DISCLAIMER: None of the Harry Potter stuff is mine. All credit goes to J.K. Rowling, except for the plot of this particular fic. It’s mine, so no stealing. Oh and...Reviews are good. They’re great, in fact. So do great things. Review. Thanks!
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Chapter 1: Pleasantries


Hogwarts was in a panic. It had been nearly a month since the death of their beloved Headmaster, and no one had the slightest clue on what to do. McGonagall was a good teacher, but not good enough to be a permanent replacement. At the moment she was sitting at her desk (she refused to take Dumbledore’s office as her own), massaging her temples. She had had no idea how stressful the job would be. And she didn’t mean just the school; the Order of the Phoenix was left leaderless as well. The truth was she was just getting too old. Those stunning spells had really taken it out of her the previous year, and although she’d never admit it, she was well on her way to joining Dumbledore.

Minerva’s brief moment of contemplation was interrupted four short, swift raps in a unique little rhythm…the signal for those on urgent business for the Order. The Headmistress stiffened. Not again…

“Come in,” she said tiredly.

Remus Lupin entered, looking even more haggard and tired than her. “Good afternoon, Minerva.”
Professor McGonagall’s mouth thinned. Why does he still insist on petty pleasantries? We’re at war!

“Just state your business, Remus,” she snapped.

Lupin didn’t seem to hear her, for he continued on quite amiably, “It’s awfully hectic in Diagon Alley, as usual. And as usual, I dismissed this behavior to the usual panic and fear. But imagine my surprise when I saw today’s issue of the Daily Prophet."
McGonagall’s mouth thinned even further, if that was possible. I don't care! her mind screamed. She tried to keep her temper in check. He was just concerned.

“Remus, you know the Prophet can’t be truste-"

“Yes, but even I will pay a bit of attention when the headline has a great big picture of Malfoy Manor, of all places, with the Dark Mark hovering over it.”

Minerva McGonagall looked at Lupin in incredulity. “What!”

"Look for yourself," he said, pulling out a crumpled newspaper from within his raggedy robe pockets.
Minerva took the newspaper and began reading it with growing apprehension.


Death Eaters vs. Death Eaters?

The home of Lucius Malfoy, who was proven to be a Death Eater by the Wizengamot last year, was attacked last night by his very own. When a group of highly trained Aurors rushed upon the scene near midnight, not a single body was found. The house showed signs of a struggle, but apart from several terrified house elves that refused to comment, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Except that it’s human occupants have been missing for two days now. Which leaves us to think, if the Death Eaters will not hesitate to attack their own, where does that leave us…?
(Continued on page E13)

McGonagall didn’t bother reading the rest. She had grown markedly pale. “Draco, and Narcissa…we promised them our protection! And now the Other Side has captu- "

Lupin shook his head. “No, Severus promised them our protection. It’s a good thing that Kingsley remembered, and set up one of the strongest security systems imaginable.”

McGonagall looked at Remus in confusion. “But we have no men to spare.”

Lupin smiled grimly. “No men, but there are plenty of other creatures. Kingsley,” he said, seeming to savor the name in his mouth, “sent a small group of his deceased cousin’s house elves to work at Malfoy Manor, with instructions to contact the Order if they heard or saw anything worth our suspicion.”

House elves…what a brilliant idea. Why did no one else think of that? Then she paused as another alarming thought struck her. “So Narcissa and Draco…are in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?”

Remus shook his head again, “No…we couldn’t risk a security leak like that. They’re currently residing in the Burrow.”

McGonagall could barely conceal her horror.
The Weasley’s are going to have quite the little fit over this…


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Author Notes-
Next chapter: Look forward to some little fits, a scary vegetable, and lots of Malfoy.
If you're going to flame me, at least make it worth my while by telling me how I can improve it. And that does not include "Go f@#$ yourself and die." Though I'm sure it would amuse you.

CHAPTER 2: Spoiled Squash of Suffering

A little fit was a serious understatement.

“MALFOY?” Ron nearly exploded.

”Calm down, Ron. I’m sure this is all just a huge misunderstanding…”

”I will NOT bloody calm down, Ginny! That—that thing is going to stay in my house! With his mother!” Ron’s face was purple with rage.

Draco’s mouth twisted into a nasty sneer. “Don’t wet yourself, Weasley. I’m not going to sleep with you or anything. And this hardly qualifies as a house.”

Ron lunged.

…And that was the scene that Arthur Weasley came home to. Draco sneering as Ginny, with a hold on Ron’s shirt, just barely stopped him from pummeling their new guest. Oh, Lord.

“RON!”

Ron let his hands fall, looking guiltily at his dad. His face was still tinged with several shades of violet.

Arthur put on his sternest face, the one he usually reserved for special occasions. He figured this was pretty…special. “Ron, Mal- I mean, Draco, is a guest in our house, along with Mrs. Malfoy. I want you to treat them with the utmost respect. And that means no pummeling!”

Ron scowled, and Ginny finally let his shirt go. Mr. Weasley nodded in approval and continued, “That's better. Now, I want you to show Draco to Fred and George’s old room. I’ll send his trunks up later. And Ginny, your mother needs help cleaning the kitchen.”

The three looked at Arthur with identically horrified expressions. It would’ve been almost comical if the entire situation weren’t so grim. Ron and Ginny stood around for a moment, unwilling to do their respected tasks. Finally Ginny set off for the kitchen (though not without plenty of grumbling), and Ron reluctantly started up the stairs, Draco trailing behind.

This is going to be the worst bloody summer ever, the three thought simultaneously.

Who knew they could be so right and yet so wrong?

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Harry Potter was mad. No, Harry Potter was furious. Harry Potter was so sodding angry that he was thinking about himself in the third person. He picked up an inkbottle and threw it across the room, making sure he made plenty of noise. Harry smiled in satisfaction as he heard Uncle Vernon yelling at him from the stairs.

It had all began the moment he had come from Hogwarts. He had not forgotten his conversation with Ron and Hermione, and still fully intended to look for the remaining Horcruxes. In fact, the moment he had come home, he had tried to take his trunk and set off. But Aunt Petunia was having none of it. It seemed the Dursley’s all remembered Dumbledore’s visit quite well, and did not want to chance another wizard coming and using that 'stick of doom', as they now referred to wands. Harry tried to tell her that Dumbledore was quite, quite dead, but as usual, no one believed him.

They never listened! None of them! For upon learning this news, Harry had owled Ron, begging to be rescued. Molly Weasley had replied… with a Howler. The actual message had consisted of, “Don’t you dare…too young…get yourself killed…blah blah blah blah.” Or something of that sort.

The nerve of that woman! He appreciated her, but when would she stop trying to be a mother figure to him? She wasn’t his mother, and the sooner she realized it, the better. For everyone. Harry personally thought if he stayed inside this house for one more minute he would implode. Much like when you leave a bottle of butterbeer out in the sun, except messier. Much, much messier.

Harry was seriously considering just walking right out, despite the Dursley’s protests, when he saw the headline of the Daily Prophet. That was the last straw- he stopped considering it; Harry grabbed his trunk, latched it onto his broom, and took off into the sunset.

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“I refuse! I absolutely refuse to live in that filthy junkyard. I’m going to the Parkinson’s,” huffed Narcissa, eyes flashing, everything about her stance just daring someone to stop her.

Which Remus Lupin promptly did.

“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter, Mrs. Malfoy. You either come with us peacefully, or we bind you and force you to come with us peacefully.”

Narcissa snarled, “I’d rather die!”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that was in my list of options,” Lupin said deploringly. He beckoned to the two burly Aurors who were standing by, and half a second later Narcissa Malfoy slumped to the floor, unconscious. “That’s better,” said Remus. He scooped up the slender blonde woman and Disapparated. Filthy junkyard, here we come.

The tension in the Burrow was already stifling. Draco had made a rather rude remark about Molly and her cooking; something about how cows were generally cooked, not the one’s cooking. Suffice to say, more than one person was on the edge of their leash when they heard the “pop!” usually associated with Apparition.

Ron gave an ecstatic whoop as he saw who it was. “Finally! Someone worth knowing! Professor, could you please tell us why we have a sudden ferret infestation? Mum and Dad are being all secretive with us, and it’s bloody annoying.”

”Language, Ronald!” scolded Mrs. Weasley. Ron ignored her, instead looking at Lupin expectantly.

Remus was about to answer when he was cut off by Draco’s angry growl, “What the hell have you done to my mother?” He was glaring at Lupin, his hand clenched around his dinner fork as though it were a weapon.

”Oh, that’s your mother? I thought it was a pig,” said Ron, looking quite pleased with himself for thinking of such a clever taunt.

