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The New Dawning

Chapter Sixteen: How She Died

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February 15, 2000

Draco glanced around the room worriedly. That Paul man (who Harry looked very cozy with) had called in a handful of other huge men, including one who kept looking at Draco in the strangest way. There was also two or three vampires in the room who everyone seemed to be avoiding – with good reason, of course, vampires are meant to be avoided. And then there were the Aurors.

Because of ...things, Draco wasn't very well-liked by the Aurors. The feeling was mutual, of course, but it was still disconcerting to be sat in front of them as if this was the Spanish Inquisition, his chest still aching from the Sectumsempra his dear Auntie had shot at him, trying to convince them he wasn't lying. The whole room was silent except for himself and the Auror he was currently dealing with.

Who happened to be the Weasel.

While Weasel and Draco were both friends with Harry, they were far from 'friends by association.' They still hated each other and neither could understand why the other was friends with Harry. Other than the fact that Harry was just too nice for his own good.

"And you're sure," Weasel muttered, eyebrows raising in apprehension. "Because I, for one, do not believe you."

"I'm positive, you can try me under Veritaserum if you must," Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. "Why would I lie when I want her dead, too?"

"Because she's your aunt," sneered Weasel and Draco growled.

"Yeah, she might be my aunt, but she also killed my mother. And she just tried to kill me," he motioned to his robes, which were torn and barely hanging on to his form. "I don't care if you want to believe me, Weasel. I know who's telling the truth. Just because you can't let go of your little schoolyard enmity doesn't mean I can't," he smirked sadistically. He'd never get rid of his so-called 'schoolyard enmity' – but he sure could hide it pretty well.

"Oh please, ferret," Weasel laughed. "I think we might just try you under Veritaserum."

"Ron!" Harry snapped, eyes darkening. "I believe him."

"Harry, you can't honestly–" Weasel protested.

"Yeah, I can, because unlike some people I know how to call a truce. You of all people should be begging on your knees for Draco to tell you where Bellatrix took him. She killed your sister," Harry's voice was deadly calm, eyes flashing. He knew that was a low blow, but if Ron didn't get his head out of his arse, who knew what would happen. Bellatrix could fall completely off the grid again and kill some more people. Who knows if she wasn't already killing people while they were sitting here arguing!

"Harry, don't you dare remind me about that. You don't think I know?" Ron hissed, hand tightening around his wand.

"No, I don't think you do," Harry responded, his own hand finding his wand. "Because if you remembered correctly, you'd be doing everything in your power to find your sister's murderer and put her behind bars – or execute her. You wouldn't be arguing with your old school enemy. We're not children anymore, Ronald," his words became softer and softer as he spoke.

"Like you're one to speak, about school enemies," Ron laughed. "Since you're so buddy-buddy with him now."

Harry ignored his friend, ignored everyone around him. He was about to do something very stupid – it would likely garner him a curse from the testy redhead in front of him. But maybe it would help to motivate the man.

"Do you even know how she died, Ron?" he wondered, voice light. "We were running. Through the Forbidden Forest. Remember, we were sent out to find the Centaurs and ask for their help. But Greyback and Bellatrix saw us leave – they were on our tail almost instantly. She was scared, Ron. She'd never done anything like that before. It was always you, Hermione, and I. She didn't know how to run and defend herself at the same time."

"Harry..." Ron whispered weakly.

"We'd never taught her. We thought it would always just be the three of us. We didn't want anybody else in the line of fire," Harry continued easily. "It was a mistake. I turned to curse Fenrir Greyback and she tripped. I pulled her up and we kept going, but she had broken her ankle in the roots of the trees. I didn't know how to heal broken bones, Ron. So I carried her instead."

Harry kept talking, voice getting louder and louder. He could picture everything the way it had been at that moment: it had just rained, the grounds were moist and slippery. The Death Eaters had attacked as Harry, Ron, and Hermione were getting back from hunting Horcruxes – it was May, but it was hot and humid. Ginny was sixteen, not supposed to be part of the fight at all, but Harry could never deny her anything. She'd followed him out of the Room of Requirements, and Harry had initially tried to get her to go back, but after a short argument had made her stick by his side.

Minerva had begged him to go get the Centaurs and anybody they could rally to help. They were severely outnumbered and because of years of less-than-perfect Defense teachers, the students who were capable of helping were few and far between. He'd agreed with little hesitation – between Death Eaters and the Forbidden Forest, Ginny had stood a higher chance in the Forbidden Forest.

Until she broke her ankle.

"Hang on to me and turn a little," he had told her, grunting under her weight as he continued to stumble near-blindly through the deeper parts of the forest. "Defend us, Ginny. Defend us!"

She was good, he remembered thinking as they crashed through the underbrush. Fenrir fell from a well-aimed Difindo going through his jugular (he was sure she hadn't meant to kill him, but now that he was dead, their chances of getting away unscathed had gotten higher). But Bellatrix was better, and she was shrieking out laughs and throwing curses back faster than Ginny could defend against them. A bone-breaking hex hit him in the shoulder and another hit the back of his calf, breaking his tibia clean in half. He dropped like a stone, cursing his stupidity, trying to get Ginny to stand back up and keep going – he told her he could hold Bellatrix off.

But she refused.

It was two against one, but Bellatrix had years more practice at killing and torturing than either teenager could ever have. She bound both of them tightly to the tree, and then set about torturing him. The Cruciatus hurt more than a broken tibia, that was for sure. When she released him from the Unforgivable, she lit him on fire – Fiendfyre. He had heard Ginny screaming, heard her trying to put him out even as he tried to lift his arm from the ropes to continue throwing curses at Bellatrix.

But she was done with him.

There was nothing more scary than the words "Avada Kedavra." Especially when those two words were aimed at the sixteen-year-old girl you loved more than anything in the world. He couldn't jump in front of the curse. He struggled against the magically conjured ropes, struggling to twist his wrist in a way that would allow him to aim his wand at the woman.

It was no use, of course. Ginny went limp and he began screaming, pain bursting through his chest – pain worse than the Cruciatus – and an arrow shot over Bellatrix's head, the woman having ducked just in time.

"What the he-" he remembered her hissing, turning to look at where the arrow had come from.

An army of Centaurs stood not too far away, but they were too little, too late.

Arrows rained down at Bellatrix, but the wards had fallen from the grounds and she was able to apparate away.

And he was left tied up next to his dead, cooling girlfriend.

Someone had eventually found them, of course, but that was long after he'd screamed himself raw and bloody, long after Ginny's body had cooled off next to him, long after his body was bruised and bloodied and rope-burned from struggling against Bellatrix's ropes.

Harry's eyes slid into focus, his eyes only seeing Ron. "You untied her, Ron. You know. Why do you have to make an arse out of yourself, why can't you just do your job?"

He was expecting the fist that flew at his face. It didn't feel good, but it relieve Harry's guilt a little. He'd never told Ron how, exactly, his baby sister had died. And now Ron knew the whole truth – even if he had been told in a room full of strangers, even if he had been told while waiting for the location of Bellatrix.

Which Draco seemed to have finally figured out.

His voice cut through the thick tension in the room, quiet and not directed at anybody in particular. "I couldn't figure out where I'd seen the ballroom before – that's where she took me – but then I remembered the one time I'd been to the Lestrange Manor before then."

Lestrange Manor.

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