A/N: As promised...
"Ginny Weasley! Oh, my dear, it is good to see you alive and well," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, shaking her hand warmly.
Ginny smiled and thanked him, glancing at Charlie. Her brother nodded encouragingly, pushing her through the doorway and into the small living room of the Muggle flat. The room was cozy and bright, and other than a small box in one corner that was displaying moving images—Ginny was fairly certain this was a tee-lee—it didn't feel much different than home.
"Ginny," Charlie began, "this is Adela Shacklebolt, Kingsley's sister, and her son, Devon. You'll be staying here with them."
"Hello," said Ginny shyly, shaking the hand of the comfortable looking woman. Her son, who was waving an object in front of the tee-lee, appeared to be about fourteen or fifteen.
"Such a pleasure to have you with us, Ginny," said Adela. "My brother told me a bit about what you've been through, and we are so glad to have you here, safe. Aren't we, Devon?" The boy glanced at Ginny and nodded with a smile before turning back to the screen. "You'll have to excuse him," apologized his mother. "He's turning into quite the video game addict, and since he can't play them at Hogwarts I'm afraid I spoil him over the holiday."
Ginny stared for a moment. "He's at Hogwarts? I mean, I didn't think that…" she babbled, blushing.
"Oh, honey, don't worry. I'm not offended in the slightest. Devon is a wizard, like his uncle. I'm the Muggle in the house, and we thought Devon was too, until he got his Hogwarts letter," Adela said, smiling at her son. "Would you like the grand tour?"
Ginny glanced again at Charlie, who smiled reassuringly. "Okay," she replied, and followed Adela into the kitchen.
The small flat held a whirlwind of new discoveries for Ginny. The things these Muggles did to make up for their lack of magic were truly ingenious, and Ginny was convinced that the micro-waver had to use some sort of magic in order to heat food so quickly.
"And this will be your room," Adela said, finishing the tour of the small flat with a sweep of her arm. "I know it's a lot to take in, dear. I'll leave you alone for a moment—and I'll tell your brother to bring your things in here."
Ginny smiled gratefully and sank on to the single bed. The room was small, but it had a sunny window with cheery yellow curtains that smiled down at her, bathing her skin in gentle, golden light. She closed her eyes and let the warmth sink in, knowing that, however odd it would be to live with strangers, she was thankful to have a space of her own once again.
She heard a knock on the open door and blinked.
"Hey Gin-gin," Charlie said, lifting two large shopping bags, "Here's the clothes and things we picked up for you earlier. I hope you like them—Bill swears that Fleur has good taste, but I don't know if it's your taste. If we forgot anything, Adela has promised to take you shopping as well, so you'll get to see how Muggles buy clothes. That'll be fun, hm?" He paused and looked at Ginny, who had tucked her knees under her chin, staring at him with big, teary eyes. "Aww, Gin. Don't look at me like that."
Ginny bit her lip and blinked. "I just…I feel so alone, Charlie. Adela seems nice, and you and Bill and Fleur have been wonderful, but…" she swallowed back a little sob.
"Hey…" Charlie said, wrapping his arms around her, "Don't cry, Gin. I promised to write, didn't I? Bill too. We're going to do our best to get to the bottom of this whole thing and make sure that the Malfoys don't have another chance to hurt you, and then this will all be over."
"Why can't I stay in France, with you?" Ginny said, and cringed internally at how whiney she sounded.
"We're leaving Beauxbatons as well. We can't be there once the school term starts next week, and it's a bit out-of-the-way for most of the operations we're conducting. I can't tell you where we'll be, but it'll be nearer, if that's any comfort to you."
Ginny sniffled. "Okay. But you're going to find something for me to do in the meantime, right? Like you said?"
"Of course, silly," Charlie said, ruffling her hair. "What kind of good-for-nothing brother do you think I am?"
