Identity

Sometimes it seems like it happened to someone else, like maybe it was a story I heard. The hardest part is not knowing if he made it, but if I knew for sure that I was the only one, it would be worse. At least this way I can imagine he’s living somewhere nice, even though deep down I know the truth. The truth is, if Draco is alive, he’d be just like me, living on the run, always looking over his shoulder. Still, I hope that he’s out there somewhere, and I hope he’s ok.

A/N: Ok this about part is what you could call present time I guess. The rest of the story is going to be Ginny’s memory, only it will sound like it is the present. I hope you understand that. During the course of the story there will be flashbacks, but you will be notified when they happen. I hope this makes sense.

A car horn blared, snapping Ginny out of her daze. The crowd around her began to inch forward, crossing the street as the traffic light changed. Hastening her step so as not to be left behind, Ginny crossed the street and made her way towards the flag flapping gently in the morning wind. It was a calm morning, calm compared to most of the mornings you wake up to in Switzerland.

Tightening her jacket to keep out a particularly biting gust of wind, Ginny showed her Visa pass to the guard and stepped into the warmth of the British Embassy. She was living as a muggle these days. Keeping her head low and staying out of the UK. At one time, Ginny had taken pride in being wizard. The magical community thought that they were so great back in the day. They thought that they had had it all dialed in, power and respect hanging out the butt. Voldemort was dead and his faithful Deatheaters were all locked up in Azkaban. Boy did they have it wrong.

During her third year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry the Dark Lord had risen again. At first no one believed it, but then all those muggles and prominent Wizard families began being knocked off. Yes people, Voldemort was back in business, and the realm of magic as we knew it became shrouded in darkness.

Old Voldie didn’t last long though. One day the Dark Mark that had been permanently fixed above the Ministry of Magic disintegrated into a shower of sparks and everybody was like ‘No way’, Voldemort’s just a broke ex superpower looking for a hand out and wondering why. You guessed it, Harry Potter ‘saved the day’ just like everybody knew he would.

But the ‘shroud of darkness’ wasn’t lifted. Harry Potter became head of the Department of Justice and everybody went mad crazy on the hunt for rogue dark wizards. I know what you’re thinking, and no, I wasn’t into the Big Bad. I just didn’t like the way Potter was running things so I bailed. So here I am, waiting in line, trying to keep my freckled rear from being thrown back into England.

“Next, Hello Miss, how can I help you today?”

“Hi,” Ginny greeted with a charming smile. “I was told to come back today, to continue my application for a permanent Visa.”

“Name?” The attendant had obviously been born without a personality, his fingers poised over his keyboard.

“Wren Aaralyn,” Ginny stated, feeling a shooting pain begin to form behind her eyes.

His fingers flew over the keys. Occasionally they would pause and a barely audible, ‘uh huh’ or ‘I see’ could be heard. The attendant finally tapped one last key before turning to face Ginny. “I’m sorry Ms. Aaralyn. There seems to be no record of you applying for a permanent Visa. We have you down for a Student Visa only.”

Sighing, Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t about a Student Visa. I graduate in two weeks.”

“Then your Student Visa will no longer be valid Ms. Aaralyn,” he went back to casually flipping through a stack of papers.

“I know it wont be valid anymore you twit,” Ginny all but growled. “That’s why I applied for a permanent Visa more then two weeks ago, but every time I come back here they shuffle me to some new imbecile and make me start the process all over.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Aaralyn, but there is nothing I can do. Now if you will please step aside. Next!!”

“UGH,” Ginny wanted to pull her hair out. Feeling the rage begin to well up, she turned on her heel and made for the nearest bathroom.

Ginny sat in the farthest stall for what felt like forever, she was just beginning to calm down when the door burst open and a handful of armed guards poured into the women’s facilities. The one nearest Ginny motioned for her to be quiet as another checked the other cubicles. After a slight nod, he lowered his gun and turned to Ginny. “Miss, we have a situation. I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me out of the building.”

All Ginny could do was nod silently as the guard guided her out of the embassy. A rather large crowd had gathered outside the front doors. Sirens wailed from the nearby police cars. Pushing through the throng of voyeurs, Ginny crossed the street to where her car was parked.