Draco flung the fork at him. It missed, fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it.

“Would you shut UP already? Honestly, the pair of you are acting like complete ninnies, and I really want to hear Professor Lupin’s story,” snapped Ginny, speaking up for the first time since dinner began. “It could be something interesting.”

Draco smirked, "It involves me, Weasley. Of course it's going to be interesting."
She rolled her eyes.

Remus smiled at the petite redhead, “Thank you, Ginny. It is rather...interesting. I know you don’t have the Prophet delivered any longer, so I’ll start from the beginning. After Harry told us about Draco’s predicament involving the safety of his family, we had a few of our own planted among Malfoy Manor. They were there to watch and alert us about anything even remotely suspicious. A few days ago, we received an urgent call from said agents, warning us of an attack on Malfoy Manor. We managed to get Mrs. Malfoy and Draco away before these Death Eaters attac-”

“But why would they attack the Malfoys? They’re on the Other Side!” interrupted Ron.

“They were angry that Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore last year. Anyways, we managed to get the Malfoys away from the attack, but we had no idea where to put them. Headquarters was, obviously, out of the question, and we were seriously considering sending them to a Muggle establishment when Arthur here volunteered his own home,” finished Lupin.

Sensing the glares upon him, Arthur stood up and clapped his hands, “Right, kids. Well, story time is over! Off to sleepy land you go!”

All three turned around and went quietly, with the exception of Draco, who could be heard muttering, “Sleepy land…honestly…”

The voices from downstairs slowly disappeared as he climbed toward his (or rather, Fred and George's) room. He simply stood and glared at his bedroom door, as though it were its fault for everything, before opening it and stepping inside. For a moment, Draco actually thought he was dying. Then he realized that the tears in his eyes and the stench in his nose was due to yet another Weasley prank.

“Spoiled Squash of Suffering?” Draco read aloud off of the side. “Ugh, sick!” In a panic, Draco attempted to incinerate the bruised yellow vegetable with his wand, but the stench only grew worse. Suddenly the door flew open, a mass of red hair flew by, and Draco stared as the youngest Weasley scooped up the offending squash with practiced ease and tossed it out the window.

“What the hell was that? I'm afraid I don't have any spare Knuts on me, so your efforts were pretty much useless, Weasley," sneered Malfoy, trying to cover up his momentary fright.

Ginny shrugged, “With brothers like Fred and George, you learn to take the pranks as they come. I remember this one well- they tried it out on Micheal after we broke up...his face was blotchy for two whole days before Madam Pomfrey got the swelling down. And don’t flatter yourself; I don't want your money. Knowing you, you probably nicked it," she said scornfully. "The only reason I helped was because I didn’t want to have to fan the whole house in the morning. Now close your mouth and go to sleep, Malfoy.”

And with another toss of those brilliantly crimson curls, she was gone. Leaving Draco with his head buzzing full of thoughts about…well, the point is there was some activity actually going on in there. Which was unusual enough in itself.

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Authors Note:

Yes, I did edit it a bit. I got some healthy constructive criticism, and I just really wanted to improve it. The critic was right, it was quite rushed. So I went back and painstakingly edited tiny little details. Hope you enjoyed! Anyways, next chapter, find out Narcissa’s reaction to being Stunned, and where Harry went. Thanks LOADS to all the reviewers!

Chapter 3: Goodnight

The hot sun beat down upon three differently colored heads, darkening their hair and burning their necks. The hot desert wind blew all around them, whipping dust into their faces. A tall, dark-haired boy- or was he a man yet? - turned to a red headed girl. “You’re mine, and you always will be. Always,” he said viciously, his dark eyes glittering with malice. He pulled out a long glittering blade, plunging it into the heart of a third person, a fair-haired boy. The fair one writhed around in pain, clutching his hair as dozens of snakes began pouring out of his chest. There was no blood. He shuddered convulsively, and then lay still. The girl opened her mouth and a high-pitched, keening scream filled the air, as the dark one slowly choked her with his fingers, and his very presence. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong. Her fingers scrabbled at her neck, trying to loosen his death grip. She could feel the darkness closing in upon her, the edges of her world turning black-

Rough hands shook her awake, saying something, but Ginny couldn’t make it out. The screaming would not stop; she had to stop the screaming! It was then she realized it was coming from her own mouth, and clamped it shut. Tears were streaming down her face, and she was shivering uncontrollably, cold sweat forming a fine film across her brow. Suddenly a pale face loomed towards her through the darkness, and Ginny almost had a heart attack. It’s only Malfoy, Ginny. Only Malfoy? Who was she kidding? She might as well be having tea with You-Know-Who! Ginny took deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm herself down. Those pale eyes watched her, unblinking, and it certainly wasn’t helping her at all. Finally Malfoy broke the silence, his voice sounding unnaturally loud to her sensitive ears. “Are you quite done playing ugly Banshee from Hell, Weasley?”

Ginny stiffened, all worries of the dream fleeing her mind. “You would know, Malfoy. One of them gave birth to you,” she spat. “But I’m quite alive, thanks for the concern.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her, hissing, “Leave my mother out of this. She’s never done anything to you.”

“Except give birth to you, you mean?” Ginny honestly didn’t know why she was getting so riled up. She’d never spoken to Malfoy like this before, on her own behalf. But she had also been drooling after Harry, before.

Malfoy suddenly stood up, coming out of the shadows. The moonlight bounced off of his hair, highlighting his profile and making him look ethereal. He towered over Ginny, and she was surprised at that fact. Was he always this tall? Her musings were interrupted as he bit out, “That’s more than one can say for your ‘mother’, you stupid bitch.” He began backing out of the room. “Now do let the bed bugs bite, Weasley. It’ll help make the world a better place. Goodnight.”

Neither had a good night.

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A breeze whipped around Harry, buffeting his broomstick with its chilly gusts. The sun was just rising, illuminating the sky with vivid oranges and pinks, casting a halo around Harry’s head. How utterly misleading…if only they knew what he was doing right now. He had been riding his broomstick for several days, with only a vague idea as to where he was going. He only knew that he had to stop all this, had to stop Voldemort before he could take any more lives. The weight of the prophecy weighed heavily upon Harry’s shoulders, making him feel old and weary. But before Harry could sink even further into his own self-pity, he spotted a small valley, dotted with houses. He descended, feeling something almost tugging at him, as though urging him onwards. It feels like the veela, Harry thought to himself. He should have known then…

Instead, Harry followed the gentle tugging, allowing it to lead him to a small, two-story cottage. Welsh poppies grew wild around it, filling the surrounding area with swatches of vibrant color. Nearby, there was a sort of courtyard that seemed out of place, dirty and crumbling. But the rest looked almost…dreamlike. Harry just stood for a moment, dropping his broom and trunk in awe. He had never seen such a beautiful place, not even Hogwarts. I shouldn’t be here. He was about to turn around when a petite brunette woman stepped outside. She was humming a tune to herself, to a song that Harry thought he knew. She stopped when she saw him. Harry wasn’t sure whether to run or not, but a moment later his mind was made up for him. “Hello,” she called softly. “I don’t recognize you. Are you new here?”

“Er…you could say that, yeah,” Harry stammered, caught completely off guard.

“Oh well, come right in! Godric’s Hollow is a great place, real cozy. If you’re looking for loads of solitude and privacy, you’ve come to the right place,” she said cheerfully, leading him inside. “I’m Heather Bayliss, by the way, but everyone around here calls me Hetty. Who are you?”

Again, Harry was caught off guard. He had actually gotten used to people recognizing him on sight, and offering his name had become rare. “Harry.” The less she knew about him, the better. “Nice place you’ve got here,” he murmured, looking around at the bright colors and quilts everywhere. It was a sharp contrast to Aunt Petunia’s pale, practical style and Mrs. Figg’s crazy old woman style. Then what she had said hit him, and he nearly staggered back with the enormity of the revelation. He was in Godric’s Hollow! He could be inches away from his first home!

Hetty answered in that same chipper voice, oblivious to his odd reaction. “Thanks. Would you like some tea? Feel free to ask me anything, because for all we know we could be neighbors soon!”

Harry thought fast.

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“I am bored,” Narcissa said.

“You could help a little bit over here, you know. Then you wouldn’t be so horribly bored. God forbid your boredom!” Molly Weasley was in a very testy mood. Working day in and day out like a house elf to fulfill the needs of this horrible, snobby, aristocratic woman was enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

“Oh no, that’s quite all right,” said Narcissa. She sat elegantly, not a hair out of place, sharply contrasted among her shabby surroundings. Molly, on the other hand, was not fairing nearly as well. “It is rather entertaining watching you waddle around. I can’t believe now how the Prewitts’ would brag about their beautiful Mollykins. I’ve never seen such an ugly creature in my life!”

