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Evelyn Meyer remembers the last time she ever saw Draco Malfoy. It was minutes after the fall of Voldemort at Harry Potter’s wand, his own curse rebounded back at him. As Voldemort’s body fell to the ground, a flash of white-blonde hair darted through the crowd past her, fleeing the Hogwarts courtyard. She never saw Draco Malfoy again.The cold wind whipped her brown hair up around her, the spray from the sea, wetting her face, salt resting on her lip. Standing on the rocks of a desolate island, she looked up at the fortress in front of her, Azkaban. Draco Malfoy’s home for the last five years.She walked towards dark looming doors entering the dim and damp hallway. At least the ground floor was vacant of dementors these days, instead aurors and guards patrolled this area. Though she knew dementors still roamed around the other floors where the inhabitants were kept. She shuddered at the thought.She flashed her ID badge to the wizard behind the desk.“I am here to visit Draco Malfoy. I have sent an owl.” Evelyn stated, her tone neutral.The wizard looked down at the mess of paperwork on his desk.“What business do you have with Malfoy?” He asked.“I do not believe that is any of your concern, do you? I owled the warden and he approved my request.” She crossed her arms impatiently, leaning on her back leg. “Has he been brought down?”The wizard sighed. “He has. Please sign in.”Evelyn nodded quickly bending down to sign her name on the scroll. Visiting prisoner number 46357, Malfoy, Draco.“Where is he?” She asked, looking up.“This way.” The wizard said, grabbing a ring of keys and standing up.She followed the wizard down a dark corridor ending in a single black door.“He’s in there.” The wizard jerked his head, unlocking the door.“Thank you, you may leave now, I can find my own way back.”The wizard rolled his eyes and sauntered off back to his desk.Evelyn braced herself, before opening the door, going over in her mind what she needed to say. She breathed out, pushing the door open.The stone walls exuded despair, despite the absence of the dementors, small windows let in fragments of light. Draco Malfoy was sat slouched in a metal chair on one side of a table in the centre of the dim room. He wore a faded grey jumpsuit, and was thinner than she remembered, slightly malnourished. His mid-length white-blonde hair fell limp around his pale face, slightly covering his prison number tattoo on the left side of his neck. His cheeks were hollowed, dark circles under his eyes, but his grey eyes still shone.His cuffed wrists rested atop the table; he raised his shaking hands to his mouth inhaling from a cigarette. He looked her up and down and cocked his head to the side, exhaling.“Who are you?” He asked curiously, his eyes narrowed.“Mr Malfoy, my name is Evelyn Meyer. I work with the Auror office.” She approached the table, apprehensively.“I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter.” He replied, rolling his eyes and huffing in exasperation.“That’s not what I am here for.” She pulled out the chair.“Then what do you want?” He asked, inquisitively.Evelyn sat opposite him, resting her hands on the tabletop and interlocking her fingers. She observed him closely, he rolled the cigarette in between his fingers, his eyes focused on it, instead of her.“I have a job offer for you Mr Malfoy.” She explained.He quirked his brow, taking a drag from his cigarette. “A job offer?”“Yes, the ministry believes it would be beneficial to acquire someone with your knowledge.”He leaned forward in his chair and studied her. He blew out a ring of smoke. “And what knowledge is that?”“Your knowledge as a former Death Eater.” She waved the smoke away with her hand.“Former?” He scoffed, and rolled back the sleeve on his left arm, revealing his faded dark mark. “Proud.” He declared.She looked down at his mark in mild disgust.“I see.” She looked back at his face. “Regardless of your current status, your knowledge is valuable to the Ministry.”“What does this job entail?” He took another drag on the cigarette.“Assisting the auror office.” Evelyn recited.He exhaled and raised his brow a look of intrigue on his face. “You want me to help you what, catch dark wizards?” He scoffed, leaning back.“Precisely.” Evelyn replied quickly.He smirked. “What’s in it for me?”Confidence is where Evelyn excels, this is how she secured her job after all.“Mr Malfoy, you are currently serving a life sentence for your crimes. Aiding the Ministry of Magic could get you released from Azkaban within a month.”Draco’s smug face faltered, replaced by a look of surprise. He took another drag and exhaled as he mulled over her response.“Let me get this straight. You’re offering to release me from Azkaban and have me assist your office in catching dark wizards?” He asked warily.“If you agree to certain terms, yes you will be released.” Evelyn nodded.He leaned forward, curiously, exhaling another ring of smoke. “And what, exactly, are these ‘terms’?”“There are several. The main one being you will be on probation for at least the next 10 years. You are unable to keep a wand for the next 5 years and so on. If you agree you will be provided with a contract of terms to sign.”“No wand?!” He blurted out.“Is that option really worse than being stuck alone in a cramped cell surrounded by dementors 24/7?”Draco bristled at her words. He took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke exhale slowly from his nostrils.“You're a right manipulative witch, you know that?” He leant back in his chair once more, glaring at her.“Do I take this as your acceptance?” She blinked, ignoring his gaze.Silence followed for a moment before he sighed in defeat.“Alright, fine. I accept your offer. But I have some conditions of my own.”Of course he would.“Go on.” Evelyn nodded at him to continue.He took a slow drag from his cigarette before replying, watching her carefully.“I will accept to your terms.” He drawled. “On the condition that I am provided a suitable place to stay during my probation. In addition to that, I want an appropriate compensation for my services. A sum that is say…a minimum of 400 galleons per month.”It’s Evelyn’s turn to scoff.“I can get you a place to stay, and the ministry will pay you for your services. The galleon amount, however, has already been agreed and it is significantly less than your proposal.” She replied firmly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.Draco's face soured and he took another slow drag from his cigarette.“How much are you offering?” He asked, the irritation evident in his tone.“20 galleons a month.”His eyes flashed, a scoff escaping his lips.“You expect me to work without the ability to cast spells and for a measly 20 galleons a month? Are you taking the piss? That’s pocket money!” He retorted, glaring at her through the smoke.“Well, you can always stay here until you die… people don’t tend to live that long in Azkaban though. But it’s up to you.” She shrugged, pushing the chair back and getting to her feet, heading towards the door.Silence and then...“Wait.”Evelyn paused, turning back to face him.“Yes?”Draco took one last drag from the cigarette before stubbing it out and crossing his arms. He leaned back in his chair and glared at her for a long moment, his jaw flexed.“You really are a manipulative witch, aren’t you?” He muttered. “Fine. I accept your offer. But don’t expect me to be pleasant about it.”“I never expected you to be pleasant.” She replied, retaking her seat. “I will have the contract drawn up and sent over tomorrow. The sooner you sign it the sooner we can start the release paperwork. Do you have any questions for me?”He glared, his irritation still at the surface.