Hermione and Harry were both bound by timelines and other people, Hermione needing time to consult with their American counterparts in Salem while Harry had to arrange his meeting with Bathilda Bagshot. As Draco was dropping into his own house, however, he had no such restrictions, and as a result, he decided to wait until the morning of the Portkey's activation to do so – though the estate was large, Draco was sure that he'd be able to see all he wanted to see over the course of the day, and if he didn't, he could always come back since the wards would be fixed. The Portkey was set to activate at seven o'clock that evening, which gave him plenty of time to explore. After a quick breakfast at Grimmauld Place, Draco and Lupin took a second Portkey to the outskirts of a small village in Wiltshire. Malfoy Manor was a short walk away, the first sign that they were close being the high, thick wall that surrounded the property. They followed the road along the wall until they reached a wrought-iron gate, the metal curled in intricate scrolls, and Draco gasped at the sight within.

There was only one word to describe Malfoy Manor – beautiful. Constructed of stone, the elegant façade sprawled outwards and upwards, encompassing untold thousands of square feet, and neat hedges flanked the wide drive. Draco slowly reached up and touched the ironwork of the gate, and he shivered at the instantaneous reaction of the wards. It felt strange, but also…right, somehow. He wasn't sure he could explain it. The gate swung open at his touch, and he stepped forward onto the drive, his gaze fixed on the remarkable building at the other end.

"Draco."

Draco quickly turned around – he'd been so absorbed by the house that he'd completely forgotten he wasn't alone. Constant vigilance, indeed…

"Sorry, Professor," he said. "What do I need to do?"

"Give me your hand," Lupin instructed. "The wards let you through, so they should do the same for anyone you bring along." Draco stepped closer, and the two grasped hands. When they tried to walk forward, however, Lupin quickly let go and let out a yelp of what was unmistakably pain.

"Professor?" Draco asked in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"I was afraid of that," Lupin muttered, frowning at the gate in distaste.

"Afraid of what?"

"It seems these wards are more complicated than we thought," Lupin said. "The ward holding me back – I've felt it before. It's used specifically to keep my kind out." He spoke this last sentence with a bitter undertone.

"You mean…"

"Werewolves, yes – any sort of half-breeds, actually. I'd be willing to bet that Hagrid wouldn't be able to cross this ward either," Lupin said.

"Why is there a ward around the manor like that?" Draco asked. "Why does that ward even exist in the first place?"

"Prejudice, Draco," Lupin explained impatiently. "I can barely get a job in the Wizarding world because of what I am – is it really all that surprising that the old pureblood families took it a step further and blocked us from their homes?" Draco made an exasperated noise and began to pace back and forth across the gravel.

"Well what am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "I can't just leave you here, can I?"

"You can, and you must," Lupin insisted. "I might have been your teacher, but I'm no expert on specialized wards, so I can't remove it. Dumbledore probably could, or perhaps even Snape, but not me. As much as I'd like nothing better than to leave right now, it would be ridiculous for you to have come all this way for nothing. It's not me you need to worry about, I'll be fine – worry about yourself. You'll need to be on your guard when you're walking around in there."

"I…ugh! Fine," Draco said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Be careful. Send your Patronus if you need anything."

"I will." With one last look at his former professor, who rolled his eyes and shooed him along, Draco turned and walked towards his ancestral home.

It was a beautiful, clear morning, and Draco decided to take advantage of it and explore the grounds first – if he was being honest with himself, he was also a bit apprehensive about going into the house alone, but he shook it off and insisted he was staying outside because the weather could change any moment and force him indoors before he'd seen everything. He skirted the house and found himself on the edge of a massive green lawn covered in what he suspected were once beautifully manicured gardens – the house had been sitting empty for roughly eight months now though, and the plants were beginning to grow wild. It was obvious they hadn't been touched in some time, and Draco wondered just how long it had been since anyone had properly tended them – Lucius certainly hadn't been in any shape to garden for a number of years, and Draco had no idea who had actually maintained the grounds. He could hear running water somewhere in the distance – whether it was a fountain or a stream, though, he didn't know, since he couldn't see the source.

