Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.
A/N: This chapter has been dedicated to the wonderful Jack Tamara, whose encouraging reviews helped inspire and push me to get this chapter written. As you can see, I kept my promise. :P
That being said, I would like to apologise for the wait. I moved house, and then I had to wait longer than expected to get the Internet going again. After that, I was just busy with Christmas and New Years in general, and then my laptop decided to die on me. It's just been woe after woe, I'm afraid. In any case, here is the promised new chapter. I hope you enjoy it.
The Greater Good
Ginny wasn't sure how long she had been walking. The Portkey that Narcissa had made for Harry and herself had dumped them right in the middle of the Nomad Plains. The redhead had Apparated immediately to where she knew her camp had last been stationed, but there had been nothing to find there except a few wanderers who looked a bit too shifty for her likings, especially when she was the equivalent of being eight months pregnant and had an unconscious Harry Potter for excess baggage.
She knew that there was no point staying in a deserted wasteland, and so she had Apparated again and again, hoping to discover the campsite that she had once called home. Unfortunately, the only people she did find were a squad of Death Eaters. That was when she realised that randomly Apparating to places where she guessed the camp might be was probably not the smartest thing to do. It had been pure luck that the group of Death Eaters she had stumbled across hadn't seen her, and the last thing she wanted was to be taken back to Voldemort.
So here she was, walking back into the Nomad Plains with Harry Potter hovering beside her like an eerie, life-sized marionette. The pair looked ridiculous against the bleak landscape-Ginny with her swollen belly and fine clothes, and Harry with his black cloak fanning out like giant bat wings as he drifted along. It would have been almost comical were it not for the desperation of their situation, a desperation that became all the more urgent when she thought of how quickly her captors would realise that she was gone thanks to the uncanny powers of a certain blue-eyed witch. Still, desperation didn't make levitating Harry any easier.
"Why do you have to be so damn heavy?" muttered Ginny as she waddled along. "I hope you realise that even magic can only make things feel effortless for so long."
She wiped the sweat off her brow and clutched Lucius' wand tighter in her fingers. The magical strain of using a hover charm for such a considerable extent of time was well and truly beginning to take its toll, and she was not ignorant of the fact that it was not wise to do any heavy-lifting while pregnant, whether physical or magical. She could only hope that carrying Harry would not have any adverse effects on her child. Though monstrous and unwanted the baby may be, it was still the only leverage she had with her enemies. Without the child, she was nothing; without the child, she was dead.
Ginny paused in her slow trek, leaning her head down as she tried to catch her breath. To say that she was frustrated was an understatement. She had no idea where the refugee camp might be. She was tired, hot and hungry, her legs ached, her back ached, her head ached-everything seemed to ache. It was as if being pregnant had somehow intensified the misery she now faced. The worst part was that there was no saying when she would find the camp. She was completely relying on luck now, which was not particularly comforting when she considered her past record with that flighty force named Fortune. But Ginny knew that she couldn't give up. She had to keep trying, no matter how tired or disheartened she felt. Too much had been risked for her to give up now. There was no way that she was going to allow Narcissa's sacrifice to be in vain.
Ginny held her head up high again and continued walking, feeling the hot sun beating down upon her, its warmth licking at her skin with scalding flames. In the distance, she could see nothing but barren wasteland, the remnant of a world that had once bustled with life before it had fallen victim to the decaying fingers of war. It was so different from the cold beauty of Malfoy Manor, so ugly and brown. There was nothing to comfort her in this bleak landscape, nothing to stop her from dwelling on what she had left behind.
If only she knew what was happening to them. She thought of Narcissa, so proud and beautiful, and she felt sick to think that the woman she loved so much might be suffering at the hands of Voldemort at this very moment because of her. Ginny wasn't sure how she would ever be able to live with herself if something happened to Narcissa, but it was quite a different feeling that arose inside her when she thought of him.
Ginny could see him now as he had stood before her that last time: desperate, vulnerable and yet still so full of hate. He had openly revealed his need for her then, and it had taken all her courage to resist him and find the will to leave, but there had been no victory. She did not feel the relief that she had thought she would, and even now her heart literally ached at the thought that she might never see him again, this fallen angel who was so twisted and malicious in all his dark glory, and who had hurt her so much.