“Yeah, I do have a couple of questions actually.” He snapped, his voice dripped with arrogance. “Where exactly will I be staying during my probation?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.“You will be put up in a ministry hostel.”His eyes flashed with annoyance at her answer.“You’re going to put me up in a ministry hostel? I’m not a zoo animal. I want a decent place to stay.” He retorted.“I assure you; the Ministry hostel has a lot better conditions than your current abode.” She said, glancing around the room pointedly.Draco glared at her again, his irritation growing.“Oh, thanks for the consolation,” He sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m not about to stay in some run-down ministry hole. I want somewhere appropriate and private.”Like that’s going to happen, she thought, almost rolling her eyes.“What do you suggest?” Evelyn asked, pretending to entertain the idea.He’s quiet for a while, his eyes looking down at the table, brows furrowed in thought. Eventually the edges of his lips, quirk upwards. He glanced up at her, his grey eyes hold an air of mischief, and he smirked slyly.“I want my old home - Malfoy Manor.” His voice drenched in arrogance.Evelyn scoffed.“Not a chance. The manor has been seized by the Ministry due to its involvement in the war. I don’t even have clearance for the manor.”His smirk faltered and his expression becomes one of annoyance at her response. He let out a sharp scoff and sank back into his chair.“So, my family’s home is off limits.” He muttered, his jaw clenching. “How about one of my vacation homes then? Surely, not all of my property has been confiscated.”“The Ministry seized all Malfoy assets, including the contents of your vaults.”His irritation turned into anger, his knuckles turn white, his hands clenched into fists.“Salazar, you confiscated everything?!” He hissed, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and rage.“Mr Malfoy, you and your family were responsible for the imprisonment of several witches and wizards during the course of the war.”His nostrils flared; his eyes flashed with anger.“I am aware of that.” He spoke through gritted teeth.“Mr Malfoy.” Evelyn continued, ignoring him. “You yourself used unforgivable curses against those imprisoned at your manor and later killed Hermione Granger.”His face hardened at her declaration, his jaw clenched. He stayed silent for while, his eyes glazed over, staring at a point over her should at the wall behind her. He looked back at her, his expression, unreadable.“And your point is?” He responded coldly.“This is your punishment. You either agree to our terms and help us or I’ll leave you here to rot.”Evelyn got to her feet again, she felt his gaze on her back as she headed for the door again.She grasped the door handle as he spoke, his voice cold.“Alright.”“Mr Malfoy?” Evelyn turned to look at him.He studied her closely, his hands clenching and unclenching.Another pause.“I accept your terms.” His voice filled with resignation.“Very well, I will have the contract drawn up and sent to you by tomorrow” She nodded.He glared at her; irritation still present in his eyes. “How do I know I can trust you and your promises?” He asked, his tone sceptical.Evelyn surveyed him closely at these words, was that a hint of vulnerability? She let it pass.“You don’t, but do you have a better option?” She countered.Draco narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw, as he considered her response.“No… I don’t have a better option.” He muttered begrudgingly.“Very well, I will return when you are ready to be released. Any last questions?”He leant back in his chair and gazed at her in silence for a moment, before finally speaking.“Who, exactly, is going to be supervising me during this probation? Or am I to wander around freely without any surveillance?"“The head auror will be overseeing you.” She replied, vaguely.His expression darkened, annoyance evident in his tone."The head auror, huh? Let me guess, Potter?" He scoffed.“You seem to be ill informed Mr Malfoy. Harry Potter did not join the Auror programme.”Draco quirked an eyebrow at this revelation, his interest suddenly piqued. "Potter’s not an Auror?” He cocked his head to the side.“Well after you murdered his best friend in cold blood, he decided on a different path.”A flicker of guilt briefly flashed in Draco's eyes at the mention of Hermione’s death, but he quickly masked it with a scowl."So, who leads the auror office now, then?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation away.“I do.” Evelyn replied confidently.Draco's eyes widen in surprise at her statement. “You lead the auror office?" He exclaimed, his gaze focused on her intently.“Does it surprise you that a Muggle-born witch can lead a department of aurors?”Draco pursed his lips, and a look of annoyance appears on his face. “Of course not.” He said, his tone slightly sardonic.“Well, I look forward to working with you Mr Malfoy.” She said, pushing the door open.Draco scoffed."Looking forward to it... like I have a choice in the matter." He muttered under his breath.
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2nd May 2003Evelyn sat at her desk, her muggle radio low, the lights dim in her office. It’s late, but she needs to get started on their contract for Malfoy. She pulls out a pen and begins drawing up the terms of their agreement. There’s a soft knock on the door; she checks the time on her watch before answering.“Come in.”The door opened and a man with black hair, eyes of green, framed by black rimmed glasses entered.“Ah Harry, right on time. Take a seat.”Harry Potter takes the seat opposite her desk. He took out a dust cloth from his pocket, removing his spectacles and begins to rub the glass panels clean. He looks down focusing on the task at hand before speaking.“How did it go today?”“I think it went well, he’s agreed at least.”“How does he seem?” Harry asked, still looking down.He could easily use magic to clean the glass, but it was like he needed this distraction.“Well, you know him better than I do. He seemed his usual arrogant self. Wanted more money than was offered.”“Hmph, typical.” Harry scoffed. “Did he say anything about her?”“No, I mentioned her name a couple of times, but he didn’t take the bait.”“Hmm, you need to keep dropping her name into conversation with him.”“I know Harry, we’ve discussed this.”“Imply your attraction to him but keep it professional.”“Harry.”Harry looked up from cleaning his glasses.“You’ve briefed me about this extensively. You’ve told me how Malfoy was at Hogwarts, and I have carefully constructed a profile on him. This will work, trust me.”“I do trust you, Evelyn.” Harry pocked the dust cloth and pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “I just know Malfoy; he can’t be trusted. Just keep your wits about you.”“Noted.” Evelyn nods. “Can you sign this off, Harry?” She asked, pushing the Malfoy contract towards him.Harry leaned in to read the contract. “He was okay with the hostel?” He queried.“Not really, but I reminded him of his options.” She sighed.“Very well. “Harry signed the paperwork. “Get it done, let me know the day he will be coming to the office, I need to prepare.”“Will do.”He stood up, looking away and sighed. “It’s five years to the day, can you believe it’s been that long?”Five years since the end of the war, since the end of Voldemort and since Hermione’s death...“I still don’t know what she was doing in the forest...” Harry trailed off.They had managed to capture most of the remaining Death Eaters, but some had fled. Some were still out there.Harry cleared his throat. “Well, goodnight Evelyn and good luck.”“Thank you Harry, good night.”