Around the back of the house was a wooden structure, and Draco pushed it open to reveal stables. So his family had kept horses, then? He certainly didn't remember them, but then again, he'd only just turned four when he left the manor, and from what he understood, the atmosphere in the house hadn't exactly been conducive to pony rides. Riding equipment hung on the walls, polished to a shine and giving off the scent of fine leather, but the stalls were all empty and there was no sign of any sort of food, so he supposed the horses had either died or fled when their food supply ran out. Without any further clues, it was anyone's guess as to what had actually happened to the animals.

Draco wandered for quite a while before he found anything else of note, passing fountains, countless species of plants, a broom shed, a large pond, and what he guessed was a hedge maze as he explored the grounds. He really didn't see the point of the maze and suspected he could probably put up his own Quidditch pitch if he mowed the thing down – it was certainly big enough, at any rate. Finally, he stumbled upon another small building, this one made of marble. Unlike the stables, the marble structure gave him the shivers, and he found himself wishing once more that he wasn't alone. As soon as he pushed open the door, he understood why – it was a crypt.

The crypt itself wasn't very big – only slightly larger than his bedroom back in Surrey, Draco guessed. The center of the room was open, and shelves on either side held the coffins of recently deceased Malfoys. There was a metal hatch in the floor on the far side of the room, and Draco suspected it led downwards to the rest of the crypt and the final resting places of his earlier ancestors.

Though his instincts were screaming at him to run, Draco stepped up and examined the coffins. They were surprisingly plain, with shiny plaques on the ends detailing the people they held. Some of the plaques were worn and hard to read, and one of the coffins didn't have a plaque at all, but the two closest to the door were easily legible: Narcissa Cedrella Black Malfoy, and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, their dates of birth and death neatly scripted below their names. Draco ran his fingers lightly over his mother's name and bowed his head in respect – he had no love lost for Lucius, not after the catastrophic end his joining the Death Eaters had brought about, but Narcissa had clearly loved Draco and done everything in her power to give him a second chance at a good life, and he was grateful for that at least. With one last glance at his parents' remains, Draco exited the crypt, carefully closing the door behind him.

Draco suspected there was a stream of sorts running through the trees that marked one edge of the property, but as the sun had gone behind the clouds while he'd been in the crypt, he decided to forgo hunting for it in favor of exploring the house. He wanted to make sure he had a chance to take a good look around before the Portkey activated, and so he set off at a brisk walk that eventually brought him back to the main house. The massive front doors were unlocked, which made Draco pause and think – did Wizarding houses have locks, if they had wards? Of course they did – he'd seen Filch locking the front doors of Hogwarts while on his prefect rounds, and Grimmauld Place had enough deadbolts for half a dozen houses. It was a bit strange, then, and more than a little disconcerting, that the doors to Malfoy Manor weren't secured, but it was too late to dwell on that now. With one great push, the doors swung open.

The inside of the house was just as grand as the outside. A delicate crystal chandelier and smooth stone flooring covered in plush carpeting decorated the entrance hall, and a wide, sweeping staircase led to the upper floors – the latter reminded Draco of Hogwarts, except on a much smaller scale. Portraits lined the walls, and a hallway to the right of the staircase led to the rest of the ground floor. Deciding to start from the bottom and work his way upwards, Draco made his way down this hall.

The first room Draco found was a drawing room, the walls colored a sumptuous shade of purple and the ornate furniture clearly the best money could buy. Taking up most of the far wall was a handsome marble fireplace, above which hung a massive gilt-framed mirror, and another chandelier twinkled delicately overhead. Draco could actually feel his feet sinking into the thick carpet as he explored the room.

The other rooms on the ground floor were just as impressive as the drawing room. Shiny pots large enough to bathe a child in dominated the scrubbed wooden kitchen; a huge ballroom featured beautifully inlaid parquet flooring and diamond-paned windows that sparkled in the sunlight coming in from the gardens; and the central piece of the dining hall was a table so large it could have comfortably seated the entirety of Dumbledore's Army. The library would have made Hermione faint – every inch of wall space save for the windows and fireplace was covered with bookshelves, with delicate spiral staircases at the back of the room leading to the upper level, and comfortable furniture made for attractive reading areas. Priceless antiques dotted the house in a surprisingly subtle manner, and portraits of past Malfoys hung in strategic places throughout. Draco honestly thought the manor was lovely, if not a bit museum-like, but the portraits unnerved him, and it wasn't until he found himself studying a portrait of his father hung just outside the dining room that he realized why.

