DAILY PROPHET - MONDAY, FEBRUARY 14TH, 1998 - EXTRA

YOU-KNOW-WHO TURNS OUT TO BE A LOSER; WAR IS OVER

GOLDEN TRIO TO BE AWARDED HIGHEST MEDAL OF MERLIN PLATED IN GOLD

NARCISSA MALFOY FOUND DEAD; DRACO MALFOY TO UNDERGO EXTENSIVE REHABILITATION

This morning at 8:45 AM, Narcissa Malfoy was found dead of a hexing at Malfoy Manor in a suspected murder case. The suspects are the two last remaining Death Eaters at large, whose useless names have no need of mention, and who have been apprehended by Malfoy Manor's extensive warding complex and are currently being questioned at the Ministry. Life sentences in Azkaban are extremely likely, as Mrs. Malfoy had become an invaluable resource for Auror Death Eater investigations following the fall of Voldemort. Information and assistance from Mrs. Malfoy had resulted in at least 40 Death Eater arrests over the past year, and Auror Chief Kingsley Shacklebolt has speculated that Narcissa Malfoy helped save hundreds of lives by her assistance in removing Death Eaters from threatening the public at large.

"We are devastated by the loss of Narcissa Malfoy. She became invaluable in the last days of the war and our thoughts are with Draco during this difficult time," commented Shaklebolt on Monday.

"Narcissa Malfoy was a saint!" was Minister Toffe's reply when asked for comment. "A SAINT, I say!"

But alas: Draco Malfoy, at the tender age of 18 years old, has lost not one, but both parents in the course of a single month. His father, Lucius, went missing without a trace three weeks ago while erecting Old Magic wards at the manor. He is presumed totally obliterated. The youngest Malfoy has been admitted to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward for rehabilitation.

Hermione put down the paper and stared off into space.

"You know," she said, as Harry and Ron were sitting at the same table, "I never liked Draco, and I'll admit I kind of hoped he'd suffer, and I kind of resented him and his silver spoon and his sense of entitlement, and his smarmy face."

"Yeah?" replied Ron, and despite his mouth being around a large sandwich, it was clear he agreed with each sentiment and wanted her to go on.

"But this?" she glanced at the paper. "I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

Ron snorted. So did Harry. Okay, fine, she was tortured in the Malfoy house. She pretty much hated the Malfoys. They were, admittedly, The Worst. However, she never thought Draco was bad to the core, or anything. He was just a lame guy who was misguided, and then in over his head. Kind of like all the Malfoys.

"Really, guys?" she asked them, holding up the paper, now folded. "You would want this for Draco?" She shook the paper, as if that furthered her cause.

Ron shrugged and enjoyed his sandwich.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry. "After what we've been through, I don't care about what happens to Draco Malfoy."

He had a point. Harry, especially Harry, had a point. His whole life had been a series of very unfortunate events, and it was a miracle he wasn't currently being submitted to St. Mungo's for psychiatric evaluation, along with Draco. Well, maybe he eventually would be. It wouldn't be shocking. She wondered how he held it together as well as he did.

"Hey, we've got to get going; they're giving us some medals," said Ron, finished sandwiching and standing up.

Hermione stood too and sighed at the paper, maybe a little dramatically. It was really a shame such a proud family had been laid to waste like that. The moment passed, though, and there were things to be done, crowds to meet, and awards to be awarded. The Malfoys left Hermione's consciousness. At least, she forgot about them for a very, very long time.

MARCH 2015

The derelict entrance to Malfoy Manor, though unoccupied for seventeen years, still held a graceful repose which had been intensified by overgrown vines and age. Through the curling wrought iron gate (now wrung by ropes of wild ivy) could be seen frozen stone figures beneath shooting brambles and birds' nests, carved fountains papered with dead leaves and the occasional scuttling squirrel, and marred cobble pathways leading round a garden that promised that it had once been lovely, grand, and to be envied. In its derelict state it was still to be envied, because it captured that thing of antiquity and tragedy and wonder which was rare to be seen but which always left a mark on the viewer. Beyond the gardens and paths and stone maidens, the house itself sat mute and large with dark, cool patience.