Draco and Blaise stood on the doorstep of the large French cottage that the Delacour family called home, according to the rather un-professional young receptionist at St. Galen's Hospital for Magical Medicine. The two cut imposing figures in the dying sunlight, both handsome, powerful looking young men, tall and impeccably dressed.
The sunlight was beginning to fade behind the clouds as Draco rapped on the door. A stately blonde woman opened it hesitantly, and Draco quickly pushed the door out of her hands and flung it wide.
"Bonjour, Madam," he began, "My partner and I have some business to discuss with you and your husband."
The woman stepped backward, obviously intimidated by the two young men, and licked her lips nervously.
"What sort of business?" she asked in accented English.
"The type that is not easily discussed on a doorstep," Draco said, stepping across the threshold and into the house with Blaise right behind him. He glanced around the main room of the house and seated himself on a couch.
"Your husband, madam," Blaise said, remaining standing at the woman's side, "and anyone else who is in the home."
Mrs. Delacour turned an ashen white and looked a bit panicky. She wrung her hands together as she called, "Phillipe! Phillipe!"
Phillipe Delacour entered the room and stopped cold at the sight of the two young men in his parlor, one seated on the couch as if he owned the entire room, and the other standing dangerously close to his wife.
"Monsier Delacour," Draco said, still seated, "Why don't you and your lovely wife have a seat?" He gestured to the sofa opposite him, and the two sat down as Draco slipped his wand between his palms.
"I believe your daughter has information that is very valuable to me," he said, sliding the thin hawthorn stick through his fingers, "And I believe you know where I can find her." He looked up and stared into Apolline Delacour's sky blue eyes, toying idly with his wand.
"Madame," he said, keeping his voice low, "I don't want this to be difficult."
"We don't know where Fleur is," stated Mr. Delacour firmly. "We can't help you."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "You have no idea where your own daughter is? None at all?"
Draco's eyes caught the firm nod that Phillipe Delacour gave him, but he also saw the woman's jaw tremble, and he let out a disappointed sigh.
"You're lying to me. I so hate it when people lie to me," he said easily, and flicked his wand at the Frenchman, muttering, "Silencio." He turned his attentions to the girl's mother. "Madam, I wish your daughter no harm. I believe she is in possession of something that belongs to me—something I need—and something I will do anything to retrieve."
"I…I don't know where she is, monsieur." Apolline replied slowly, nervously taking her husband's hand and pulling it into her lap.
Draco shook his head sadly and aimed his wand at her husband again. "Crucio," he intoned.
Tears began to roll down Apolline's cheeks as she watched her husband writhe in silent, screaming agony, clutching at her white-knuckled hand. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't do this."
"Maman…"
Everyone's eyes shot to the door.
Gabrielle Delacour stood frozen in the hall, peering into the room, her eyes wide with shock. She took in her tortured father and then glanced at Draco as if she were about to run, but Blaise was too quick. He picked her up bodily and brought her over to Draco, holding her close.
Draco eyed the young girl appraisingly and removed both spells from her father, who choked and gasped, still clinging to his wife.
"My, Mrs. Delacour, you have such a beautiful daughter. How old is she, now?" Draco said conversationally. He glanced at Blaise, who nodded in understanding.
"My Gabrielle is just a child, monsieur—just recently fourteen. Please…"
"She won't be a child for long," Blaise began, looking down at Gabrielle, still holding her tightly with one arm. "In fact, I hardly think 'child' is appropriate for such a…blossom," he finished, smoothing back the girl's fair hair.
Mrs. Delacour gasped, and Mr. Delacour grabbed his wife's hands again. "Please, leave my daughter out of this."
Draco arched an eyebrow at him, but neither Delacour noticed. They were watching in horror as Blaise leaned down and ran a finger along Gabrielle's cheek.
"Now, cherie," he crooned as she whimpered and pulled away, "That's no way to behave."
Mr. Delacour was on his feet instantly. "You will not touch her!" he roared.