Ginny was fishing through her coat pockets to find her keys when a masculine cough came from behind her. Squeaking in surprise, Ginny whipped around. Eyes growing wide she began backing away. Her progress was soon halted when her back came into contact with her car. “What….” She tried to voice the question, but her throat had seemed to close of its on accord, stifling any sounds.

Shaking her head in hopes of clearing it, Ginny once again met the intruders gaze. “What the hell are you doing here?”

A/N: ok, this idea popped into my head and it just wouldn’t leave till I started writing it. I’m going to see if I can write two stories at once. I’m sorry about the Delay in Never AS it Seems, I have this problem with that story, I know how I want the ending to be, but actually getting to the ending is whats killing me. Anyway, hopefully I can update that one soon but I hope you like this, even though it’s a cliffy.

A/N: YES, this fic is based on the movie The Bourne Identity. Its one of my favorite movies and I absolutely love the books. With the new movie coming out I felt inspired to write this. I hope you like it!

“What the hell are you doing here?”

That one question was like a trigger, and the past two weeks seemed to flash back before his eyes.

*Flashback*

COLD….DARK…..PAIN…..Its overwhelming, like I was being born, only wrong. There was no warmth, there was no light. There was only the dark and the cold and the pain.

He opened his eyes. It was still dark, but the lightening provided intermittent flashes for him to see by. ‘The storm,’ it was a fleeting thought that surfaced for a fraction of a second before being stripped away by the pain. The hand gripping the cold metal table was covered in blood. “What’s happening to me?” He croaked into the night air.

The sound of running water came from the next room, snapping Him out of his daze. He melted into a shadowy corner, pain lacing its way up and down his spine. Biting his lip to stifle his flesh’s protests, He palmed a scalpel from a nearby tray. An old man, slightly bald with graying hair stood in the doorway, too preoccupied with something in his hand to notice the missing body.

A large wave rocked the boat, causing the man to pitch precariously and making his eyes widen when he spotted the bare table. He sprang from the shadows. Twisting the man’s arm behind his back, He pressed the scalpel threatening into his hostage’s neck. “What the hell are you doing to me? What are you doing? Where am I? Who are you?” He had so many questions and he just couldn’t ask them all.

Another wave struck the boat, and He stumbled backwards into a nearby cabinet. Pain exploded in his back, and he released the man. “You are safe,” he spoke in a thick accent, reaching out a hand to steady Him. “What’s your name?”

“My name,” He gasped, doubling over in another fit of pain. “I don’t know my name.” The floor underneath Him rolled, sending him stumbling into his savior.

“What about his?” The man held out his hand. “Do you know what this is for?”

Reaching out, He took the object. It was a key, made of dull metal, with carvings engraved into it. “What is th…..” and His world went black once more.

* ,*, *, *

Warmth, He was finally warm again. Instantly His eyes popped open, searching the room till they found the man. “What am I doing here?” He croaked His throat sore from disuse.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” The old man replied, carefully cleaning his glasses with a nearby towel. Placing them carefully back on the bridge, he once more turned to his patient. “We pulled you out of the ocean two days ago. You were, still are, in pretty bad shape.”

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked, seeing the bandage on his hand and feeling the tape pull across his back as he sat up.

“You were badly injured, wounds I’ve never seen before. Come, look for your self,” he gestured towards a cloudy mirror mounted on one wall.

He carefully got to his feet. The pair of jeans he had been dressed in threadbare and a tad bit too big. Taking careful steps, he paused in front of the mirror as the doctor (from this point on to be referred to as Doc) removed the bandages from his back. Angry, red welts crisscrossed down the length of his spine, and other red marks spidered out towards his ribcage.

“What happened to me?” He asked as Doc applied a fresh salve and new bandages.

Doc was silent as he rinsed and dried his hands. “I have no idea. As I said before, I have never seen marks such as these, and I can assure you I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, handing over the key from earlier.

“It’s a key,” He said taking it to examine.

