Disclaimer – I don’t own any of the canon characters or concepts. The original characters in this chapter are mine. The name Dirk Courtney was borrowed from Wilbur Smith’s Courtney novels. It was too good a name to pass up.
CHAPTER 10 – Party Politics
He walked away from the cozy, warm light shining from the windows of the Burrow, his expensive black robes blending seamlessly with the night, until he merged completely, disappearing from her sight. She turned away, her mind still clouded and delightfully fuzzy, and not from the wine she had drunk. Had she said she trusted him? She couldn't remember. All she could remember was the heady smell of sandalwood, wreathing around her and going straight to her head, making her giddy - and the warmth of his breath, of his lips. The silken brush of his silver hair, the texture of his robes under her fingers...
And the very, very subtle brush of his magic, of his inborn, instinctive magic (the Malfoy wandless magic) manipulating her oh so delicately...
"You do trust me, Ginevra."
"I do?"
"Yes, you do. And then he had kissed her.
He had done it again!
******************************************
He walked rather slowly, breathing in the cool air, letting it circulate so it would cool his heated blood - heated to an almost uncomfortable level from one almost-chaste, certainly virginal kiss. Sweet Lady, he would never have thought; it couldn't be normal. He must be imagining things - he must be imagining the beginnings of what looked distressingly like a soul bond.
And he thought he'd been manipulating her. It seemed they were both being manipulated, and by something neither of them could ever hope to control.
He sighed. Merlin's Balls. They were bonding.
He was still swearing as he apparated away.
******************************************
Draco was no stranger to the shadowy, mysterious circles of the real powers behind wizarding Britain. Since childhood he had watched and listened and learned from them. At the tender age of fifteen, he had become one of them. And, since he had returned to Britain, he had finally assumed his place at the forefront of them – with Luc's full backing. He was not a fool. He knew that Luc had moved aside for him, had only been waiting for him to return. But this was the first time he had ever summoned the very first circle, the most influential, the most secretive, for what amounted to a council of war - even if it was a social war, which were often all the more dangerous than a real one.
Revolutions were so much more disruptive than rebellions. And the ruling class had so much more to lose.
And what Gerald Tarrant had begun in his vitriolic attack on the High Clan was a social revolution that, if not quashed, could bring the whole structure, the whole social class known as the High Clan, with all its position and tradition and heritage, crashing down with a bang that would sound through the ages. And so here they were at the de Sauvigny townhouse, after all the other guests had gone, in the Lord's study with its rich, elegant furnishings and the atmosphere of old influence, old power, old money.
Luc Malfoy, and his wife Kate.
Fair haired, green eyed Rayden Lestrange, the Clan Lord after his elder brother and sister-in-law had died in Azkaban. A consummate intriguer, ruthless and dangerous, he was the Minister of Defence, in charge of the Aurors and all other areas of the military, and he knew very well the odds against a man suspected of Death Eater activities, with a brother actually convicted, ever actually ascending to such a position. Thus he was properly grateful to the Malfoy and de Sauvigny.
Brandon Avery, black haired and grey eyed, sardonic and cynical, apparently plagued by ennui – certainly he had always put on a good show of it. Nevertheless, he could move with disconcerting speed and decisiveness once he put his mind to it.
Dirk Courtney, golden haired and blue eyed, insolent and mocking, hotheaded and quick-tempered – for a Slytherin – and completely, utterly loyal to Luc.
Shan Andahni, blonde and green eyed, less sharp than his cousin Rayden, more approachable. He was deceptively friendly, with an uncanny gift for winning people's trust and confidence. He had been Voldemort's spymaster, and he still retained a private army of informants, and a brilliant gift for analysis - although his instincts were not as uncanny as Kate's.
Severus Snape, who had no real power or influence, but who acted for Dumbledore, who did. Snape and Luc had a very curious relationship - Draco was not sure, even now, that he understood – or if he wanted to.
And then there was Draco himself, theoretically the most powerful man in the room. In reality – well, he had run away, abandoned his responsibilities: to the High Clan, that was a cardinal sin. He was only now making amends by coming back, and he had the feeling he was on probation. Oh, they followed Luc's lead and showed him respect, because he had earned it ten years ago; they knew something of his character, something of his strength, but they still watched, still questioned silently.