It was wrong that she should still feel this way, wrong that she should have ever felt this desperate longing to be close to him, but she knew that even if he was no longer in her presence, she could never truly leave him. Not really. He was a part of her now, whether she liked it or not, and though he may be cruel and undeserving of her sympathy, she could not help but hope that he was safe. He was all she had left, after all-he and his mother. She had to hope for them.
Ginny suddenly froze. Something was shimmering in the distance, almost blinding her with its sapphire sparks. It took her a moment to register why that particular shade of blue was so familiar to her, and then she sank to her knees, tears of genuine relief slipping down her cheeks as she realised that she had finally found the camp. Harry dropped to the ground beside her, no longer held up by her hover charm, but she was too tired to care if he had been hurt. They were safe, and that was all that mattered now.
It is a strange thing that when one finally takes a rest after pushing oneself for so long, all the exhaustion and pain comes in a rush. It was no different for Ginny. She had been walking for so long that even the thought of standing up now made her blanch, but that did nothing to dull her sense of self-preservation. She instinctively clutched Lucius' wand tighter in her hand when she heard footsteps come crunching towards her followed by the gentle murmur of voices. Her eyes darted towards the sound, and she spotted two men drawing closer.
"Hey, you!" called one of the men in a brusque voice. "What do you think you're doing out here?"
"Don't frighten her," the other admonished. "I don't think she is from the camp."
Ginny stared up at them with wild eyes, still clutching the wand tightly in her hand. She knew it was probably just the scouts who normally skirted the campsite coming to investigate, but she was not going to take her chances. It was difficult to trust even the most harmless of people after being held captive by Death Eaters for two months.
The men faltered at her threatening expression, but then the brusque man noticed who was lying beside her and let out a sharp intake of breath.
"Is that Harry Potter?"
"Don't you touch him," hissed Ginny.
"Calm down, Missie. I'm not going to hurt him."
Ginny just glowered at him. She didn't like the look of that brusque man. He reminded her of Baldren, the man that had tried to rape her. They both had the same mean little eyes, and his attempt at a placating expression was just as sickening to her in that moment.
"Listen" said the other man, stepping forward. "There's no need for us to come to wands."
His intention, no doubt, was to assure her that they were not her enemies, and she watched him warily as he drew closer towards her. He smiled reassuringly at her, and then, quite suddenly, his jaw went slack and his eyes widened with recognition as he saw her face closely for the first time. Ginny also immediately knew who the man before her was. The light brown hair adorning his head, though it was more streaked with grey than the last time she had seen it, and his kind but scarred features were impossible to forget.
"Remus," whispered Ginny, hardly daring to believe her eyes.
"Ginny," breathed Remus, his face a mask of open disbelief and shock. "How did you-I thought you were dead-and Harry-" He broke off and stared at her in wonder. "How is this possible?"
She just shook her head, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks as she realised she was not alone any more. She was finally with those she loved again.
"Never mind," said Remus quickly. "I can see that you're in no condition to be answering questions."
He turned and gave a quiet order to his brusque companion, who Ginny discovered was named Gordon. Gordon said nothing in response and simply scooped Harry's prone form up into his arms. Both men ignored Ginny's angry protest.
"I know you're worried about Harry, Ginny, but he'll be fine," said Remus soothingly. "Gordon will take care of him."
Ginny didn't bother to explain that was exactly what she was worried about. She knew that Gordon probably wouldn't do anything to Harry, but that didn't stop her from feeling edgy and distrustful.
"All right," said Remus, cheerfully oblivious of her thoughts as he wrapped an arm around her waist to help her up, "let's get you back on your feet."
He had not even pulled her fully upright before her pregnant state was made obvious to him. It was easy to miss the way her stomach protruded unnaturally from her slim body when she was hunched over on the ground, but now the ugly truth was bared before his eyes. He abruptly released her in his shock, his face pale. Ginny could see his confusion and felt her heart sink. He was not stupid; he would have realised that there was no way she could be that pregnant in such a short amount of time. It had only been two months since she had been kidnapped, after all. Whatever was inside her was definitely not normal.
"What is this?" asked Remus in a hushed, disturbed voice.
There was something accusing about his horrified gaze, something that made her want to run away and hide like the fair maidens in the fairytales who had been transformed into hideous hags and so were shunned by those who had known them. It was a shock to her, for Remus had only ever been kind and understanding towards her, but she knew it was no more than what she could have expected. She probably did look like a freak to him.
Ginny looked at him pleadingly. "I know it looks bad, but you have to trust me."
"Tell me everything," came his grim reply.