“It’s not just a key,” Doc cleaned his glasses against. Obviously this was a nervous habit. “I found that key melted into the flesh of you hand. Well, not exactly melted as the key is in perfect condition, more like fused.”

He looked at the bandage surrounding his left hand, as he turned the key over and over in his right. Once again he felt the engravings. “There’s something on here,” He said, squinting his eyes to get a closer look.

“Ah, here try this,” disappearing into another room for a second, Doc came back with a magnifying glass in his hand.

One side of the key was covered in what looked like ancient runes. Removing the bandage from his hand, He saw that some of these runes had been branded into the skin of his palm, on either side of a jagged, uneven incision.

“I had to cut it out of your skin,” Doc said gruffly over his shoulder.

Turning the key once more, He found actual letters inscribed in the other side.

Gringchaft-42 Gemein Lane

Zurich Switzerland

000-7-17-12-0-14-26

Grabbing a pad and pencil He quickly wrote the address down. Pinching the bridge oh his nose, He willed himself to remember something.

Taking the key and pad from Him, Doc rubbed his back comfortingly. “Rest now, it will come back.”

* ,*. *,

“Hey Dorian,” a deckhand called out.

(Dorian means ‘From the Sea’, I just thought I should give him a name for at least a little bit, b/c I was kind of getting tired of calling him HE all the time, and I figured the people on the boat had to call him something. I hope the whole ‘He” thing wasn’t too confusing, if it was I apologize)

“Doc wants to see you below.” The deckhand waved him over.

Dorian stowed the cargo net he had been repairing and went below.

“What is this?” Doc asked when he saw Dorian. He was pointing to a stack of papers left on the table. Words were written haphazardly over the pages. Alohamora, Ridikulus, Expelliromis. On one page there was even a sketch of some strange stick creature (BOWTRUCKLE!).

Dorian rested his wait on the door frame and ran his fingers carelessly through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“I see it begins to come back,” he was cleaning his glasses again.

“No it doesn’t come back,” Dorian hissed, slamming his fist into the doorframe. Taking a few long strides across the room he snatched the papers off the table. “This means nothing to me,” He said in a low, cold voice. “I did these just like I do everything else. Just like I read, just like I write, it has no meaning to me.” Dorian enunciated each word with a rip of the paper.

“It will come back,” Doc rose to his feet. “We will arrive at port tomorrow.” And he ascended the stairs.

Dorian slammed his fist down on the table in frustration. Turning on his heel, he headed after him. “When we get there tomorrow, I don’t have a name, I don’t have a home. What am I supposed to do?”

“It will come back,” Doc said one more time, cryptically, before turning and staring out into the wide open sea.

*, *, *,

The train ride to Zurich was a long one. Many of the passengers slept, but not Dorian. What little rest he had was laced with strange images, a castle, a house, a cliff, all of which had him jerking awake covered in sweat, and none of which gave him any clue as to who he was.

It was dark once again when Dorian first set foot on Swiss soil. The trek to 42 Gemein Lane was a long one, Dorian’s hole ridden sweater wasn’t much protection against the harsh Swiss evening. When he arrived at his destination he found an old dilapidated tavern. Hunching his shoulders deeper into his sweater, Dorian took off to find a safer place to get some rest.

The park bench was uncomfortable, but it was better then sleeping in the snow. He was just drifting off, into what appeared to be a dreamless sleep, when he heard two people come up behind them.

“Oi, move along there,” one of them spoke in heavily accented English. His partner was poking Dorian with his night stick. “Move along, this is private property, no sleeping.”

His back stiff with cold, Dorian struggled to sit up. “I just needed a place to rest,” he tried to explain.

“No sleeping, papers?” The patrolman had his light shining directly into Dorians face.

“I…I don’t have any papers,” Dorian struggled to say, the light was lancing into his eyes, and his headache was returning with a vengeance. For a second, Dorian thought he was even hearing a ringing in his ears. “I’ve lost my papers; please I was just trying to rest.”

“Non, move along,” The second patrolman tried to prod Dorian with his nightstick, but was stopped.