Hermione couldn't stop staring at it. She was kind of enraptured, really.

"It's just awful, isn't it?" she said to Luna, who was gazing through the gate along with her. "I mean, we knew them when they were everything in the magic world."

"Huh," replied Luna, clearly thinking her own thoughts.

"And now it's like they never even existed," continued Hermione. She sighed.

"It's not dead," said Luna.

"What's not dead?" asked Hermione.

"The estate," said Luna. "It's just sleeping."

"Oh," said Hermione, not sure how to reply to that. Luna had extraordinary magic sensitivity, though, and as a result she'd become pretty much the top artifact recovery accessory in the whole wizarding world due to her ability to sense, locate, and disable wards, and especially old wards. Sometimes very old and very dark wards. Because of this, Hermione would just let Luna do her job and ask questions later.

Hermione paced to one end of the manor gate, where paint flecks peeled from iron and moss protruded from between stone, and occupied herself with casting furtive glances towards the manor while going over in her mind the rare books she'd come to recover. It felt like stealing. Why did it feel like stealing?

On the edge of Hermione's consciousness, Luna droned a mystical hum.

She wasn't stealing. She was on Ministry business! Well, Ministry library business, which, if one were to rate Ministry business, was the best business of all. And anyway, the thought of actually recovering the rare books she was looking for, even if it was from Malfoy Manor, gave Hermione a thrill that was only surpassed by the thought of then reading those rare books, and then (the best part) digesting them.

She momentarily compared herself to a voracious predator, with thoughts like that. It was shameful. A voracious book-eating predator? Hermione really needed to get a life.

But she had a life! Maybe. It really depended on who you asked.

Hermione wasn't married. Oh, she'd almost been married. Twice. Maybe three times, if you count pre-engagement engagements. She'd almost known he was the one, or maybe he was, or him. She'd even kind of thought about that guy in accounting, but he wasn't willing and nothing ever came of it. It just never worked out. Somehow.

Luna married Neville Longbottom and must have had some serious foresight because that guy turned out to be hot as all-get-out, and a fine husband and father to boot. Well, this was Luna, after all. She probably just knew it would happen. It kind of made Hermione loathe the "science" of mysticism all the more. Maybe a little bit of that loathing came from wishing she had some talent in the skill.

Despite failures in Divination and life in general, Hermione was wildly successful in her field. She was the leading expert in ancient tome recovery and interpretation, and curated the Ministry Library on the side. One could safely say books were her life. She could talk about them for hours. That might explain the lack of finished engagements, who knows? Hermione had a bad habit of self-loathing.

"Hermione," said Luna.

Broken from her rough reverie, Hermione turned to her friend and associate, Luna Longbottom (the last name worked, better than Lovegood, even, and how unfair is that? Does anything really go with "Hermione"?).

Luna looked at her with eyes that saw things Hermione didn't want them to see, but Luna was polite enough to pretend she didn't.

"There might be wards against your type of blood," said Luna, a careful bent in her voice.

"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" remarked Hermione.

"So… let me know if you suddenly feel any strange sensations."

"Strange sensations?"

"Mm-hmm."

No more explanation was forthcoming. Luna turned to the gate with her wand and, muttering, shut down the gate wards with a dim blue ripple of light. She tested the gate hook, and, after a rusty whine, it unlatched, and the gate groaned slowly and painfully open. They'd gained the inner courtyard, and it felt like an intrusion, though nobody was home.

"This feels weird," said Hermione to herself and no one. She turned to Luna: "Does this feel weird to you?"

"Yes," replied Luna, her footstep cautious on a cobblestone.

Hermione kept talking as they moved towards the manor, because silence made her anxious.

"It's like the manor has drawn a breath, but it keeps holding it, and holding it, and I wonder when it will let it out, and how can it possibly hold its breath so long? Surely it must exhale at some point! What is it waiting for?" babbled Hermione. And then:

"For what is it waiting?" she asked again, but quietly, and (for some reason) correcting her own grammar.

Then her skin began to prickle. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then it was definitely not her imagination.

"Luna? I'm having a strange sensation…"

Luna, ever dreamy, was instantly alert.

"Tell me," said Luna.