In this particular portrait, Lucius Malfoy sat astride an enormous, coal-black stallion, the animal's head tossed back in pride and defiance as its long mane rippled in the wind. Beside the horse were two equally large hunting hounds, their lithe bodies covered in thick, shaggy fur and their eyes alert. Draco thought he would have remembered such huge dogs, but perhaps he'd never actually interacted with them. Lucius himself wore the finest quality robes and a thick, fur-trimmed cloak, a jeweled sword sheathed at his hip, and he had the same arrogant expression Draco remembered from his death announcement in the Daily Prophet. It was an impressive painting, to be sure, but what struck Draco most was the fact that it was utterly still – and now that he thought about it, every other portrait he'd come across was the same. Not a single one had so much as blinked at him since he'd walked into the manor, and Draco couldn't help but think that the portraits had been frozen and silenced on purpose. The question was, why?

Draco retreated from the portrait, unable to look at his father's cold grey eyes any longer, and soon found a small door across from the drawing room that he'd previously missed. Curious, he turned the handle and found himself in a dark, narrow corridor. The passageway was entirely bare, and Draco wondered where it would take him – a servants' staircase, perhaps? He knew that many large houses like this one had them, allowing the servants to move freely about the house without being seen…but then again, he'd only ever heard of the Malfoys having house-elf servants, not human ones, and house-elves could use their magic to get around and therefore wouldn't need such a passage. Draco pulled himself from his musings to concentrate on the short flight of steps leading downwards, the darkness becoming thicker as he descended. At the bottom was a heavy wooden door, which pushed open with a creak. Draco took not two steps forward before drawing his wand – to hell with the underage restrictions; he couldn't see a damn thing.

"Lumos."

"Who's there?"

Draco nearly fell over in shock. The light from his wand illuminated the sparse cellar, but he barely registered his surroundings at all, instead focusing on the voice. He knew that voice…

Draco cautiously took another step further into the room. There was a shape huddled on the floor at the far end of the cellar, and Draco crept closer with trembling footsteps, biting back a scream at the sight before him.

"Draco?"

Draco couldn't speak. On the floor before him, bruised, bloodied, and weak – but unmistakably alive – was Hermione's father.

"Draco?" he repeated. "Is that you?"

"Sweet Salazar," Draco murmured, finding his voice at last as he dropped to his knees. "Dr. Granger…" Even through the bruises, Draco could see the older man's expression soften.

"Draco, son…surely after all these years, if you still refuse to call me 'Dad', you can at least call me 'Bob'," he said softly.

That was Draco's undoing – he couldn't take it anymore and let his tears fall freely, crawling forward to clasp Hermione's father's hand as he greedily drank him in. The comment, made so casually, meant more to him than he could ever say – while Lily was his surrogate mum, Padfoot had always been more of an older brother than a father, so Bob addressing Draco the way he had affected him deeply. How the other man had survived, Draco had no idea, but here he was – if Bob Granger were a wizard, Draco had no doubt he'd be a Gryffindor.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, wiping away the last of his tears with the back of his free hand.

"What are you sorry for?" Bob asked, looking genuinely confused. "You didn't have anything to do with this."

"I didn't have – Bob, do you realize where you are? You're in my house, for Salazar's sake!" Draco almost snapped. "You've obviously been tortured…your wife…"

"Really?" Bob replied in interest. "Well, then – you're the first person who's bothered to tell me that. Not that I've seen anyone else in roughly a week to begin with."

"A week?" Draco asked, his anger and frustration dissipating somewhat.

"Something like that – it's hard to keep track of time down here," Bob said. "And I know about Helen, and Lily." His eyes were sad for a moment before he continued. "I don't really know where I was when they first took me, but they eventually dumped me here, with some water" – he nodded towards a large jug Draco had previously missed – "and some bread, and that was that. I haven't seen anybody since – I s'pose they were a bit disappointed with my lack of information and left me here to die."