"Incarcerous," said Draco, binding both parents with the same spell. "I'm sure we can work out an arrangement. You say you don't know where your daughter is? Fine. But I'm assuming that she calls in every now and again to let you know how she is. Perhaps I'll let Mr. Zabini hold on to Gabrielle for a bit, and next time you hear from your daughter, you'll let me know. I'm sure she'd love to chat."
"No!" cried Apolline as Blaise picked Gabrielle up again, "Please, I…"
"Apolline!" said Mr. Delacour sternly.
"No, Phillipe! I won't let them do this to Gabrielle," she said, and let out a choked sob. "Fleur is at Beauxbatons Academy."
Draco stood and nodded to Blaise, who still grasped the small girl tightly. "The school is Unplottable, is it not?"
The Delacours nodded, and Apolline spoke. "On my bureau is a broach with the school's crest. It's an emergency Apparition pass for parents."
Draco nodded at Blaise, who released the shell-shocked girl and left the room. Gabrielle flew to her parents, wrapping her arms around them tightly and crying quietly.
Blaise re-entered in a moment. "Shall we?" he said, tossing the broach into the air and catching it.
Draco nodded and glanced pointedly at Gabrielle.
"Of course," said Blaise, turning to the crying family on the couch, "It would not do to arrive at Beauxbatons to find that we have been lied to, would it?" He pulled Gabrielle from her parents, prying her fingers from their ropes. He grinned evilly at her parents as he lifted the hair from the back of her neck and touched his wand to her skin, hissing a complicated incantation.
"What black magic is this?" demanded Phillipe, peering at his daughter's neck, looking for a mark of some kind.
Draco smirked. "If you value her at all, I wouldn't try removing it. But if you've told us the truth, no harm will come to her. Come, Blaise. We need to tell another beloved daughter that mummy and daddy say hello."
The two Apparated straight to the main entrance of the Academy, and Draco smirked and pocketed the broach. So far, the Delacours had spoken the truth.
Beauxbatons was a grand palace, and Draco wondered why his parents had insisted he attend Hogwarts instead, in that drafty old castle. He glanced at Blaise, who glared disgustedly at him.
"Honestly, Draco. Of all of the things I've done for you, threatening to molest a kid in front of her parents has got to be among the lowest."
Draco snorted. "She's fourteen. You've done much worse than touch a fourteen-year-old's cheek.
"Well, yeah, but the last time I did something to a fourteen-year-old, I was fifteen." Blaise said uncomfortably.
"I'm teasing, mate," Draco said, smirking. "In fact, I hardly think 'child' is appropriate for such a…blossom," he mocked. "Seriously, Blaise? Blossom?"
Blaise shrugged. "Glad you can laugh about something," he said ruefully, "but I was going for creepy. It worked, didn't it?"
Draco shook his head and turned to the entrance of Beauxbatons, and his expression darkened. "Now, to storm the palace."
Bellatrix was later than Lucius anticipated.
He'd expected her to sound the alarm that the Dark Lord had been brutally murdered before he'd finished his luncheon, but that had been hours ago. He found himself wandering through the main library, pulling out a title here or there, only to put them all back without really looking at them.
He was worried, and he didn't like to be worried.
Narcissa came up from behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"What is preoccupying my Lord this evening?" she murmured against his back.
He turned to face her and ran a gentle finger through her hair, smoothing back the soft locks that had unraveled from the day's chignon.
"Ah, my Lady. I had expected to hear from your sister," he answered, slowly easing a pin from her hair.
She smiled and put a hand on his chest. "My Lord, the deed is done, and the plan is flawless. Don't be troubled by Bella. She has no real credibility anymore. Those who side with you will be the intelligent and the ambitious. The fools will be culled."
Lucius gave his wife a fierce grin and pulled her toward himself. "I love the way your mind works, my dear," he whispered, slipping her hair free from its knot. As the platinum locks spilled down over her shoulders, he swept her up in a deep kiss.
"And I, yours," Narcissa breathed as he pulled her toward a couch.
