From the Ashes

07 -Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Number 12 Grimmauld Place looked much the same as it had during the war. The main difference was the change in wallpaper and new lights. Having kept the house, Harry had set it up as a safe house. The portrait of Walburga Black, Sirius' mother, was no longer in the hall. A team of Aurors had managed to unstick it after weeks of trial an error. It had been replaced with a large portrait of Albus Dumbledore. 

As Draco crossed the threshold he paused, taking in the long narrow hallway and thick carpeting. Hermione was leading them, she turned to usher them through into the next room. The kitchen. Draco followed her, holding Astoria's hand. His parents were only steps behind them. They glanced around, taking in the changes, they had spent time in Grimmauld Place as youths, attending stuffy dinner parties and pureblood social events or rather family gatherings. As they entered the kitchen they heard the front door slam and the locks click closed, then Ron entered the room.

"Everythings in place, all the defenses are up and we've leaked information that the Malfoy's were spotted in Scotland," Ron threw his cloak down on one of the rickety kitchen chairs beside him and sat. Draco glanced at Hermione, she looked tired, he could tell by the way she leaned back in her chair and the shift in her previously strong posture. She pursed her lips slightly and nodded.

"Do you think that will be enough?"

"Can't be sure. We'll continue to investigate this to the fullest of course, but for the moment it's important that you all stay put here." Ron said, making eye contact with Draco for the first time since his rescue. Draco could see a slight glint of dislike behind the copper eyes. He didn't blame him. His family and especially himself had caused the Weasley's a great deal of pain in the last decade.

"What happens when these Death Eaters are stopped?" Narcissa asked, "Do we get sentenced or pardoned."

Ron met her gaze and shrugged.

"I honestly couldn't tell you. That will be up to the ministry and the committee to decide. For now, we'll focus on keeping you alive and safe. After that, we'll figure out what to do with you."

Astoria sighed,

"Sit tight and wait."

Draco shot her a sympathetic glance but it was Hermione who spoke first, "It isn't pleasant, but Ron's right. Grimmauld Place is the best place for all of us. Believe me, I would love nothing better than to be in my own home but I know this is for the best. Who knows what those people want."

There was a moment of silence, then Ron spoke, "If they want the Elder Wand it can't be for anything good." There was a chill in the room now, even the Malfoy's felt it, a creeping fear of what the Death Eaters aimed to do or create.

"I've got to head back to the minister, but I'll come back later with some provisions and something for you to do," Ron said, standing. He pulled on his cloak and briskly turned to leave. Hermione stood.

"Ron. Bring me Cruickshanks, would you?" She asked.

Ron grinned, "Of course," then he left the kitchen and they heard the front door slam.

"I'd better go double check the locks," Hermione said, she left the room after Ron, Draco watched her leave, he couldn't help but notice that she'd filled out over the past three years. She no longer resembled a child but rather a young woman. As she crossed into the next room Draco forced his gaze back to Astoria, she was tall and thin with high cheekbones, a contrast to Hermione with her heart-shaped face and soft hazel eyes, but he loved Astoria, she was a stunning woman, loyal, kind, intelligent. Draco had spent many a night debating with Astoria about spells and counter-curses, bloodlines, and politics. She was sensible in a way he strived to be. His family expected it. Or at least they used too. He glanced over at Lucius and Narcissa, he wasn't sure what they wanted anymore, or what they expected. A lot had changed over the years, for the worse it seemed. Now they were in another sort of prison, running between cages. First, that of the Dark Lord, seated at their own table, then within the isolation of exile, the entrapment in their own cellar, and now this, a cushy respite from those who would harm them, but also a place they could not leave.