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Author: Jner Story: An English Heaven Rating: Mature Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Warning: The chapter contains adult themes and violence Reviews: 4 Words: 44,171
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A/N: Can’t just get right to the story, now can I? I’ve got to delay you a bit here to thank my good friend T’Rell for her help. I struggled a lot with this chapter for one reason or another…it was all just getting far too meticulously involved and I knew that I’d lose the few readers I have. Anyway, to make a long story short, she helped me through some rough spots and moved me into a new direction, the fruits of which, I hope you’ll enjoy. So thanks to Rell for her help and to Musings for the beta. Warning: This chapter contains some adult themes and violence ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (3rd day; 3:00 am) Ginny swallowed nervously as the footsteps of Malfoy, Rabastan, and Faren died away. They’d gone and left her alone with Geoffrey. She squeezed her eyes shut when Geoffrey, still very close to her, lifted his hand to touch her face. With one finger, he delicately traced her jaw line, lifting her chin slightly. Ginny inhaled sharply through her nostrils, tugging her chin away from him. “Come now, love,” he breathed. She could feel his sour breath hit her cheek and she opened her eyes to glare at him. “Don’t make it more difficult on yourself.” “You make me sick,” she whispered, her hands trembling. He grabbed her chin roughly with one strong and calloused hand and yanked her head forward, the muscles in her neck screaming from the forced movement. “Listen here,” he said calmly, though the painful grip he had on her betrayed his feigned composure. “You’ll do what I ask and do so without complaint, or I’ll knock those teeth right out of your pretty little head.” Ginny did nothing to convey that she understood or would comply, but he must have assumed that she was too frightened to defend herself, because he abruptly loosed his grip and sat back from her, leaning against the solid table. “What should we do with the time we have together, then?” he asked innocently. His eyes traveled from her face down to her dirtied and torn blouse, to her exposed shoulder. She hastily wrapped her free arm over her partially exposed chest. He seemed amused by her gesture of modesty and let out a sickening laugh. “Won’t do you any good to try and cover up, love. It’s all going to come off soon anyway.” His hungry eyes bored into hers and Ginny closed her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. “You can’t…they need me to finish the draught,” she said weakly, far past being frightened. She knew what was about to happen. She could feel a sick bubble inside her throat expand as he surveyed her. “I’ll be sure to leave you with enough strength to finish then,” he growled. “The potion is nearly ready for more ingredients.” she said quickly, trying to distract him, her body tense as she prepared to bolt. He smirked, silently telling her that he didn’t care much about the Draught at that moment, and put his wand in his pocket smoothly. It happened fast. He shoved himself from his place against the table and stood, grabbing her wrist; she let out an involuntary cry of surprise and scrambled to her feet, knocking her chair over in an attempt to run. But his grip on her wrist was too tight and he yanked her back toward him, her arm feeling as though it had come loose from its socket. She twisted her wrist wildly and pulled, setting herself free, but he lunged at her again, his arms wrapping around her waist. The force of his attack caused them to crumple to the floor, Geoffrey landing atop Ginny with a hard smack. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs and she struggled to breathe. He immediately righted himself and held a strong hand over her throat, making it that much more difficult to catch her breath. She pulled at his fingers desperately; she clawed at his face, digging her dirty fingernails into his skin and leaving a bloody scratch across his right eye. She was rewarded with a sound strike across her cheek that brought the taste of blood to her mouth. His hand was over her throat again, squeezing relentlessly. She clawed that back of his hand again and again, to no avail. She wheezed, kicking and flailing in any attempt to free herself. Her eyes watered from lack of oxygen, a desperate choking sound leaving her throat. She was going to die. She could feel her world around her darken at the edges and spread until all was a haze. She was strangely grateful at the realization that she wouldn’t be alive much longer. She wouldn’t feel it, she wouldn’t remember…. But then he let go of her throat, growling and tearing at her long skirt with both hands until she heard it rip. She gasped for air, coughing and gulping. The coolness of the room bit at her exposed thighs and she immediately crossed her legs, locking them together to refuse him. She tried to roll away but he fell on her again and pinned her