That’s IT! “I find it hard to believe you’ve never gazed at your husband,” Molly snarled, her whole face bright crimson in her rage.

Narcissa stood up, radiating anger as well now. “Don’t you dare speak about my husband in that way! Don’t you have some cleaning or something to do? Pollute the world with more of your filthy redheaded children, perhaps?”

“Oh right, because your son isn’t a terror to humanity at all,” snapped Molly, her eyes flashing. She looked a bit like a mother hen. A very angry mother hen.

“At least I knew when to stop!”

Molly’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Then she gave a frustrated little scream and stomped up the stairs.

Narcissa watched her waddling backside with no little amount of amusement.

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“Er, I guess I will have some tea, thanks,” Harry grunted. As Hetty bustled about the kitchen, preparing the tea, he took the time to sort out his thoughts. By the time she returned with two steaming mugs, he had come to a very firm decision. “Thank you,” murmured Harry.

“No problem. I was going to make some anyways. Are you sure you don’t have any questions? If you haven’t moved in yet, I can show you some really nice houses further down, or tell you what the climate’s like, quite nice most of the time, but occasionally-” Hetty paused her chatter for a sip of tea, and Harry took the opportunity to jump in.

“Actually, Hetty, I was wondering…have you been living here- splendid house, really- long?” Harry was not used to charming people with words. He was not good at it. Give him a wand and he could ‘charm’ anything, really. But somehow, this just wasn’t the same.

Hetty didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture. Truth be told, she didn’t seem to notice much of anything. No wonder she lived by herself. “I’ve been living in this very cottage all my life, actually,” she said brightly.

Harry drew in a sharp breath. If she had lived here all her life, she must know…”Then you could tell me who Lily and James Potter were?” he gushed excitedly. So close…!

Hetty looked up in surprise, “Well…yes, they were my neighbors till about 15 years ago. How on earth do you know the Potters’?”

Neighbors! They lived next door! Harry flattened his bangs nervously, attempting a casual shrug. “Er…we were good friends, I guess you could say.”

“Oh, really? What a small world! They were wonderful people. It’s just such a shame they had to move away…they had this darling little boy, very cute, and I was so looking forward to babysitting. I could have used the money back then, let me tell you…” Hetty’s droned on, but Harry had stopped listening. Moved away?
He didn’t realize that he had voiced his question out loud until Hetty chirped, “Oh yes, moved away. I have no idea where, of course, it happened so suddenly, all of us in the village were ever so surprised. Demolished their house and everything!”

And then Harry understood. The Ministry of Magic couldn’t very well leave all these Muggles in full knowledge of what really happened. They must have wiped their memories and replaced it with something else to explain the Potter’s absence. “Oh…that’s too bad. Um, too bad that you don’t know where they went, I mean. I was hoping you would. But maybe you could tell me a bit about them?” Too late, Harry realized his mistake.

Hetty did too. She narrowed her eyes at him, “Didn’t you say you were a good friend of them? Come to think of it, you’re not nearly old enough to have known them. You can’t be much more than 16 years old!”

Desperately, he tried to save himself. “I, er, what I meant was…Well see, we’re not really friends, I’m just…” God, what am I? “…a distant relative!” said Harry triumphantly. Of course…why didn’t I say that before?

She didn’t seem too bright, for she accepted his explanation without any further questions. “Aw, that is so sad! You know, you really do look a bit like Mr. Potter. Well I can’t tell you much, since I was only about 10 when they moved away myself, but I remember they were both beautiful. Mrs. Potter was just, wow, all the boys in the village pub always talked about her. And Mr. Potter, well, let’s just say that he was the hot topic in all the tea parties.” Hetty’s eyes had glazed over slightly, and she continued on quite dreamily. “Oh, everyone always cursed Mrs. Potter, for snagging him up before the rest of us. She was so perfect; I think they were all jealous. Perfect husband, perfect child, perfect looks, perfect job…it was kind of hard not to get jealous,” finished Hetty. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I rambling? Forgive me, I do that a lot, you just have to sto-”

“Stop,” said Harry firmly, his head swimming with all this new information. He felt proud of his parents. They seemed to have made quite an impression on this little village. Then he remembered what Hetty had just said. “Perfect job…?” he offered.

“Oh yes, perfect job. She was a cop, or something. Her and Mr. Potter both. Oh, that really upped the ladies fantasies. You should have seen how excited they got in the Knitting Club!”

Cop, cop…what is the wizard equivalent of a cop? Oh my God, my parents were Aurors!

“Oh yes, and then everyone heard about this great big spat that they had. They never fight, you know, being the perfect couple and all. But they did, and it was about some boy,” said Hetty gleefully. “I remember it well. Me and my cousin Vicky overheard while we were…watering the poppies outside their window. Mr. Potter was mad and saying things about greasy hair. It was wonderful,” she finished happily.

“Tell me more.”

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Authors Note: Thanks so much to all the reviewers! Next chapter, find out more about Lily and James, and what happens between the Weasleys’ and the Malfoys’. And I won’t say no to more reviews.

Chapter 4: Faint

Draco Malfoy grinned. It was not an everyday occurrence. The hopefully last Weasley was storming around the kitchen in a nasty temper, destroying everything in her path. Seems she couldn’t get back to sleep at night. Well, neither could Draco, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had really gotten to him. Draco had lain awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking about life in general. How horrible it was. Needless to say, it had been a topic to occupy him for the entire night. But for some reason, his mind wasn’t satisfied, and kept supplying random images of Ginny Weasley. Which at first Draco had thought was appropriate, considering the topic. But the nature of the images weren’t exactly…well, horrible. She insulted my mother! Draco kept saying to himself. But still Ginny Weasley had insisted upon dancing around on the backs of his eyelids in naughty lingerie.

Now, however, Draco was fine, having had a large and satisfactory breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, and a sort of waffle-envelope. He had dubbed it the Waffle-Envelope-Thing. It was very tasty. Though he would never admit that to anyone, for apparently the youngest Weasel had made it. Time for some fun, Draco decided impishly. He might have smirked and rubbed his hands together in fiendish glee, but that was horribly cliché. And Malfoys are never cliché.

“Bee in your bonnet, Weasley?” he drawled.

Ginny, running out of things to throw, rounded and glared dangerously at Draco. His cheerfulness seemed to irk her even further. He might have been slightly concerned for his own well being if he hadn’t been in such a ridiculously good mood. “More like a twitchy little ferret. Get the hell out of my bonnet, Malfoy.”

“Language, Weasel. It's easier to stay out then get out.”

“Good idea. Stay out of my business, and I’d say stay out of my house too, if you hadn’t been such an ignominious prat and somehow gotten the entire Dark Side on your tail. It must be that animal magnetism people are always talking about,” Ginny growled. Her hair was a wild, beautiful mess of scarlet, gold, and orange, and she looked as though she had dressed in the dark. Beautiful? She’s insulting you, Draco. Get with the program, you great sexy beast, get with the program!

Ginny, miffed with his lack of response, proceeded to throw things with renewed vigor. Draco decided he wanted to keep his head on his neck and went to find his mother.

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“…And that’s that,” Hetty finished. She and Harry were outside now, standing next to the ‘courtyard.’ The sun was high in the sky, and their tea had gotten cold long ago.

Harry gazed around at the sloping green hills and small white cottages all around, taking in the pretty picture it made. There was a cobblestone street that led further down into the valley, and he could see people actually leading sheep around. It was fairytale-like, and made Harry realize that he missed home. I am home.

It was an unsettling thought. Godric’s Hollow was perfect, beautiful and serene, but to call it a home still didn’t feel quite right. Harry decided he would come back here later, when the war was over. If I’m alive, that is.

“Harry?” asked Hetty, worry lacing her voice. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him? He’s only sixteen, after all. It’s a lot to take in for anybody. But there was something about Harry, a sort of melancholy stillness, which made you want to spill your heart out to him. He hadn’t always been this desolate though. Losing so many loved ones so quickly and so suddenly has that effect on people.

Harry looked up. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. I just…need some time to think.” Hetty tried to reply but he had already wandered to the east, away from the sun and his home.
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Narcissa was reading a book when Draco entered. He wisely decided not to glance at the cover. “Hello, Mother.”

She paused in her reading, her eyes giving him a quick look-over to see that he was all right. Satisfied, she put the novel down and patted the chair next to her. Her posture was straight, legs crossed at the ankles, and she seemed very dignified and elegant. A true Ice Queen. “Did you need something, Draco?”