He would have to prove himself before they gave him the respect they gave Luc, or had given Lucius. Because whatever their faults, Luc and Lucius had never walked away from their responsibilities. Yes, he had power, but could he rule these other, powerful men, gods of his childhood? Could he be the first, the centre, and the balance between them?
Well, he would certainly try.
They watched him with barely concealed amusement as he walked back in - looking at Luc inquiringly, Draco saw his mouth twitch as he casually reached up and ran a thumb over his mouth, wiping off an imaginary substance. Pulling out a handkerchief, Draco ran it over his own lips, keeping his face impassive as he wiped off the lipstick.
Finally, he walked forward and sat down, facing all the others, his own face grave now, no trace of amusement left. "Well?" he asked, all business, sober and composed. "We all know what's going on, and why. Any suggestions?"
Avery tapped a finger on the table, his expression impassive, but thoughtful. "This Gerald Tarrant - what do we know of him?"
Andahni spoke up. "He's American - came to England about five years ago. He's quite good with money, although I wouldn't call him a genius." Here he tipped a head over towards Luc, who only raised a brow. "He's ambitious, but his ambition would have eventually outrun his talent – Gringott's knew that, if he didn't."
Rayden spoke up. "Hence his relationship with Weasley's daughter?"
Courtney smiled mockingly. "The thought of anyone courting a Weasley for power..." Luc only looked at him - just looked steadily, not saying anything - and he shut his mouth.
Snape spoke up, his velvet voice thoughtful. "And yet Arthur Weasley plays the Game surprisingly well, for a Gryffindor."
Draco nodded. "He understands much – such as the importance of your dinner parties, Luc." He looked at his uncle, and smiled. "I am to give him a full report of the proceedings, along with my interpretations, when I call upon them tomorrow morning."
"Oh?" Courtney smiled a little cruelly. "And does that include this meeting?"
Draco smiled back, a little feline curl of his lips. "Do you think it justified?"
"It is High Clan business," the other man said stiffly. "And none of his."
"And yet," Shan Andahni paused thoughtfully, "if, as you say, he understands, perhaps he can be of some use to us. We may have need of him."
Kate spoke in her quiet, warm, rich voice, "This revolution he speaks of, the social reform - it will destroy the whole High Clan. Not just the Malfoy, not just the de Sauvigny, it will bring all of us down." No one thought it odd that she classed herself High Clan - she had long ago been accepted as one of them. Her marriage to Luc had only set the final seal on it.
Rayden and Snape nodded. Luc's gaze shifted thoughtfully to them - his own expression blank and unreadable. Brandon's heavy-lidded, grey eyes watched him in turn, taking everything in.
"Perhaps," Snape said, talking of the consequences of the revolution, "that would not be such a bad thing."
There was a heartbeat of silence as they all hesitated. Luc looked at Snape quite oddly - but then lowered his eyes and said nothing.
High Clan Snape had lost everything when they had backed the wrong contender in 1745. Everything else had gone when Severus Snape had admitted that he had been a Death Eater – what the Ministry had not confiscated, he had voluntarily given up to become nothing more than the Potions Master of Hogwarts.
"No," Snape said again, insistent. "Listen. What is the High Clan? An outdated hierarchy of Clans with a fraction of the influence they had a century ago? An unnecessary aristocracy? Would society really be better off without it? Without us?"
Draco spoke for the first time. "The High Clan is an ideal. It is a way of life, and a history, and a heritage. It is a memory, of everything that has gone before, of everything that we were, and are, and could ever be." And it was - his ancestors were just as real to him as his father had been - he could feel them with him every time he stepped into the Grove, every time he walked his land.
Brandon spoke slowly. "The High Clan is continuity. A bond - the lord to the land, the land to the lord, and the people to both – and the knowledge that we are never quite alone..." The Covenant connected them all together - no child of the High Clan, or of their people was ever completely on their own. There was always someone, something else connected to them through blood bond, through Covenant, through some other High Clan magic.
"Unnecessary?" asked Rayden softly, dangerously. "We have been bound to this land, to this isle, for nearly twenty-five centuries. Our blood, and its, our history and its; our myths and our heritage are all entwined with this land. If the Clan Lords are dispossessed, if we lose our land, our estates, then everything that we have nurtured, everything we have protected and bound and wrought will be undone," he clicked his fingers, "just like that.”
