Malfoy bade Potter and the rest good-bye and then walked slowly away. He was unsure where to go. The Death Eaters wouldn’t just let him be. That wasn’t how they worked. Where could he go that was safe?
Ideas popped into his head one after another: Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Hogwarts, the Ministry…but none of them were right. He couldn’t bring Death Eaters to any of those places and end up getting innocent people killed.
He couldn’t go to any of his friends’houses…because they were no longer his friends, once he’d betrayed Voldemort. Did he dare show his face again at the Weasleys’ house? And Spinners End was completely out of the question.
There was only one place, really, that would still accept him.
Well, they might, anyway.
Malfoy cast a quick glance around for Muggles; there weren’t any, for it was a gray, rainy day and nobody wanted to be outside. Malfoy worked up all that was left of his remaining courage, took a deep breath, and Apparated away.
He ended up in front of a huge, stately mansion. It was all white-the columns, the balconies, even the high, slanted roof. It had once been shining and clean, the envy of all. But now the white walls looked more like an ashen gray. Cobwebs laced the intricately designed rods of the balconies and shutters hung off the once-gleaming windows.
Even though it was barely recognizable, Malfoy felt comforted by the sight of it.
His home.
He cast a wary glance around. The street was empty. The overcast sky, cold breeze, and ominous silence added to the mood, making it all-around creepy. Malfoy shivered and hurried up the driveway, scaling the high, also white fence with ease. He rang the doorbell and could hear it sounding through the manor. He waited for about five minutes and was about to Apparate inside when the door opened a tiny crack.
“Who’s there?” came a whisper. His mother.
“It’s me, Mother.”
The crack widened a bit and Malfoy could make out one of his mother’s blue eyes, a strand of her blond hair. “Draco?” she whispered. “Is that really you?”
“Yes.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Mother, it’s me. I swear on…Father’s grave.”
Narcissa let out a sob and let Malfoy in. “Where have you been?” she wailed.
“I…I’ve been with Potter, actually.”
Narcissa’s beady eyes narrowed. “Harry Potter? Why?” she sniffed. “If only you could have heard the rumors flying around, that you helped to kill Voldemort…”
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.
Narcissa noticed this. “They aren’t true, are they, Draco?”
“Er…well, yes, Mother, they are. I helped Potter. But it hasn’t done any good, as I’m sure you know. Voldemort’s not dead.”
Narcissa’s eyes widened. “No! But he’ll kill you, Draco! He will never forgive you, never…”
“I know, Mother.”
“You had best go back to him right now. The sooner, the better. Maybe if you don’t wait too much longer, he’ll have mercy…”
“Mother, Voldemort doesn’t know mercy. No matter if I begged for forgiveness the minute he came back, he wouldn’t spare my life. I’m through with him.”
Narcissa was at a loss for words, her mouth hanging open in shock, and didn’t say anything for about five minutes. When she did open her mouth, she said, “Your father is dead.”
“I know,” said Malfoy heavily.
“You know who killed him, don’t you?”
“I…” Malfoy’s previous rage at Potter had subsided. “Yes, I do.”
Narcissa stepped forward. “Tell me.”
“It was…Potter.”
“POTTER?” she screeched. “that insolent brat, kill my husband? Lucius was much more powerful...it shouldn’t have been that way…” she broke into tears.
Obviously Narcissa was very emotionally unstable right now. Malfoy couldn’t really blame her, and he pitied his poor mother, but he was beginning to regret his decision of coming back home.
“Well, Mother…it’s been fun.” Malfoy had always been a good liar. “But I’ve really got to be going now…”
Narcissa barely even heard him. Malfoy looked out the window to the wet, cold world and his stomach filled with dread. Where could he go? Maybe he’d better stay. He could hide out up in the attic, maybe…
Yes. Malfoy edged around his still-sobbing mother and then dashed up the marble stairs. He paused as he passed his old bedroom and peered in. There was his bed, his dresser, his prized racing broom. He recalled how happy he’d been with that broom, and the silliness of it struck him. How trivial that was now…it took much more than a stick of wood with little twigs on the end to make him happy now.
Malfoy went on to the stairs that led to the attic. They were old: rotten, creaky, sinking in in the middle. But they held his weight, unlike the stairs down to Snape’s cellar.
The attic was plenty roomy, a big, round room with plenty of space for Malfoy to stay. It was practically empty. Some people’s attics were stuffed with boxes and holiday decorations and things no longer used, but the Malfoys’ attic was empty. All it housed were cobwebs and dust bunnies, and probably rats.
Malfoy sighed. This wouldn’t be a very fun stay.
Now for Potter and the others. He knew his mother had an owl. It was a brown barn owl, named …Ellie? Mellie? Nelly, that was it. A rather unconventional name for an owl, but Narcissa was a rather unconventional lady.
Nelly. Where was she? Malfoy recalled that she had always liked to nest in the attic’s rafters. But looking up, he found she wasn’t there. Hmm. He crept out of the attic and looked around. He didn’t see the slightly speckled feathers anywhere. The stupid owl could be anywhere in the whole house.
Leaning over the banister, Malfoy saw that Narcissa was still crying. He continued on down the hallway, searching everywhere for the owl. He finally found her about a half hour later, nestled in an old linen closet between layers of sheets and blankets. He lifted her up; she flapped her wings in protest but Malfoy was stronger. “Come on, Nelly,” he muttered, taking her back up to the attic.