It was the last thing she felt like doing, but Ginny knew that there was no point in arguing with him, so she pushed her weariness behind her and began her tale, starting at the battle that had occurred at their old camp when Draco had first come to kidnap her. Remus was surprised that Voldemort had specifically ordered her to be kidnapped, but it soon made sense to him when Ginny disclosed that the Dark Lord had learnt of the magical powers she held and sought to have them for himself. She then went on to explain about the magic Draco had been given when he was a baby, and what that magic would do when it was fused with her own inside her womb.
"You mean that Malfoy brat raped you so that he could create some dark magic spawn?" growled Remus, looking suddenly more wolfish than man.
"No!"
He blinked, and Ginny suddenly realised how very impassioned her answer had been. She blushed and looked away, not wanting Remus to know how far she had actually fallen for that same 'Malfoy brat.' Just the thought of how much she had wanted Draco that night brought a flush of crimson to her cheeks, so it was no surprise that she didn't deceive her old friend for even a second.
"You care for him, don't you?"
She shook her head, but she looked so pathetic doing so that it only served to confirm his suspicions.
"He murdered your brother, Ginny."
"I know."
The words came out in the barest whisper, filled with the disgust and shame that she felt for herself. Her situation was indeed a hopeless one, but she knew there was no point in dwelling on it. There was enough going on without her wallowing in self-pity. Remus seemed to agree and did not press her for any more information about Draco; instead, he asked her what Voldemort wanted to do with the child when it was born. Ginny explained that Voldemort wanted to perform a sacrifice known as the Hadem Rhi that would allow him to take on the child's powers, making him quite literally the most powerful dark wizard to ever walk the earth. She would then be killed, most likely with Draco, so that no more children could be created to threaten his power.
"I see," said Remus. "Thank you for telling me that. I think we can come up with a plan now."
He must have seen her hopeless expression, for he took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
"Don't worry, Ginny. Everything will be alright."
"I hope so."
"It will." He smiled and then placed a steadying hand on her back. "Come, you must be tired."
Ginny was, in fact, ready to collapse, and so she was more than happy to allow herself to be taken off to one of the tents so that she could get some rest. Of course, the bed she was given was nothing compared to the one she had slept in at Malfoy Manor, but after walking for several hours on dusty, uneven ground, she was not going to complain.
She lay in the bed, thinking of how strange it was to be back in the refugee camp and wondering what would happen to her now. So much had happened that day, and so much was yet to happen, but the image that stayed with her as she fell asleep was not of the future, but of the blonde woman she had left behind.
OOOO
Narcissa let out a shuddering breath, one hand clutching her chest as the other held her trembling body up from collapsing completely to the ground. It was an agony beyond agony, and she would be lying if she did not admit that she wanted nothing more than to beg for the pain to stop.
She gritted her teeth and tried to hold back her screams, but she could not prevent the small cry of hurt from slipping from her lips. The curse was abruptly lifted, and her eyes, burning with suppressed tears, glanced up to meet the chilling face of her torturer. He stared back, his crimson eyes cold and calculating, though his smile was disconcertingly pleasant.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" observed Voldemort.
His voice was warm and friendly, a complete contrast to the merciless brutality that he was inflicting upon her. Narcissa said nothing in response, just as she had said nothing as soon as he and Lara had first entered the room and demanded where Ginevra was. There was no point in lying since they already knew the truth, but she also knew that there was no point in surrendering all her knowledge to them either. Distraction was the key.
Voldemort smiled even more as he circled her like a lazy cat waiting to pounce.
"I know you helped our little friend escape, my dear Narcissa," continued Voldemort, "so let's not waste any more time. Tell me where the Portkey has taken her and I might let you live."
Again, Narcissa remained silent.
He sighed. "Your display of nobility is getting rather tedious."
"You already know all I can tell you," responded Narcissa with cold civility. "There is nothing more to say."
"Is that so? I wonder if your son would agree."
Her eyes flashed with emotion, and the fear she had kept so well hidden seeped out into her expression for the first time since the Dark Lord had started his interrogation. Draco had always been the one to shake her calm, and the thought of him suffering in her place now because of her choice to help Ginevra was enough to drive her to desperation. She had hoped to protect him, and she hadn't even told him what had happened, for she had known that he would be unlikely to approach either her or Ginevra after the events of that morning. But now her plans were all falling apart right before her eyes. This was not the quick punishment that she had been hoping for.