He hesitated. It was becoming less and less noteworthy. “Well, actually Mother, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask away.” Oh please, please don’t ask, Draco…

“Why hasn’t father come home, if all the Dementors have left Azkaban?”

Shit. “Is it really important? You have another parent, you know," she said gently. Or at least as gently as a Malfoy can.

He simply looked at her. Narcissa sighed and plowed on. “I don’t really know, Draco. After the…mishap with Dumbledore--” Here Draco flinched. Would he never escape the shame? “--After that, nothing was really certain. At first I thought, maybe we will be okay. Lucius and I have always been avid followers of the Dark Lord, and I was hoping that he would take this into account when considering our punishment. The Malfoys’ are his most loyal followers, after all.” Narcissa’s face twisted in a very unbecoming sneer, “Unfortunately, he seemed to forget our history in light of how Lucius allowed the prophecy to break in the Ministry of Magic. We were not to be spared. Your father…acted in a way I would have never expected. He is said to have escaped Azkaban. But he has not come home to us, nor did he return to the Dark Lord. I can only assume he fled to spare his own life.”

Draco stared at his mother, his face expressionless to all but a choice few. His tone was disbelieving, incredulous. “How can you say that, Mother? He would never run from his fate, you know that. Father is no coward.”

“But it wasn’t his own fate, was it, Draco? You did this to all of us,” she said, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice. “Why couldn't you have just killed the old fool and be over with? Surely you can't have had compassion for the man!”

Draco gritted his teeth. She’s right. All of this is my fault. But I’ll be damned if I let her know that. He wanted to kick and scream and throw a tantrum like he used to when he was ten, but things had changed. A tantrum right now could cost him the last thing he had- his mother. Remember what Aunt Bellatrix said: Show no emotion, Draco. So instead of answering, he made a great show of yanking open the door and slamming it. Narcissa glared at said door. The Malfoys seemed to have a problem with blaming the doors.
___________________________________

It was sweltering hot outside, though it shouldn't have been, considering the high peaks surrounding them. Harry looked around. He had left Hetty and his belongings behind a while back. He said he needed to think, and that was exactly what he was doing. Harry's thoughts were a jumbled mess, and he wasn't sure he wanted to sort through them right now. It was all too fresh. Instead, he flopped down on a choice bit of grass and stared up at the clouds that were drifting lazily across the sky. Harry followed a rather large one's progress, hoping it would block out some of the sun's vicious rays. Realizing the futility of his task, Harry just sighed and closed his eyes. Images danced across the backs of his eyelids, long-suppressed memories busting forth.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now...”

“Not Harry, please no, take me instead-”

“Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy...”

A shadow fell across his eyes, interrupting his thoughts. “I'm not done thinking yet, Hetty.” Maybe she would go away with a little encouragement. The shadow did not move. Harry opened his eyes, and glared. “I said I'm not don--" The intruder made a sudden movement with their fingers, and about twelve others emerged from beyond Harry's line of vision. They were all cloaked and masked, but he did not need to see their faces to know who they were. Death Eaters.

______________________________

“Oh, but it’s so much prettier!”

Fleur scoffed. “As though you would know ze meaning of pretty! You are naught but a leetle girl!”

“Little girl? I'm almost 16!” Ginny huffed.

Normally, Fleur would be running around with bats flying out of her nose by now. But Ginny had promised Bill she would be nice to Fleur, at least until after the wedding, and that meant no Bat Bogey Hexes. They were standing in Charlie’s old room, with beautiful dresses scattered everywhere. Since most of the planning and the wedding was taking place in France, Fleur had decided to leave the clothes to the very last. “My mother always said to leave ze best for last,” she had told them. And these clothes were indeed the best. Fleur had insisted upon paying for the wedding clothes, saying the sum was far too extravagant for Bill’s paycheck. At first Bill had been offended, but once he saw the receipts Ginny could tell he was glad for Fleur's intervention.

At the moment Ginny and Fleur were arguing whether the bridesmaids should wear baby blue or vivid green. Ginny had always been fond of green; you had to be if you were going to go out with Harry Potter, no matter how short the period of time. His emerald eyes were fawned over in every girls’ dormitory in Hogwarts. Ginny gave herself a mental shake. No thinking about Harry, she scolded herself.

Fleur looked at Ginny slyly. “Speaking of pretty, what about zat Draco Malfoy boy?”

Ginny kept her face expressionless. “What about him?”

“Ah, yes. I forgot zat you are not too bright. Let me put this in leetle words for you. Do you theenk that he is handsome?”

Ginny stared at Fleur. “Are you kidding? He’s evil, vying with the Dark forces and all that, not to mention the biggest git alive.”

“I did not ask you for his life story, Ginny. I asked whether you theenk he is ‘andsome,” snapped Fleur. Her foot was tapping on the floor and her accent was becoming more pronounced in her impatience.

Ginny was saved from answering by a high-pitched scream from downstairs. Ginny and Fleur dropped the expensive dresses without a second thought. In times like these, what was several thousand pounds when someone you love could be hurt?

“Mum!"

Ginny and Fleur gasped, their wands clattering to the floor. Molly Weasley was slumped on the floor in a dead faint, and Arthur looked as though he was about to join her. He decided to spare his breath, only motioning towards the coffee table. There a letter was lying quietly, luring one into a false sense of security. Ginny picked it up and skimmed it, her eyes growing wider and wider with each word.

You-Know-Who's got Harry!

Ginny looked at her dad, her face pale. “Who’s going to rescue him?” She stiffened at the sound of another voice, this time coming from the fireplace. There the head of an old man with frizzy silver hair and a frown sat.

“We can’t rescue anyone until we know where he is first,” he wheezed.

Fleur was in front of him in an instant, her wand at the ready. That fluid grace could come in handy sometimes.

“Whoa there, lass. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I need to speak with Arthur and Molly. Get Bill and Charlie too, if they’re home.”

Arthur seemed to collect himself at the sight of this stranger. He stood up, clearing his throat and attempting to make himself more presentable. “Elphias! You must be in a hurry, what with your new position, do come in-”

Elphias shook his head, his frizz bouncing every which way. “No time for that, Arthur. Just get the others so I can debrief you on the situation and be on my way. This matter was far too important to leave to one of the co-heads, so here I am breaking my back getting the message out. Poor Albus, I don't know how he managed a school and the Order at the same time.”

Ginny decided to save her parents the trouble of shooing her, and ran upstairs to distract the Malfoys’. It wouldn’t do for them to walk in on an urgent conversation like this. Fleur stayed downstairs to tend to Mrs. Weasley, but also because she was a member of the Order now as well.
____________________________

Prone to theatrics, aren’t they? Draco thought sardonically when he heard a scream from downstairs. He stared at the ceiling, thinking yet again about the night of Dumbledore’s death. Why couldn’t I have just killed him?

But he already knew why. Draco just wasn’t a killer. Oh, he could torture verbally and physically, but when it came down to it, he just didn’t have it in him to end someone’s life so completely. It was a bit funny, considering how many times he had thought about killing Harry Potter. Each mental murder was more gruesome and satisfying than the last, but he just couldn’t force himself to actually, physically kill.

After his rather embarrassing failure, Snape had taken him home to his mother. The man was creepy; he had looked insane and for once his pasty face actually had color in it. He had said something before he left to Narcissa. “There, are you happy now?” It was this statement that Draco was trying to understand now. Why would Mother be happy over something Snape of all people, did?

The door burst open. “Malfoy! Just the person I wanted to see!” Ginny’s cheeks were flushed and she had a huge, fake smile on her face.

“Get out of my room, Weasley.”

“This is Fred and George’s room.”

“No wonder it’s so filthy. But it’s mine for the time being, so get out.”

“Oh, but I’ve been dying to talk to you all day!” Ginny sang.

“Oh, keep on dying! I won’t mind,” smirked Draco.

Ginny tried to keep her temper in check, comforted with the fact that Ron was in Percy’s room distracting Mrs. Malfoy. At least I didn’t get stuck with that old dragon, she thought happily. “Ha ha! You’re so funny. Why did I never notice it before?”

“Nearsighted-ness. Tends to afflict those with Muggle-loving tendencies.”

“Riiight. So, Drakey-dear,” Ginny cringed at his name, “tell me, how are you today on this finest of all days?”

Draco looked aggravated. “Weasley, if you want some money, all you have to do is ask. Granted, I probably won’t give it to you, but then we can end this stupid charade of civility and be on our way. Or rather, you can be on your way.” He looked from her to the door pointedly.