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3rd May 2003Instead of sending the contract by owl, Evelyn decides to hand deliver it. She owls the warden first thing, to check that it is okay to visit Malfoy again later that day. On receiving his approval, she packs the contract into her briefcase and sets off to Azkaban.Evelyn showed her badge to the wizard at the front desk, who escorted her to the same room as the day before. Inside sat Draco Malfoy, his cuffed wrists atop the table again, cigarette in hand.He puffed a ring of smoke from his cigarette and looked up as she approached, his gaze unreadable."You again." He smirked, rolling his eyes.“Me again. I promised I would send you the paperwork, but decided to hand deliver instead.” Evelyn removed the contract from her briefcase and lay it on the desk. She smirked before placing a muggle pen on top of it and pushing it across the table towards Malfoy.He quirked an eyebrow at the sight of the muggle pen on the contract, a hint of disdain in his expression.He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward and picking up the pen.He held up the contract and read through it, in silence for a few minutes, turning over the pages and pausing every once in a while, to take another drag of his cigarette.“You know, I find it interesting that a pureblood such as yourself would deign to smoke a muggle cigarette.”Draco glanced up from the contract, his lips curving slightly in a mocking smirk."I suppose even a man as pure in blood as myself can find enjoyment in the small vices of life.” He responded sarcastically, before returning to read the contract.“Where do you get them?” Evelyn asked, genuinely curious, she knew muggle cigarettes were not sold in the Azkaban commissary.“My mother may have abandoned me, but she still knows how to care for her son.” He scoffed. “She sends them to me rather ironically.”Evelyn nodded in silence before sitting on the chair opposite Malfoy. She slowly tapped her fingers on the table waiting for him to finish reading and sign the document.His eyes flickered up to her movement, before flickering back down to the paperwork.After several minutes of skimming the contract, Draco finally reached the end and looked up at her. He took one last drag from the cigarette before stubbing it out at the bottom of the contract. He then picked up the pen and carefully signed the contract, his signature elegant and precise. He slid the paperwork across the table to her, interlocking his fingers and leaning back in his chair, studying her closely.“Thank you Mr Malfoy. I will start on your release paperwork at once.” Evelyn picked up the paperwork and rose from her chair, turning to leave."One last question, if you don't mind." His voice smooth.“Of course.” She paused in her movement and turned to face him once more."You said I wouldn't be given access to a wand for the first 5 years, correct?" He asked, his tone nonchalant, but a hint of irritation shining through.“Yes, at least 5 years, given your penchant for dark curses.”Draco scowled at the comment, his expression becoming one of irritation."And how exactly am I supposed to defend myself wandlessly?" He retorted, his eyes flashing with annoyance.“You will not need to defend yourself. You will work in the ministry during the day, and you will reside in the Ministry hostel at night. You will not be working in the field.”He scoffed at the word ‘hostel’, clearly irritated. "How reassuring.” He hissed, his tone sarcastic. "And I’m supposed to feel safe in some run-down hostel, completely defenceless and without a wand?"“You will be safe there, Mr Malfoy.”He rolled his eyes and let out a sharp scoff, his expression darkening."And what do you suggest I do if a situation arises that I need to defend myself in this so-called safe hostel?" He asked, his irritation mounting.He really was desperate for a wand, but she was not giving in.“Pray?” Evelyn deadpans.Draco rolled his eyes at her and huffed a humourless laugh. "How original. Pray for my safety. That's very comforting."“Goodbye Mr Malfoy.”Draco lets out a huff of annoyance and leaned back in his seat."Leaving so soon?" He muttered sarcastically, his eyes glued on her as she headed for the door.“Well, I would have thought you’d want me to get started on your release process. But I can stay to chat if you want. Any plans for this evening, anything nice for dinner?” Evelyn asked sarcastically."Oh, yes. My evening plans are simply splendid," Draco retorted sarcastically, his voice dripping with irritation. "Dinner consists of a delightful combination of stale bread and cold gruel, served with a dash of disappointment. Just what I've been waiting for."“Well, do enjoy, Mr Malfoy.” She smirked at him before grasping the door handle."Oh, I will, I will.” He muttered.
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3rd May 2003Evelyn returned to the Ministry, clutching Malfoy’s signed contract. Heading towards the Auror office, she took a detour, turning left into a small corridor. She reached a corner booth, knocked quickly before peering round.Harry looked up at her, gesturing to sit opposite him.“Come sit down, Evelyn. How was Azkaban?”“As delightful as ever.” She replied, taking the seat.“Did he sign?”“Of course.” She held the paperwork out to him, a small burn hole in the bottom right corner visible.Harry raised his eyebrow at her as he eyes the mark.“What did you expect, a kiss?” Evelyn rolled her eyes.“Unlikely.” Harry scoffed taking the paperwork from her. “Did he say anything?”“Not anything worth mentioning.” She shrugged glancing around the booth. “How are you finding your new office?”“I’m not going to lie, it’s a little small and not very private. How did you cope?”Evelyn shrugged again. “Well, it’s not for long, only until – ““Until we know.” Harry cut her off. “Merlin knows how long that will take.”“It can’t be that hard to get him to work with us.”“You don’t know Malfoy.”“Well hopefully, I’ll be able to get to know him a bit more.”“Just be careful, okay? You can’t trust Malfoy.”“I know Harry. How long will it take to get the paperwork signed off? “Evelyn jerked her head at the paperwork.“Once Kingsley signs it, it will be less than a week I imagine. Will you be ready by then?” He added.“Of course.” Evelyn smiled. “Have you got the information through yet?”Harry nodded. “It’s being collated as we speak.
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7th May 2003The signed off paperwork lay on her desk, the release date set for the 10th, a Saturday. Plenty of time to prepare for the Monday.Evelyn picked up a pen and wrote three letters, one to the warden at Azkaban, one to Harry and one to Kingsley, all informing them of the date. She sent them out via owl.Opening a buff file on her desk, she began pulling out photos and studying them. Rifling through the paperwork in the file for detailed analysis.One photo showed a face scrunched up in pain, teeth clenched. Wrinkles around the eyes. Another photo, this time a chest with a crisscrossed pattern in red. She glanced at the analysis; ‘signs of extreme torture. Cause of death: Unconfirmed.’The muggle newspapers had first come to their attention back in March. A serial killer who killed with what appeared to be magical methods. Victims, always muggle were found in their own homes, no signs of forced entry, every door and window locked. The muggle police had not found any clear cause of death. The bodies always had signs of torture. Their faces were always scrunched in pain.Kingsley Shacklebolt had reached out to the muggle Prime Minister, informing him that these deaths were magical related. The auror office was subsequently given access to their records in April.This was when Harry had had an idea, and that idea would involve Draco Malfoy.Malfoy had never confessed as to why he killed Hermione Granger in cold blood at the end of the second wizarding war. He’d been arrested the same day, standing over her dead body.In the following weeks, He’d been questioned extensively, but he flat out refused to even confess that he had attributed to her death. The evidence against him was irrefutable. The hand marks on her neck matched his. He had done it, but he had never admitted it.Harry, of course became heavily involved in the trial, Hermione being his best friend, his companion throughout the war.Hermione had last been seen in the courtyard when Hagrid had carried Harry’s supposedly dead body to Hogwarts. Then she had disappeared, her body discovered hours later in the forbidden forest.Nobody knew why she had gone there.The Wizengamot initially wanted Malfoy to receive the Dementor’s Kiss, but Harry had fought against this. Not because he felt that Malfoy did not deserve this, but because he didn’t deserve to get off so easily. Harry needed to know why he had done it.Harry visited Malfoy for several months, demanding to know the reason and each time Malfoy had refused to even acknowledge that she was dead.Eventually Harry had stopped visiting and began to move on.However, these new murders had reignited something in him.