The ringing in Dorian’s ears had intensified. He hadn’t even realized he was gripping the patrolman’s nightstick. The ringing, that had been steadily growing louder, ceased, and in that instance, Dorian’s body expanded into action.

Dorian used the second man’s weapon against him, rendering him unconscious. Turning with the grace of a cat, his elbow caught the first patrolman across the face, and followed up with an uppercut to the chin, rendering that guard unconscious as well.

Looking down at what he had done, Dorian inhaled a few deep breaths. The ringing had returned, and his headache was slowly worsening. Dorian lifted his hand to try and massage the pain away when he noticed the gun. Clasped tightly in his right hand, was the guard’s side arm. Instinctively, his other hand went to clasp the barrel, and in a split second, the gun was laying in the snow in two pieces.

On the verge of hyperventilating, Dorian turned on his heel and ran. He spent the rest of the night sitting in the snow on a darkened doorstep in front of the tavern. As soon as the tavern became partially crowded, Dorian entered.

The bartender was situated behind the counter, cleaning a dirty glass with a questionable rag. A fire was burning brightly across the room, and the people who had entered were scattered throughout the sitting area. A hallway in the back led away from the main room of the tavern. A sign hanging crookedly over the archway read, Gringchaft, so Dorian headed that way.

No doors branched off from the hallway; in fact, there was nothing there except for an old chalkboard hanging on the far end wall. A small sign was hanging next to the chalkboard, asking for an account number. Feeling foolish, but having nothing better to do, Dorian picked up a piece of chalk and scratched the number from his key onto the board. 000-7-17-12-0-14-26. As soon as he finished writing it, it erased its self, and more words reformed: Do you have your key? Not knowing what else to do, Dorian drew the key from his pocket.

A door materialized out of thin air next to him, and for a moment Dorian was unsure whether he wanted to enter or not. The temptation to know about his past was to strong however, and he found himself turning the knob and stepping through.

The room was quite bare. A wooden chest was situated in the middle on an old water marked desk. Dorian inserted the key in the lock. It turned smoothly and with an almost inaudible click, the chest opened. It wasn’t a very deep chest. All it contained was a few personal items, a small stack of papers, and a passport.

Dorian pulled out the official document and flipped to the picture. His own face looked back at him, underneath was printed the name, “Draco Malfoy,” he read out loud. “So I’m Draco Malfoy,” tucking the tiny book into his back pocket Draco pilfered through the rest of his belongings.

He found a watch, a really nice watch. ‘I have good taste,’ he thought to himself as he fitted it on his wrist. Flipping through the papers, Draco found a few bills with his name on it, and an address slip: Draco Malfoy

104 Rue Du Jardin

75005 Paris

Last but not least, Draco found a wooden stick, about 9 inches long. Touching caused a tingling sensation to flutter through his hand, not unlike a small electric shock. Upon closer inspection, Draco saw that there were words carved into the wood, “Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandos?” he read out loud.

As the words left his lips, the side of the chest slid open revealing another compartment. “What the hell?” Draco wondered as he tipped the contents out onto the desk. More passports skittered across the service, along with numerous stacks of various currencies, and a gun. “What the hell?” Draco said again.

Rifling through the passports first, Draco found they all bore pictures of him. Finally he came across a single marker void of passport. Ryu Kale (Dragon Man) it read. This was getting too weird. He wished he had a something to carry the passports and money in, and out of no where one appeared. “What the hell?” Draco said a little louder.

Checking to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, and finding that the bag was indeed real, Draco didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and hastily shoveled the passports and money into the bag. Caught in the flow of currency to stick got dumped into the satchel as well. Not bothering to seal the chest, Draco quickly left the room and headed back into the tavern.

Once again out on the street, he had no idea where to go. Not wanting to stay in one place too long, Draco began to aimlessly walk down the street. After a few blocks, Draco felt an unnatural chill run up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed two men, dressed just like the patrolmen from the night before, tailing him from a distance. Looking up, he found another one standing on the far street corner.

Taking the next right, Draco saw the British flag flying proudly over a gated door. Fishing his passport out of his back pocket, the guards let him in without even batting an eyelash. Following the flow of traffic, Draco found himself heading upstairs and standing at the back of a long line.