Clan Lestrange had almost lost everything when Rudolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange were convicted and sent to Azkaban. Their Covenant had been dangerously unbalanced, and the Ministry had almost taken the land away from them. Rayden continued. "And if the magical bonds are snapped? What then? Everything that binds our land and our magic together is gone - oh, perhaps it won't fade straight away, but eventually, oh yes..."
Snape scowled. "You don't believe that, do you? No one believes that anymore."
They all looked at him - but no one said anything.
"But you still go to the Grove on Midsummer, don't you Snape?" Dirk said, softly. "You still shed blood, to preserve your own Covenant. Yes, you have next to nothing, yes you don't even have the land - but every year, you still go back. Because in your heart you know the consequences if you don't."
Snape’s face blanked. The others looked politely away from his discomposure, to save him unnecessary loss of face.
Draco changed the subject. "So who will help us in our own crusade? Our counter-revolution? Who can we count on, and who could be of use?"
Grateful for the distraction, they got down to business. Dumbledore, although too old and drained to play the Game on such as a scale as he had during the war, could still nevertheless make some public statements, and his support would count for much. Also, there were other things, more discreet and less visible, that he could also help with. Snape promised to talk to him, although he could not promise results. The old man was unpredictable and wily - and he played his cards very close to his chest.
An influential auror named Dane Harcourt - a Clan Lord himself, although not of the original Thirteen - who had quite a lot of influence with the ordinary people, if they could get him on their side. He was fair, he understood the High Clan, but he had no liking for the older, darker, more shadowy Clans. Rayden would talk to him.
Arthur Weasley, definitely. Draco was given the job (with an amused half smile) to bring him into the fold, and any others he could bring with him. Other names, other influential people to woo. Guided by Draco's growing confidence and Luc's far more subtle, only rarely wielded influence, they worked together to compile a list and a rudimentary battle plan. Gradually the atmosphere lightened, and there was a definite air of purposefulness among them all.
At dawn, as the meeting was breaking up and they were all leaving for their own homes and their own tasks, Draco prepared to apparate to the Burrow to fill Arthur Weasley in on all that had transpired - both at the dinner party and at the meeting afterwards. But Luc's major-domo, a discreet house elf, scratched on the door and handed his master this morning's edition of the Prophet. Luc's face blanked, wiped itself clean of any expression at all. His mask slammed itself in place, automatic self-defence for a stunning blow.
Expecting the worst, Draco took the paper off him and glanced at the front page.
"FATHER KILLER HEADS HIGH CLAN!"
"Draco Malfoy, the head of House Malfoy, the leader of the High Clan, is suspected of the murder of his father twelve years ago..."
Draco could all but feel his eyes turning feral silver - immediately, just as Luc had, he slammed up his shields...
"In a stunning new twist in an old mystery, new evidence has come to light, implicating Draco Malfoy..."
Sweet fucking Lady! How the hell did this happen? It had been hinted at before, but never before had it been stated so openly, so brazenly. He crumpled the paper in his clenched fist, grabbed hold of the shreds of his temper, and held on to his composure with his fingernails.
No, it wouldn't do to show any reaction to this. Blank, impassive, emotionless, he turned to his host and the other guests, bowed slightly, and asked his uncle to convey his regrets to Mr. Weasley - but it wasn't possible for him to call on them today...
Then he walked off, before he broke.
******************************************
Silence.
Stillness.
Peace.
The Grove. He had to get to the Grove...he would be safe there. He could fall apart in safety there...
Father...oh, forgive me father, please...
"Draco Malfoy, head of House Malfoy, leader of the High Clan..."
NO! Make it stop...
"Is suspected of the murder of his father twelve years ago..."
Stop it! Stop it! Make it stop...oh, gods, please!
Draco you must kill him! Kill him now! Now Draco!
No! No, no...
"Draco?"
Cinnamon, warmth, sweetness...Ginny?
"Draco, are you all right? Do you need some help?" Was that truly her, or a phantom, a ghost, a fantasy? A mirage, thrown up by his subconscious desires?
"Draco, what's going on?" It looked like her. It sounded like her. But he couldn't trust...you couldn't trust your senses, your instincts deceived you...
He lashed out at her. No, get away from me! Begone! Get out!
"Draco!"
Panting wildly, his eyes wide, sightless, unseeing, she reached out again to lay her hand on his cheek.
He whirled, and bolted.
The Grove...