“Oh, I don’t want your money! No, I just want to know how you are. Please tell me Drakey, how are you?” Ginny was actually starting to enjoy this. She could tell she was getting to him for once. She flashed him an extra bright smile.

Draco looked as though he wanted to throttle her, but a moment later his entire demeanor had changed. He was looking at her with an odd light in his eyes, and far too close for comfort. Ginny could hardly breathe. Her eyes dropped to his lips. They were only inches from her own…she could feel their breath intermingling. Is he going to kiss me? Strangely, this thought didn’t repulse her as much as it should have. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, and Ginny could feel herself watching its progress almost hungrily. Her eyes started to flutter shut, and then there was a sudden rush of air and a deep throaty noise. Ginny’s eyes snapped open. He was laughing at her! That loathsome git!

”I can’t believe you fell for that, Weasley. You actually thought I would kiss piece of trash like you?” snickered Draco.

Ginny’s face flushed, and she could swear she was seeing red. “You bloody--ARGH!”

She grabbed the nearest object and proceeded to maul him with it. Too bad it was a pillow. Too bad for Draco, that is.

Chapter 5: Decisions

“Ow! You stupid freckle faced—stop!” yelled Draco. He had a huge scowl on his face, and didn’t seem to appreciate the treatment he was getting. Draco grabbed the other pillow on the twins’ bed and whacked Ginny with it. He didn’t generally hit girls, but Weasley was hardly a girl. At least, that’s what he was trying to convince himself.

Ginny’s face was crimson and her words were coming in short bursts. “You are the biggest jerk alive! Ooh, if I could do magic you would be so sorry! You just wait and see what happens to you when school starts again, Malfoy. I’m going to make you wish that that Bat Bogey in 4th year was all I could do.” Draco could see her chest rising and falling with each shuddering breath. Er, not that he was looking.

“What’s all this noise about? I am trying to read a book here. Perhaps barbarians like you cannot read, but others enjoy picking up a book now and again.” Narcissa Malfoy paused in the doorway, looking shocked and a bit disgusted as well. It was only then Ginny realized how this might look—she and Malfoy sitting practically on each other’s laps, the bed sheets and their clothes in disarray, their faces flushed…

Oh sweet Merlin.

Ron’s head appeared behind Narcissa’s, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Malfoy, what the HELL are you doing to my sister?”

“Oh, honestly, Weasley. As though anyone would want—”

”Finish that sentence, Malfoy. I dare you,” seethed Ginny menacingly.

Malfoy smirked. “Oh goody, I do love dares!”

“Fantastic! I dare you to…go drown yourself in the pond outside!” Ron said, still wearing a scowl.

“Sounds like a plan! A really stupid, half-assed plan, that is. But what else can one expect of Gryffindors?”

___________________________

Harry’s first instinct was to punch the nearest cloaked figure and run like hell. And, being a Gryffindor, he followed it. It had earned him a vicious kick to the face from said cloaked figure, but hey, at least he’d tried. Harry groaned and curled up in a little ball, cupping his bloody nose. “Get up,” one of the Death Eaters growled.

Harry didn’t see what else he could do but obey. He had left his wand with Hetty, and there was no way a teenage boy could take on thirteen grown wizards. Harry wiped the blood on the sleeve of his oversized navy sweatshirt, and stood, trying to keep his legs steady. They felt like rubber. He received a couple of sharp pokes in the back to get him going. Going where? He hadn’t realized he’d voiced this question until one of them spoke up. “That’s not your concern, Potter. Just shut up and do as you’re told,” the voice snarled. It sounded familiar; McNair?

Great, Harry thought with a touch of bitter humor. You know something’s wrong when you can recognize a Death Eater by his voice. I really have to get myself some new friends.

Harry started sniggering then, thinking about playing Quidditch with these guys. He could just imagine Lucius Malfoy as a Keeper, trying to Avada Kedavra the Quaffle because it came too near. And McNair as a Beater, explaining to Madame Hooch that he just couldn’t leave his ax behind, it had sentimental value! Harry didn’t notice the cloaked figures around him come to a halt, a few of them exchanging fearful glances as they wondered about the sanity of the Boy-Who-Lived. One of the Death Eaters shoved Harry into a tree, grunting, “Shut up you, or you might just end up dead on the floor with nothing to laugh about.”

Harry, still sniggering, quipped, “I don't mind dying…the trouble is you feel so bloody stiff the next day.” He didn’t know what had come over him. His own kidnapping, combined with the enormity of Hetty’s revelations, seemed too much to bear. A sense of unreality was washing over him, and Harry coped with it the only way he knew how, short of violence—humor. Perhaps it had been all that time with the mild-mannered, rather barmy Dumbledore. Dumbledore, Harry thought, immediately becoming somber once more. He became aware of quiet mutterings around him, stumbling as the unusual party neared the cover of a small grove.

“Oh, screw this!” someone snarled, grabbing Harry roughly and holding up his wand. “There’s no way I’m sharing a broomstick with this nutter. Why don’t we just Apparate? At the rate we’re going, it’ll be dawn by the time we get to the checkout point!”

Harry peered at the man’s face, but the mask and hood effectively concealed his identity. These guys really need to get nametags, Harry mused. I can’t be expected to remember all of their names.

The Death Eater Harry had successfully pinned as McNair shoved the other man. “Shut up, Carrow,” he hissed, the eyes behind his mask glinting dangerously. “Orders are orders. You’re going to get us all killed with that attitude. The Dark Lord does not like those who shirk their duties. And those he does not like are the first to know, if you catch my drift.”

Another Death Eater approached the two. “It is not wise to remain standing here out in the open while trying to maintain secrecy. I propose a truce. We Apparate to the checkout point and ride our broomsticks the rest of the way,” he said, his voice smooth and cajoling. Harry didn’t recognize him.

“Fine,” sniffed Carrow, “but I’m still not going to share a broomstick with him.”

“No need,” the Death Eater said without missing a beat, “I will take the boy on my own broom if no one else wishes to.”

“No,” someone said. “We don’t want him with us. Take him straight to the Dark Lord. He can be your problem now.”

The others murmured in widespread assent, turning around with a swish of their ebony cloaks and Disapparating, leaving the unctuous man and Harry alone in the grove. For a moment all Harry could hear was his own breathing and the chirp of insects as night fell. Then the man seized Harry’s arm in a bruising grip, whispering silkily, “I know your game, boy, and I won’t fall for it. It’s a cunning plan, but I don’t care whether you’re crazy or not. You’re not going to escape my clutches. My Lord wishes to see you, and I am going to do all that is in my power to ensure he gets his meeting.”

Before Harry could respond, he felt the familiar sensation of being pulled through a very tight rubber tube. He could not breathe; invisible bands of iron were constricting his chest, and his eyeballs felt like they were taking a very painful refuge inside of his skull.

Harry opened his eyes, glad that the sensation was over. Later, however, he would be wishing that it had never ended.

___________________________

Ron glared at Draco. "I'm going to mop the floor with your face, you oversized annoying ferret!"

Draco shrugged at him. "All right, but you'll be sorry."

"Oh yeah? Why?" Ron sneered.
"Well, you won't be able to get into the corners very well."

Ron stared at him, unsure whether to check his temperature or beat him into a pulp. He was saved the task of deciding as he heard someone laughing. "Ginny?"

Ginny shook her head, still laughing. There were tears in her eyes and she was doubled over in a fit of giggles. Now Ron knew for sure Malfoy had to have done something to his little sister. Why on Earth would Ginny be laughing at Draco Malfoy’s jokes?

Draco seemed delighted at Ginny's reaction, though determined to hide it. He turned to the slim blonde woman still in the doorway. "Mother! I'm tired. This bed is lumpy. This house is a disgrace. Let's go home."

Narcissa Malfoy, too, was looking between Draco and Ginny, wondering what was going on. She let it go for now, but Draco knew he would receive the full interrogation later. “I know, Draco. I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with these horrendously poor conditions a bit longer. They won’t allow us to leave, and we cannot go home. It’s either here or death.”

Draco crossed his arms over his thin chest, his bottom lip protruding in an adorable yet annoying pout. “But I want to go home!” he whined. Death was no obstacle, then.

Mrs. Malfoy’s lips curled into a tiny smile, looking at the picture her son made. He had grown into quite a handsome man. Just like his father, she though fondly. Reminded of his father, she soured suddenly. “Draco?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ron snorted in amusement. Draco glared at him and threw a pillow at his head.

It missed.

