A Witch Hunting

Chapter One

He stood on the side of the road, traffic flying past him with no heed to the weapon in his hand. The cool metal of the axe head was smooth against his palm, making its purpose a little less daunting. For what deed of this nature could be so gentle to the touch? What deadly action could be so perfectly shaped and without blemish?

This was.

‘Its coming,’ Carl told himself, running the pad of his soil covered thumb over the inner curve of his tool. ‘Won’t be long now.’

His aged and slightly blinded eyes caught hold of a moving shape that was not the size of a car or bus or even a tractor. No, it was small in the distance, like an ant coming over a large dirt mound. Just a little white blob to Carl’s eyes but he did not need perfect sight to know what and who it was.

Pearls of sweat formed near his receded hair line, beading together before falling to his already damp collar. The early morning heat made his plaid shirt and jeans a little more constricting then they had been the morning before but then again, he wasn’t sweating this much the morning before. Nor had he eaten as much breakfast but then again, he didn’t have to…dispose of something yesterday morning.

The white blob had begun to gain shape. Narrow shoulders became discernable, connecting to a pale neck and then to a head topped with a white covering. A torso and chest was hidden beneath white cotton that also covered the thing’s arms. A small pack was around the things waist, rising and falling against the hip it rested on. Legs came from beneath the pack with a black pair of…yes it looked like shorts that only covered the top of it‘s thigh, the muscles beneath contracting and relaxing as the thing moved.

‘It’s getting closer,’ Carl thought, his grip tightening on the head of the axe as the thing got within twenty feet. Fifteen feet. Five feet…

“Hullo Mr. Wilmer,” the thing greeted. “Nice day isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Carl replied. “Quite nice…”

‘Do it!’ the voice in his head commanded. ’Before it runs off again!’

“What’s wrong Mr. Wilmer?” the thing asked, concern crossing its gentle features. “You look rather pale.”

‘Now!’

Carl’s body, though aged sixty-five years, was quick for it’s term in life. He swung his arm forward, his grip sliding to the wooden handle, and lashed out at the creature before him. It screamed as the axe tip grazed it’s shoulder. Stumbling back, it tried to run but Carl was right on it.

“I won’t let you spoil this world!” he cried, raising the axe high over his head before bringing it down for the fatal blow. A sickening crack sounded through the suddenly still air.

“Be gone demon of hell!” Carl shrieked. “Leave this world and never return!”

The thing fell to the ground, the blade embedded deep within the back of its head. Blank eyes stared up at Carl as if accusing him for being so reckless. He saw a promise in those forest green orbs as well, telling him that this was not over.

“Go back to hell,” he hissed, spiting on the now lifeless corps. He was slightly surprised that no spirit slipped from the dead lips, no sign of the evilness that was encased inside. Maybe he had killed that too, the demon as well as its blackened soul.

“Get him!” an new voice cried from behind him. “Get him down on the ground!”

“Make sure he doesn’t have any weapons!” another added.

“Be careful Mark!” sounded another, more feminine voice.

Before he could think, Carl was tackled to the ground and his face pressed into the earth where the thing’s liquid of life had spilled.

“Phone the police!”

“Check the girl!”

“Get a hold of him!”

“My God! He slaughtered her!”

Voices, so many voice surrounded Carl. The weight of a man, no, two men were upon his already damaged back, making him cry out in pain. What had gone wrong? Why were these people punishing him? He just saved humanity for Christ’s sakes!

“Get off me!” he groaned, words muffled by the gravel that his face was pressed against. “You don’t understand! That wasn’t a girl! It was a demon from hell!”

Sirens sounded in the distance. The police had arrived.

Carl’s eyes went round with shock. Why were the police here?! Why couldn’t these people understand?!

Doors opened and slammed shut. Feet thundered towards him. The weight of the men who held him was relieved for a moment before being replaced by someone else’s. Icy metal was wrapped around his wrists with a click that sounded like laughter to Carl. Handcuffs? What were these people doing?! Didn’t they understand?! It wasn’t a girl dead on the road next to him! It was a demon from Satan’s circle! She was going to steal every human soul she could and then summon her master for the rest! Why didn’t these people understand?!