"But that still means somebody's been in the manor very recently," Draco muttered to himself, the thought most definitely not a comforting one. The clues should have been obvious – the unlocked front door, for one, and he hadn't seen so much as a speck of dust since he'd entered the house; Draco didn't know much about household spells, but he was pretty sure cleaning charms didn't keep spaces like this immaculate for months on end. So Bob could hear, he added, "We need to get you out of here – do you know how badly you're hurt?"

"I can't say, but something's definitely broken," Bob replied. "Hurts to move." Draco swore under his breath. There went his plan of helping Bob walk out to meet Lupin at the gate. It wasn't like he could Apparate, either – there were bound to be anti-Apparition wards around the manor, and even if there weren't, he hadn't the faintest idea how to do it in the first place. House-elves were impervious to such wards and could have done it easily, but there weren't any left – the Order had eventually learned that Lucius Malfoy had died because one of his fits had killed his final remaining house-elf and he hadn't been able to care for himself in his compromised state. They were hopelessly stuck.

But wait…there was another house-elf, wasn't there? One who might still answer the call of a Malfoy…

"Dobby," Draco said quietly.

Almost instantly, a loud crack snapped through the cellar, accompanied by the arrival of a small creature with floppy ears and a long, pointy nose. He wore a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest and a pair of colorful mismatched socks, the latter a Christmas gift from Hermione, and his bright blue eyes widened in fear at his surroundings.

"Thank Merlin," Draco breathed, then, noticing the little elf's fear, quickly added, "Dobby, it's alright. I'm sorry to have called you here, but I really need your help."

"What is you needing, Master Draco?" Dobby squeaked, still clearly unnerved at being back in Malfoy Manor.

"Dobby, this is Bob Granger," Draco said, motioning to the man on the floor beside him. "Lotte's father."

"Miss Hermione?" Dobby asked. Draco confirmed his question with a nod.

"Yes, Miss Hermione. Dobby, he's hurt – badly hurt. He needs help, and soon. Professor Lupin – he taught Defense at Hogwarts, do you remember him? He's waiting for me outside the gates of the manor. Could you take Bob to him, make sure he knows what's going on, and then get all of you to safety?" Dobby nodded solemnly, his fear replaced by determination.

"Dobby will, Master Draco. Dobby will help Miss Hermione's father."

"Thank you, Dobby," Draco said sincerely. Dobby beamed, and Draco raised his wand.

"Expecto Patronum."

The silver wolf burst into existence, gazing intently at its master. At first, Draco wasn't sure what to do – he'd never sent a message via Patronus before. He had to try, though, and so began to speak.

"Can you…take a message to Professor Lupin, at the gate?" He asked hesitantly. "Tell him that we've found Bob Granger, and he needs immediate medical attention. Dobby's going to bring him out. I have the Portkey, I'll be fine – please, please go with them, professor. Go, for Lotte – for me." The wolf must have understood, because it bowed its head and vanished. Draco then turned back to Bob.

"This is Dobby, my house-elf," he explained. "He's going to take you to get help – all you have to do is hold on." Bob looked nonplussed but accepted Dobby's outstretched hand just as a second silvery wolf, this one a werewolf, appeared, speaking in Lupin's voice:

"Message received and understood – send him out right away. I'll do the best I can for him." The werewolf disappeared, but Dobby still hesitated for a moment, sensing that they had more to say.

"Lotte…still Lotte," Bob murmured, a fond smile playing about his lips as he looked at his blond companion.

"Always," Draco replied, quietly but firmly.

"You're a good man, Draco, and don't you dare think otherwise. I don't care where you came from, or who your family was – you're a good man, and I'm proud of you." Draco could only nod in reply, the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking.

"Take care of yourself, son," Bob said softly. "I'll see you soon." Draco swallowed hard.

"You too." With that, another crack echoed through the cellar, and Draco was left alone.

A/N: Anybody feel a little better knowing that we've got Bob back? I just couldn't let them all die, it made me too sad.

Fun fact of the day: my grandmother's old house had a servants' staircase - it ran inside the wall parallel to the main one & went from the kitchen to the upstairs landing. I thought it was nifty.

Thank you, my friends, for the follows/faves/reviews, & for reading!

JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)