___________________________


Harry glared with loathing into the hideous scarlet eyes of his worst enemy. "Let me go!" he snarled, tugging at his chains to no avail. He was in a large, dark, and chilly dungeon, with Harry chained to the wall, his knees bent up as he tried to get in a comfortable position against the cold walls. Harry could barely see past the flashing silver metal of his own bonds. He tugged at his handcuffs again, yanking as hard as he could, but all that happened was the cold metal scraped off a layer of his skin, overwhelming itself in his blood.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Voldemort, shaking his head, a smug smile upon his repulsive features, looming over him. Harry’s discomfort seemed to make him happier, if anything. "When will you ever learn? You cannot escape me.”

“Really? I’d thought I was doing a rather good job of it these past six years.”

Voldemort’s mouth thinned, but other than that he gave no sign of having heard Harry. “I have learned much since our last encounter, and I intend to use it against you. Going to Godric's Hollow...stupid of you, really. Did you think that I would leave it unguarded after my downfall there? No, I had alarm spells placed in various areas of the village the moment I regained my body. A stupid and reckless action: one that I will make you pay for to the fullest. Soon you shall be joining your dear Headmaster in his grave,” he finished with a cruel smile.

Harry could think of nothing to say, so he decided to show his feelings in another manner. He summed up the rest of the moisture in his mouth, and with a look of intense concentration upon his face, spat it with careful aim onto the edge of Voldemort's robes.

Voldemort narrowed his crimson eyes with their catlike slits in anger. Then without even the slightest warning, he raised his wand and hissed, "Crucio!"

Harry writhed around on the floor, his chains rattling as white-hot knives of pain stabbed him over and over again. Harry bit through his bottom lip trying not to scream. As the painful convulsions intensified, he jerked too far backward and his head met the hard stone of the wall with a large crack, sending him spiraling into the deep black abyss of unconsciousness.

Voldemort took immense pleasure in Harry's pain. Smirking, he turned around to a third person in the room, beckoning him closer. "See to it that he does not escape, Jugson. This is only the first of your rewards for getting him to me quickly while the others were off dallying about. I wish for Yaxley to have the next shift, but after that you may appoint whom you wish, when you wish. I have more important matters to attend to at the moment, but I will be back, perhaps tomorrow morning. He will get what he came here for, rest assured." And with that, he swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him.

Jugson settled down to wait until the hour was up, a bit disgruntled. What a great reward.

___________________________

When the three went down later, it was to find Mr. Weasley consoling a pale, worried looking Mrs. Weasley, and calling for Fleur to put more brandy in the tea.

"Meeting over then?" Ron asked, helping himself to some tea.
Ginny elbowed him hard in the ribs, but Draco had already heard.

"Meeting?" he asked suspiciously.

Ron choked on some of his tea, clutching his side. "Er, yeah, meeting," he gasped, then doubled over once more, feigning a coughing fit. There would be no more help out of him, Ginny realized with a mental scowl.

She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. "That's what we call it when Mum and Dad want some 'alone time' together, if you catch my drift."

Draco looked disgusted, and Ginny took that to mean he accepted her explanation. Smiling a bit with relief, she went and settled down on the couch, curling her legs underneath her. This whole 'distracting' business was very tiring.

"So what's the news of Harry, Dad?" she asked in a low voice, making sure that Draco was well out of earshot.

Arthur rubbed his hand over his face tiredly. "I don't really know, Ginny. We know where he is, but the entire place is swarming with so many Death Eaters that we'd have to be barking to go and rescue him. We just don't have enough recruits to invade Death Eater territory; especially since this is Harry Potter we're talking about. No, it's near impossible to get him out now. Half an hour of talking and we've gotten nowhere. There just isn't any way we can help him now. We'll just have to sit tight and hope for the best."

"You know where he is?"

"Yeah, we think the Isle of Skye. Fitting, I reckon. That's where the Loch Ness monster was last spotted. Seems like the kind of place a bunch of Death Eaters would lounge about." Arthur paused, and looked at Ginny suspiciously, "Why?"

"Don't I have a right to know? Harry's almost part of the family!" she said defensively. Seeing his disbelieving expression, she added quietly, "And he's even more to me than that."

Arthur's face softened, and he pulled his only daughter into a warm embrace. "You're right, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have doubted you. You're old enough to handle this kind of information responsibly. I trust you, Ginny,” he said with a reassuring smile.

She returned the smile shakily, made her excuses, and dashed upstairs to her room on the third floor. Once the door was shut, she sagged against it and closed her eyes, breathing heavily. He’ll never forgive me for what I’m about to do.

Ginny plopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating her quest. She needed to save Harry; that much she knew. But was it worth her father's trust? Ginny unconsciously had begun twirling her hair around her finger, a habit she had picked up from watching Fleur. Hmm, Harry’s life or a few weeks grounded? Decisions, decisions.

Still, she knew she couldn't do this by herself. She wasn't that stupid. Ginny toyed around with the idea of bringing Ron, but threw the thought away just as quickly. He would never allow her to go, and most likely he would get Hermione and they would run off together to save the day, as usual. Ginny sat up as a thought struck her. She’d come for sure, and she’s a good enough witch that I can trust her to watch my back. If there’s anyone I’d trust with my life, it’s her.

She quickly scribbled a hasty explanation on a spare piece of parchment and sent Pig off into the darkening sky. Smiling, Ginny grabbed her black schoolbag with the Hogwarts emblem stitched on its pocket and began preparing for the dangerous journey she knew awaited her.

___________________________

Author’s Note: Quick credit- I think the “don’t mind dying” bit was something George Axlerod said, but I’m not sure. I also think that there was another familiar looking bit in here, but I can’t remember what it was.
Preview for next chapter? Well, just wait and find out. :)

Chapter 6: Crazy Something-or-Other

Luna’s large, protuberant eyes went even larger, if possible. “Daddy! Is that what I think it is?”

Mr. Lovegood smiled at his daughter, his frizzy blonde hair bouncing as he nodded his head in a comical bobble head fashion. He was a thin, forgetful-looking man with a small gentle smile. His cornflower blue eyes were just as large as his daughter’s, but there was a mildness about his mouth and eyes that claimed him a kind man. He spoke quickly, as though the words couldn’t wait to come out of his mouth.

“Amazing, isn’t it, my little Lunarina? I remember how disappointed you were when we didn’t find any on our trip, and I just couldn’t stand it. I asked around, and it turns out Madame Nettles had spotted one in Fiji! That’s where I went for that last weekend, I was ever so happy, now we have finally gotten a hold of one! Can you imagine?” He bounced on the balls of his feet, his big blue eyes on Luna’s face, eager for her reaction.

To a stranger, it would seem as though Luna was merely pleased, and Mr. Lovegood badly needed a trip to the loo. One would almost think she were the one taking care of him. And that’s how it had been, ever since Mrs. Lovegood had passed away so tragically. Luna shook her head as though to clear it. She smiled down at the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, prodding it softly. Then, looking at her father with wide silver eyes, she said happily, “Oh, Daddy, you’re very kind. But I’m afraid I can’t accept this present…the African Digglewumps don’t believe in kidnap, and neither do I.”

Mr. Lovegood’s hair bounced as he shook his head again. “Luna, Luna, Luna. As though I would have kept him here! No, no, the Snigglewumps are quite right—Digglewumps, sorry; kidnap is a horrible act indeed. On Christmas Day we shall go to Fiji and set him free. Perhaps we’ll meet a couple of Blibbering Humdingers as well,” he said, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all. Luna laughed with him. Everyone knew Blibbering Humdingers lived in the Arctic, not Fiji.

“Oops, would you look at the time! I’ve got to run now, have fun with your new friend. Mind you she doesn’t touch the tank in the kitchen; that could end rather nastily. I promised Mr. Dersyard a meeting--nice long article on Qorinch-Gardle mating, looking ever so forward to—” Mr. Lovegood’s voice disappeared with him as he descended down the rickety old stairs into the basement.

Luna gazed after him fondly, thinking of what a nice man he was as she stroked the furry creature in front of her. He had two little black eyes and ridges all along his hairy brown back. Scaly, flightless, and almost translucent wings protruded from right behind his neck, and he had a pink sniffling nose. He looked rather like a cross between a mutant insect and a cute kitten. Imagine, a real Crumple-Horned Snorkack! Luna was so preoccupied in examining the little creature of her dreams that the banging on the door went unnoticed. After all, strange noises were to be expected in this household.

Ginny pounded on the tangerine door again, shouting impatiently, “Luna! Open up! It’s me, Ginny!” She glanced about nervously, pulling her cloak tighter about her slim shoulders and shivering. The entire trip to Luna’s house she had felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristling with the paranoia that she was being followed. She would feel better once she was safe inside the house.