“She’s evil!” Carl yelled as he was hauled to his feet. His eyes darted madly from one face to another. A crowd had gathered around him, their cars blocking the road. Some police officers where actually doing crowd control, telling people to move away for their own safety. ‘Well at least someone had some sense,’ Carl thought. ’Satan could be here at any moment to take revenge on human life as a whole.’

“…Everything you say can be used against you in a court of law…” the officer to his right said. Apparently Carl had been yelling everything he had been thinking about because he had not heard the first part of what the officer had said. He knew his rights, he watched all those cop shows and knew what they said every time they arrested someone. He just never expected them to be used against him.

“Carl?”

“Maggie!” Carl yelled, turning towards the familiar voice. His wife stood on the front stoop, wearing the blue night gown he had bought for her after they lost their son to a still birth. Her eyes were filled with horror, those same eyes that had looked at him with love not half an hour ago.

“Maggie! Tell them!” Carl demanded, dragging his feet to delay the cops who were escorting him to the nearest cruiser. “Tell them that she was a demon!”

Maggie’s eyes fell upon the body of the thing. A moment of sickening replaced the horror in her eyes before she lost consciousness and fell backwards into the doorway.

“Maggie!” Carl screamed, watching his wife fall. Another woman ran towards her from the road side, kneeling to cradle Molly against her chest.

“I need a cold compress!” the woman ordered a man near by who obediently ran into Carl’s house.

“Maggie!” Carl yelled again, struggling against his holders. His attempts to break free were fruitless however, the quickness he had been blessed with when battling the thing taken away as suddenly as it had been bestowed with it.

Somewhere along the way, one of the cops had pulled out his night stick. With a hollow thud, the wooden rod was brought down against Carl’s head, hard. A black miasma swept across his vision, his consciousness slipping away to join his wife as the police dragged him the rest of the way to the cruiser.

Author’s note: So I know it’s in no way related to Harry Potter as of yet but it will be soon! Promise! I just had to get a few details set in place first. Hope you enjoyed it so far. Please R&R!!!!!

Chapter Two

“She’s dead! There’s nothing we can do!”

“Why weren’t you looking after her?! You promised me you would!”

“I can’t watch the girl every moment of my life Draco! If I stalked around her house anymore than I already did, someone would eventually notice my absence from the wizarding world. And how the hell was I supposed to know that Wilmer had gotten suspicious?!”

“You were supposed to be watching out for everything that could have harmed her! Nothing was supposed to get passed you! And now she’s…”

Draco trailed off, his words catching behind his clenched teeth. An emptiness filled the cavity that was his chest, making black the brightness that used to dwell there. Cold and numbness made his limbs feel weak and his head heavy as the word he had almost said sunk in. Dead. The most unpleasant and gut wrenching word next to torture. Dead and murdered in the same sentence was almost too much to bare under normal circumstances but in this case, Draco Malfoy dealt with both.

The silence of the deserted alley was deafening in Draco’s ears, making him wish suddenly that he had made better arrangements as to where he had chosen to meet his messenger. Somewhere more open, somewhere less dark, somewhere where he could keep better hold of his swelling emotions. Here, he could scream, cry and explode into a million pieces if his so chose. The alley gave him to much room for expressing feeling and the barriers he had carefully set up towards the outside world were being broken down with every passing moment with only the sound of breathing from the man before him and his own meeting his greedy ears. Though the alley next to the Leaky Cauldron proved to be useful before, it now only made the fresh news more unreal and unbelievable in Draco‘s mind.

“You’re lying,” he said in a forced strong voice, his stormy eyes searching those that belonged to his former closest friend. “You’re lying. It isn’t true. What are you playing at? What do you want from me? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for her whereabouts? Is that what you’re after?!”

Blaise Zabini shook his head mournfully and Draco saw that the façade he so desperately wanted to be true was just an illusion that his imagination had conjured.

“Katie is dead Draco. Wilmer killed her this morning. The Muggle police had to knock him unconscious before carrying him away because he was ranting about how she was a demon from Satan’s circle. He saw what happened the other night , I’m sure of it now. I told you to be more careful and now Katie is dead because of your carelessness…”

Blaise’s words hit Draco like an icy slap, hard enough to make his eyes widen and his legs to collapse beneath him. As his knees hit the cobblestone below him, bile bubbled in the back of his throat.