He would be safe there. It would keep him safe.
"Draco Malfoy is suspected of his father's death..."
*******************************************
CHAPTER 10 – Party Politics
He walked away from the cozy, warm light shining from the windows of the Burrow, his expensive black robes blending seamlessly with the night, until he merged completely, disappearing from her sight. She turned away, her mind still clouded and delightfully fuzzy, and not from the wine she had drunk. Had she said she trusted him? She couldn't remember. All she could remember was the heady smell of sandalwood, wreathing around her and going straight to her head, making her giddy - and the warmth of his breath, of his lips. The silken brush of his silver hair, the texture of his robes under her fingers...
And the very, very subtle brush of his magic, of his inborn, instinctive magic (the Malfoy wandless magic) manipulating her oh so delicately...
"You do trust me, Ginevra."
"I do?"
"Yes, you do. And then he had kissed her.
He had done it again!
******************************************
He walked rather slowly, breathing in the cool air, letting it circulate so it would cool his heated blood - heated to an almost uncomfortable level from one almost-chaste, certainly virginal kiss. Sweet Lady, he would never have thought; it couldn't be normal. He must be imagining things - he must be imagining the beginnings of what looked distressingly like a soul bond.
And he thought he'd been manipulating her. It seemed they were both being manipulated, and by something neither of them could ever hope to control.
He sighed. Merlin's Balls. They were bonding.
He was still swearing as he apparated away.
******************************************
Draco was no stranger to the shadowy, mysterious circles of the real powers behind wizarding Britain. Since childhood he had watched and listened and learned from them. At the tender age of fifteen, he had become one of them. And, since he had returned to Britain, he had finally assumed his place at the forefront of them – with Luc's full backing. He was not a fool. He knew that Luc had moved aside for him, had only been waiting for him to return. But this was the first time he had ever summoned the very first circle, the most influential, the most secretive, for what amounted to a council of war - even if it was a social war, which were often all the more dangerous than a real one.
Revolutions were so much more disruptive than rebellions. And the ruling class had so much more to lose.
And what Gerald Tarrant had begun in his vitriolic attack on the High Clan was a social revolution that, if not quashed, could bring the whole structure, the whole social class known as the High Clan, with all its position and tradition and heritage, crashing down with a bang that would sound through the ages. And so here they were at the de Sauvigny townhouse, after all the other guests had gone, in the Lord's study with its rich, elegant furnishings and the atmosphere of old influence, old power, old money.
Luc Malfoy, and his wife Kate.
Fair haired, green eyed Rayden Lestrange, the Clan Lord after his elder brother and sister-in-law had died in Azkaban. A consummate intriguer, ruthless and dangerous, he was the Minister of Defence, in charge of the Aurors and all other areas of the military, and he knew very well the odds against a man suspected of Death Eater activities, with a brother actually convicted, ever actually ascending to such a position. Thus he was properly grateful to the Malfoy and de Sauvigny.
Brandon Avery, black haired and grey eyed, sardonic and cynical, apparently plagued by ennui – certainly he had always put on a good show of it. Nevertheless, he could move with disconcerting speed and decisiveness once he put his mind to it.
Dirk Courtney, golden haired and blue eyed, insolent and mocking, hotheaded and quick-tempered – for a Slytherin – and completely, utterly loyal to Luc.
Shan Andahni, blonde and green eyed, less sharp than his cousin Rayden, more approachable. He was deceptively friendly, with an uncanny gift for winning people's trust and confidence. He had been Voldemort's spymaster, and he still retained a private army of informants, and a brilliant gift for analysis - although his instincts were not as uncanny as Kate's.
Severus Snape, who had no real power or influence, but who acted for Dumbledore, who did. Snape and Luc had a very curious relationship - Draco was not sure, even now, that he understood – or if he wanted to.
And then there was Draco himself, theoretically the most powerful man in the room. In reality – well, he had run away, abandoned his responsibilities: to the High Clan, that was a cardinal sin. He was only now making amends by coming back, and he had the feeling he was on probation. Oh, they followed Luc's lead and showed him respect, because he had earned it ten years ago; they knew something of his character, something of his strength, but they still watched, still questioned silently.
He would have to prove himself before they gave him the respect they gave Luc, or had given Lucius. Because whatever their faults, Luc and Lucius had never walked away from their responsibilities. Yes, he had power, but could he rule these other, powerful men, gods of his childhood? Could he be the first, the centre, and the balance between them?