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Saturday 10th May 2003Evelyn collected some muggle clothes, dark grey trousers and a couple of short sleeved white shirts. A pair of semi smart black shoes and a dark grey suit jacket. Malfoy was definitely the type to wear suits rather than jeans and whilst giving jeans may have been slightly mocking for the pureblood git, she needed to gain his trust.She apparated to Azkaban, flashed her badge and walked straight to the holding cells where she knew Malfoy would be waiting for her.He’s already clad in dark trousers and a black turtleneck that highlighted the sharp features of his face. He stood quietly in the middle of the cell, his posture the definition of pureblood aristocracy. His hands cuffed low in front, his expression clearly bored.But there’s something different, something changed in his demeanour. She can’t quite put her finger on it. Obviously, he would be pleased to be leaving Azkaban, but there seemed to be more to it than just that.She approached him, just stopping short, as his gaze moved to her.“Hello Mr Malfoy and how are you today?” She asked, pleasantly.Draco scoffed."Oh, I'm just splendid.” He declared. "Never been better. You?"“Quite well, thanks.” She smiled. “I have your release papers here. You will be released into my custody, but we need to go through some things first.”Draco quirked an eyebrow, looking at her sceptically."Like what?" He asked, annoyed. "What are these extra things that I need to go through?"“As previously advised, you will not be given a wand, but as wand-less magic is still an option you will be fitted with an implant to prevent this.”Draco's eyes narrowed at the mention of the implant, his expression hardening."An implant? This wasn’t in the contract.”“It has since been deemed necessary.” She explained, without providing additional information.”“And what if I refuse?” He glowered.“Then you won’t be released.” Evelyn replied firmly.Draco clenched his jaw, closing his eyes briefly. A moment passed, before he opened his eyes, sighing in defeat.“Fine, do what you need to do.” He grit out.“The implant will be fitted in both wrists, if you can hold your arms out?” She gestured.Draco huffed in irritation but lifted his arms, nonetheless.Evelyn rolled up the sleeve of his turtleneck, revealing his left forearm. She tapped her wand on the inside of his wrist, to place the implant. The skin began to peel away as she inserted the small circular device in between the bones there. She tapped his wrist again and the skin knitted back together. She moved to his other arm.“Your dark mark has begun to fade.” She remarked, looking up at him.Draco glanced down at his exposed forearm, his jaw clenched.The lines of his mark were becoming increasingly obscure, blurring against his pale skin.He was silent, his eyes remained fixed on the fading mark on his arm. He grunted in acknowledgement.“You’re lucky you were only sentenced to life. The Wizengamot demanded you receive the dementor’s kiss.” She returned her gaze to his right arm, ready to insert the implant.Draco’s eyes narrowed.“Lucky, am I?” He spat bitterly. “Spending the rest of my life locked up in Azkaban, like an animal? Receiving the dementor’s kiss would have been a blessing compared to that fate.”“Well lucky for you, you will have some form of life now.” Evelyn rolled down his sleeves, the implants now fitted. “Can I ask you something Mr Malfoy?”“What is it now?” He huffed, exasperatedly.“Why did you hunt down and murder Hermione Granger after the war had ended? That took us all by surprise.” She blurted out her question quickly, waiting for his reaction.Draco clenched his jaw tightly, his expression changing before his face became an emotionless mask. His eyes glazed over, his occlumency shields up.“I’ve said all I’m going to say on that matter.” He grit out, turning to face away from her.“I suppose you have.” She replied, filing away his reaction.Draco glanced back at her, his gaze meeting hers with a hint of defensiveness.“I’m not obligated to disclose my reasons to you, nor anyone else for that matter.” He said, his voice dripping in superiority.He looked down at his now covered arm.“Why does it even matter at this point?” He muttered under his breath.“It was just so unexpected. Voldemort had fallen and instead of coming quietly, you hunted down Miss Granger and murdered her.” She continued, egging him on.Draco’s irritation flared once again, his eyes glinting dangerously.He hissed his voice dripping with coldness. “Is that what you all think? That I just up and killed her on a whim?”Evelyn noted he did not use the word murder, only kill. She wondered if his terminology was relevant.“Didn’t you?” She asked.“This was not in the contract either.” He remarked. “I do not need to admit anything to you on this subject.”His eyes flashed in anger, but she didn’t stop, she needed to push him further.“You didn’t even use magic to kill her. How very muggle of you.” Evelyn quipped.Draco scowled at her comment, irritation written all over his face.“And what’s wrong with resorting to muggle means?” He retorted, angrily.“Unusual for a death eater, don’t you think?” She queried.“You don’t know anything about me.” He snarled.“You strangled her, very personal wouldn’t you say? Takes guts and strength for that.”She observed his reaction to her statement. The emotionless mask long gone, he was breathing heavily, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. He exuded rage.“I imagine she was terrified of you.” She continued, watching him.He struggled with controlling his emotions at this point, his jaw clenching and his eyes going dark with something similar to guilt.A tense silence followed as he seemed reluctant to say more on the topic, his face taut and his shoulders coiled tightly.“What?” Draco suddenly snapped, looking at her with irritation. “Why are you staring at me like that?”“People say you are a monster, but I think there’s more to Miss Granger’s death than meets the eye.”Draco narrowed his eyes. The emotionless mask returning, his eyes glazed over. His stance changed to one of extreme superiority, he held his head high as he spoke.“You’re wrong, she was just an annoying little swot who always irritated me.” He snarled.“I see.” Evelyn responded, noting his reaction.“This was not part of the contract.” He repeated, nonchalantly.“You would have gladly accepted the dementors kiss wouldn’t you?” She queried.Draco snorted softly at your comment, his expression cynical.“What do you think?” He muttered dryly, glaring at her. “Spending the rest of my life alone in Azkaban? I would take death over that in a heartbeat.”“But the Dementor’s kiss isn’t death. You would still be alive.” Evelyn reminded him. “Only your soul would be taken.”He breathed in and out heavily but did not comment.“Well, now you have a second chance at life. Don’t waste it.” She continued.“A second chance? What a joke.” He muttered bitterly. “You think I want a second chance? After everything I’ve done and experienced? No, a second chance is meaningless.”“So, you’d still prefer death?”Draco stared blankly at the wall in silence for several long moments. His emotionless mask back in place. His superior aura returning.His silence providing the answer she sought.“Why’d you sign the contract?”Another long silence, broken only by his breathing.“Desperate measures.” He muttered, his voice a bitter whisper. “I’d rather sign a contract with you all than wallow in Azkaban for the rest of my life. At least with a contract, I have some semblance of freedom.”She didn’t reply, she just watched him continue to breathe heavily, try to reign in his emotions.“So, I’m desperate, is that the answer you want?” He snarled, and she flinched at his sudden rage. “I’m tired of being stuck in the same four walls for years on end, with nothing but dementors to keep me company. I’m tired of having no life, no freedom. So yes, I signed your damn contract.”She blinked furiously, annoyed that she’d flinched. Her face smoothed over impassively.“Come on then, I will walk you past the wards and apparate you to the hostel.”“Finally.” He sighed, his voice laced with bitter resignation. “The sooner the better.”He glanced up at her for a moment in a gesture that seems to be silently saying ‘let’s just get this over with’.“Lead the way then.” He muttered, his voice impatient and cold.Evelyn hooked her hand round his right arm, escorting him through the doors, passing the wizard at the front desk and outside.Draco squinted his eyes in the sudden harsh sunlight, his complexion even more pale from being cooped up inside for so long. He looked almost out of place, his dark clothing and appearance in stark contrast to the bright and warm day.She noted that he looked anxious, scared almost.“Are you okay?” She asked kindly.“Peachy.” He drawled. “After spending time in a cell and with those bloody dementors for years, I’m the goddamn picture of contentment.”She rolled her eyes.“I’m glad to hear you’re the same old sarcastic git.”“Sarcasm is my way of coping with the constant pain of living.” He muttered coldly.“Very well, let’s go.” She tightened the grip on his arm and twisted on the spot apparating to the hostel.
