arms wide as if to indicate he had all the time in the world.
''And what is it, that is so urgent?''
Zabini leaned forward, his expression somber.
''You haven't been answering my letter, Malfoy. What do you think of the Cultus Serpentis? ''
Draco inhaled sharply.
''Don't be absurd, Zabini. The war is over. They have won. It is all over. Making a foolish little school group comprising of children of Death Eaters will accomplish nothing!''
''Do not speak with such contempt, Malfoy. You are a Death Eater. And Dumbledore's Army was a 'foolish little school group' as well.'' Zabini sneered, his handsome face filled with disgust as he spoke about the DA.
''That foolish group trained in secret so well that every member topped DADA practical. That foolish group broke into the ministry and faced off a bunch of Death Eaters- I should know, my Father and Aunt were there as well! That foolish group foiled my plans to storm Hogwarts at the end of sixth year- that foolish group led the Resistance against the Dark Lord all through last year!'' Draco hissed, his voice dangerously low.
''Now listen here, Malfoy-''
''No, you listen, Zabini. Our position is already precarious – Father will most definitely be sent to Azkaban and I will surely be under surveillance- I will do nothing – nothing – to compromise my position further!''
''But don't you see? If we just turn the tides in our favor- if we just prove our allegiance- ''
''To whom?'' Draco stood up, wildly gesturing around with his hands. '' Look around, Zabini- who is left? Where is the Dark Lord? I am only interested in proving my allegiance to the Ministry, as of now.''
''I expected more wisdom from you, Draco – the Dark Lord has proven he can return from the dead!''
''And Harry Potter has proven he will vanquish the Dark Lord again, and again, and keep thwarting his attempts till the end of time! He did it as a baby, as a first year, and countless other times!''
''Since when do you worship Potter?'' Zabini demanded, standing up as well.
''My distaste of that arrogant toe-rag has got nothing to do with the fact that he, indeed, has proved himself capable against the Dark Lord numerous times.'' Draco intoned coldly.
''Potter isn't capable right now, Malfoy. Flint has been keeping an eye on Black's house- Potter apparently stumbled out to the streets in the middle of the night, screaming like a mad man and apparated off somewhere. We think it is the right time to strike.''
Draco scoffed. ''We?''
Zabini nodded, looking very smug. ''All of us are willing to join the Cultus Serpentis – in fact, we already have plans in place.''
''You'll see how well this pans out. As of yesterday, the Ministry has put several accounts on hold- including Flint, Avery, Wilkin, Bulstrode, Belby, Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson as well as ours. Any sign of transaction and the Ministry will swoop down upon you lot. Besides, most of them are on the wanted list – other than you, Parkinson, Rosier and the Greengrasses. Any plan you make will crumble down- especially after Shacklebolt decides to recruit the DA members as Aurors. Potter, Weasley and Longbottom are a formidable combination.''
''Very well.'' Zabini interjected, eyes very cold and wrathful. ''I see you have chosen to parrot the recent Ministry pamphlets. It was my fault, obviously- to seek help from a fellow Slytherin.''
''Loyalty has never been a Slytherin trait, Zabini. You want unwavering support? Knock on the door of a Hufflepuff.''
Draco snapped his fingers and Tilly appeared with Zabini's cloak. He hoped Zabini would take the hint and leave.
''I want no part in this harebrained scheme of yours.'' Draco said, quite firmly.
As he watched Zabini walk out indignantly, Draco felt a small amount of relief.
He had made the right choice. A choice he would have had made three years ago, if he wasn't blinded by childish pride, ego and hatred towards anything associated with Potter.
Absentmindedly, he scratched his left forearm. The Dark Mark had faded a to a lighter grey, he imagined.