“I didn’t…He couldn’t have…I…Katie…” he stammered, unable to form a complete sentence. He fought back the sting of tears, the pride given to him through his family name still to great to let the crystal droplets fall even in his state of grief.

“Don’t go back Draco,” Blaise warned. “Don’t go to her funeral or to her home. If you’re seen, you’ll be charged with exposing our world to a Muggle and her death because of it will cause more consequence than you have money to buy yourself out with. Stay away. Go about life as usual and don’t let on that you know anything about Katie Tyler.”

Draco nodded mutely, his usual fountain of comments and replies tapped out and dry. He heard Blaise sigh quietly and his shoes scrape and echo against the pavement as he retreated towards the end of alley he had first come from. With a soft pop, he was gone, leaving Draco alone in the alley with the monsters that were his thoughts.

Author’s note: I know this is uber short but I need to get something up. I’m going to be away for a month starting next week so I’m going to try and get as much done on this as I can. I’m really sorry that this is so short but I’ll try to fix that tonight or tomorrow with the next chapter. Hope you like it so far.

Chapter Three

“Blast!”

In quick succession, the soft rip of brown paper, the dull thud of groceries against pavement followed by a frustrated curse cut through the thick, muggy air of Muggle London, making the seemingly calm and relaxed summer night less peaceful.

“Bloody well figures,” Ginny grumbled as she stooped to retrieve her fallen goods. “Can’t just get home without any conflict. No sir…”

The dull street lamp flickered in and out of a weary existence, making seemingly feeble attempts to stay alive but not succeeding terribly well. Out shone but it’s neighbours, the street lamp took on an almost characteristic aura of a forgotten child or a mistreated pet. Looking up, Ginny felt almost half sorry for the dwindling light captured inside the glass casing. Yes it might be an insane thought to normal peoples but when you walked that lonely street as much as Ginny Weasley had in the past couple of months, the smallest things seemed suddenly explosive with character, especially at such an ungodly hour after a long day at work. It was an hour walk from the Ministry office in which she worked on a good day. Then adding another half an hour to pick up the weeks worth of food and then another half hour to struggle home with her packages and, on the odd occasion, a few minutes dealing with an intrusive stalker, meant a long day for the twenty-two year old.

While reaching for an escaping cucumber, Ginny’s ears were met with a startling sound. The scratch of rubber against cement as a pair of shoes scuffed along the side walk made the stillness of the night less calm. Not that Ginny hadn’t already broken that calmness but that was her own doing, not someone else’s.

Stuffing the cucumber in the remaining whole grocery bag (which now held twice its original weight), Ginny stood and resumed her brisk pace while letting one hand slide into her pocket. Her fingers slowly wrapped around the smooth shaft of her wand and she felt a tendril of comfort and security pass through her. No harm in being careful right?

“My my Miss Weasley, you are in a hurry tonight aren’t you?”

The suddenness of the new voice behind her made Ginny almost drop her parcel once again. She fought to regain composure, balancing the bag against her hip and holding it tight in the crook of her arm. Once she was sure she wouldn’t loose anything, she turned to meet the one who had addressed her and came close to gasping; ’came’ and ‘close’ being the key words in that sentence.

“I walk at a naturally fast pace,” she replied shortly. “Not that it matters much to you now would it Malfoy.”

As she watched a smirk flitted over her former tormentors lips before he let his head drop into his chest. A strong smell of alcohol was in the air around him, strong enough to make a person gag if not prepared. Ginny had to fight down the lump in her throat as the musky, bittersweet scent filled her nostrils. She let her gaze wander over her in the moment he had allotted when he broke his gaze from hers.

Though only a year older than herself, Ginny noticed that age had caught up with him prematurely. Large purple bags swelled beneath his tired, blood shot eyes making him seem two times his actual age of twenty-three. His flawless pale skin was now stretched taut over his cheek bones and chin, looking close to cracking and bleeding from its thinness. His once beautiful platinum blond hair had somehow lost its glow, giving him a grungy look despite the reputation usually associated with the Malfoy heir. To top this off, he did not wear his usual classy attire of a pressed robe, crisp pants and shirt and shoes that one could see their reflection in. His robe, which was terribly wrinkled in places, hung loosely around him as if it were a second, more baggy skin. Both shirt and pants were unruly; shirt un-tucked and adorning many stains and pants ripped at the knees. His shoes were scuffed beyond repair and the shoe laces hung limply down the sides like old pieces of string. Overall, this was not the pristine Draco Malfoy Ginny remembered.

