At breakfast the next morning Professor McGonagall sadly announced that the school would be closing for reasons of security until a new headmaster was officially appointed. Those who wanted to stay on for Dumbledore's funeral were welcome to do so, but a special train would be put on for all those who did not wish to remain at school. Almost the entire school stayed, however a few students did leave, some because their parents had demanded they come home immediately on hearing of Dumbledore's death, others because they had no wish to stay and a few because they had other, more personal funerals to go to.

This last group included a small group of Gryffindors, who, having raided Dumbledore's private library for several books on Horcruxes, were heading home for the funeral of Sirius Black.

It was a quiet affair, Tonks, Lupin, Harry, Draco, the Weasleys and Hermione were the only people in attendance. As the only surviving members of his family, Tonks and Draco led the procession from Grimmauld place to the Black family vault in the nearby church. The vault was marked by a large stab of dark grey marble which looked almost black with age. After a very short service the slab was slid back- with magic, even though the muggle priest had to be oblivated afterwards –and the ebony coffin was slowly lowered to join those already down there. The lid of the tomb was slid back and sealed for the final time. Sadly the mourners returned to Grimmauld Place where Kreacher had prepared several trays of curious sandwiches. Draco, like everyone else, took just enough to be polite and no more. The will was read and then goodbyes were said. Draco headed back home.

The house had only been empty for a couple of weeks but inside it felt clammy and musty. Cobwebs were beginning to accumulate in the less well travelled areas of the house and the only noise Draco could hear was his own breathing. Slowly Draco headed to the boiler cupboard to relight the central heating. No use. What was wrong? Draco tried the light. No electricity. Bother. Well, that was easily dealt with. Draco headed back downstairs to find the circuit breakers. Yes – they were all off. Draco flicked them back on and suddenly a great symphony of noise began across the house- everything turned on at once, filling the place with the gentle buzz of the fans to the slight clink of the light bulbs turning on. A bass note penetrated all though, with a great whumph the boiler had fired up. That was better, still, Draco found himself impatient for the day when he was finally allowed to use magic outside of school. Only a couple of months to go, he thought excitedly, as he began chopping the vegetables for dinner.

Despite a regular commute of owls between his house and The Burrow, Draco was feeling cut off from the rest of the world. He hadn't seen, or talked, to anyone in weeks and so it was with great surprise that a vast patronus roared down his chimney and out of the empty fireplace to announce the Minister for Magic. How was he going to arrive though? This place had never been connected to the floo network and nobody had come to do the wandwork at his end, nor could he apparated in- Noctifer had installed more than enough security charms to prevent that happening. It was only a couple of minutes until Draco found out.

The doorbell rang three times. And another three short blasts. Getting up from his comfortable armchair Draco got up and headed down the house to the door. With one hand on his wand he slowly opened it. Outside stood Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic since Crouch had retired.

'May I come in Mr Malfoy.' The man asked, with a hint of distaste in his mouth.

'I suppose so. Would you care for a cup of tea? Or something stronger perhaps?'

'Something stronger if you've got it, if you please.'

'Certainly. There's a thirty year old firewhiskey here, would that suit?'

'That sounds lovely, thank you.'

Draco poured two drinks and took the minister to the second sitting room.

'Please take a seat.' Draco said, sitting down in his favourite armchair.

'Thank-you. Mr Malfoy. I have come to you from the Burrrow. I am here to pass along some objects that have been left to you.'

'Left to me? Who by?'

'Albus Dumbledore. He has left you two books, one appears to be a bound proof copy. It has a note attached saying that he would like you to publish it in the distant future, but until that time to make good use of it.'

'I see.'

'Well, I'm not quite sure you do. Did Dumbledore ever mention anything to you about the Dark Arts?'

'Yes.'

'He did?'

'Well, he did teach us Defence against the Dark Arts three years or so ago. Following the Moody debacle.'

'Of course. Difficult to teach that subject without talking about the dark arts, isn't it?'

'One would suppose so.'

'But apart from that, did he ever mention anything to you about the dark arts?'

On the edge of his mind Draco felt a strange probing presence. Immediately he thought back to his lessons with Snape and did his best to force the intruding presence of Scrimgeour out of his mind.

'No.' Draco lied. If Scrimgeour hadn't been taken into Dumbledore's confidence when the headmaster was alive, Draco was damned if he'd do it now that Dumbledore was dead.

'I see. Well, I suppose I have to give you these books, no matter hjow questionable the content might be.'

'Questionable?'

'Yes, indeed. I take it Dumbledore didn't tell you he had left you anything.'

'No, he didn't.'

'Well, one book- a perfectly fine and legitimate book- is one advanced defensive magics. It looks as if Dumbledore wrote it himself. The other, well, let's say that it has a somewhat less pleasant tone, shall we.' Scrimgeour produced two books and laid them down on the small coffee table that stood between them before walking back to the front door.

'Thank you for your time and your firewhiskey. A truly redoubtable vintage. I must be leaving you- lots of work to be getting on with.'

'Very well. Farewell, Minister.'

Scrimgeour looked back when he was about to leave.