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10th May 2003Draco let out a startled gasp as they were squeezed through the apparition. When their feet hit the ground at their destination, he stumbled. He looked disoriented momentarily, blinking in surprise as he glanced around the unfamiliar surroundings.They found themselves in a narrow side alley, nestled beside a large building that had clearly seen better days. As they made their way to the front, Evelyn observed Draco's expression, his brows knitting together in concentration as he soaked in the details of their surroundings.The building in front of them was a classic example of Victorian or maybe Edwardian style, with its weathered white stone exterior hinting at stories from the past. Its symmetrical main frontage was a striking sight, divided into three distinct sections that drew the eye. The central portion at ground level featured an imposing black arched double door framed by a glass canopy, which was supported by ornate brackets, the space above the door adorned with an intricate stone carving.Rising above the entrance were three expansive arched windows on the first floor, each allowing generous streams of light to filter into the interior, while above these, a trio of evenly spaced oculus windows punctuated the façade. The crowning glory of the building was the elaborate pediment that stretched across the top, its rich detailing serving as a fitting crown for the structure. Atop the pediment perched a charming, small domed structure, its circular window peeking out like an eye surveying the world below. The street was lined with traditional-style lampposts, their warm light casting a nostalgic glow that further enhanced the historic ambience.“You know what this is, don’t you?” She asked as they approached the entrance.The ornate carving above comes into focus—a vivid heraldic coat of arms. The shield is elegantly partitioned into three distinct horizontal sections, each rich in symbolism and colour.The top section is a deep, sturdy brown, where several shimmering gold stars are strategically placed. Prominently featured is an armoured arm, strong and imposing, gripping a gleaming sword.The middle section stands out with its bold black chevron shape, descending in a pointed form.Completing the shield, the bottom section is a pristine white, starkly contrasting the sections above. It showcases three black birds, elegantly arranged, in side profile.Crowning the shield is a striking skull, intricately adorned with elaborate gold decorative elements that curl and swirl around it. Beneath the shield, a beautifully crafted gold banner unfurls, proudly displaying its motto; ‘TOUJOURS PUR’.She lightly tapped her wand against the imposing black doors, the sound echoing through the quiet street. With a soft click, the locks disengaged and the heavy doors creaked open, revealing the entrance hall beyond.“It’s one of the Black ancestral manors,” he said, his gaze drawn upward to the intricate coat of arms emblazoned on the wall, a symbol of a family steeped in history and pureblood etiquette.Evelyn stepped inside, her voice steady as she continued, “Seized by the Ministry after the war and repurposed for official use. This was the best I could secure for you.” She glanced back at him.He looked at her, his expression shifting to one of mild surprise.Yes, Evelyn had reviewed the Ministry hostel and found it to be, quite frankly, a bit of a shithole. She hoped that gifting Malfoy one of his family houses as the hostel may earn her some trust.As they walked through the entrance, they were quickly surrounded by the grandeur of the hall. The black-panelled walls stood tall and imposing, their sheen accentuated by the rich hue of emerald-green marble columns that rose majestically from the floor. Each column was a masterpiece in itself, topped with intricate gold detailing that shimmered softly.The ceiling featured exquisitely detailed mouldings, and in the centre hung a large, elegant chandelier, which cast a warm glow throughout the expansive hall. The floor beneath their feet was a captivating mosaic of polished stone, with geometric patterns.At the far end of the hall, a grand double-width staircase drew attention like a beacon. It gracefully curved outwards, its black marble steps gleaming in the soft light. The staircase met at a central landing before elegantly splitting into two symmetrical flights that ascended to the first floor, both adorned with railings that bore a striking combination of matte black and shimmering gold accents. Flanking the staircase, two open doorways beckoned to the corridors on either side of the building.“You will be safe in here,” Evelyn assured, her voice steady and confident. “Though I would advise against leaving without an escort, if I were you.”Draco scoffed, a derisive roll of his eyes punctuating his words. “Safe, huh?” he mumbled dryly, the corners of his mouth curling into a wry smile. “That’s a laugh. But fine, I’ll stay in here and not wander about like a lost puppy.” He gestured vaguely to the steel cuffs binding his wrists.With a flick of her wand, Evelyn released the cuffs with a soft click. They flew gracefully from his wrists to her outstretched hand, glinting in the dim light of the room.“Thanks,” he muttered, the annoyance in his tone fading slightly.She merely nodded, her expression curious. “Have you been here before?”“Never,” he replied, a hint of intrigue creeping into his voice.“Would you like a tour?” she offered.“Why not? I have time to kill, after all,” he shrugged, a half-smirk playing on his lips.Evelyn raised an eyebrow, amused by his nonchalance, before gesturing toward one of the side corridors.As they walked, the manor revealed a mixture of fading elegance and subdued charm. A petite seating area stood to one side, its plush upholstery inviting, while a compact dining room lined with delicate china beckoned. The kitchen, though quaint, had a hint of modernity, with gleaming silver appliances. The library, once a sanctuary of knowledge, still boasted towering shelves, but now the dusty volumes were sparse, leaving the vast space feeling almost hollow.The grand ballroom, a hive of waltzing couples in its day, had undergone a startling transformation; it was now filled with exercise equipment, a muggle gym encased in the historic environment.As they ascended to the upper floors, the bedrooms, were distinctly smaller yet equipped with en-suite bathrooms.“You’re in room seven. Here is your key.” Evelyn extended her hand, revealing a gleaming brass key.His eyes darted to the key, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he hesitantly reached out and grasped it. “Room seven,” he echoed, committing it to memory. “Got it.”“In regards to food, there are no house elves here. Can you cook without a wand?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.He exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “No,” he replied bitterly.“Do you want me to show you?” Evelyn offered, her tone softening.Surprised, he glanced up at her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and reluctant acceptance.“I can’t let you starve,” she explained, a hint of warmth in her voice. “I won’t be back to collect you until Monday morning.”“Please,” he nodded, albeit reluctantly, his willingness a small concession. The walls of the kitchen are black tiled rectangles with the flooring to match, and the countertops made from hardwood. A few warming sconces illuminated the space, casting soft glows against the cool colours. It held an oven, a hob, and a microwave, all waiting for use.Evelyn walked over to the microwave and gave it a light tap with her fingers. “This is a microwave,” she said with a warm smile. “It uses radiation to cook food super quickly. Trust me, this will be the easiest option for you right now.”“Radiation?” He echoed, sceptically.“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe,” she reassured him, sensing his unease.“Sounds it,” he scoffed, crossing his arms as he surveyed the microwave with distrust.“Most tinned food can be microwaved,” she added, opening a cupboard to reveal its contents. She held up two contrasting tins for him. “Chicken or tomato soup?”“Tomato,” he replied, swiftly.“Now, you can’t just toss the tin into the microwave. The tin is made of metal, and if you did, it would catch fire,” she explained, her voice firm but gentle.“This microwave is sounding safer by the minute...” he muttered under his breath.Ignoring his comment, she pulled open a drawer and extracted a small, shiny metal device. “This is called a tin opener,” she explained, demonstrating as she affixed it to the top of a tin. “You position it like this, close the handles to pierce the metal, and then rotate this part. It will cut through the tin so you can open it. Voilà!”With a practiced flick of her wrist, she opened the tin for him to see.