to the floor, his quick bursts of breath hitting her neck. He pulled at the already ripped fabric of her blouse and she felt it tear away; tears clouded her vision as a desperate sob left her lungs. She couldn’t fight him off; she was too weak to defend herself against him. He held her wrists tightly above her head and brought his lips to her ear. “Wait until I tell Potter,” he said, bringing his other knee over to straddle her thighs. “I’ll tell him how easy it was, how much you liked it.” Ginny screamed with rage: frustrated that she could not defend herself, angry at his mocking tone, furious at what he would tell her husband…what it would do to Harry to hear it. She shook her head violently, kicking harder than ever and was rewarded with a hiss of pain from Geoffrey. One of her knees had made contact with his groin and had caused him enough pain to make him keel over onto the floor, howling in agony. She stood as quickly as she could, her legs shaking, and cast her eyes around for a weapon. There wasn’t anything but pot and pans. Geoffrey’s attention was on her again and he stood, his eyes watering and cringing at the pain she had caused him. He took a few steps toward her then stopped, searching for his wand. Ginny took advantage of his momentary lack of attention and ran for the hanging pots and pans, pulling one down. It was a heavy cast-iron skillet that she found she had to hold with two hands. She watched, as if in slow motion, as he found his wand and turned his eyes in her direction once more. Now was her only chance, she’d have to hit him now as there would never be another opportunity. She ran toward him, holding the heavy skillet like a beater bat and swung with all her might at his surprised face. A loud, gong-like intonation rang from the contact. The vibration from the intense blow shuddered up her arm. Geoffrey fell ungracefully to the floor in heap, blood rushing from his nose and mouth. His eyes had rolled up into his head and a fair few teeth had departed from his mouth as well. Ginny dropped her weapon, breathing heavily and eternally grateful that Fred and George had taught her how to swing a Beater’s bat so many years ago. She wiped her hands on her ripped skirt before the noticed her blouse, shredded and completely useless. It hung loosely off of her small frame, exposing her upper half to the world. She looked down at what remained of her skirt felt hot tears well in her eyes. It was only a blouse and a skirt, but just looking at them, at what Geoffrey had done to her, made her lose the small amount of control she had. A stuttering wail left her, her body shaking, and she quickly bit down on her hand to stop herself. She couldn’t sit and cry even though she desperately needed to. She needed to have a good, long cry, but it would have to wait. She sniffed noisily and rolled Geoffrey over, pulling at his robe. She would have to wear it to escape, as going outside as naked as she was, wouldn’t be a wise decision. Ginny struggled with his robe for a moment but finally got his bulky frame out of it, then put it on. It smelled foul – just like its owner – and was far too large for her, but she would have to make do. She fished out his wand and, casting one last dark look at Geoffrey, made for the door. ~ * ~ Hedwig alighted on a branch outside of a large estate, and hooted softly. Although flying across the English Channel wasn’t perhaps the most exhausting thing she’d ever done, finding Ginny had to be close. She ruffled her feathers against the cold and cast her expert eyes over the house where she knew Ginny was staying. ~ * ~ (3rd day; 3:00 am) Harry gazed at the charred ruins of the Mansfield home, his nostrils burning with the acrid stench of charred flesh. The cold night air was no longer noticeable, what with the remains of the house still radiating heat and smoke. Not much was left; the roof and upper floor were completely destroyed. Only a fragmented skeleton of brick and mortar jutted up from the scorched earth was left. The magical blast that had annihilated the home made a painful something seep into Harry’s heart and he briefly wondered if it had been the same sort of magic that had destroyed his parents’ home so long ago, before pushing the thought out of his mind. Harry nudged his glasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit, and looked up into the eerily glowing sky; the Dark Mark cast a halo over the remains of the house and, looking up into the dark sockets of the skull, he felt a chill run down his spine. When Little Louise Pinnock’s family had been killed in the war she’d come to stay with the Mansfield family. They had gladly taken her in, an orphan, and had given her a place of her own. They’d opened their arms to her and because of their kindness, they’d suffered ultimately. Harry’s heart fell as he recalled their burned bodies. They hadn’t done anything to deserve this. No one ever had. His anger toward Malfoy had not dimmed, but he’d pushed it roughly aside for the time being. His nerves were on-edge and he was itching to leave and hunt the bastard