'You sound spookily like your father, Mr Malfoy. Goodbye.' And with a flick of his coattails he vanished. That was a bit surreal. Draco wondered whether he had imagined all of that for a moment, but when he went back to the sitting room and found two books sitting fussily on the table he realised it had been all too real. Draco picked up the top book. It was titled Advance Defensive Magics by A.P.W. . The other book was unbound and had a handwritten title. The Dark Art, A Comprehensive Guide. Curious, Draco picked it up and leafed through it. Everything was in here. Everything. There was no piece of dark magic Draco had ever heard of that wasn't written down here with full instructions about how to cast the spell right down to how to detect it and beat it. This was an evil wizard's dream. What had Dumbledore been thinking when he had written this? It was full to the brim of illegal spells, hexes and curses and it had gotten to him through the ministry censors despite all that. Perhaps Dumbledore'd been thinking quite a lot about this. Why would he want to pass Draco a load of dark magic though? What was the point? Draco sat, in a sort of shocked silence and turned it all over in his mind. What use could dark magic be? The Dark Lord? Yes, it had to be something to do with him. What though? Draco flipped to the H's. Glory be that this book was sorted alphabetically. H-O, H-O, there we go. Horcruxes, horcruxes, were they in here? Were they in here? Yes- there they were, a full, what- Draco quickly flipped the pages over – five sides on them. There wasn't much on how to create them, but even the bare bones Dumbledore had written down suggested to Draco a way to make one. The biggest section in the book was on how to destroy them. It was a disappointingly short list. Draco felt frustrated- he'd known about all of these already. Was there anything on detection?

The only known way to detect a horcrux is blind luck and deduction using knowledge about the wizard who created it. It is possible to detect a horcrux by the way that a wizard using one does not die when hit by a killing curse- see pages 12, 18, 122-141 and most of the rest of the book- but instead becomes an ethereal spirit.

Hmm, no use there then. Draco put the book on the dark arts to one side before picking up the other. What was in it? Draco looked at then contents page, deep in wonder. In it were listed such chapters as "All you need to know about battle transfiguration" and "So you thought charms were friendly?" This looked like it would be just as useful as the other book, possibly more so as some of the things in it looked as though they might be actually usable. Legally usable, that is – thought something in the back of Draco's mind.

All of a sudden, Draco looked up, distracted from his reverie by a tapping at the window. It was his owl, come back from delivering Harry his birthday present. Attached to one leg was a brief note.

Hi Draco,

Hermione here. Thought I'd keep you up to date with what we're planning here. Won't say too much in case this owl is intercepted, but Ron's older brother Bill is getting married soon. See you at some point afterwards.

Stay safe.

Hermione.

No real news there then, but by the sounds of things their plans would be going ahead soon. Just as well, it was beginning to get more than a little lonely stuck here for weeks on end. Oh well, at least he had magic now, the last few months had been a lot better than the first of this – well, it wasn't really a holiday was it?

About lunchtime Draco decided to go outside and stretch his legs. Locking up the house he went outside and wandered slowly through the village, and out again the other side, no-one spotted him, thanks to a carefully cast notice-me-not charm. The woods on the far side of the village grew up a steep hill and it was to the top of this hill that Draco now climbed. It was unpleasantly warm work- particularly in the warm and sticky atmosphere that seemed to fill the place. At the top of the hill was a large oak, and with a quick jump, Draco had his arms hanging onto one of the lower branches. Draco swung his legs a bit and then gave one almighty pull with his arms, his body went up and he managed to loop one of his legs onto the branch so that he was now hanging underneath it like a sloth. Pulling the other leg onto the branch, Draco shuffled slightly so he could do the next bit. Letting go with his arms, Draco hung upside down by the strength of his legs alone. Slowly he reached upwards, doing what looked to be the strangest sit-up since the dawn of human history. Draco felt with his fingers as his stomach screamed at him. Not much longer now. There, he had the branch. Good. Draco untangled himself from the lower branch and used his arms to pull himself up so that he was standing on it. Now it was easy- all he had to do now was climb to the branch where'd he placed the post-box he was directing all his magical post to. What was in it? A couple of bills in their brown envelopes stood out, particularly unwelcome, but since they were addressed to Noctifer, Draco didn't concern himself with them, simply writing "not known at this address- return to sender" on them before stuffing them into the outbox. The only other thing in there was what he had come to pick up- this week's backlog of Daily Prophets. Sticking these under one arm he climbed down before jumping out of the lowest branch. Rolling slightly to break the impact of his fall, Draco started the journey home.

Pretty soon he found himself wishing that he hadn't bothered- there was no interesting news filling the prophet- there never was when the wizengamot was on its summer break. One article however, eventually caught his eye.

Aurors recalled.

Several well-known former aurors have answered the ministry's plea this week to come out of retirement, as the present crisis continues. Amongst the returning aurors are such notable names as Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody and Phil 'Knock Knees' Ramsbotham. It is hoped that the return of these grizzled veterans of the previous conflict will turn the sway of the battle ever more in the ministry's favour.

Hmm, calling back retired aurors- no matter how they spun it anyone could see that the ministry was struggling if it had had to do that. It was only a matter of time. How much time was anybody's guess.

Draco spent the rest of the week preparing to welcome Harry, Ron and Hermione. He organised them each their own room, although it pained him slightly to think that one of Ron or Hermione's wouldn't be used much. Draco had just finished putting clean towels out, late one evening when an urgent ringing started on the door. Draco hurried to answer it. Outside stood Harry, Hermione and a bleeding Ron.