“What are you looking at weasel?” Draco asked harshly as he took a clumsy step forward. “I know I’m beautiful but I could do without the staring. Very un-ladylike if you ask me. Katie would have torn a strip out of you…”

He trailed off and smacked a hand against his forehead.

“Shit,” he cursed, his eyes closing tight. “I wasn’t supposed to talk about her. But you won’t tell. Right Weasley?”

“Uh…All, right?” Ginny replied hesitantly. She raised an eyebrow and watched a stupid smile replace the look of frustration on Draco’s face. She had known he was drunk, the smell of him alone could tell the whole block what he’d been up too, but she had never seen a Malfoy correct himself and ask, not tell, anyone to repeat what they had heard. Who was Katie? And why wasn’t he supposed to talk about her?

“Well,” Ginny said awkwardly, gripping her parcel closer to her chest. “I best be off. I’ve got to be into work early tomorrow and, well…I have to go.”

“No!” Draco suddenly shouted as he stumbled towards her. “Don’t go!

“I have too,” Ginny replied, trying hard not to gag from the stench of his breath as he came almost too close for comfort.

“No!” Draco cried again, gripping her arm so tight that there would surely be a bruise in the morning. “You can’t. I can’t. Katie isn’t there. She isn’t there. Katie…”

There was a desperation in Draco’s eyes when he stared his rant that hit something deep within Ginny. She had tried to fight off, not wanting to deal with any emotion that could cause her to feel sympathy towards the conniving git before her. That was before the tears started.

Two, only two, crystal droplets fell from Draco’s stormy eyes, like rare jewels glistening in the dim lamp light. He stared at Ginny with such intensity that she felt sure that he would break something eventually.

“Katie, who?” she asked cautiously, hoping that this person would jog Draco’s memory and remind him that crushing her arm wasn’t nice. Oh how wrong she was.

“I’m not allowed to talk about her!” he replied in a sudden fit of rage. His other hand flew up to grab her other arm. “Blaise said I can’t talk about her! I can’t go see her! I promised, all right!”

“All right, Draco, all right,” Ginny replied softly. “I won’t ask about her again. But you have to let me go now.”

Draco stared at her for a moment in a way that made it seem like she’d grown two other heads.

“Katie was a good person,” he muttered. “Never did anything to no body. Never did anything…”

He stopped again and looked down at his hands that still clung to Ginny’s arms. Again, he stared at them with the same confused look that he had given her face not a moment before but claws in place of new heads. Then suddenly, without warning, he let go and collapsed to the ground. His body shook with silent sobs as he drooped over his knees.

‘What the hell is going on here?!’ Ginny mentally screamed. ‘Why the hell is Draco acting so funny? And why did he have to come to me?!’

Ginny glanced up and down the street, as if checking to make sure no one would see what she was about to do. Great Merlin’s beard she felt awkward but at this point, her maternal and emotional instincts were kicking in.

Slowly, she bent down, placing her groceries carefully on the pavement before kneeing beside Draco. She hesitantly reached out and ran a hand through his hair before letting it slide over his shoulders in a comforting gesture. Quidditch worked muscles rippled beneath her fingers and Ginny fought hard to remember who this was she was comforting and how much he would hate her in the morning if he knew anything about this in the morning.

“There there,” she cooed as she listened to his soft sobs. “It’s all right.”

“No its not,” Draco said in a muffled voice before snaking his arms around Ginny’s waist and pulling her close like a child would his mother. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”

“I’m sure she’ll come back,” Ginny offered, again stroking his hair.

“She won’t,” Draco said in a gruff voice as his tears began to subside. “She can’t. He killed her…”

They were silent for a moment, the pair of them, Draco lost in his drunkenness while Ginny was sent reeling over this information. Who killed this Katie girl? And why? Whatever happened had hit Draco hard and Ginny knew that there was only one thing she could do to help the sorry prat.