He found himself constantly surveying the room. Locating where all of the cameras were positioned, and which doors the employees used. As he was scanning, he spotted a woman at a nearby counter. She had long curly red hair, which somehow seemed familiar. Draco strained his ears to hear what she was saying, but only caught a few words before he noticed the drastic increase in guards throughout the room.

Pulling the bag closer to his body, Draco broke away from his line, and headed through a set of wide double doors he saw many of the people exit through. He found himself in another room, just as wide as the first, only instead of the many lines; there was just a large central desk. Draco was heading for the stairs when he spotted two more armed guards ascending towards him.

“You, with the bag,” Cocking his head to the side, Draco saw a suited man clutching a pair of hand cuffs pointing at him. By this time, the two guards had topped the stairs, and the nearest one reached out a hand towards Draco. The same ear splitting ringing from the night before and engulfed Draco’s mind, and before he was aware of what he was doing, he had grabbed a hold of the guard’s wrist and was ramming his fits into……

End Flashback

*, ,*, *,

“Excuse me?” Ginny snapped in hopes of drawing him out of his daze.

Shaking his head to clear it, Draco noticed that the red head was a lot closer then she had been a second ago.

“I asked you a question you know,” She huffed, once again backing up a safe distance away from him.

“I’m sorry,” a faint tinge of red touched his cheeks and he ran his fingers through his hair absent mindedly. “I have a proposition for you….”

A/N: Ok, let it be known that this chapter is on its seventh page. I don’t think I have ever written a chapter that long! Secondly, I know its another cliffy, but I just feel like if I left it off at a dull moment, what would prompt you come back and read any more. Although, I guess if you have seen the movie, you know basically what is going to happen, but anyway. Its late, I stayed up way too long writing this, because I wanted to get his whole memory sequence done, and not leave you hanging in the middle of a flashback. Enjoy, I shall try and write more tomorrow !!!

“I have a proposition for you…”

“Hi I’m Draco…… Malfoy, and I want a ride,” he said, holding out his hand in a gesture of friendship.

“What…I…” Ginny’s mouth was opening and closing like a fish. “I don’t think…I can’t believe…There is no way you are getting THAT!” She hissed out, her cheeks blushing bright red.

“Getting what?” Draco asked, bewildered.

“You know,” Ginny huffed. “The…the sex.. that.. that’s not going to happen.”

A familiar smirk tugged at the edges of Draco’s mouth, “Mind out of the gutter pet. That would be nice, but what I meant was, I need a ride to Paris.”

“Oh,” Ginny coughed, blushing even more furiously. “Well, I think I might prefer the sex.”

Draco couldn’t contain his laughter, “Maybe later love, but right now I really just need the ride.”

A siren blared as another cop car drove up to the embassy. Draco stepped back into the shadows of a nearby doorway.

“Is all of that because of you?” Ginny asked, glancing over her shoulder at the commotion.

“Look, you drive, I pay. It’s as simple as that. Ten Thousand dollars,” He said, pulling a small bundle of bills out of his satchel.

“Malfoy,” Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking.

“Twenty thousand, ten now, ten when we get there,” Ginny caught the first bundle that he threw at her, and gingerly flipped through it.

A flash of red at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Looking once more over her shoulder, Ginny spotted three people getting out of yet another car that had just driven up, this one black and very official looking. As she watched, two men, one with red hair, one with black, and a woman with bushy brown locks stepped out of it. “Great,” she hissed. “Get in,” she threw over her shoulder at the man, jerking her car door open.

Hand on the car door, Draco spoke once more, “Do you expect me to ride all the way to Paris with someone whose name I don’t even know?”

Slamming her door in frustration, Ginny jammed the key into the ignition. “My name is Ginny Weasley,” She said, pausing to see the flash of recognition cross his face, but it never came. “Now are you getting in or not?”

Draco jumped in, slammed his door, and they were off.

…………

“I’m sorry sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step back behind the line. This is a crime scene and no one is allowed inside,” the guard tried to push Harry and his companions back behind the police barrier.

