CHAPTER SIX

Return to Malfoy Manor

The young Malfoy boy looked afraid. His eyes were wide with anxiety. The other students were gathered around uncertain where to look, though Harry noticed that it appeared that most did not want to look at him. Harry didn't understand, didn't they hear him? "Scorpius, please understand. Get the headmistress, get Minerva. Your mother is in trouble." Harry got to his feet, slowly and with some trouble, the latest vision had knocked the wind out of him. Scorpius helped Harry get to a chair, before running out of the classroom. Some of the students approached Harry, looking like they were trying to find words to comfort him. After what felt like a considerable amount of time, McGonagall burst into the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, looking rather flustered. "Harry?" She inquired, "Harry, what's going on?" Shaken, he tried to explain himself. "I... saw something, Minerva. Astoria Malfoy, she's... something has happened to her." McGonagall looked more worried than she did when she arrived. "I'll get in contact with the Ministry..." but Harry cut across her. "There's no time! I am the Ministry. I'll go!" Harry said this with far more confidence in himself than he could back up with action. McGonagall didn't look very convinced, and if Harry wasn't so sure in what he saw, he couldn't blame her. Eventually she relented, "Very well, Harry. In the meantime, I will contact the Ministry." "Get them to send Ron." Harry said simply.

His legs were shaking, but Harry was certain it was he that had to get to Astoria. Slowly, but with strong defiance, Harry made his way to the Broomstick paddock near the Quidditch field. On his way, Harry repeated the vision over and over again. He disregarded the scarred man – each time he appeared the same, the single face-length wound being his only distinguishing feature. Harry couldn't place him at all, though he had no doubt that he would find out, these things usually panned out that way. Instead, he concentrated his thoughts on the blood spattered woman and the pale, dead man. Harry was convinced that the woman was Astoria – he felt that her inability to recognise a wand was a pivotal part of the vision. However, Harry was far more concerned with the dead man. He had not wanted to say anything in front of Scorpius, but... it was Draco. It must have been. But what did this all mean? Is Draco dead, or in danger of dying? Is Astoria the murderer or is this elusive scarred man the true perpetrator? The questions in his head began to grow in number. Why was he being affected so? Harry closed his thoughts as he pulled open the large door to the Broomstick paddock.

There was an array of Broomsticks lined up against the wall, floating there by magic. Harry didn't recognise many of the models - custom building was the latest development in Broomstick production - but it didn't take him long to find his own. Harry stopped for a moment before collecting his Broomstick to contemplate what lay ahead at the all-too familiar Malfoy Manor. Harry had only been there twice. The first he was held hostage by the Malfoys, listening with horror to the sounds of Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, before breaking out with the ill-fated, and good friend, Dobby. The second was about five years ago. Draco's father and mother had passed away, and Harry had been asked to attend - on his own - to a short gathering. Despite the protests from many around him, Harry went. He was taken to the study of Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, and Harry had wondered what horrible plans had been concocted and enjoyed there. It was in that very room that Draco had offered a hand in mutual acceptance. Harry thought of this as he set off:

"Wine, Potter?" Draco had said as he entered, looking not at Harry but at the roaring fireplace. "Sure." Harry answered, softly. After pouring two glasses, Draco finally looked at Harry with passive eyes. "You may be wondering why I called... asked you here." "I had, yeah." Draco smiled at this teenage answer. "I had never thanked you for saving me," Draco began "twice." Harry gave him a sideways glance. "Yes, I knew it was you. Your friend Weasley wasn't exactly subtle was he?" Harry laughed warmly, more at the memory than Draco's acceptance of the fact. "Basically, I wanted you to know that whatever happened between us in the past is no longer of any burden." "That might be difficult, Draco," Harry started "you were at the centre of a plot to destroy me and everything I believe in." Draco looked abashed; he hadn't expected Harry to be so blunt. He collected himself and continued. "My wife, Astoria - have you met her?" Harry nodded. "She wasn't like me. She knows about my teenage years, yet she understands. At least, I think - hope - she does." Harry didn't answer - he wanted to ask "Really?" but stopped himself. Draco continued:

"It was a terrible time, Harry. I have never told this to anyone, but the true power of He Who Shall Not Be Named was unbearable to me. I was a brash and foolhardy child. I know what you're thinking, Harry. Did I have suspicions about Snape? Yes, I suppose. He showed me kindness." "On Dumbledore's instruction." Harry interjected. "Yes, I suspected as much. Would I have told the Dark Lord? No. At the time, I thought my own father was a stooge to Him. I suppose I was, too - it was Snape's kindness that brought me away from all of that. I couldn't take it some days. Now," Draco looked to a picture of his father - his magically moving image shifted nervously, unwilling to look outwards of the frame, "I wonder whether my dear departed father was really the stooge I thought he was. This is why I asked you here. I wanted to make amends for both myself and my father."