Malfoy dug around in his pocket for a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. He quickly wrote a note:
Potter, and anyone else who’s reading this,
I’m at my house, hiding out in the attic, so when you’re ready to go, come get me. Do you know where it is? It’s in southern Scotland, not an exact town or city. The address is 5789 Serpentine Drive. It’s the big white house, you won’t miss it.
Malfoy
He tied the letter around Nelly’s leg and sent her off. He watched as she tumbled around a little-obviously she hadn’t flown in a while-but then she righted herself and soared away.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Order, Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Fred were bent over Ginny’s limp body worriedly. They had tried using Ennervate, dumping cold water on her head, shaking her body until her hair fell over her face…but nothing worked. She was still out cold, and now dripping wet. They were reassured by the soft pulse of her heartbeat, but it wasn’t coming too regularly.
“We have to take her to St. Mungo’s,” insisted Granger. “They’ll help her.”
“But what can we say? That she got hurt escaping Voldemort’s clutches? Everybody thinks Voldemort’s dead, and we don’t want them to know differently,” argued Potter.
Granger rolled her eyes. “Just say what happened: she fell down some stairs.”
“She’s right,” said Fred hoarsely. “And we’d better leave right now before Ginny’s too far gone for us to help her.”
“We shouldn’t all go,” pointed out Granger, as they stampeded for the front door. “Harry should probably stay here. Ron too. You’re probably the most recognizable by Death Eaters.”
Potter and Weasley exchanged dismayed looks. “She’s right, mate,” sighed Ron reluctantly.
“Send us an owl as soon as you find anything out, okay?” asked Potter eagerly.
“Of course,” called Granger as they exited the house.
* * * * * * * * * *
It had started to rain and the streets were practically empty, so Granger and Fred Apparated to St. Mungo’s. They hurriedly told the dummy in the window where they wanted to go and stepped inside to the warm hospital. They hurried up to the Welcome Witch, who had purple upswept hair that clashed horribly with her pumpkin-colored robes and a very bored expression on her face. “Yes?” she asked flatly.
“My sister, uh, fell down some stairs and she won’t wake up,” Fred said quickly.
“How long ago was this?” the Witch’s voice still sounded bored and unimpressed.
“About…two hours ago?” Fred said, with a questioning look to Granger. Granger nodded. “Yes, that’s about right.”
“I see. Has she had any other symptoms?”
“Well, no,” said Fred frustratedly, “as she’s been asleep the whole time!”
“Ah.” The Witch tapped her unusually thick wand against the desk and a Healer appeared at the desk a few moments later. He took in Ginny’s unconscious state and instantly magicked her onto a stretcher. He motioned for Fred and Granger to follow him, so they did.
The Healer turned into a bare room with white-washed walls a few minutes later. The room contained only a bed, two chairs, and a sink. “We’re renovating the hospital right now,” the Healer noted apologetically, waving his hand around the room. “So it’s a little bare.”
Fred nodded. He didn’t care. He wanted them to help Ginny now, not ramble on about renovations.
The Healer may have sensed Fred’s impatience because he wrung his hands and said, “Down to business, then. How did this happen?”
“She fell down some stairs about two hours ago, and there haven’t been any other symptoms,” said Granger hurriedly.
The Healer blinked. “Well. Alright then. She may have a concussion or some trauma to her brain, we’re going to have to check that…could you step out into the lobby, please? We’ll be with you soon.”
Granger stepped out immediately but Fred hesitated. “Come on, Fred,” hissed Granger, grabbing his wrist, “she’s unconscious, she won’t miss us.”
“Well, okay, I guess you’re right…” Fred reluctantly followed Granger back out to the lobby, where they collapsed into vinyl chairs and waited.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at Grimmauld Place, Potter and Weasley were worried and bored. They were worried about Ginny and Malfoy, about gallavanting carelessly into Gringotts, and, especially Potter, about battling Voldemort, this time with him fully conscious and powerful.
Just then an owl tapped the room’s window. “You think it’s Malfoy, already?” asked Potter, opening the window to let the owl in.
Weasley shook his head. “It’s probably Bill. Read the letter.”
Potter untied the letter from around the owl’s scaly leg and read it aloud.
Hi all,
I can come help out whenever you guys need me. Since the Death Eaters blasted Gringotts apart, everything down here’s been chaos and I haven’t had much work to do. In case you were wondering, Fleur is adapting wonderfully to life in the desert. Anyway, I can’t honestly say the idea of breaking into a Gringotts vault doesn’t scare me, but I suppose we have to try. But if I could somehow get the key, or if somebody you know could get the key, it’d make things a lot easier.
Anyway, I’ll Apparate over in a couple days. That soon enough?
Best wishes,
Bill
“A couple days is probably good,” noted Potter, “what with Ginny in the hospital and everything.”
Weasley nodded. “If only we could get the key to Snape’s vault,” he said. “Like Bill said, it would certainly make things a lot easier. D’you think Ernie could…?”
“Maybe. We could owl him, I guess. Since we have a couple days to spare ahead of us, and we can’t do much without Malfoy anyway and we don’t know where he is. Okay, yeah, let’s send Ernie an owl right now.”
So Potter and Weasley scribbled a note to Ernie, attached it to the owl’s leg, and sent it off. They watched it fly away silently, both wishing that this whole thing was over.