With a heavy sigh, she shut her eyes and gathered herself.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “You’re coming home with me tonight…”

Author’s note: So I got past my writer’s block. Hazzaa! But I have to stop it there or I won’t have anything for the next chapter. I hope you all like it so far and please, please review. I really want to know what is being thought about my story. Oh, and I promise wimpy Draco won’t stay if any of you are worried about that. Please R&R!!!!!! J J J

How could he sleep so…still? It was unnatural!

From the time Ginny had laid him down (in her bed, she might add) till the time she started checking in on him at eight the next morning, Draco Malfoy slept like a frozen log. He hadn’t moved an inch since his head hit the pillow; his lank hair still scattered in silver disarray on her pillow, his one arm draped over his stomach while his other hung off the side of the bed, his legs mimicking the one on the bed and one off sprawling. He was almost literally the image of a dirty, sleeping, statue.

Ginny stood at the door way of her room, watching her sleeping tormentor’s chest silently rise and fall with curiosity. Her mind was still turning over what he had said in his drunken stupor the night before. In fact, she had not been able to sleep from it.

“I’m sure she’ll come back,” Ginny offered, again stroking his hair.

“She won’t,” Draco said in a gruff voice as his tears began to subside. “She can’t. He killed her…”

The who’s, what’s, and why’s of it all hadn’t been answered. Even in the long, stumbling walk home to her flat, Draco had said nothing more about it, leaving her unsettled and anxious. Were this Katie girl and her supposed murder real? Or was Ginny now harboring a recently diagnosed patient of the St. Mungo’s psych ward?

The old grandfather clock in the main room of her flat rang its simple tune. Eleven thirty. Ginny was over an hour and a half late for work at the Ministry. This would be the third time this week that she would have to give an explanation to her boss in an attempt to appeal to his better nature. Claiming illness wouldn’t work this time – that was Tuesday’s excuse. Chores for the parents wouldn’t work either. Tell the truth? No, that would be suicide.

Since the war, the Malfoy name had almost all but disappeared. Lucius died by his master’s side as everyone had expected. Narcissa had retreated to some unknown place and hadn’t been spoken of in at least two years. And Draco, the heir to the Malfoy throne, was seen as the traitor to all wizarding kind, despite his switch to the side of good. The only time one heard his name was heard was when it was followed quickly by a curse. So telling the overly vengeful Wilbert Hostensnout, head of the World-Wide Wizarding Relations department, that she had brought home the infamous Draco Malfoy, aid in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, would be like approaching a hippogriff after chucking a rock at it.

No, the truth was definitely out.

Quietly groaning, Ginny rubbed her tired eyes and tossed a few ideas around in her head. The clock was ticking; she was reminded as the soft clicks of the grandfather drifted throughout the flat. The more time she spent standing here thinking about ways to tell her boss she wouldn’t be into work at all that day, the more time her boss spent growing that purple vein in his neck that always seemed to appear when Ginny couldn’t make it into work. She couldn’t afford to miss work, in all reality, but she also couldn’t allow Draco to wake up in her bedroom. Who knew what he would get up to while she was at work, trying to appease her boss.

“Ruddy Malfoy,” she mumbled, tossing him a glare before grabbing parchment and a quill of the desk near the bed. “He’ll pay for this.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was bright. Too bright. Why the hell was it so bright?!

Opening his eyes, Draco glanced over the top of his blanket towards the source of the foul thing that had waked him. Definitely not the smartest move, he thought angrily as he was momentarily blinded with pain. Groaning, he rolled over, trying to hide himself from the accursed sun’s light. His head ached with the symptoms of a bad hangover while his stomach began that slow yet awfully familiar lurching.

How much did I drink?

His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to recall the events of the night before. Bad move number two since waking. Thinking plus frowning equaled more pain. Couldn’t he do anything right?

Pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he curled up in the fetal position and wished away the horribleness of it all. And it was horrible. From his head to his toes, everything was either in pain or feeling like it could cause him to vomit. Even the hair on his head felt like it was being forcefully pulled at. It was never this bad, ever. Or, at least he couldn’t remember a time when it was worse…at the moment.

“I’ve got to stop doing this,” he muttered feebly, vowing once again to fight his drinking problem. He said it like a mantra every morning it seemed but, by the time the sun fell, his promise was forgotten and he was back in some bar trying to drink the world away. It was just too easy to slip into his old habit. Like a blanket of protection, the feel of the alcohol as it mingled with the blood in his veins was a way of forgetting, a way to be happy for a few hours before he blacked out.