Harry shifted towards a small chair that was positioned towards the fireplace. Draco took a seat opposite. "What do you expect me to say, Draco? That all is well?" Draco's sharp, pointed features became more apparent in the glare of the fireplace. "What I want you to say is simply that you understand." "I do, Draco. I always have." "Then I have one more thing to ask of you," Said Draco apparently content with the answer, "my son, Scorpius, he starts Hogwarts soon. I want, more than anything, for him to be a success." Harry was uncertain as to where this was going. "If anything should happen to me and Astoria could you please... take care of him?" Harry was taken aback by the question; he looked away from Draco and thought quickly. "Why me?" Harry asked. "It's quite simple, Harry, despite our differences in the past, I want you to know that I have developed a certain respect for you." "Thanks." Harry said incredulously. Draco laughed softly, "I know it's hard to believe, but I need you to say yes, please."

At this point, Harry was happy that the door to the study was opened gifting him a temporary reprieve from answering. Astoria, looking beautifully elegant in a long, black dress, walked in slowly. "Draco," she began, "the guests are wondering what you are doing." Her tone was neither angry nor inquisitive, it was simply warm. "Don't worry, my dear. I'm just clearing a few things with Harry, here." "Oh, OK - you shall be out soon?" "Yes." "Harry, good to see you." "Astoria." Harry said, with genuine friendliness as Astoria walked out of the room. "Does she know?" Harry asked, "Does she know what you're asking me?" Draco looked concerned, "No, not as such. She talks good of you, Harry. That is why I'm asking, she sees you as a good father." "And you?" "She sees me as a good father, too." "Listen, Draco," Harry started, "I'm glad - seriously - that you've asked me here. I had wanted to talk to you since your appointment to assistant to the Minister. But this, this is a massive favour you're asking." "I just want what is best for Scorpius." Draco stood up. 

"You know what it's like at the Ministry. Sure, I've risen up the ranks, but do you honestly think that Diggory allows be to be independent? Of course he doesn't. We're all under very close supervision - those that were involved in the Dark Days. Even after all this time! If something should happen to us, then Scorpius will be left with a family that will know this! He will be unhappy! I know that if you were in charge of him, he'd have the best life he could have without his parents." Harry was suddenly taken back to his own parentless upbringing. He remembered the closet, the clothes that didn't fit the scraps of food. He remembered the sight of freedom in the form of a half-giant. Harry stood and met Draco's gaze. "I'll do it." Harry said, and catching the sight of Draco's warm smile, turned and left.

He had never told anyone the details of that conversation, even Ginny. He suspected that neither had Draco, though they always made sure they both knew this with a curt nod to one another at King's Cross. It was with some trepidation that Harry had never disclosed this information - it would effectively mean that some very tough discussion would have to be made, discussion that Harry was not entirely sure how to convey to either his family or Scorpius. He wondered, with a degree of fear, just how close he was to having to have that discussion as he flew over the green fields of England towards the Malfoy Manor. How much trouble was Astoria in - and Harry grew more certain it was her - what had she done? Harry grew more and more concerned of her wellbeing as he continued to fly.

It took just under an hour to arrive at the gates of Malfoy Manor. There, waiting for him, was a silhouetted figure. As he got closer, Harry realised it was Ron. Ron gave Harry a welcome wave, and jogged to meet him. "Ron, when did you get here?" Harry asked. "Just now, Apparation." Harry looked at the imposing manor that lay ahead of him, divided by the large metal gates in front of him. "I can't believe I've come back to this place." Ron said. "Let's just do this, Ron." "But what if this is a trap?" "It isn't," Harry started, with less than satisfactory confidence "whatever is in there, whatever happened wasn't meant to be found. Not yet, anyway." Ron looked nervous. "How the hell d'you know?" Harry quickly explained the vision he had whilst teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Bloody hell, mate. For the first time in years I wish Dumbledore was back - y'know, to explain things." "I think I can," Harry started, "the dream, or whatever you want to call it, was jumbled; it didn't make sense in the slightest. Not at first. It seemed to become clearer with, well, intent." Ron seemed to become - if it was possible - more nervous. "Something has happened here, but I wasn't meant to know about it. The thought, the intent, was powerful enough to somehow break into my own consciousness. How, why or who is a complete mystery. That I need help on."

As Harry and Ron continued up to the manor, the wind blew ominously. The path was winding, but neat. The grass looked nicely - and recently - trimmed. As the manor came closer, Harry quickly realised that the only lights that were on came from the main hall - directly inside the main doors. Harry turned to Ron with a slight grimace, though nothing compared to Ron's own look. Harry placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. With a slight heave the large, ornate door opened.

Before Harry and Ron could survey the hall, a crazed woman in a white dress, lain on the floor raised her wand - with flames in her eyes - and yelled "Avada Kadavra!"