Finally the bright orange door opened and Luna stood there in all her otherworldly splendor. “Oh, hello Ginny. How are you today?” she asked serenely, absentmindedly yanking on a long blond strand of hair. Her penetrating silver eyes stared at a spot about four inches above Ginny’s left shoulder. “I received your message, but your feather ball insisted on staying. I think he’s feasting on the Owl Treats we leave out for the Nargles. They often get a bit rowdy this time of year, you know. It’s very harmful to our hydrangea bushes.”

Ginny stared at Luna for a moment, unsure of how to respond to this. Then she decided to just ignore it all together in her hurry to get inside the warmth of the small house. “I’m just peachy, thanks,” murmured Ginny as she pushed past her friend. She sighed in relief as the bitter cold was replaced with a merrily crackling fire, and sank into a polka-dotted couch with three legs. It tottered precariously. She tried not to pay to much attention to the odd knick-knacks scattered about the room haphazardly, and what looked like a spiky blob of fur next to her. She figured it would be better not to know. “Luna, would you shut the door? I’m about to die of the cold.”

No one answered. Ginny looked around to find Luna apparently in a heated conversation with the door. It seemed to be hissing something at her, but Ginny dismissed it; talking inanimate objects actually wasn’t that uncommon in the Wizarding World, after all. The only thing odd in this case was the choice of object; doors were a poor choice for charming because they were known to complain loudly about being slammed all the time. Very annoying, really.

“Er, Luna?” asked Ginny cautiously.

Luna broke off her conversation, but continued to glare at the door. “Hmm?”

“Door?”

“Oh, yes, alright,” she snapped at the door, slamming it.

Ginny stared at the blonde Ravenclaw, raising her eyebrows at her bizarre behavior and grinning. Luna, completely oblivious to Ginny’s reaction, drifted over to the armchair by the fire and settled down. Her robes rode up a bit, revealing brightly patterned socks. There was a small onion pinned on one of them. Luna caught Ginny staring, explaining in that matter-of-fact, spacey way of hers, “To ward off vampires, of course. Allows you to kick harder and improves your dancing skills, too. Father’s secretary invented them; she calls them Sock Rocks. Useful little baubles, aren’t they? She gave me a silver hat as well, for the werewolves, but I was afraid I was going to have an odd shape to my head and I was quite pleased that I didn't.”

Ginny’s face worked furiously as she tried hard not to laugh. This was one of the reasons she liked Luna so much--the way she could make her laugh whenever, whatever the circumstances. “I bet those come in handy. Really have to get them sometime,” she said, grinning. Then she sobered as she remembered the reason for her visit. Now was the time for clever plans and rescues, not sock trinkets.

“Have you packed yet? Harry’s been missing for a whole week already, I’d rather get moving before anything—” Ginny’s voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “Well, I’d just rather get going. We have a lot of ground to cover, if we’re going to the Isle of Skye on broomsticks.”

“Aha!”

Ginny’s head whipped around, her hair following a split second later to meet her face with a slap. She growled, shaking the scarlet curls out of her mouth. “Who’s there?” she called.

Behind her, Luna was making a face. “You said you’d stay quiet!” she said, her voice losing some of its dreamy quality. “You’re not very truthful, are you?” She glided over to the other side of the room, navigating her way around assorted bits of furniture with astonishing skill. It was a wonder she didn’t trip. Her hand went up, feeling around the air for a moment, and then it closed on something. Still scowling a bit, she tugged until a smug, pointed face emerged from under the Invisibility Cloak.

Draco Malfoy smirked, his gray eyes glittering maliciously. “Going somewhere, Weasley?”

____________________________

Jugson paced. He sat. He even tried tormenting the Potter boy for a while, but the boy refused to speak. He sat there on the cold, damp dungeon floor with his wrists shackled to the wall and simply glared with those startlingly green eyes of his. It was unnerving, really. Finally, Jugson decided he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence was killing him.

He shuffled out of the room, intending to go and fetch Yaxley. He had no idea why the Dark Lord wanted her to take the next shift, but in this line of business, one learned not to ask questions.

Harry sighed in relief as what he now referred to in his head as the “psycho Death Eater” (although they all seemed a bit off their rockers) left the room. For the past half hour he had been trying to Apparate out of his bonds to no avail. He had strained as hard as possible. Destination, Deliberation, and determination. Or was it deliberation, determination, and destination? Harry couldn’t remember. It seemed the chains were charmed against that sort of thing anyways.

He grimaced, bringing his knees up so he was in a crouching position, hoping to take some weight off of his wrists. The cold edges of the chains were jagged, rubbing against them and peeling the skin away. Harry swore as he felt a warm liquid that was unmistakably blood slowly make its way down his arm.

“Who’s there?” someone rasped suddenly. Harry froze, trying to stop his chains from jangling so much. He strained to hear where the voice had come from; perhaps the other side of his cell wall?

The voice spoke again, this time sounding more normal. “Curious,” it muttered.

Harry’s emerald eyes widened. “Mr. Ollivander?” he whispered.

He heard chains rattling about as the man on the other side of the wall adjusted himself to take advantage of all the comfort the hard stone of the wall had to offer. “I thought that might be you, Harry. What a pleasant surprise,” he said, though he did not sound pleasantly surprised in the least. “They’ve captured you as well, I assume?”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Out of all the places to meet the man who had given him the wand that had saved his skin so many times, it had to be in the bowels of Death Eater Central. He spoke slowly, trying to process this information. “Er, yeah. Caught me by surprise, you could say. And yourself? I’d heard you had gone missing, but a lot of folks reckon you’d just up and gone from your own free will…” he said hesitantly, wondering if maybe he should have been more tactful.

Mr. Ollivander gave a humorless little laugh and said, with a touch of bitterness, “Of course, of course. No struggle. No, it was very cleverly planned out I have to admit. Caught me by surprise as well-- you know that Lucius Malfoy, such a smooth talker, and I, very stupidly on my part…well, I followed him. And now I’m here, with chains bound around my wrists and a slave to someone I swore myself against the day I saw the use he had put one of my wands to.” Harry had to press his ear against the wall to hear the last bit; Mr. Ollivander’s voice was growing quieter and quieter with each word.

“Why you, though? I mean, maybe for the wands, but I hear they didn’t even touch your store—I mean, why would they need you for?” he said, feeling as if every word was coming out the wrong way. Even with the thick stone of the wall in between them, Mr. Ollivander had the effect of making him feel peculiar and uneasy. He could almost feel those eerie, moon-like eyes gazing at him through the cell wall. Harry squirmed uncomfortably, his chains jangling.

Finally Mr. Ollivander spoke, his voice wry. “Ah, yes—you’re so young, you have yet to see the extent of their treachery…Killing and torturing, is that all you think it is?”

Harry felt his face heating up in anger; why did people always insist on treating him like a little kid? As though he knew nothing? His mental rant was cut short before it ever really began as the wandmaker began talking again. “Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

____________________________

“What do you mean, she’s missing!” asked Ron hotly.

“What it means, Ron, is that she is missing. Can’t find her; gone--poof,” said Mr. Weasley tiredly, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Try to lower your voice, will you? I don’t want your mother to worry. When she worries she starts saying things like 'I told you so' or 'Stop doing that I'm asleep'.”

Ron’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He wasn't certain if this was because they were trying to see more clearly, or if they simply wanted to leave at this point. Sweet merciful Merlin, cast a Memory Charm on me now, Ron thought desperately.

Ron was saved from replying to that awkward comment by Mrs. Weasley’s dramatic entrance. “Arthur!” she cried, galloping down the stairs into the kitchen at a pace surprising for a woman of her…girth. “Arthur, a note! I’ve found a note!”

“In her room, you found it? What does it say? Go on, Molly, read it!” said Mr. Weasley anxiously, all traces of his earlier exhaustion disappearing.

Mrs. Weasley unfolded the piece of parchment with trembling hands, her eyebrows drawn together in worry, the lines around her mouth and eyes more pronounced then ever. Her baby girl—her only girl—was missing, and she wasn’t sure she could handle a blow like that. What if it was a ransom note? Mrs. Weasley covered her face at just the thought; she thrust the parchment at Arthur for him to read instead.

I’ve gone to Luna’s for a while, don’t know when I’ll be back. You know the Lovegood’s, Dad; Mr. Lovegood is the editor of the Quibbler. I’m sorry I left so suddenly—I just couldn’t handle it. Those Malfoys are driving me up the wall! I hope I didn’t worry you too much; I’ll owl you when I get there. Good luck with the Malfoys!