Voldemort looked down at her in some amusement, seeming to sense her thoughts. He turned and faced the restless witch next to him.
"Lara, go and bring me Draco."
Lara's eyes briefly flickered to Narcissa with an unreadable expression on her face, and then she left the room.
"Wait!" cried Narcissa, reaching out an imploring hand towards Voldemort. "My son has nothing to do with this. I was the one who helped her escape. He is completely innocent."
Voldemort smiled with lazy amusement. "I know."
Her eyebrows drew together into a frown as she puzzled over his words. The feelings of unease that had been prickling inside of her ever since the formidable wizard had entered the room suddenly intensified. She stared at him in suspicion, but he only smiled enigmatically, clearly pleased with whatever it was that he had decided.
Draco suddenly burst through the door, with Lara following much more serenely behind.
"What's going on?" demanded the blond as he took in the scene before him.
It was clear by the harsh curl of his lip that he was not pleased.
"Your mother is keeping secrets from us," explained Voldemort in a voice of painstaking patience. "I thought a more personal touch might break her reticence."
"I don't understand," said Draco slowly.
"Didn't she tell you?" asked Voldemort with mock surprise. "Your mother helped Ginevra escape with Harry Potter and now no one knows where she, or he for that matter, is."
"Mother?"
It was not a question. It was an accusation. Narcissa could almost hear Draco's silent hiss of 'traitor' whispering over and over again in her ears, and the betrayal he felt was glaringly obvious in his expression. She had hoped that maybe he would understand, but she saw now that he was just as selfish as ever. It would have never occurred to him to help Ginevra. He would have left her to die rather than risk his own life, but Narcissa could not hold it against her son. She would have done the same herself once upon a time.
"I'm sorry, Draco," said Narcissa, genuinely remorseful. "I never meant for you to get involved."
"Well, it's a bit late for that, isn't it?"
"Indeed, it is, young Malfoy," interposed Voldemort with another of his unsettling smiles. "You cannot have forgotten that I placed Ginevra under your care, and since your mother is proving difficult, you now have a choice, and I do hope you will choose wisely."
Narcissa felt another shiver of unease slip through her, though this time she knew why, for she understood the Dark Lord's plan now. He did not think that Draco knew the answers; he wanted Draco to get the answers from her. He must have realised that pain alone would not have made her confess, but there were other weapons besides physical pain that he could use. That was why he had brought Draco in, the 'personal touch,' for He knew that it would hurt her far more deeply if Draco were the one to torture her for the information she held. If that failed, or if Draco refused, then the Dark Lord would simply use Draco against her by punishing him instead. It was a foolproof plan, for neither option was something she could stomach.
Draco did not seem to catch on to his master's intentions as fast as his mother had, or perhaps he simply didn't want to believe it was possible, and so he merely frowned at the crimson-eyed man before him.
"What choice is that?"
"It's really quite simple," responded Voldemort. "Get me the information I need and I will spare your life. Refuse and your mother's fate will become your own."
Draco's eyes darted to his mother's, a moment of real panic flashing across his normally impassive face. It was clear that he had not been expecting such an ultimatum and that he was reluctant to choose either option. Somehow, this comforted Narcissa. It proved that he still cared.
"Surely there must be another way," began Draco, glancing at his master with as close to a pleading expression as he would allow.
"Your mother has already proven herself a traitor and you have failed me more than enough," cut in Voldemort ruthlessly. "Do not think that I will spare your lives out of mercy. I do not keep servants who are of no use to me."
Narcissa would have laughed had the situation not been so desperate. She knew that this had nothing to do with being useful; this was simply a case of the Dark Lord getting his sick satisfaction out of turning family members against each other. It would be considered entertaining for him to watch Draco torture her and force her to reveal where the Portkey had taken Ginevra, just as it would be equally amusing for him to punish Draco in her place and watch her reaction. He was sick and twisted, and he made everyone around him sick and twisted. But he was not going to have her son. Not this time.
"Enough!" cried Narcissa.
She struggled to her feet, not wanting to look as if she were grovelling on her knees before him.
"Yes, my dear? Are you ready to speak?" asked Voldemort politely, as if he had not just been threatening to kill her and her son.
"I am."
"Then by all means, speak."
"I cannot tell you where the Portkey took Ginevra because I do not know myself, but I will say this: I do not regret what I have done, and I will give no excuse for my behaviour. I am every bit the traitor that you call me, but you and I both know that my son is neither worthless to you nor to be blamed for my choices. You will gain nothing in killing him, especially now that Ginevra has gone with the child, so if you want someone to punish, then punish me."