“Then pour the contents into a bowl and put it in the microwave,” she instructed, picking up the tin and scanning the instructions. “It says to heat the soup for three minutes.” She pressed the buttons on the front of the microwave—3, 0, 0—and then pressed the 'start' button.The microwave hummed to life, the inside plate spinning slowly as the bowl danced within. Draco watched, eyes wide, captivated by the mundane muggle technology.“When it’s finished, it’ll beep, and you can open the microwave using the handle. Got it?”He nodded.“Good,” she continued, maintaining her calm outline of instructions. “It’s Saturday today. I will collect you at 8 a.m. on Monday. Are there any last questions?”“I’m sure I’ll find some way to amuse myself until then,” he replied, his tone laced with dry humour.“Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy.”“Um, thanks for showing me how to use the microwave…” he added, a hint of unexpected gratitude slipping through.“You’re welcome.” With a gentle smile, she disapparated, leaving the kitchen filled with the lingering scent of anticipation and the hum of the microwave.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
10th May 2003Draco stood rooted to the ground, his gaze locked on the very spot where Evelyn had just vanished, a whirlwind of thoughts going through his mind. He had finally found a way to escape the overwhelming suffocation of Azkaban, a place that felt more like a haunting nightmare than just a prison of stone walls.No, he was not free; he had simply exchanged one prison for another, chained by his own choices and past mistakes. The absence of dementors lurking in the shadows didn’t change the oppressive weight of his reality. Instead of a dark fortress, his confinement was now a silent torment, gnawing at his soul. The freedom he once dreamed of felt like a distant illusion, forever out of reach. He understood that he could never be truly free because of everything he had done. His actions haunted him, reminding him that redemption was a distant goal he might never achieve.With a bitter snort, he picked up his bowl of lukewarm soup, the scent of its meagre contents barely cutting through the thick fog of his thoughts. He made his way toward the staircase, leading him to his designated room— a place that felt more like a cage than a sanctuary.He ascended the staircase to the first floor, his footsteps echoing against the marble stairs. Upon reaching his room, he fumbled with the old brass key until it turned in the lock, and he pushed the door open. Stepping inside, he was greeted by a stark contrast to the elegance of the entrance hall below. The room was dimly lit, only illuminated by the pale glow of the lamp posts flickering outside the window. The dim light filtered through the thin, grey curtains, casting long, elongated shadows against the stark walls.The room was small and cramped, lacking the charm of his childhood bed chambers. The walls, painted a dreary shade of grey, seemed to absorb any warmth the small space could muster, making it feel even more uninviting. The hardwood floor, worn and cold, echoed softly as he took cautious steps further inside.He took a moment to survey the sombre space, before closing the door behind him, plunging the room into semi-darknessIn one corner, a narrow bed, draped in faded grey covers, leaned against the wall as if it were resigned to its fate. The thin mattress gave little promise of comfort, and the bed's frame looked like it had seen better days. Beside it stood a chest of drawers, their surfaces marred by a layer of dust, topped with a large, ornate mirror.Across from the bed, a squashy, worn chair, its upholstery faded and tired, as if it too had given up hope. A low coffee table, its wood chipped and scarred, rested in front of the window. The starkness of the room weighed heavily on him, a far cry from the comforts this manor should have provided.What was it with everything being fucking grey?! Had they hired a designer who only saw in the black and white? Could they not indulge and give him some semblance of colour?This room felt cold and unyielding; this was still his prison. He had certainly dealt with worse conditions in Azkaban, but that didn’t make this room any more appealing. As he approached the mirror, he gently traced his weary face with a hand, feeling the tension in his jaw and noticing how the shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen in the dim light. The toll of his years was unmistakable, reflected in his pale skin and the exhaustion that seemed etched into every line of his features. It was a painful reminder of what he had faced.He opened the drawers with curiosity, discovering them to be filled with an array of shirts, both long and short-sleeved, in various muted tones. Among them were a couple of jumpers and some trousers, simple but comforting. The bottom drawer contained cotton pyjamas, a far cry from the luxurious silk he once preferred in his younger years.Moving to the window, he settled into the chair. It felt hard and rough against him, the seat cushion, lumpy. As he sipped the soup, a gentle warmth enveloped him, beginning to push back the lingering chill of Azkaban that clung to his bones like a shadow.After finishing the last of the soup, he left the empty bowl on the table and made his way to the bed. As he sat down, it creaked under his weight, the sheets rustling softly around him. He watched the trees sway outside, their movements casting long, gentle shadows across the floor, a reminder of the world beyond his confinement. Letting out a small sigh, he felt the weight of exhaustion settle over him like a heavy blanket, pulling his shoulders down.As he reclined on the bed, he felt the dull ache of the unforgiving thin mattress beneath him. The fabric sagged slightly in the centre, offering little support, as the rough texture pressed uncomfortably against his back, making it difficult to relax fully. He closed his eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but the shadows of the trees outside danced across his lids, conjuring memories he wished to forget. Thoughts of Granger’s lifeless eyes surfaced unbidden, and he quickly invoked his occlumency shields, fervently trying to banish the painful recollection.With a frustrated huff, he rolled onto his side, desperate to escape the memories that clung to him. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, Granger’s pale face and haunting gaze remained etched in his mind. As he finally succumbed to the exhaustion that enveloped him, he slid into a restless sleep.
Dead leaves crunch under his feet, small stones ricochet across the forest floor, an owl screeches in the distance. Sun rays filter through the dark canopy overhead. A twig snaps nearby.
He jolted awake, his heart racing as the remnants of a dream slipped away into the shadows of the night. For a moment, he wasn’t sure why he woke, until a familiar, gnawing hunger surfaced. It was still dark, too soon for breakfast. A soft smile crept across his lips as he reached into the back pocket of his trousers, fingers brushing against the crumpled packet of cigarettes. He tugged out the packet and taking one out, lit it with the muggle lighter, hidden inside. The flame flickered to life, casting a warm glow in the darkness as he brought the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled deeply, the acrid smoke filling his lungs, wrapping around him like a comfortably. With each exhale, the sharp pangs of hunger began to fade, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread through his body.He turned the cigarette over in his lithe fingers, savouring the simple pleasure it brought him. In a world where everything felt heavy, smoking became one of his few escapes. The nicotine coursed through his veins, grounding him in a way that nothing else could, almost as if it infused him with a fragment of life.A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, amused by the thought that these small, unassuming sticks had shielded him from the penetrating chill of the dementors' grasp. It was ironic, really; a tool of his addiction turned ally against the oppressive shadows that sought to drain the light from him.As the last tendrils of smoke curled into the air, swirling away into nothingness, he stubbed out the cigarette with a sense of finality. Pulling the bedcovers tightly around him, he surrendered to the depths of sleep once more. In the comforting embrace of the night, he floated into a dreamless slumber, a brief respite from the struggles that awaited him at dawn.