"Prickling, more and more, Luna, and now it's hurting, and ow ow! I'm leaving!"

Hermione turned on her heel and stalked out the gate, where the pain and pressure left immediately. Definitely a Malfoy Manor Mudblood ward. Ugh! She was both insulted and annoyed over the stupidity of a curse of that sort still being up and running at a long-abandoned manor.

"I can't disable it, but I think I know what to do," said Luna, who had come up beside her unawares. Luna took a stick pin from her satchel and pricked her own finger, then, taking Hermione's hand, smeared the drop of blood across the back of it.

"There," said Luna. "Let's try it out."

"Oh, an experiment, is it?" replied Hermione, incredulous, maybe.

"Yep," said Luna with a smile. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Ignominious death," replied Hermione as she followed Luna, once again, through the gates of hell. Muggle hell, anyway.

Regardless, it worked. Hermione was no longer harangued by mudblood-hating Malfoy type wards, because apparently those types of wards are easily confused by a drop of blood. It seemed so very impractical, but she wasn't about to give advice to the type of people that makes that sort of ward.

They beat a hasty path towards the manor proper.

A number of assorted ward removals, disablings, and avoidances later, along with one very scary trip down a darkened, dusty, creepy-portrait filled hallway that refused to be well-lit no matter how much Lumos magic was used, they were throwing open the tall, dusty velvet drapes of the Malfoy family library. Sunlight seemed to only seep into the room, not quite beaming, for thickness of dust and atmosphere. Despite the dullness of the creeping light, however, Hermione was delighted by the sheer number of books lining the shelves of the library. She reached out a hand to touch the bindings of a row of books.

"Wait!" Luna yelled, shoving Hermione out of the way. Rude, but effective. "I think there's another ward on these shelves."

"Oh, good grief!" replied Hermione, exasperated by yet another ward. "What's wrong with this place? It's like a person can't even walk around without getting warded to death!"

"The Malfoys couldn't really trust anyone in the final days, you know. On either side."

"It'd be lousy to live here," muttered Hermione.

"Yeah," agreed Luna airily as she inspected the shelves. "I guess."

"It's dark and dusty and depressing," said Hermione. Then she added: "And overly warded. I don't know how anyone managed to get in to murder Narcissa. Not when it's like this. And even still like this after seventeen years!"

"I don't think anyone's messed with it, seeing how it belongs to Draco."

Again Hermione felt like she was stealing. But, Draco had given the Ministry permission… more or less. Draco wasn't really all that cogent these days. Or hadn't been for the past seventeen years. Hermione was antsy to do something, not just wait for Luna to de-ward the place.

"What is going to happen to this place when Draco dies?" asked Hermione.

"Beats me," replied Luna.

"Surely the Malfoys have some distant relation somewhere?"

"Uh… didn't they all die in the war?"

Hermione sighed. Not like she should care. It was just weird and confusing and something didn't sit quite right.

"Luna," said Hermione, with thoughts occurring to her, "I don't think Narcissa's death makes sense."

"No?" murmured Luna, her attention focused elsewhere.

"Well, no. Despite this manor, which is practically locked up like a safe, she was murdered, and then the murderers were apprehended by the manor's wards. So the wardings couldn't stop her from dying, but they could catch her killers? Something is off, there, Luna."

"I guess maybe … maybe?" offered Luna, fiddling with a bookshelf. It sparked.

"Wards strong enough to manhandle a couple of murderous death eaters until the authorities can arrive are certainly strong enough to stop them from murdering the wards' charge."

"We don't know the details, though, do we?" replied Luna.

"No," said Hermione. "No, we don't."

Hermione walked to the dim window where, outside, the darkling sky promised mist, not proper rain. She gazed at the overgrown, wintered grounds.

"But I'm going to find out," she murmured, too quietly for Luna to hear, because Hermione was pretty sure it was crazy-beans to get mixed up with it, but her intellect was helplessly intrigued by the puzzle of it nonetheless. A murder mystery! It was kind of exciting. Fine, really exciting. She bit her lip as her brain began to whirl.