Voldemort considered her with a calculating expression.
"You're either very brave or very foolish."
Narcissa stared into her tormentor's red eyes, her own features set in their usual impassive mask. It would be a lie to say that she was not afraid. She was not inherently noble. She could not fearlessly look upon her fate and welcome it with open arms, but whoever said that courage could only be found where there was no fear? She knew this was the only way to protect the ones she loved, and in that she found her resolve.
"Perhaps I am foolish," said Narcissa softly, "but at least I will have a clear conscience. You wouldn't understand. You've never felt the need to protect someone other than yourself."
Her eyes drifted to her son, and a sad sort of smile touched her lips.
"I could not have done anything else."
Draco gave an involuntary twitch as if he was restraining himself from reaching out to her. Their eyes met, and though Voldemort was speaking again, neither paid any heed to his words; the world only existed in the face of the other.
That was why Narcissa did not see the flash of sickly green that buried itself into her chest only seconds later, but Draco did. He saw the way her azure eyes, so filled with love, suddenly stilled and became hollow, and he watched, helpless, as her body fell backwards in a graceful arc to the floor, where he knew she would never move again. For a moment they had understood each other, they had shared a connection, and now that moment was gone, vanished with the breath that was stolen from her lungs.
His eyes began to burn, and there was suddenly a hard lump constricting his throat, making it difficult to swallow. His chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe, and as he looked down at his mother's lifeless body, the sense of loss pounding into his heart with each painful breath, he felt a surge of poisonous hate for his master run through his veins.
Draco tightened his fingers around the wand in his hand, the deadly magic locked inside of him begging to be released. He fixed his hateful gaze on Voldemort and saw that his master was utterly defenceless. There was no question of hesitating, no need to doubt. Draco simply lifted his wand and hissed the two deadly words. A jet of green exploded from the tip of the wood, stretching out its ghostly fingers towards the crimson-eyed man.
And then it was over.
Voldemort's body slumped to the ground, somehow looking more like an abandoned shell than Narcissa's had. It was slightly unsettling to look at, but then Draco realised with a jolt that he had just killed Lord Voldemort. It seemed so surreal, so ridiculously easy, and yet there was no denying that the man he had once called master was now dead.
His eyes drifted past the deformed body of his master to his mother's more graceful form. The way she was lying made her appear as if she were a bird that had fallen from the sky, her arms spread out like broken wings. There was something so weak and fragile about her, though he knew that she had been anything but when she was alive.
When she was alive.
Odd how he could think that but he refused-could not, in fact-think the word that truly described her condition. He knew it could not be denial. He had known as soon as the green light had touched her porcelain skin that she was no longer part of the living, and yet it was still so hard to grasp the fact that she was really gone.
His eyes burned once again with the tears that would not fall, and somehow he wished they would, if only to ease some of the pain. He felt so helpless, so utterly defeated. He felt just like the twenty-one year old boy that he was and not at all like the fearsome wizard he had come to consider himself. His mother was gone. The one person who had loved him and cared for him even when he knew he had not deserved it was gone. She had stood by him, she had believed in him, and now she had died for him. It was all just too much.
He knelt down beside his mother's body and reached out hesitantly to touch her cheek. It was still warm, but he knew it would soon be cold. A sigh broke from his lips, and he closed his eyes, hoping to shut out the reality that was now threatening to overwhelm him. He had never really realised how much his mother had meant to him until that moment when he knew there was no way to call her back, but the worst part was that he had done nothing to help her. She had sacrificed herself for him, and he-he had just let her die.
"Well, well," said a calm voice, "I did wonder how it was going to happen, but I never thought it would be like this."
Draco turned in alarm and found himself face-to-face with Lara, who was regarding him with a half smile on her lips. He had completely forgotten that she was still in the room.
"What are you talking about?" growled Draco, standing up.
He was in no mood for her riddles.
"Come, Draco, do you really need to ask me that or did you honestly think I am so blind as to not be able to sense when the Dark Lord is going to be murdered, especially by you?"
"You knew this was going to happen?"
"Naturally. I've known this for a while now, though I don't deny there were moments when I wondered if you would actually do it. I see that you all you needed was the right incentive."
"Incentive?" repeated Draco furiously. "So my mother's death was nothing but an incentive for me, was it?"