down, but Harry knew that he couldn’t; Harry had been called to the scene and was expected to do his job. He had to focus on the ruin before him – something that he was sure Malfoy had also been a part of – and forced himself to look at the smoking remnants of a once-happy home. He had so many questions racing through his uneasy mind: was this attack evidence of a celebration? A warning? Had Ginny made the Draught? “No witnesses, no survivors…sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it?” Tonks asked, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced sideways and looked at his partner as she, frowning, carefully stepped over the remains of a settee. Harry didn’t respond immediately, but turned over a lump that resembled a book with his toe. “Suspects, though, we’ve got those,” he said darkly, peering up into the sky. Tonks followed his gaze and Harry could see her lips press together in a firm line at the sight. She looked away after a moment and let out a breath, shuffling her feet. The sideways glance she threw at Harry gave away what she was thinking: she knew he was going to blame Malfoy. “Harry—” “—Right, I know,” Harry growled, picking up what was left of a picture frame and scowling. “That bastard can’t be blamed for everything.” He chucked the warm piece of wood and was pleased when he heard glass break in what was left of the adjacent room. Harry knew, as well as Tonks, that Malfoy had gotten away with Remus’ murder those seven years ago. Malfoy had feigned innocence and had been cleared of all charges, even to the point of not being branded as a supporter of Voldemort or his Death Eaters, as he should have been. He was a walking reminder to Harry that the world they were living in was neither safe nor was it just. As if he needed reminding. And because Harry had suspected that Malfoy had been behind other crimes – trying to bring him to justice, only to be proved wrong – within certain circles, Harry now had the rather notorious label of blaming Malfoy for everything and got an almost constant ribbing for it. “Oh, Potter, it looks like Malfoy has struck again,” and “No sense in finding evidence is there, Potter, when we all know that Mr. Malfoy was behind it all?” Harry bit the inside of his cheek and glared at nothing in particular. He knew not everyone teased him in such a way, and even though he appeared to take it all well, under the surface, it bothered him a great deal. “I know that in the past he’s done horrible things, Harry,” Tonks said, turning her pale face to his. “And I won’t ever be able to forgive him for what he did to Remus, but we haven’t heard anything from him for nearly five years. Don’t you think that if he had been up to something, we’d have heard about it?” Harry shook his head, his lips pressed into a firm line. “That’s just it, Tonks; he’s a coward. Of course he’d hide away and slink into the shadows. He’s been biding his time. And now that things are looking in his favor, he’s striking back.” “Are you going to Shacklebolt with this accusation, then?” she asked. The expression on her face made it clear to Harry that she’d already figured out the answer. “Of course; I’ve got to, don’t I?” Harry glanced once more at Tonks, noticing her sooty brow. He desperately wanted to tell Tonks about Ginny’s disappearance, but he knew that he shouldn’t. If he did, then she would immediately press him to inform Shacklebolt, and when Harry would refuse, she’d tell their supervisor herself. The supervising Auror’s first act of business would be to forbid Harry to have anything to do with the active investigation, something that he was unwilling to have happen. Biting his tongue, Harry swallowed his inherent need to search for comfort in Tonks; he knew there would be nothing his Auror friend could do. “Well if you’re going to Shacklebolt,” Tonks said, nodding sagely, “then we’ve got to find some hard evidence.” She smiled a bit sadly and tugged on his arm before walking away. Harry turned to follow, his hands in his pockets, when she abruptly turned to face him once more. Her eyes were dark and cheerless, something he still hadn’t become accustomed to seeing on his friend. “I want him to pay for Remus as well, Harry. I want Malfoy to live a long life knowing that he’s been stripped of all that he holds dear.” Harry swallowed as Tonks paused and looked away, not saying anything to interrupt her. He was well aware of her hurt and anger, but seeing the sudden mistiness in her eyes made him forget his own suffering for a brief moment. Remus had been murdered almost immediately following their marriage seven years ago. He and Tonks had decided to get married on the spur of the moment, at the height of the war. During those few, battle-filled weeks they had been married Harry had never seen Moony happier. And Tonks, well; Ginny used to say that she’d glow whenever Remus walked into the room. Things were different these days: Tonks did her best to appear happy but Harry knew – probably more now than ever – just how deep the pain ran when one loses a spouse. Stop it, you haven’t lost anything. You’ll find her. Tonks sniffed and stiffened, smoothing down her robes unnecessarily. “I’ll help you Harry; if Malfoy had anything to do with this, well…I want him to get what’s been coming to him.” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “Thanks Tonks. It means a great deal.” “I’m sorry,” she blurted, her eyes darting from Harry’s chest up to his face, “if in the past if I wasn’t always very supportive of your work against Malfoy. I don’t really know why…I suppose I was just too sad to examine, too afraid to fight the man that killed….” She looked away and Harry felt, once more, an overwhelming sadness on behalf of his companion. “If anyone should have fought him, it should have been me,” she said, looking even more heartbroken. “But I didn’t. I just wanted to forget. It took this,” she said, gesturing at the ruined house around them, “to wake me up. He isn’t going to go away until we make him.” Harry nodded, understanding her choices. While she had never joined in with their coworkers, teasing Harry and his unusual quickness to blame Malfoy, she hadn’t ever voiced her support either. Remus’ murder was still a tender subject; Harry wondered if her heart would ever heal completely. “You have more reason than anyone to put him away, Tonks,” he said, and then paused. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t just want Malfoy to go to prison. He wouldn’t be satisfied with knowing he was simply rotting away behind thick walls: he wanted to hurt him physically. Harry wanted to carve the bastard’s worthless, black heart out for making his life miserable at Hogwarts, for taking Remus, and now his wife away from him. “We’d better find that evidence, then,” said Harry, nodding in the direction of the other Aurors, sweeping the premises with charms. Tonks cleared her throat and placed her hand on Harry’s arm, stopping him. “Thanks, Harry, for trying to avenge Remus.” Harry didn’t know what to say. He knew that his reasons for wanting to put Malfoy away were selfish, not out of some sort of honor. But he honestly didn’t know if that mattered at all. Should someone in his position, someone who had been as wronged as he had, want something else – something more kind – for an enemy? He didn’t know and he didn’t want to waste his time thinking about it. He only wanted to do his job as fast as possible so he could get out of there and find Malfoy. ~ * ~ (3rd Day – 3:45 AM) Ginny ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the long hall before she could go no further. Her tired lungs burned and her heart pounded against her ribs. She had to find a fireplace that she and Cindy could escape through, but she didn’t know her way around the estate and she didn’t have time. She didn’t know how long she had before the others came back, or if she was alone in the house. At that thought, she suddenly froze, holding her breath with difficulty and straining to hear any sort of noise that would alert her of another person coming. Nothing. Swallowing and darting her eyes around, she made a decision. She’d have to go about this the right way. She first needed to get Cindy then find a fire –no, first find a fire, then get Cindy. Ginny nodded to herself and gripped Geoffrey’s wand tightly; the foreign wood slipped in her sweaty grasp as she made her way to the closest door. She’d passed at least half a dozen already from the kitchen and there were probably just as many stretched out ahead of her. She placed her ear to the dark wood and when she didn’t hear anything from within, she placed her hand on the cold silver handle. The door opened smoothly and without sound, for which she was grateful. The room was dark. Large, shapeless furniture met her and she could hear the distant ticking of a clock. She stepped inside and lit the wand. It was a music room: an elegant black piano sat in the corner and Ginny wondered briefly who played it. Glancing along the walls, she noted that the entire front wall ahead of her was made up of windows: large, arched windows that she could see through. She ran to them and extinguished her wand, hoping to get a telling glimpse of the landscape. If she knew where she was, if she wasn’t far from home, she might be able to Apparate. The sun wasn’t up yet, though she could tell it wouldn’t be long. Dark, tall trees met her gaze and she felt her heart fall. She didn’t know where she was. It was snowing slightly and, gazing at the leafless trees, she could almost hear the stillness of the winter scene. Suddenly, she saw something swoop quickly from a tree toward the window and she jumped. It was stupid for her to be standing near a window; she didn’t know who was around to see her walking freely around the large house. She’d have to try a different room; she stealthily made her way to the next door and paused, just as she did the first. Not hearing any indication that there might be someone or something behind the door, she went inside. This room too, was dark, but there was a fireplace; it’s throbbing light making her heart lift in hope. Glancing at the uncovered windows, she decided