Turning to Hermione, Harry nodded his head discreetly and she stepped up to get the guard’s attention. “We’re here by the request of the Prime Minister. Now, if you want, we can go back to our office to draw up the papers for your pleasure, or you can let us through to find our contact inside who is expecting us.”

The guard had paled greatly when Hermione had mentioned the Prime Minister, and slowly stepped aside, holding the door open her. As Harry and Hermione stepped through, Ron pulled the guard off to the side, his hand slipping into his jacket pocket. “I need to talk to you about some increased security around here mate,”

Harry couldn’t help the slight grin that formed on his face. That is, he couldn’t help it until Hermione elbowed him in the stomach. “We really have to get the Muggle Artifacts Department to simulate some proper looking IDs. One of these days all of our Obliviating spells are bound to come back and bite us in the arse.”

“Take it easy ‘Mione,” Harry said under his breath as they climbed to the second floor. “Ron might be able to only do short term memory charms, but they always stick.” Pulling his cell phone quickly from his pocket, Harry dialed the first number on his contact list. “Yeah, this is Potter. I’ve had to resort to the use of memory charms, send over a modification team immediately.”

Reaching the door to the Embassy’s control room, Harry held the door open for Hermione. All eyes turned towards them, and Harry had to clench his hands to stop from running them nervously through his hair. ‘This could be the break I’ve been waiting for,’ he thought to himself. “We’ve been sent to collect today’s surveillance tapes.”

A suited gentleman nursing a black eye stepped forward. “And your clearance would be?”

Harry did his best to hold in his sigh of frustration. “Would I have been allowed in the building if I didn’t have proper clearance?”

“Still,” the man in charge continued. “I must see your papers.”

The door creaked open, and Ron silently entered. By this time Harry was fed up with Embassy suit, and he once more gave a discreet nod, this time at Ron. “Fine,” he side stepped out of the way to give Ron a clear path. “You’re on Ron.”

Stepping out of the shadows, Ron raised his wand and immobilized the entire room.

“Harry,” Hermione gasped, rushing forward. “This is not sanctioned. We were only supposed to observe and find out who was responsible for this.”

“It’s Malfoy,” Harry bellowed, his face reddening in anger. “It has to be Malfoy, and I’m going to find him. Get the tapes and return to headquarters. Those are your orders.” Shoving past Ron, Harry stormed out of the room.

“Well that was certainly odd,” Ron joked as he accessed the surveillance files and copied them. “Harry said Malfoy was killed in action on that covert op he helped us out with a couple of weeks ago.”

“Something isn’t right here,” Hermione said suspiciously. “Hurry up and get those files. I’m going to meet the modification team.”

A/N: ok I know this is short, but I just thought that it sounded like a good place to stop for right now. I’ll be getting to work on the next chapter ASAP, so read, enjoy, suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome!! Have a lovely day!

“Something isn’t right here,” Hermione said suspiciously.

……..Back on the Road with Draco and Ginny…….

“So he was all, ‘You’ll soon find that some wiz…erm families are better then others. You wouldn’t want to start out on the wrong foot would you?’ and Harry was like,” Ginny watched her passenger out of the corner of her eye. She had been reciting every old story she had ever heard about Malfoy, and he didn’t respond to a single one.

“And?” He prompted.

“And nothing,” Ginny sighed. “I’ve been yacking on and on about my old school for, well about sixty kilometers now, and you haven’t said anything.”

Rubbing his forehead, Draco grimaced. “I haven’t been sleeping well, when I sleep at all. And I have these headaches, these really bad headaches. But listening to you, it’s comforting. The headache is starting to move to the back.”

“Okay,” Ginny sighed skeptically. She wasn’t quite sure what type of game Malfoy was playing at, but she was determined to find out. Taking a break from her apparently ineffective interrogation, Ginny flipped on her radio. “How about some music, tell me what you like to listen to.”

Draco stared at the radio longingly for a second before turning once more to look out the window. “Forget about it.”

“Oh come on Malfoy, don’t tell me, you’re into classical. You’re just too embarrassed to tell me about it. No classical huh? What about teen pop? That’s it isn’t it? You’re into the teeny bopper stuff right?” Ginny was teasing him, but the response she got was far different from the one she expected.