"That was unfortunate, and I am sorry for that, but getting angry with me will not bring her back. I was not the one who killed your mother."
"You knew this was going to happen and yet you did nothing!"
"Why should I? She's your mother, but I didn't exactly see you stepping in to help her."
"Shut up!"
"Oh, is the poor baby upset? " mocked Lara in tones that were horribly reminiscent of his aunt Bellatrix.
Draco felt the poisonous hate surge up in him again, shredding at his insides as it tried to claw its way out and lash at the woman before him. He couldn't believe that he had protected her, couldn't believe that he had thought of her almost as a friend. She was every bit the traitor that everyone had called her, and right now he hated her.
"Now, Draco, don't look at me like that," said Lara calmly. "Even if I had been able to help your mother, it would not have changed anything. She made her choice when she decided to help Ginevra escape, and she had to face the consequences for that. It was out of my power to save her."
"What do you want, Lara?" snapped Draco, changing the subject.
He didn't want to hear her excuses right now. Not when the pain and guilt was still so raw inside him.
"I want you to help me find Ginevra."
Draco let out a harsh laugh. "You have got to be joking? I help you find Ginevra? That girl is the reason my mother is lying on the floor in a lifeless heap right now, and you want me to help you find her?"
"She is in very grave danger."
"What do I care? She means nothing to me."
"Your mother loved her."
"Don't you bring my mother into this," hissed Draco threateningly.
"Why not? There's no point in trying to deny it. Your mother risked your life and her own so that she could help Ginevra escape, and she was killed because of it. Don't you think she would want you to help me keep Ginevra safe now?"
"Do you take me for a fool? I may not have been the most loyal Death Eater, but I'll never help a Dissenter scum like you."
"What makes you think I am a Dissenter?" asked Lara quite calmly.
"How about the fact that you neglected to inform us about Dissenter attacks and raids? Or that you cared nothing for Ginevra's safety until you learned what Voldemort wanted with her? And you just stood back and let me kill the master you were supposedly so loyal to, and now you want me to find Ginevra again, no doubt so that you can take her back to your leader and claim your reward."
"That's quite a list of accusations, but I am being perfectly honest with you when I say that I am not and never have been a Dissenter."
"You expect me to believe that?" retorted Draco sceptically. "Especially after you got me to lie for you that day?"
"Let me put it this way. I have never been a Dissenter, but I have also never been a loyal Death Eater. In some ways, then, you were quite right when you called me a traitor. However, I am not the traitor."
"Then who is?"
"As to that, I have my guesses, but the person is very skilled at avoiding my powers. I believe whoever the Dissenter spy is was far deeper in the inner circle than we realised, but that is not the issue right now. Draco, we must find Ginevra."
"Just because you're not a Dissenter doesn't mean I trust you," retorted Draco bluntly.
"Then don't trust me, but we are wasting time talking like this. We must find Ginevra before it is too late."
"Why should I help her? Why should I help either of you?"
"Because she is the only person in the world who can remove the curse on you."
"What are you talking about?" demanded Draco, ignoring the shiver of unease that slid up his spine. "What curse?"
Lara reached inside her robe pocket and pulled out a small jade stone.
"But that's-"
"We don't have much time, Draco," said Lara grimly, cutting him short. "It's up to you."
Draco stared down at the stone in her hands. He had no reason to trust Lara, but he also knew that he had little to gain by not trusting her. There was nothing out there for him now, and if she was right in saying that he was cursed and that Ginny was the only one who could remove it, then what choice did he have?
"Fine," sighed Draco in resignation. "If you say that she can get the curse off me then I'll go with you, but there's something I have to do first."
"Draco, we don't have time!"
"We have time for this!" growled Draco.
Lara met his dark look with a warning glare of her own, but then he turned and knelt back down beside Narcissa's body, and a small 'oh' of understanding escaped her lips. She made no further protest after that and watched as he picked up his dead mother and carried her out into the manor grounds. He buried Narcissa beside his father in the family graveyard. He made no speeches and not a single tear fell from his eyes, but Lara knew it was not because he didn't care. He had always had difficulty showing his emotions.
After Draco had said his final goodbyes to his mother, she watched him burn Voldemort's body until there was nothing left but ash. It was not a new man that turned and looked at her when he was finished, for Draco was no phoenix ready to be made beautiful again. He could never be the hero, but then, she did not need a hero. She needed someone who did not care about good and evil, someone who would not hesitate to kill or feel pity for those in his way. His reason for helping her may be selfish, but he was willing to fight for Ginny, and that was all that mattered now.