Well, he would certainly try.
They watched him with barely concealed amusement as he walked back in - looking at Luc inquiringly, Draco saw his mouth twitch as he casually reached up and ran a thumb over his mouth, wiping off an imaginary substance. Pulling out a handkerchief, Draco ran it over his own lips, keeping his face impassive as he wiped off the lipstick.
Finally, he walked forward and sat down, facing all the others, his own face grave now, no trace of amusement left. "Well?" he asked, all business, sober and composed. "We all know what's going on, and why. Any suggestions?"
Avery tapped a finger on the table, his expression impassive, but thoughtful. "This Gerald Tarrant - what do we know of him?"
Andahni spoke up. "He's American - came to England about five years ago. He's quite good with money, although I wouldn't call him a genius." Here he tipped a head over towards Luc, who only raised a brow. "He's ambitious, but his ambition would have eventually outrun his talent – Gringott's knew that, if he didn't."
Rayden spoke up. "Hence his relationship with Weasley's daughter?"
Courtney smiled mockingly. "The thought of anyone courting a Weasley for power..." Luc only looked at him - just looked steadily, not saying anything - and he shut his mouth.
Snape spoke up, his velvet voice thoughtful. "And yet Arthur Weasley plays the Game surprisingly well, for a Gryffindor."
Draco nodded. "He understands much – such as the importance of your dinner parties, Luc." He looked at his uncle, and smiled. "I am to give him a full report of the proceedings, along with my interpretations, when I call upon them tomorrow morning."
"Oh?" Courtney smiled a little cruelly. "And does that include this meeting?"
Draco smiled back, a little feline curl of his lips. "Do you think it justified?"
"It is High Clan business," the other man said stiffly. "And none of his."
"And yet," Shan Andahni paused thoughtfully, "if, as you say, he understands, perhaps he can be of some use to us. We may have need of him."
Kate spoke in her quiet, warm, rich voice, "This revolution he speaks of, the social reform - it will destroy the whole High Clan. Not just the Malfoy, not just the de Sauvigny, it will bring all of us down." No one thought it odd that she classed herself High Clan - she had long ago been accepted as one of them. Her marriage to Luc had only set the final seal on it.
Rayden and Snape nodded. Luc's gaze shifted thoughtfully to them - his own expression blank and unreadable. Brandon's heavy-lidded, grey eyes watched him in turn, taking everything in.
"Perhaps," Snape said, talking of the consequences of the revolution, "that would not be such a bad thing."
There was a heartbeat of silence as they all hesitated. Luc looked at Snape quite oddly - but then lowered his eyes and said nothing.
High Clan Snape had lost everything when they had backed the wrong contender in 1745. Everything else had gone when Severus Snape had admitted that he had been a Death Eater – what the Ministry had not confiscated, he had voluntarily given up to become nothing more than the Potions Master of Hogwarts.
"No," Snape said again, insistent. "Listen. What is the High Clan? An outdated hierarchy of Clans with a fraction of the influence they had a century ago? An unnecessary aristocracy? Would society really be better off without it? Without us?"
Draco spoke for the first time. "The High Clan is an ideal. It is a way of life, and a history, and a heritage. It is a memory, of everything that has gone before, of everything that we were, and are, and could ever be." And it was - his ancestors were just as real to him as his father had been - he could feel them with him every time he stepped into the Grove, every time he walked his land.
Brandon spoke slowly. "The High Clan is continuity. A bond - the lord to the land, the land to the lord, and the people to both – and the knowledge that we are never quite alone..." The Covenant connected them all together - no child of the High Clan, or of their people was ever completely on their own. There was always someone, something else connected to them through blood bond, through Covenant, through some other High Clan magic.
"Unnecessary?" asked Rayden softly, dangerously. "We have been bound to this land, to this isle, for nearly twenty-five centuries. Our blood, and its, our history and its; our myths and our heritage are all entwined with this land. If the Clan Lords are dispossessed, if we lose our land, our estates, then everything that we have nurtured, everything we have protected and bound and wrought will be undone," he clicked his fingers, "just like that.”