They sank down into the soft velvet as a House Elf popped into the room.
"Excuse Milly, Master, but—"
"Out! Now!" roared Lucius.
"But Master said that if Miss Bellatrix—"
Lucius groaned and turned to his wife, who sighed and fell back on the couch. "Go," she waved dismissively. "If only she could have waited ten more minutes…"
Lucius smirked and kissed his wife's hand before standing and straightening his robes. He stalked down the corridor to the parlor as a man possessed, ready to face Bellatrix's ire.
He wasn't quite prepared for her to fall at his feet and weep uncontrollably, clutching at his ankles.
"Oh, Lucius," she sobbed, "Who could d-d-do such a thing? The Dark Lord…they k-k-killed him! Lucius, what shall we do? What shall w-w-we do?"
Lucius, the picture of brotherly affection, lifted his sister-in-law's hands and led her to a settee. She sat willingly but held his hands in a vice-like grip, and Lucius could barely hide the temptation to shudder.
"What do you mean, Bella darling?" he asked in a low voice, feigning concern. "How has the Dark Lord been killed?"
"I don't know, Lucius. I went to…visit…with him this evening, and all that remains is his tortured body. His beautiful, tortured body!" she said, sobbing into his shoulder. He allowed himself a disdainful sneer.
"If what you say is true, Bellatrix, then someone has murdered our Lord."
Bella looked up at him, and he saw insanity shimmering in her dark eyes as easily as he saw the tears. "He must be avenged," she whispered.
"We will gather the inner circle. Fetch Roldolphus and Rabastan, and I'll find Nott and Carrow. We'll convene at our Lord's castle at midnight."
Bellatrix gave a shuddering sob. "I-I don't know if I c-can go on."
Lucius pulled his sister-in-law up to her feet and hugged her tightly to his chest.
"Everything will be as it should be, Bella. I shall see to it…personally."
"Give it up, Blaise. They've obviously covered their tracks well enough; she's probably magically bound to tell you nothing," Draco said, watching as Blaise lifted a Cruciatus curse from the Beauxbatons' Headmistress. She collapsed in a large heap—the woman was unbelievably huge, thought Draco—and didn't move.
"Tell me you didn't bloody kill her. That's the last thing I need," he complained.
"She's not dead, mate. But if you don't quit ordering me around like a nagging girlfriend, you might be," Blaise replied, checking Madame Olympe's pulse.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, scanning the room. "But I suppose you have experience with nags; you're the one who actually dated Astoria." Ignoring Blaise's glare, he paused and put a hand on the mantle. "Have we checked the Floo points yet?"
"Yes," Blaise sighed. "You told me to do that as soon as we figured out that they weren't here. No one has Flooed out in weeks."
Draco undid the top button of his shirt and folded his arms. They'd been at this stupid palace for the entire afternoon, and while it was clear that Ginny and her brothers had been here, they'd disappeared without a trace.
"We could go back to the Delacours. With the curse I have on little Elle, they're guaranteed to cooperate," Blaise said, flipping his wand idly.
"No, I'm sure that they told us what they knew. We could take the girl hostage, but that would just get messy—and they'd probably try to do something heroic and get very boring," Draco said, running a hand through his hair.
Blaise flipped his wand again and dropped it. He cursed and picked it up. "You know," he said slowly, "We can't track Apparition out of here, but if they're back in England, won't the Department of Magical Transportation have a record of the international entries?"
Draco grinned slowly. "I was wondering why I keep you around, you reprobate," he said, buttoning his shirt. "Looks like I've got a favor to call in at the Ministry."
Lucius arrived at the Dark Lord's final home at half past midnight. It would be to his advantage if he were the last to arrive, and since Narcissa was an excellent actress and could be "inconsolable" at the drop of a hat, he even had an alibi, just in case.
But it didn't matter. He found them all, the three Lestranges, Nott, and Carrow, gathered around Voldemort's rotting corpse, weeping. The Cruciatus curse had hastened the decay process—no, it was probably that the man had been decaying while there was still life in his body. Either way, the stench was unbearable.