Love from Ginny

Mrs. Weasley sagged in relief, letting the safety of her daughter sink in for a few moments before snapping back up in anger. “How dare she just up and leave like that, without so much as a warning!”

”I’m just glad she’s all right.”

Mrs. Weasley looked at her husband disbelievingly, and said, “Surely you aren’t going to let her stay there, Arthur!”

Arthur gave a little shrug. “I can’t say I don’t like it, but I know Lovegood from often enough encounters—strange man, but I know he’d never let any harm come to Ginny.”

“Yes, but Arthur—”

Mr. Weasley cut in rather sharply, “Molly, you yourself have been complaining about them nonstop. Quite honestly, we don’t know whether her friends will be around later on; the least we can do right now is let her spend the time she has with them.” He sighed at his wife’s stricken face.

“I’m sorry, Molly, but I just think it would be best to let her stay where she is. I mean, really, what’s the worst that could happen?” he said, sending a small, reassuring smile to his wife.

____________________________

Ginny’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Draco stood there with his pale blonde hair shining in the firelight, his smirk growing even wider as he saw Ginny’s speechlessness.

“Nothing to say, Weasley? How touching…I didn’t know you’d miss me that much. If I did, I’d have come out sooner.”

Ginny’s voice came rushing back, along with a sense of blinding anger. “Oh yes, I felt so miserable without you, it’s almost like having you here!” she snapped, her whole 5’4” frame shaking with her wrath. “You followed me!” Even stating this simple fact added to her fury; it felt like a horrible violation of her privacy.

“Good observation, detective. I’m surprised you’re just realizing this. I sneezed right behind you at least twice on the way here,” he said mockingly. “Friend’s house my ass. I knew you were up to something. Going to save Scarhead, eh? So the idiot went and got himself captured; to be expected, really.”

She felt an insane urge to sock him in the eye and wipe that annoying smirk off his face once and for all. Luna drifted over to where Ginny was standing and put a small, restraining hand on her arm, as though guessing what she was thinking. She opted to glare at him instead, snarling viciously, “I’m surprised you aren’t over there with the rest of them, dancing around screaming war chants or whatever it is you Death Eaters do.”

Draco’s face contorted but he did not deny it as he said scathingly, “I wish; if I were lucky, maybe I’d get to teach Saint Potter a few lessons.”

“I knew it!” she practically shouted. “Dad may say you’ve changed, but I know you’re still an overbearing, evil, conniving git. Get the bloody hell out of here right now, Malfoy…before I make you,” growled Ginny menacingly, her brown eyes alive with rage.

“Fine by me, Weasley,” he sneered, striding towards the brilliantly apricot door. “And when I get back, I think I have a story or two to share with your dumpy mother and disgrace of a father!”

Ginny froze. She couldn’t afford for her mum and dad to find out until after she brought Harry back. If they discovered what she was doing, it was inevitable that they would try and stop her. And Malfoy knew it, too. Trying to keep her voice even, she said, “Oh, I don’t think you will.” Once again she was wearing that hard, blazing look upon her face.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, really? It’s a good thing I don’t care what you think, then. Because I am going back, whether you think I should or not. What do you propose I do…stay here?” he said with a derisive snort, putting a whole world of meaning behind that one word. He gave a meaningful glance around the odd-looking living room.

Ginny smirked, sharing a glance with Luna. “Well I think we have some conflicting ideas here. You want to go back, and I don’t want you to. You refuse to stay here, so I guess the only thing to do is to take you along, eh Malfoy?”

He stared at her, both of his eyebrows practically disappearing into his silvery-blonde hair fringe. “You expect me to go gallivanting about the countryside with you, of all people, to rescue Potter?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

Malfoy snorted in laughter. “Oh, that’s rich. Well as fun as that sounds, I’m afraid I don’t agree with you. Goodbye,” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob.

Ginny and Luna shared another glance before pouncing on the tall blonde boy in perfect synchrony, grabbing his arms and pulling him back. Malfoy looked positively tickled now, his whole face alight with snooty amusement. “Let’s get this straight. You, Weasley, and you, whatever your name is, aren’t even 6th years yet. And you expect to over power me, a wonderfully muscled and dashing 17 year old, without even a wand?”

“I think we’re doing a marvelous job,” said Luna, completely unruffled by ongoing events. “Here, have a seat, Draco.” She dragged a bewildered looking Malfoy over to the polka-dotted sofa and pushed him onto it. Then she disappeared into the kitchen without another word, leaving Ginny and Draco alone in the living room.

“Is she…quite right in the head?” asked Draco uncertainly.

“Of course she is!” snapped Ginny.

“Right…” said Draco, not sounding reassured at all, given who the reassuring was coming from. “Well, I’ll just be going now.” He made a move to get up, but Ginny pushed him back down.

“Wait just until Luna comes back.”

“Luna! I knew it started with crazy something-or-other,” he said, smirking a bit. He still sounded thoroughly spooked, but he remained on the couch. Perhaps he was more afraid of Luna than he let on.

The topic of the conversation drifted back into the room, hiding something behind her back in a thoroughly suspicious manner. She smiled at Draco in a manner that scared him witless, beckoning him closer. He got up, started walking towards her, than changed his mind and ran for the door. Ginny, who was expecting as much, held out her foot. Malfoy promptly tripped and fell on his pale, pointed face. Luna took advantage of his position, pulling his arms behind his back and tying it with the object she had been hiding; thickly braided rope.

Draco looked over his shoulder to see what she was doing. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of being tied up by two strange women and being taken advantage of, but somehow, this just isn’t quite what I had in mind.”

____________________________


Harry opened his mouth to object to this abrupt end to their conversation, but another masked and cloaked figure entered in place of Jugson. This one was smaller, thinner and, Harry suspected, a woman.

His suspicions were confirmed as she spoke in a surprisingly sweet voice, whispering, “Will you two quiet down? I can hear you from all the way down the corridor! If you want to escape, you’re going about it all the wrong way. See, the first step is to plan quietly. Alright, hold your chains up, boy; I don’t want them making a racket when I let you loose.”

Harry stared at her, unsure whether she was joking or not. He couldn’t really imagine a Death Eater with a sense of humor, but he couldn’t imagine a helpful Death Eater either. He heard Mr. Ollivander shifting around a bit and muttering to himself, obviously as dubious as Harry.

The Death Eater sighed in aggravation. “The second step for an easy escape is to listen to your rescuer, idiots. I haven’t got all day, you know. Hold up the bloody chains!” she said irritably, her voice losing some of its musical quality.

Harry quickly grabbed at his chains, and he heard Mr. Ollivander doing the same next door, albeit a bit more hesitantly. The witch got to work, tapping around Harry’s chains and muttering spells under her breath. Then, with a final word of command, Harry felt the chains slacken and his hands came free, surprisingly light. He suspected it was the lack of blood circulation. The witch passed through a door on his right to Mr. Ollivander’s cell.

Rubbing the red bands of raw skin on his wrists where the cuffs had been, Harry called out softly to the woman, “Why are you doing this—Yaxley, right? —why are you helping us?”

He heard more tapping and muttering, and then a soft clank as the chains fell to the ground. She and Ollivander came through the door toward him, Mr. Ollivander wobbling unsteadily, as though unused to using his legs. She looked at him for a moment, the eyes through her mask unreadable, saying in that soft, lilting voice, “I have my reasons. What’s important is that you get out of here safe and sound, and as quickly as possible. It wouldn’t do for my Lord to discover you running about the castle. Now, hurry!”

Harry stood up, dusting off his robes. His hand paused over his pocket, patting it frantically. “My wand!” he cried. “My wand, they’ve got it—I can’t leave without my—”

Yaxley put a hand on his arm to stop his frantic gesticulations, pulling a long slender stick out of her pocket. She pulled a similar one out of the other pocket and handed it to Mr. Ollivander. “Thanks,” Harry muttered sheepishly.

“It’s alright,” she replied, bemused. Then her voice suddenly became urgent. “I think I hear someone coming! Go on—go!”

Without a second thought, Harry grabbed Mr. Ollivander’s arm and flew out of the opening into the tunnels beyond.

____________________________


Authors Notes: Well that chapter was loads of fun to write; I love Luna, and I can see why J.K.R. loves her too. She’s awesome. Anyways, a couple of quote credits…

I don’t want your mother to worry. When she worries she starts saying things like 'I told you so' or 'Stop doing that I'm asleep'
--Family Guy (Love that show)

I feel so miserable without you, it's almost like having you here.
--Stephen Bishop

He wasn't certain if this was because they were trying to see more clearly, or if they simply wanted to leave at this point.
--Er, I forget whether I thought of this or someone else did. Well, I’ll put it on here just in case.