Pathetic, he thought, starting the usual rounds of mental abuse. Katie would never approve…

The thought caught him off guard, causing the air in his lung to suddenly evaporate. He gasped for breath as a fresh pain set in that had nothing to do with his hangover. His heart ached, Blaise’s simple description of what had happened to her at once becoming all he could think about.

“She’s dead! There’s nothing we can do!”

No, he fought, she’s not! She’s still alive! He’s lying!

Deep down, of course, he knew the truth. He had seen the newspaper in Muggle London that spelled out everything that filthy vermin had done to his beautiful, now dead Katie; how he had waited for her, talked to her, then killed her and screamed lies as they dragged him away. ‘Demon,’ he had called her, ‘one of Satan’s circle’. How wrong he was, Draco thought angrily as he clenched fistfuls of blanket. The bastard didn’t know a thing about her. Katie was, for lack of a better comparison, an angel. She had cared for Draco like no one ever had. She had loved him despite his faults and had done everything in her power to make sure he knew it. She was the kindest soul that had ever lived and this man had known, no, ignored all of that.

Anger boiled in Draco’s chest. That man had killed her for nothing, had killed her because of…

“Me,” Draco whispered, so angry now that he was ready to repay the man for his work. Throwing off his covers, he began marching for the door…that was in the wrong place. For the first time, he was forced to look at his surroundings. A chocolate coloured paint covered the walls where holes and plaster should have been. Instead of his lumpy cot, there was a wooden frame with a perfectly good mattress and set of white sheets atop. An oak desk sat where the door was supposed to be. There was a window, a closet, a chair, pictures, a calendar….

“Where the hell am I?”

“My place. And it’s about time you dragged you’re sorry, drunken ass out of my bed.”

Draco spun around so fast that his feet caught on one another, sending him tumbling. He landed with an unceremonious “oomph” before a pair of green coloured socked feet. The whirlies descended upon him in seconds and his hands quickly flew to his temples to try to ground himself. He groaned into the plush carpet and cursed the inventor of Fire Whiskey.

“Here, drink this.”

“No more drinking,” he moaned, his stomach lurching at the thought. “Can’t do it.”

“It will help, you great prat. I won’t have you being sick on my floor.”

Blindly, he reached for the offered remedy. A cup was placed firmly in his palm, a warm, putrid liquid bubbling inside. One sniff made Draco gag.

“Oh no you don’t.”

The cup was forced to his lips, his weakened state allowing the atrocity to take place. The liquid tasted as awful as it smelled as it passed his unwilling lips. It burned all the way down to his stomach, where it sat like a squirming lump. Draco was sure he was going to vomit but found that he couldn’t. It was as if the liquid was bundling up the hangover in its mass, even his hair was beginning to feel normal again.

Cautiously, he pushed himself up. The spinning stopped almost instantly and he was able to stand without suffering. Whatever that stuff was, it had done the trick. He was even beginning to look forward to a night of heavy drinking again and it wasn’t even one in the afternoon yet!

He looked up, smiling grimly but ready to thank the person with the concoction, and had his newly cured stomach plummet. Long crimson hair, wild hazel eyes, freckles…

“Oh Merlin,” he whispered. “Weasley?”

Author’s note: So it’s been a while since I posted anything. I have been super busy with school and life so I have been unable to write anything until now. I will hopefully be able to work on all my fanfics over the summer, or at least get to a few. Sorry about the wait. JJJ

This had to be one of the worst days of his life. Well, maybe not the worst day. Hell, no where near close the worst day. He hadn’t killed a man today, so he was on a roll that way. But this one wasn’t a good one.

Harry Potter – defender of all, the boy (now man) wonder, the Chosen One, and so on – was wandering Diagon Alley in a horrible mood. It wasn’t as if he was trying to be miserable but the feeling had sort of, hung on as it were, for that last…six years. No, make that five years, twelve months, and twenty-three days. It was a horrible feeling, not the sort that one would usually hang on to certainly. But he couldn’t seem to shake it.