Lucius took a place at the foot of the bed and knelt, bowing his head against the dark wood of the bed frame for effect.
"My brothers and sister," he began, keeping his head bowed, "A great transgression has happened this day. Our Lord has been slain, and brutally so. It falls upon us, the inner circle, to punish the transgressors and continue the perfect work our Lord began so long ago. He will be avenged, and he will be remembered by all Wizardkind."
He looked up, tears shining in his eyes. Narcissa wasn't the only Malfoy who could cry on command. The five other Death Eaters nodded, looking from the rotting corpse to their de facto leader with sorrow and vengeance intermingling in their glittering eyes.
"Now, comrades, I think it would be best if the LeStranges and myself began arrangements for the funeral. The ancient magic of a sorcerer's death should be considered, and Rabastan and I are most able with runes. Bellatrix and Roldolphus, your devotion to the Dark Lord will ensure that the funeral and burial immortalize his greatness. Narcissa shall assist you with preparations. Nott and Carrow, we need to investigate the cause of our Lord's death. I leave that charge in your capable hands."
The Death Eaters murmured their assent to these plans, and Lucius took his leave of them. He Apparated back into the lounge at Malfoy Manor and sank onto a leather chaise, placing a finger gently on his throbbing temple.
Lying was one thing, and Occlumency was another, but the six people he had most feared would question his assumed authority had bought and swallowed it whole. Nevertheless, Lucius sat on the soft leather for a full five minutes before he stood, straightened his robes, and went to find his wife.
He knew she'd be waiting up for him in bed. Narcissa hated having unfinished business of any variety.
Ginny shut the door to the flat and sighed, setting down the small bag of groceries she'd purchased as she fussed with her key. Living as a Muggle was tiring, and it had been lovely to get out of the flat for the first time in the three days she'd been there.
For the past few days, Kingsley's sister had hovered around her, helping her learn how to use the micro-waver and the strange new money, but this afternoon, there had been some sort of crisis and Adela had left Ginny to fend for herself, promising that Devon would be home later in the day. Not that Ginny minded. She was still waiting for Charlie to keep his promise and find something useful to do.
She finally got the key to twist in the lock, and she yawned as she picked up the bag and carried it toward the kitchen, slowly putting the food away. She set the eggs in the refrigerator and realized that the carton was oozing with yellow goo. Cursing, she attempted to clean up the smashed egg.
Devon, entered the kitchen through the back door of the flat, his head bobbing to music that Ginny couldn't hear. When he saw her, he slipped a gadget from his ears and smiled.
"Evening, Ginny," he said cheerfully, "You made it to the store and back okay?"
"Yes," she replied, "It was a lot easier to use the, er, credit card than count out the, er, ponds."
"Pounds," Devon corrected with a laugh. "I'm going to go play my game. Mum'll be home a bit late, so she said I could just throw a pizza in the oven."
"Can I do it? I watched her work the oven yesterday," said Ginny. She was tired of being bored, and even though cooking a frozen pizza was mundane, it would give her something to do.
Devon nodded. "Sure, I guess. Pizza's in the freezer. Make sure you take off the cardboard before you put it on a tray. I'll be playing my game if you need help." He grinned and left Ginny to face the oven alone.
Ginny turned to the large appliance and gave it a look of fierce determination. First she needed to turn the thing on…
She heard a crack and jumped. The noise had sounded magical, though it might have come from Devon's game.
But the usual sounds from the game hadn't started.
She listened carefully for Devon, and heard nothing. Adrenaline began to course through her system. Over her rising panic, a small voice insistently repeated one thing: get your wand. Her new wand was in her bureau, in her room down the corridor.
She slipped off her shoes and padded across the linoleum kitchen floor in her socks, then slipped into the hall, moving carefully across the hardwood. She entered her room and pulled open her bureau, frantically fishing for her wand among the garments in the top drawer. Her fingers closed around it, and she realized she had been holding her breath.