she wouldn’t light her wand. She eagerly approached the fire and began sifting through the contents on the mantle. There were exotic-looking statuettes, pewter candleholders, and an empty ornate brass box; there was no Floo powder to be seen. Frustrated, she turned to the stately desk that sat nearby. Each drawer was filled with crisp parchments, ink, and other normal things you might find in a desk, but nothing she needed. Damn. Her aggravation grew and she felt like crying once more. Could nothing go right? She wiped her brow and bit her lip. Think. Tap, tap, tap. Ginny’s head shot up, her body instantly posed and ready to run as she looked for the source of the noise. Tap, tap, tap. It was an owl, a snowy white owl; it was Hedwig. A sudden relief flooded her at the sight of the bird outside of the thick glass. She wasn’t alone anymore; she’d been found! She ran to the window, tears blurring her vision, and tugged the window open. Hedwig hopped onto her arm and chirped quietly. “Clever girl,” Ginny whispered, softly stroking her beak. “Such a clever girl. Is Harry here?” Her eyes were streaming from the relief she felt; she would be OK, she’d been found. Hedwig chirped again and ruffled her feathers before fluttering to the desk. “Tell him where I am, Hedwig; is he here?” she asked wiping the tears away. The bird nosed an inkpot that sat on the desk and looked at her with her big somber eyes. Ginny felt the smile on her face slip into a frown; the relief she had felt only moments before had vanished and left a hallow feeling of loss. He wasn’t there…Harry hadn’t come. Hedwig wanted her to write him a letter? It was like she’d been taken all over again, like she’d been ripped from Harry a second time. Hedwig clicked her beak insistently and pushed the inkpot harder, nearly tipping it over. Ginny shook herself. Now is not the time for tears. She hurriedly did as Hedwig commanded and groped around the desk for a quill and parchment. She grabbed the first bit of paper she could find and dipped the quill in the dark ink. It was a newspaper, she noted, which happened to be written in French. She paused, the quill dripping black ink onto the dull paper, and read the title. It was the French Daily Prophet. She was in France! And she suddenly knew: she wasn’t being held captive in the Malfoy Manor, she was being held at the Lestrange estate. If Harry knew who was holding her, he would be able to find her. “W’ere are you, you bitch!” She froze. Geoffrey must have woken up…and he was searching for her. Ginny scribbled a quick note- France, Lestrange, find me! -and rolled up the newspaper. Hedwig grasped it in her scaly claws and took flight. Although Ginny was grateful to have Hedwig come to her aid, she wondered if the faithful bird would reach Harry in time. London was at least two hours away. ~ * ~ (3:45 AM) Arthur rubbed his eyes from underneath his glasses. He was currently sitting among the forbidden files in the Covert Operations Experimental Magic Department, trying to find a clue –anything- of who could have leaked the Memory Draught information to the Death Eaters. Because the Ministry was conveniently occupied with the attack in London, he was safe for at least the next half hour. He wasn’t cleared to be up to his elbows in the case files, but he was willing to commit this crime, as he had several other times for the Order. This misdemeanor was for the greater good…and his daughter. Not that his time there had produced any clear answers. As far as he was concerned, there was no evidence that suggested Mr. Glen Foulkes had any connections to the case. His name wasn’t even mentioned in the numerous files. He’d gone through stacks and stacks of parchment, all bits and pieces of information about his daughter and Cindy, their progress, the state of the prisoners, and surprisingly enough, information on Harry and the Weasleys, as well as Cindy’s husband and children. He thumbed through the pages that contained information on their family and noticed that they were criminal screening results. They’d all passed, apparently. Next he opened a file that described the layout of the Apothecary in St. Mungo’s and who worked where. Behind a map, there was a list of personnel: receptionists, Potion Masters, custodians…. Arthur quickly found Ginny’s name and read her job description: Ginevra M. W. Potter: Case File 43779: Memory Restorative Draught. Arthur continued on down the list until he found something that caught his attention. On the list of custodians, a small handful of names that he normally wouldn’t have thought twice about, was one that happened to catch his eye. There had been a Mr. Faren Johnston that had been fired over a year ago, evidence of the red capital letters after his name spelling out “DISCHARGED”. Arthur pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned. Perhaps he was completely off, but that name sounded familiar to him. Quickly replacing the files to their previous placement, and checking his watch, he decided that he needed to go to an altogether different section of the Ministry to see