Southward in the manor, a tremendous *crack* shook the house, sending rolling tremors outward, like reverberations from an earthquake, but manor-sized. Hermione experienced a sudden jolt of fear-and-thrill adrenaline.

"Holy cow," said Luna's voice from nearby, and under other circumstances Hermione would have laughed at such a bizarre phrase, but today she only grabbed Luna by the wrist and ran for the hallway.

"Keep your wand out, Luna!"

They ran in the direction of the rolling tremors and the noise brought them to the dining room, which seemed to be the apex of whatever was happening, because she could feel magic in the air, crawling across her skin like the prickly muggle ward… except without the pain. Or racism. The dining table was missing. Why was the dining table missing? A piece of plate armor fell off the wall and Hermione nearly stupify-ed it out of reflex. She was a librarian, not an auror… but nobody expected this sort of thing to happen today.

Luna shot out her wand to light all of the candles in the room, and that helped. A lot, actually.

"It's the manor," said Luna. "This is the manor's magic."

Ugh, this house. Hermione made a silent pact with herself never to come back here again, after today.

"What is it doing?" asked Hermione.

Luna shook her head.

"It isn't hostile, though," she said.

Hermione wanted to grab Luna and demand she tell her how she could know that. It felt hostile. Well, perhaps more dangerous than overtly hostile, so instead she dragged Luna along with her behind an old (probably very, very old) buffet for the sort of vague protection a librarian might look for when said librarian was maybe about to get smushed by house magic.

"Hey!" objected Luna. "I said it wasn't hostile!"

"That doesn't mean we won't get crushed in the crossfire," replied Hermione. Luna ceded the point. They squatted behind the buffet, but watched with intense interest, because intellect.

Light flashed, making the candlelight seem dark in comparison, and it blinded Hermione momentarily. She blinked, trying to see, and air rushed past her in great puffs, smelling like … parchment. Old parchment. And glue. Glue? Luna sneezed.

Another crack rent the air, and along with it came the scent of a spice she couldn't put her finger on, and of autumn, and a thousand memories. Her sight came back to her and, though the candles had been blown out, she could see in the middle of the dining room was a person, crouched.

"Ahhh!" yelled Hermione, jumping up and pointing her wand at Sudden Person. In retrospect, she would recall Luna's reaction being nearly identical to hers.

Sudden Person's shoulders rose and fell with his breathing, for SP was a he, obviously, as Hermione could never mistake the masculine details particular to the male form in the shoulders, the hands, even something about the crouch he employed spoke "man", not to mention his clothing, no robes, (perhaps in haste?), white button-down, dark grey trousers, and black boots to the knee, he was slender but masculine and his hair was fair, white-blond... Malfoy blond.

As this last factoid drilled its way through Hermione's brain she yelled again nonsensically.

The Sudden Malfoy moved, perhaps spurred by the noise Hermione was making, and she noticed he was holding a wand, clenched in his fist like a lifeline and all of a sudden her inquisitive mind and her fear of Sudden Malfoys with Wands were in an inner battle to the death, should she wait, or should she hex the ever living daylights out of him? Luna resolved the battle immediately by staying Hermione's hand.

"Remember where we are," she said to Hermione, who, most agreeably, suddenly remembered where they were. One attempted hex on a Malfoy and the whole house was liable to crush them to bits.

So instead, Hermione relit the candles and, as he finished standing, she saw exactly who it was. He appeared to be as confused as she, because it was Lucius Malfoy and he did not look old. He looked exactly how she remembered him, which was old then, but she was a teenager and back then all parents were old nonentities. He wobbled.

Ugh, Lucius Malfoy. Just everything, everything she hated, in one person, like some kind of banner symbol for everything that could go wrong with anything, ever.

His breathing was strangely labored.

But not only did she loathe him, he was scary, too, because unlike Draco, who was just kind of an annoying git, Lucius had always had great power, somehow. With Draco she knew his limits were small, but with Lucius there were no limits. She suddenly wanted to hex him again, and take her chances with the house… because in her mind he was definitely more dangerous.

"Mr. Malfoy?" said Luna's voice somewhere beside her.

Mr. Malfoy made a small noise and then collapsed, unconscious. The wand he had been holding clattered across the parquet floor with a sharp recitative.