Clan Lestrange had almost lost everything when Rudolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange were convicted and sent to Azkaban. Their Covenant had been dangerously unbalanced, and the Ministry had almost taken the land away from them. Rayden continued. "And if the magical bonds are snapped? What then? Everything that binds our land and our magic together is gone - oh, perhaps it won't fade straight away, but eventually, oh yes..."
Snape scowled. "You don't believe that, do you? No one believes that anymore."
They all looked at him - but no one said anything.
"But you still go to the Grove on Midsummer, don't you Snape?" Dirk said, softly. "You still shed blood, to preserve your own Covenant. Yes, you have next to nothing, yes you don't even have the land - but every year, you still go back. Because in your heart you know the consequences if you don't."
Snape’s face blanked. The others looked politely away from his discomposure, to save him unnecessary loss of face.
Draco changed the subject. "So who will help us in our own crusade? Our counter-revolution? Who can we count on, and who could be of use?"
Grateful for the distraction, they got down to business. Dumbledore, although too old and drained to play the Game on such as a scale as he had during the war, could still nevertheless make some public statements, and his support would count for much. Also, there were other things, more discreet and less visible, that he could also help with. Snape promised to talk to him, although he could not promise results. The old man was unpredictable and wily - and he played his cards very close to his chest.
An influential auror named Dane Harcourt - a Clan Lord himself, although not of the original Thirteen - who had quite a lot of influence with the ordinary people, if they could get him on their side. He was fair, he understood the High Clan, but he had no liking for the older, darker, more shadowy Clans. Rayden would talk to him.
Arthur Weasley, definitely. Draco was given the job (with an amused half smile) to bring him into the fold, and any others he could bring with him. Other names, other influential people to woo. Guided by Draco's growing confidence and Luc's far more subtle, only rarely wielded influence, they worked together to compile a list and a rudimentary battle plan. Gradually the atmosphere lightened, and there was a definite air of purposefulness among them all.
At dawn, as the meeting was breaking up and they were all leaving for their own homes and their own tasks, Draco prepared to apparate to the Burrow to fill Arthur Weasley in on all that had transpired - both at the dinner party and at the meeting afterwards. But Luc's major-domo, a discreet house elf, scratched on the door and handed his master this morning's edition of the Prophet. Luc's face blanked, wiped itself clean of any expression at all. His mask slammed itself in place, automatic self-defence for a stunning blow.
Expecting the worst, Draco took the paper off him and glanced at the front page.
"FATHER KILLER HEADS HIGH CLAN!"
"Draco Malfoy, the head of House Malfoy, the leader of the High Clan, is suspected of the murder of his father twelve years ago..."
Draco could all but feel his eyes turning feral silver - immediately, just as Luc had, he slammed up his shields...
"In a stunning new twist in an old mystery, new evidence has come to light, implicating Draco Malfoy..."
Sweet fucking Lady! How the hell did this happen? It had been hinted at before, but never before had it been stated so openly, so brazenly. He crumpled the paper in his clenched fist, grabbed hold of the shreds of his temper, and held on to his composure with his fingernails.
No, it wouldn't do to show any reaction to this. Blank, impassive, emotionless, he turned to his host and the other guests, bowed slightly, and asked his uncle to convey his regrets to Mr. Weasley - but it wasn't possible for him to call on them today...
Then he walked off, before he broke.
******************************************
Silence.
Stillness.
Peace.
The Grove. He had to get to the Grove...he would be safe there. He could fall apart in safety there...
Father...oh, forgive me father, please...
"Draco Malfoy, head of House Malfoy, leader of the High Clan..."
NO! Make it stop...
"Is suspected of the murder of his father twelve years ago..."
Stop it! Stop it! Make it stop...oh, gods, please!
Draco you must kill him! Kill him now! Now Draco!
No! No, no...
"Draco?"
Cinnamon, warmth, sweetness...Ginny?
"Draco, are you all right? Do you need some help?" Was that truly her, or a phantom, a ghost, a fantasy? A mirage, thrown up by his subconscious desires?
"Draco, what's going on?" It looked like her. It sounded like her. But he couldn't trust...you couldn't trust your senses, your instincts deceived you...
He lashed out at her. No, get away from me! Begone! Get out!
"Draco!"
Panting wildly, his eyes wide, sightless, unseeing, she reached out again to lay her hand on his cheek.
He whirled, and bolted.
The Grove...
He would be safe there. It would keep him safe.
"Draco Malfoy is suspected of his father's death..."
*******************************************
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