who exactly Mr. Johnston was and why he had been fired. After a breathless beat behind the door, he slipped out from the file room and turned left, not looking behind him. He thanked his lucky stars as he twisted through the halls that he hadn’t met anyone. It would be difficult to explain why he was walking the hallways instead of sending out an official statement to the Prophet like he should have been doing. He rounded one last corner and climbed aboard the lift, wiping his sweating brow with a kerchief. Why did the name Faren Johnston sound so familiar to him? He was sure he’d heard it before; he was sure he’d met the man. The lift doors slid open easily on the ground level where witches and wizards were quickly exiting and entering the lifts, their voices echoing in the Atrium. He held the doors open for a wizard, nodding his hello and walked steadily toward Personnel, behind the welcome desk. “Hello, Eric,” Arthur said kindly in passing. “’Lo, Arthur,” he said, nodding, hanging up his cloak. It seemed that he was just arriving for work. “Terrible, isn’t it? That poor girl and the Mansfields…I just can’t get over it.” “Yes, horrible thing to happen,” Arthur agreed. As he’d been searching through old files, he hadn’t heard who had been attacked. He wasn’t sure who the Mansfields were or if they had survived, but he wasn’t about to admit it when he should have known all the necessary information already. There were probably loads of paper aeorplanes fluttering around his small office right now. He needed to hurry, or someone would notice he had gone missing. Looking at his watch once more and cringing inwardly, he made a decision. “Say, Eric, could you do me a favor. I’m in a bit of a rush.” He nodded in understanding, “Sure thing, Arthur, what can I do for you?” I need some information on a Mr. Faren Johnston: what’s he doing now for the Ministry… there’s an opening in my department and I’d like to see if he’s open,” he lied. “I appreciate it, Eric. I’ve got to run.” With that he threw the man a smile and turned back to the lifts, eager to get back to his job. ~ * ~ (4:00 AM) Tonks sighed, looking a bit apologetic as she glanced at Harry. They hadn’t found anything to tie Malfoy, much less anyone, to the attack. Although they both believed that Malfoy had had something to do with it, neither of them had found anything related to their common enemy. “I’m sorry, Harry. It looks like he’s got away again,” she said, brushing soot off of her robes. The rest of the Aurors had left about a quarter of an hour ago to give their findings to Shacklebolt, but Harry – not wanting to be noticed missing – wanted to wait for everyone to leave before he went to Malfoy’s estate. He was tense with anticipation, ready to go and find his wife. “Tonks, listen,” he said absentmindedly squeezing his wand, making it heat up slightly, small gold sparkles winking out of the tip, “I’m going over there.” “Where, Harry?” she asked, though by the look on her face, he could tell she knew exactly where he meant. “He’s gone too far this time.” Harry could feel his hands shaking slightly. He wished he hadn’t received the notice about the attack at all; it had forced him to lose some of his blind rage. It was there, however, under the surface and he knew that he could call it to use at any moment. “He’s not going to hurt us again. I won’t allow him to take everything away from me.” He knew that he must sound completely mad to Tonks, but he didn’t care. His emotions were all over the place and he didn’t really have any sort of clue what was the right thing to do. Tonks opened and closed her mouth twice before demanding that she go with him. Harry didn’t have time to disagree. Fifteen more minutes had passed. They were lucky the sun wasn’t up yet; the long shadows of the pine trees concealed them on the edge of the large estate. The stale snow under their feet crunched with each small movement and Harry had the good sense to cast a silencing charm, in addition to a Disillusionment charm, over them before they moved closer. “It’s still dark inside,” Tonks whispered. “Do you reckon he’s even here…after an attack like that?” “He’s probably piss drunk, celebrating his victory,” he said bitterly. He narrowed his eyes at the house which sat some fifty yards away, wracking his brain on how to best approach their enemy. “He wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself if he’s here. He should be sound asleep right now, so it would make sense that everything seems so still.” “How are we going to do this, Harry?” Tonks hissed, her voice low and urgent. “We don’t even know if he’s here or if he was behind the attack. What happens if he is sound asleep, with a solid alibi? Without any evidence we’ll be thrown out of the Aurors! Worse yet, thrown in Azkaban!” Harry did not look at Tonks, but kept his eyes narrowed at the house. He’d seen a flickering movement – like a candle – moving behind one window and over to another. “It’s more than just the attack, Tonks,” he growled. “He’s got my wife.”
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