~~~
He awoke suddenly, drenched in sweat, the sticky strands of his hair clinging to his face. With a sigh, he tossed aside the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, grateful for the coolness of the floor underfoot. But the heat still clung to him, so he made his way to the window, opened it wide, and welcomed the fresh, cool air. It was a bittersweet moment; he recalled the days when he relished the warmth and cosiness of his bed. Now, after experiencing the frigid atmosphere of his previous home, the comfort of warmth felt foreign to him—almost out of reach. It was clear he had adapted to a new way of feeling, and the struggle to find solace in warmth lingered in the air.He finally succumbed to hunger and headed downstairs to the kitchen for something to eat. He looked around the desolate kitchen; this place was definitely not the type to serve warm pastries with butter and jam. He searched cupboards until he found a tall, cold metal one with various foodstuffs on the shelves. Among the items, he spotted a bottle of deep orange pumpkin juice. Pouring it into a glass, he drank it eagerly, a wave of nostalgia washed over him, bringing memories of better times spent in the great hall at Hogwarts during Halloween alongside his housemates.His eyes brightened at the sight of an egg box. Dippy eggs with soldiers would make for a delightful breakfast, he thought. He licked his lips at the prospect and selected three eggs, placing them on a plate ready for the microwave. Though no cooking instructions were provided, he felt confident; three eggs for three minutes should work fine. He set the timer and pressed start.Looking for some bread to accompany his meal, he opened the cupboard where Evelyn had retrieved the tinned soup the previous night. As he browsed the tins, curiosity piqued when he picked up a turquoise can.What in Salazar’s name were baked beans?!But before he could ponder further, a sudden loud bang jolted him. He jumped and spun around just as the microwave door burst open, eggs exploding and spraying yolk across the kitchen and all over Draco's face.He sighed and wiped his face with his hand, yolk dripping from his hair. He turned back to the cupboard, pulled out another tin of tomato soup, opening it with the special device. He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and began to eat it cold, straight from the can.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
11th May 2003Draco gazed at his reflection in the mirror, seeing a face he hadn’t truly recognised in ages. His hair had grown longer, and the once vibrant white blonde faded. His eyes were weary, reflecting deeper fatigue, and his face showed the marks of exhaustion.She wouldn’t like him this way.He ran hot water in the basin and washed the sticky yolk from his hair. His wet hair slicks back, almost like he used to wear it when he was younger. Salazar, how he wished he could go back to those days. He hated them then, but they were much easier than the present.She wouldn’t like him this way.He felt worn out, sort of stretched like butter scraped over too much bread.He was a shadow of his former self. A ghost. An echo.The stubble on his chin was getting too long for his liking, making the skin there raw and itchy. In the good old days, he would just use his wand to make these adjustments. Now, Draco couldn’t even be trusted with wandless magic.He missed his wand; it was like he had lost a part of himself. Well, he had, hadn’t he?She wouldn’t like him this way.He tugged at the soft fabric of his turtleneck, pulling it over his head. He undid the top few buttons of his shirt, liberating the collar, wincing slightly as he caught sight of his prison number tattooed on his neck. His once taut and muscular body had succumbed to time and neglect; now, shadows of bone peeked through his skin's delicate, thin layer, a haunting reminder of the life that had long since faded.His gaze travelled down to the scars that marred his chest, remnants of Potter’s sectumsempra curse, a vivid reminder of pain and survival. He pulled the shirt down his arms, revealing the mark that had been branded upon him. It was slowly fading, the stark outline diminishing with each passing day, threatening to vanish entirely. Soon, he thought it would be too late to remember its significance.He splashed cool water onto his face, the refreshing droplets awakening his senses. Turning on the shower, he let the steam rise and envelop him, a comforting blanket that beckoned to him. As he stepped under the cascading warm water, it quickly became too much; the heat felt almost searing against his skin. With a gasp, he jumped out, escaping the embrace of the relentless warmth before it could consume him entirely.He towelled off hastily, wrapping the fabric around his midsection as he rifled through the chest of drawers for a change of clothes. Fresh garments slipped over his skin, giving him a sense of normalcy. Once dressed, he left the confines of his room, stepping into the corridor of the manor. The absence of clocks left him disoriented; without the passage of time to guide him, he felt adrift. Yet the light filtering through the tall, dust-laden windows suggested it was mid-afternoon, hinting that he still had a few hours to fill before the day slipped into the night.There had been a library downstairs; perhaps there was something he could read to pass the time? The library still held some of its former grandeur, but not much. A pair of teal velvet wingback armchairs and a chaise lounge stood in front of large double-storey arched windows, which let in ample natural light for reading. Shelves from to the ceiling lined the walls. It was evident from the vacant shelves that many original books and first editions from this once-great library had been confiscated. So few remained, and barely any caught his interest; bored, he grabbed a book at random for later.He left the library and entered the repurposed ballroom. The once beautiful dance floor had a navy blue ceiling with golden stars dotted in outlined constellations, in a penchant for the Black family traditions. There was also a skylight that Draco imagined would show the actual stars and constellations for an elegant event at night. Golden arched columns lined the blue walls, and beautiful gold fountains shaped like certain constellation animals were in each of the room's four corners. Several large arched windows and three candelabras lit the room, as did a regal-looking gold and black fireplace. There were marks on the wall above the mantel that looked like something had previously been displayed there until recently.But strange metallic equipment has sullied the golden mosaic flooring. What the hell was it? Some kind of flat base with a podium on one end? And massive metal discs that were too heavy to lift without magic. This had once been one of his mother’s ancestral manors, a place steeped in history and family legacy. He felt a longing, having never visited any of the manors on the Black side of the family. This was the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a symbol of heritage, now turned into a prize for the ministry—a bittersweet reminder of what once was.From the desolate corridors and empty kitchen, he concluded he was the only one staying there. When he initially asked about other Malfoy properties, she refused him. He wondered what he had done to deserve this manor. Was it his safety? He wasn’t precisely a heralded saviour like Potter. For Salazar’s sake, he killed the only person that the entirety of the good side of the wizarding war had loved.She’d told him to stay inside, hadn’t she? To avoid leaving without an escort. Was he really in danger that much? And what would anyone actually do to him if he was? He felt like going out just for the thrill, but a million wards were probably preventing him.He walked to the entrance hall and pulled firmly on the door to the outside world. It opened. He stepped outside. He could. He breathed in the warm air; it was only lightly raining, the gentle pitter-patter of water bouncing on the glass awning above him. He couldn’t make his legs move beyond his initial foray outside. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt dizzy. He was going to collapse. He slipped back into the entrance hall, closing the door, before leaning against the wall, breathing heavily and shaking. He slid down the wall into a seated position on the marble floor, drawing his legs to his chest with his arms and resting his forehead on his knees.Salazar, he really was broken, wasn’t he?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