“Will you just shut up?” Draco slammed his fist into the dashboard. “I don’t know what music I like; I don’t even know who I am!” Realizing what he had just said, Draco slouched back into his seat and resumed watching the landscape once more.

The car began to slow down, as Ginny, trying to understand what Draco had just said, took her foot off the gas pedal. “What…what did you just say?” She finally asked, taking her eyes off the road for a minute to look at Draco.

Instead of answering he defiantly turned his body away from her. Finally, without facing her, he spoke. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten all day.”

Ginny growled in frustration. “If I feed you, will you explain that nice outburst you just had?” When he gave no answer, “There should be a stop in a couple of miles. Will that be ok with you?”

Draco nodded his head in affirmation, and continued to gaze out of the window. The next few miles were passed in silence. Ginny finally spotted the exit for an all night truck stop, and pulled off onto it.

Draco didn’t speak until Ginny had parked and turned off the car. “Surely you could have found a better place then this to eat Weasely.”

Once again, Ginny couldn’t stop the aggravated growl that escaped her throat. Whatever was going on with Malfoy, he certainly hadn’t forgotten the high standards his family had been accustomed to. Ignoring his comment, Ginny got out of the car. Not surprisingly, Draco was right behind her.

A middle aged waitress greeted them as they entered, and showed them to a booth in the back. “What can I get you to drink darling?”

“Coffee,” Ginny didn’t hesitate in answering. It had been a long drive.

“And you sweet thing?” Even though she was a good ten to fifteen years older then him, her age didn’t stop her from sending a flirty smile Draco’s way.

“Milk,” He also didn’t hesitate in answering.

Eyes widening, Ginny sent Draco a funny look. “What?” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a good source of calcium.”

“And it sure does a body good,” the waitress didn’t bother masking the look in her eyes as she checked Draco out once more before leaving to place their drink order.

*Back in Switzerland*

“I can’t believe he took the bloody car and just left us there,” Ron grumbled, brushing snow out of his hair as they rounded the last corner.

“Its not like Headquarters was that far away,” Hermione pointed out. “Honestly Ron, the only reason we took the car in the first place was so we could look ‘official’.”

Ron sighed as he stepped into the warmth of their base of operations. He was leisurely taking off his coat when the young witch behind the counter hopped up with a squeak. “Oh no Mr. Weasley, no time for that, Mr. Potter has been waiting for that tape since he returned. He wants to see it as soon as possible.” The witch herded them through the door to the conference room rather rudely.

“Well I never would have thou….” Hermione’s huff was cut off mid sentence as her eyes widened, taking in the transformed conference rooms. Computers and other types of equipment were scattered throughout the room. The big round table that had once been the only furniture present was now replaced with many smaller desks. People were walking back and forth constantly, handing off printed pages, and exchanging information.

“Good, it’s about time you got back,” Harry stated as he entered the room through a backdoor. “It took you long enough now didn’t it?”

Ron’s face flushed red, “You took the bloody car. We had to bloody walk, ten freaking blocks to get back here!”

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry held out his hand. “May I have the tape please?”

“Harry,” Hermione said as she pulled the Embassy’s main video feed from her carrying case. “What are all of these people doing here? I mean, how did they get here?”

Snatching the tape from Hermione’s grasp, Harry rushed over to a TV set up in the far corner, answering her over his shoulder. “These are the muggleborns from our department. There are a few purebloods. Some are on loan from the Auror squad, anyone who can blend in to muggle society.”

“You don’t even know if this is Malfoy we are looking for yet,” Hermione was becoming more and more confused and she didn’t like it. “Even if it is Malfoy, what has he done to be hunted down like an animal?”

“And how the hell did you get all of these pip-squeaks here so fast mate?” Ron interjected.

Harry chose to ignore Hermione’s inquiry and answered Ron’s instead. “Last night a man fitting Malfoy’s description put two muggle patrolmen in the hospital.”

“That’s it?” Hermione gasped. “That’s the reason you dragged the whole unit to Zurich?”