Looking around, he recognized the black banners hanging from the lamp posts all down the street. Store fronts displayed pictures in the corners along with their wares. News paper clippings, signs, paintings. They were everywhere and all displaying the same message of grief.

The anniversary of the wizarding world’s version of Doom’s Day was approaching fast. It had been nearly six years since the Dark Lord had fallen but the people that were left behind, the ones who were lucky enough to survive the battle, still mourned. In their own way, they were giving thanks. They knew what the wizards and witches who had fallen had done and they relished their freedom. But it wasn’t the kind of thankful that could ease their grief, by any stretch of the imagination. They wanted their family and friends back. Who wouldn’t?

As Harry made his way through the crowded street, he saw the faces that mirrored his own. Some nodded and sent a weak smile his way, recognizing him as the one who had finally taken the Dark Lord down, before returning to their business. This was still a healing community. He didn’t expect any more from them.

‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ he thought anxiously, looking ahead. ‘Nearly there. Good.’

Most of the Ministry of Magic had been destroyed in the fight. What was left of it had moved to Diagon Alley for safety’s sake, while the old one was being rebuilt. Walking through the heavy, brass doors, Harry felt a chill sprint the length of his spine. He hadn’t felt comfortable within the Ministry’s walls since, well, at least his fifth year at Hogwarts. The fact that the original had been a battle ground during the war only added on to his already not so pleasant memories of the building. Now, even the change of scenery couldn’t change his feelings of it. This, among other things, was a reason for his day starting on a darker note.

His footsteps echoed of the walls bare around him. The Ministry had assumed they were going to move back to their original location soon after the war and hadn’t bothered with decorating the replacement. Nearly six years had passed and they still hadn’t gone back. My, how time flew…

There was a woman seated at the welcoming desk, her skin drawn looking and her hair lank. When she looked up, her eyes were tired and blank looking but she managed to pull a half hearted smile as Harry approached. A typical secretary.

“Mr. Potter,” she said, her voice lukewarm. “What brings you to the Ministry today?”

“Uh. Ginny Weasley, please.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Potter. She called in sick this morning.”

The woman gave a disapproving shake of her head before continuing. “If you see her, let her know that Mr. Hostensnout is not pleased with her absences. He told me to pass on the message that if she isn’t into work tomorrow, she should start clearing off her desk. I assume that you will be in touch with her sooner than I will, so I trust you will pass this on?”

Harry winced but nodded grudgingly.

“How many this week?” he asked, not really certain that he wanted to hear the answer.

“This is the third,” the woman replied. “I swear, if it wasn’t for her father being Arthur Weasley, she would have been sacked months ago. But, Mr. Weasley has always been in Mr. Hostensnout favour so it’s not s-”

“Thank you,” Harry cut in, sensing a long winded rant. “I shall pass on the message.”

The woman looked annoyed – not surprising given her position – but nodded and returned to her work while Harry made his escape. Once out on the street, he ducked into the nearest alley and let out a frustrated groan.

“She forgot,” he said, closing his eyes and letting his chin fall into his chest. “Again.”

Turning, he knocked his fist against the closet wall.

“I’ve had it,” he said firmly. “No more of this. It ends today.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Weasley?”

“Good morning to you too,” Ginny spat, finding herself hard pressed to keep the ‘well, duh’ tone from her voice. “Glad to see that you’ve finally decided to wake up.”

Placing her hands on her hips, she waited for recognition to get its kick start in Draco’s memory. Anything would have done it; a look of surprise, understanding maybe, a twitch of acknowledgement. Five seconds passed, then ten, fifteen…

“Are you just going to sit there and stare Weasel-bee or are you going to get on with telling me why you are here.”

So much for recognition.

“You are in my flat, you bloody wanker!” she spat. “I knew you’d had a lot to drink – you still stink of it – but honestly! I should have never brought you home!”

A look of horror passed over Draco’s features.

“You mean…you and I…”

“NO! Don’t be ridiculous!” Ginny snapped, equally horrified.

“Good!”

“How could you even think something like that?!”

“It’s actually not that hard!”

“Well don’t!”

“Well tell me what really happened and I’ll work on it! And when did this become a screaming match?!”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. She frowned and shook her head, suddenly registering how loud her voice had been. When had it –

Not important right now, Gin…

Taking a deep breath, she tried again.