Lara could only hope that they would not be too late.
OOOO
Rufus Scrimgeour stood before the members of the council, a grim expression on his old lion face. He was no longer the Minister of Magic, but people had continued to look up to him and view him as their leader long after the Ministry had fallen and Voldemort had taken control. Rufus knew this, and he planned to make full use of the advantage tonight.
"My fellow members of the council," boomed Rufus in his loud voice, "it is a sad day when we must come together to decide the fate of one of our own, but let us not be blinkered by our own compassion. Miss Ginevra Weasley may be an innocent, but the demon inside of her is not. There is no saying what it will grow to be if we let it live. The only definite we do have is that it will be an extremely powerful dark witch or wizard."
"What are you saying, Rufus?" croaked a wheezy old woman.
"I'm saying that we must destroy the child before it has a chance to destroy us."
"And the girl?"
Rufus met the woman's eyes steadily. "You-Know-Who sought to use her as a weapon against us. How do we know that he will not try to do it again? I do not want to take that risk."
"And so you would kill her?" demanded one of the younger members of the council.
"Some sacrifices must be made for the greater good."
"The greater good?" spat the same young man. "What you're proposing is murder."
"Alan is right," said another in a smooth voice. "There is no reason for us to kill Ginevra. Indeed, she is far more valuable to us alive. After all, if You-Know-Who wished to use the child as a weapon against us, then why can't we use it as a weapon against him?"
There were some murmurs of assent at this. Alan and a few of his supporters looked on in disgust while Rufus simply watched them all like a parent humouring a small child.
"You seem to be under the impression that we can control the child, Vincent," said Rufus with a harsh laugh, "but what if we can't? Would you be willing to take that risk?"
"Enough of this squabbling," declared the wheezy woman. "Let's take our vote."
Remus, who had remained silent throughout the meeting ever since he had given his account, watched as the verdict was passed with a sinking heart. It was not the outcome he had been hoping for, but even he had his misgivings. There was no denying that her child was not normal, and he had not forgotten about the way she had risen to defend the man who had held her captive. He knew Stockholm syndrome when he saw it, and he also knew that it never led to anything good.
"Ah, there you are, Remus," said Rufus, stopping in front of him. "I want you to take Ginevra to the Isolation Chamber. It would not do to have her get wind of what we're planning and escape from us too."
"You really believe this is the only answer then?"
"For the safety of our people, yes I do. That child is dangerous, and any fool knows that you cannot trust a person who has spent two months with Death Eaters and survived to tell the tale. They always come back traitors."
Remus had nothing to say to that, and so he simply nodded his head and then left without a further word to carry out his order. He found Ginny in a dead sleep, and so he scooped her up in his arms and then carried her to the only concrete building in the campsite.
They called it the Isolation Room but, in truth, it was more of a prison. People who misbehaved or were seen as a danger to the community were sent there to be held in lockdown until it was deemed safe enough for them to mingle with the rest of the camp again. Remus did not like the thought of taking Ginny there, but he knew that he did not have much choice in the matter.
The steel doors to the chamber opened at his command. He adjusted his hold on the redhead and then carried her inside, the doors closing behind him like the jaws of a monster snapping shut. The interior was not welcoming. The walls were made of concrete, making everything cold and grey, but right at the end was a glass room, completely sealed, with a steel door identical to the one at the entrance.
Remus moved towards the room and gave another spoken command. The magic held within the walls registered the sound of his voice and, with a groan, opened the tightly sealed door. He walked inside, the feelings of claustrophobia already tickling at the hairs on the back of his neck. There was only a bed and a chamber pot in the room, both in poor condition. It was doubtful that anything more could have fit in the tiny space.
He placed the sleeping redhead carefully down on the bed, noting how vulnerable and defenceless she looked lying there like that. Perhaps that was why he felt the sickly feelings of guilt churn his stomach. She was completely oblivious to what was happening to her, and what was about to happen to her, but even genuine affection could not stop him from acting out his duty. He knew what he had to do.
"I'm sorry, Ginny," whispered Remus.
He turned away from her and then left the room without a further word, the steel doors snapping shut behind him with ominous finality. The deed was done, but he knew he would forever be haunted by his actions that night.
And somewhere out in the dusky night, a witch and wizard continued to search.