She exhaled slowly, turned toward the doorway, and promptly stopped breathing again. There, silhouetted in the doorway, was her husband.
She raised her arm and held her wand high, ready to defend herself, but he flicked his wand and muttered, "Expelliarmus." She watched helplessly as her wand flew away into the corner of the room.
"Accio wand," he drawled, catching Ginny's wand smoothly as he stepped up to her. In the darkened room, she couldn't see his expression clearly until his face was inches from hers, and when she raised her arms to protect herself from him, he grabbed them and held her so tightly that it brought tears to her eyes.
"I think it's high time you came home, Mrs. Malfoy," he said, his eyes electric with anger.
"What did you do to Devon?" she shakily managed to ask. Her courage was evaporating rapidly, and she hated the high tremor in her voice.
"The boy?" Draco said, arching a sardonic eyebrow. "He'll live, but if I were you that would be the last thing I'd be worried about."
He let go of her arms and ran the tip of his wand lightly down her cheek and slowly down the curve of her neck and down to her wrist, then repeated the motion on her other side.
"How did you find me?" she demanded, in a voice that sounded smaller than she had intended, her eyes carefully following his wand's path across her body.
He smiled, keeping his gaze trained on his task. "Perhaps I had a tracking charm on you, Princess. Or perhaps I have eyes in Muggle London. Or perhaps," he said, cupping her cheek with a strong hand, forcing her frightened eyes to meet his, "perhaps your darling sister-in-law doesn't hold up well under torture."
Ginny gasped and tried to shy away, but he held her head firmly. "You…you tortured Fleur? You beast!" she spat.
"Now, now, Ginny dear. I think you really ought to do as I say. You made a choice to run away from me, and that meant people needed to be hurt. I'm sure you don't want more people to suffer. Do you, love?" He smoothed his hand gently over her cheek, slipped his thumb behind her ear, and gazed at her with sad, reproachful eyes.
Ginny quailed, realizing that the look on Draco's face did not match the tightening grip around her head. She swallowed and summoned her fragmented courage. "No, this is not my fault, Draco. I don't care how good at manipulating people you are—you're the one who hurt people."
His eyes held hers, maintaining their mournful shade of grey, and he extended his other hand just enough to let his fingertips brush her cheeks and linger for a moment on her neck. "I didn't enjoy hurting them, Princess," he whispered in a low tone, "Not for a moment. And I'm sorry I had to do it."
She stared at him in disbelief. Deep down, she knew he was acting. This was Draco Malfoy. But the look on his face—and the tone in his voice—he couldn't be seriously sorry. Could he?
He released his grip on her and idly settled both wands in his pocket, keeping his silver eyes on hers. Slowly, he extended his hand, palm up.
"Your brother would be so devastated if anything else happened to his precious wife, mmm? Just as I would be if harm were to befall you. Let me take you home, Mrs. Malfoy." Ginny stared at him for a long moment, still confused by the game he seemed to be playing.
"You're asking? As if I have any say in the matter," Ginny finally muttered rebelliously. She watched as a smirk lit up his fair features, but his eyes glittered dangerously.
"Not really, love, but I thought I'd give you the courtesy of the question," he answered, seizing her hand. "Think of it as a bit of a test, which, unfortunately, you just failed."
He spun her around and held her tightly from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist. He leaned down over her shoulder and whispered in a tone that made Ginny shiver.
"It seems to me that you need another lesson, Princess."
A/N: I know. I'm evil.
BUT...I can't help but be pleased that I finished this in under a month, especially since it's twice as long as most of my chapters. Please take a moment and let me know what you loved and hated—my muse feeds on critique, praise, and a hefty dose of guilt.
And a special thanks to some of my anonymous reviewers: I wish I could thank you personally like I do the reviewers who log in, but please know that some of the comments you gave me made my WEEK. Thank you!