“Last night, I found you wandering the streets of Muggle London,” she began, pleased that her tone volume had come back down to a normal, more civilized level. “You were piss drunk and wouldn’t let me leave. Actually, you started crying.”

“Liar,” Draco hissed.

“You wanted to know,” Ginny replied. “And now that I’m telling you, don’t interrupt me.”

She frowned again, trying to remember all of what happened the night before. Now, in the day light and a completely sober Draco, it seemed almost unreal. Her gaze fell to the floor as her mind ran through the scene from the night before, her hand subconsciously rubbing her arm.

“You talked a lot about a girl, Katie,” she said quietly. “And how you weren’t supposed to talk about her. You also said she couldn’t come back because he killed her…”

A buzz at the door pulled Ginny out of her memory.

“Shit,” she said, glancing down the hall way. “If that’s Ron, I’m going to be in so much trouble…”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco watched as the Weasley girl shuffled off towards the door, her slippers swishing along the carpet in a way that sounded like an odd, dying bug. She hadn’t looked at him before she left, hadn’t noticed the look of terror on his face.

“How…” he whispered. “How did she…”

‘You told her! You bloody well told her!’

His head was spinning again, his vision blurring like he was drunk all over again. His heart was beating like a jack rabbit in his chest, aching as if it wanted to leap out and onto the floor. His hands came up to cover his ears as his breath began to come in short pants.

“No…no…” he stuttered.

‘She wasn’t supposed to know! No one was supposed to know! Blaise will be furious! They’ll find me and - ’

“Malfoy?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

It had been twenty minutes since Harry had left the Ministry of Magic. In those twenty minutes, his mood had gone from annoyed to angry to furious. Standing out side Ginny’s door, waiting to be let in, did not help matters one bit. Her surprise however, was what did him in.

“What am I doing here?!” he snapped, his voice a few octaves higher then he had planned. “What are you doing here Ginny?! You were supposed to meet me today! We were supposed to have lunch and talk! But once again, you’ve blown me off! Really, Gin, what am I to you?!”

He watched the shock fill her eyes with a grim satisfaction.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, her voice not quite as sorry as he had hoped she would be. “I forgot.”

“Well, I’m glad that I’m such an important part of your life!”

“Don’t say that Harry -”

“What am I supposed to say, then? Oh, it’s all right. It’s not like this is out of character for you -”

Before he could continue though, a blond head at the end of the hall caught Harry’s attention.

“Ginny, who is that?” he asked, his voice suddenly gone quiet.

“It’s not what you think,” she replied quickly, her eyes suddenly going as round as diner plates. She began to speak again but Harry pushed passed her, his heart hammering in his ears. Unfortunately, it only took a few steps though to figure out just who the blond head belong to. He was different, dirtier and skinnier, but Harry had seen his face so many times that he did not need a full inspection to recognize the man.

“Malfoy?”

The former Slytherin, looking like he had just been in a trance, slowly raised his gaze. When their eyes finally met, Harry was already starting to shake his head.

“Ginny, no,” he whispered. “No, Gin, no…”

“Harry, it’s not what you think!” she cried, latching onto his arm. “He was drunk last night when I was on my way home. I just took him in so he didn’t kill himself. Please, you have to believe me!”

But Harry was beyond hearing and was already beginning to turn towards the door. Shaking Ginny loose was harder then he had thought, his mind dazed and his chest aching. Malfoy, of all people, Malfoy…

“Harry, listen to me!”

He stopped cold.

“Why?” was all he could say before he pushed off Ginny’s grasping hands and walked out the door. He didn’t want the answer, didn’t want to hear her try to explain again.

‘Why him? Why did it have to be him?’ was all the broken hearted Harry Potter could think about as he staggered away…

~*~*~*~*~*~

“That went well…”

Author’s note: So, chapter five is up! Sorry it took so long but, busy bee a.k.a. yours truly has had a difficult time finding the time and the brain power to get these up quicker. For those of you waiting on Dwarfing Draco, I apologize for the wait. Now that I’ve got this chapter out of my head, I’ll try to update that story soon. Hope you enjoy this while you wait – though I do apologize for emotional Harry and the jumping around perspective wise. It’s been a while since I have written in third person so please excuse the mess.JJJ