“No,” Harry ground out through his clenched teeth. “That’s the reason I came to Zurich. I didn’t call the rest of the unit until this morning when a contact also saw a man fitting Malfoy’s description entered the tavern over on Gemein.”

“That’s the one with the vault system isn’t it?” Ron questioned.

“Yes,” Harry answered as he fast forwarded through the first half of the embassy video. “Malfoy could have had a vault there; they run off of a numbered account system. No names or anything that can be traced.”

Hermione felt as if she would begin pulling her hair out at any second. “Why didn’t you tell us any of this Harry? It’s not like you to keep secrets.”

“A ha, here it is,” Harry scooted closer to the television set, totally ignoring Hermione’s comment.

“Unreal,” Ron whispered, leaning over Harry to get a closer look.

“I knew it,” Harry said triumphantly. Draco Malfoy’s face was displayed clear as day on the monitor. “Alright,” Harry called out as he jumped to his feet. “I want somebody combing through the rest of these surveillance tapes. Get me airline manifest, train manifest, anything on anyway that he could get out of the city.”

As everybody in the room hurtled into action, Hermione slouched down into a chair next to Ron. “Something isn’t right here.”

“You don’t have to tell me love,” Ron whispered in her ear as he stroked her back soothingly.

*On the road again…*

Ginny picked at her food, instead choosing to watch Draco as he devoured his meal as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. When he was about halfway through a large stack of griddle cakes, Ginny voiced her thoughts. “So are you going to tell me or what?”

He immediately stilled, lowering the fork that had been halfway to his lips. Swallowing uncomfortably, he took a swig of milk before meeting her gaze. “Memory like a fucking elephant,” he grumbled under his breath.

“I heard that,” Ginny frowned, slouching back further into the booth.

“Fine,” Draco growled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “But you can’t look at me with those big brown puppy dog eyes for at least a day,” he stipulated.

A smile tugged at the edges of Ginny’s mouth, “Deal, so spill already.”

“I can’t remember anything that happened before two weeks ago,” He seemed to deflate a little, as if he had been holding his breath.

“Lucky you,” Ginny said, the brow once more knitting together into a frown.

“I’m serious,” Draco clenched his hands into fists. “I don’t know who I am; I don’t where I’m going or why I’m going there, nothing.”

Leaning forward, elbows on the table, Ginny looked into his eyes. “You mean, like you have amnesia or something?”

“Yeah,” he answered softly, leaning back into his side of the booth.

“Well that’s just great,” at least he was making a little bit more sense now. Amnesia explained why he didn’t recognize her, or well, her name.

Dragging his bag out from underneath the table, Draco began to dig through it. “These are real,” he said as he produced a small stack of passports from various countries. “I got them out of some sort of safety deposit in Zurich.”

“What do mean, ‘some sort of deposit box’?” Ginny asked as she flipped through his passports. Sure enough, every single one of them had his picture pasted inside.

“It was weird,” Ginny watched him lean back and ruffle his slightly long hair. The action was unheard of for a Malfoy, and she was shocked. “I went into this shoddy tavern that this key told me to go to….”

Ginny’s ears perked up at that word. “A key?”

“A key,” Draco confirmed as he fished it out his bag and slid it across the table at her. “This door just appeared, and the box was inside. When I opened it there they were, money, passports, a gun,” his voice conveying that he had no earthly idea what he was doing with a gun in his safety deposit box.

“Anything else?” Ginny inquired as she stacked the passports neatly.

Reaching into his bag once more, Draco pulled out the slender wooden stick, “Only this,”

A/N: I know its been a few days, I’ve been kind of busy!! But here it is!! Some people have asked about why my other fic hasn’t been updated, well, I’ve hit a bit of writers block concerning it. Do you ever work so hard to make the most perfect ending, but then, you find yourself stuck in the middle with no way to bridge the gap? Well, that’s where I’m stuck, everytime I try to write the middle part of the story, it just ends up sounding crappy, but I’m working on it, it might take a while, but I’m working on it…. I hope ya’ll enjoy this chapter, I’ll try to post more soon!!