11th May 2003 “Who’s in the office tomorrow?” Harry asked, reclining in his chair, his brow slightly furrowed as he studied Evelyn.“Tyler, Matthews, and Parkinson will be here,” Evelyn recollected, her gaze flickering momentarily to the chaos of documents, her hands busily organising them.“How has Pansy been these days?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern.Evelyn hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts before answering. “She’s doing alright, all things considered,” she said, managing a reassuring smile.Leaning forward, Harry's tone shifted to one of earnest seriousness. “Just keep an eye on her when she’s around Malfoy, alright? I don’t want any unnecessary drama to unfold between them.”Evelyn nodded. “Harry, I get your concerns. You’re focused on Pansy’s vulnerabilities, but I see something else—her unparalleled confidence and sharp wit. She’ll manage it just fine.”Harry nodded, though a thoughtful frown remained etched on his face. “Is everything ready for tomorrow?”She straightened, flicking through her paperwork. “Archives has sent over the suspect profile, and I’ve thoroughly reviewed it.”Crossing his arms, Harry’s gaze hardened, filled with intensity. “Do you think he’ll take the bait?”Evelyn shrugged lightly, contemplating her answer. “I can’t say for sure. He’s incredibly difficult to read.”Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “He always was.”“And he’s still quite skilled at his Occlumency,” she added, raising an eyebrow.“After all this time?” Harry asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.“Yep,” she confirmed, meeting his gaze. “Still as strong as ever, considering everything.”“Damn,” Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, a habitual gesture of his frustration. “Well, we better hope he lets something slip, or all this preparation will have been for nothing. What time will he be arriving at the office?”“I’m picking him up from the hostel at 8 a.m,” Evelyn said briskly.He nodded again, but his mind wandered to a different subject. “I still can’t believe you decided to give him the manor.”Evelyn shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Harry. Sometimes, a bit of generosity can yield the most unexpected outcomes.”Harry raised an eyebrow, piqued but cautious. “Do you genuinely think we've prepared enough?”Her expression grew serious, a firm resoluteness settling in her features. “I do, but we all need to pull together. There’s absolutely no room for mistakes in this.”“Alright then,” Harry said, a spark of determination brightening his voice. “I’ll come to see you tomorrow around 10 a.m. Let’s keep our fingers crossed for the best.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Evelyn became aware of Draco's demeanour as she guided him through the bustling crowd. His shoulders were rigid, his gaze darting about frantically as if he anticipated an unseen threat looming. He’s visibly anxious, she thought, observing the subtle tension in his posture and the way he fidgeted with the handcuffs around his wrists - a stark contrast to the charismatic confidence he had displayed when they first met.As they navigated the sea of bustling witches and wizards, they passed a vendor hawking the latest copies of the Daily Prophet. “Dark Mark spotted! What the DMLE is keeping from you.” a haunting, moving image flickered - a skull with a serpent slithering from its mouth, looming ominously over a shadowy bungalow. Evelyn’s head tilted instinctively, curiosity piqued. Had the Prophet finally latched onto the story?Draco’s voice broke through her thoughts, his voice low and rushed. “I thought we’d apparate straight to your office.”The slight tremor in his voice hinted at the turmoil within, making it clear that he was struggling to maintain composure in an overwhelming situation.“Not on your first day.” She replied tersely.He exhaled sharply, a huff of annoyance escaping him. “So, I’m being paraded through the bloody Ministry like some kind of show pony, eh?”A flicker of understanding passed between them, and finally, he grasped the situation.“Exactly,” she affirmed, guiding him swiftly past rows of fireplaces, each bursting into emerald flames as various witches and wizards emerged for another day of work. The air was thick with the mingled scents of old parchment and vibrant magical energy, grounding her as she plunged into the depths of the Ministry.Draco let out a weary sigh. “Oh, joy,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm, “This is going to be so much fun.”He shifts awkwardly, clearly unsettled by the curious glances and whispers from those around him as they start to recognise him. He trudges forward, each step heavy with reluctance. His shoulders are tense, his hands tightly balled into fists. His sharp and resolute gaze remains fixed ahead as he manoeuvres through the sea of unwelcome stares that linger on him.Evelyn leads him to a polished marble desk that catches the light from the delicate, twinkling lamps above. Seated behind the desk is a weathered security wizard, his lined face a testament to years of vigilance and experience. His sharp, probing eyes narrow in recognition as he looks up from his parchment-strewn workspace, taking in Draco with caution.“Visiting?” The wizard enquired, his sharp gaze examining Draco like an undesirable specimen under a magnifying glass.“This one has clearance from me,” she replied, her voice steady as she gently tugged at Draco’s arm, stressing their connection.“This one?” the wizard muttered under his breath. “He has clearance?”“For a time,” she clarified, her demeanour calm but assertive, determined to stand her ground against the wizard's doubt.The wizard’s glare intensified, lingering on the handcuffs encircling Draco's wrists.“Why don’t you take a damn photo? It’ll last longer,” Draco drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, an attempt to mask his discomfort with bravado.Evelyn suppressed a laugh, her lips twitching in amusement at his defiance.“Mr Malfoy will be assisting the Auror office with our investigations, isn’t that right?” she declared, gazing at Draco, her eyes searching for affirmation.He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ll be... assisting the Aurors with their damn investigations,” he muttered through gritted teeth.The wizard’s eyes narrowed further, clearly unconvinced.“Is there a problem here?” she enquired, her voice steady and unyielding as she perceived the tension mounting in the air around them. Her keen instincts told her that the situation was spiralling out of control. “You should have already received our request regarding his access-”“And he is to have full access to the Ministry?” the wizard interjected sharply.“Only to the Auror office,” she clarified, her tone strained as she fought to maintain her composure. “I will be supervising him at all other times.”Despite her efforts to appear unfazed, she caught a fleeting glimpse of amusement in Draco’s expression - his lip twitched upward in a barely restrained smirk for just a moment before he composed himself again.The wizard's eyes momentarily darted between Draco and Evelyn, searching for any hint of deception.“The Auror office, you say? And you’ll be accompanying him, correct?” he queried, his gaze momentarily flicking back to her with a hint of suspicion.This wizard was an utter fool.“That’s right,” she asserted with confidence. “Mr Malfoy will be under supervision as the head Auror.” Her tone was firm, emphasising her authority.“Very well,” the wizard finally acquiesced, a reluctant nod accompanying his words as he moved to gather the necessary visitor paperwork.A queue was steadily forming behind them, and more onlookers began to notice her striking white-blonde-haired companion. The air was thick with whispered speculation and curious glances, punctuating the tense atmosphere surrounding them.“Will the restraints be kept on?” the wizard enquired.“Mr Malfoy is a convicted Death Eater and murderer; the restraints will be kept on,” she replied, her voice steady yet laced with an underlying tension. “I’m sure he’ll be on his best behaviour, right?” She turned her gaze back towards Draco again, her expression a mix of challenge and expectation, daring him to respond with even a hint of defiance.He scoffs faintly at her words, his expression hardening slightly.“Yes, absolutely,” Draco mutters sarcastically. “I can’t be trusted, after all. I might go on a crazed rampage and murder everyone at the Ministry any minute now.”The wizard gives him another wary glance, clearly not amused by Draco’s sarcastic response."And for how long will Mr Malfoy be... assisting the Aurors?" the wizard enquired."Until further notice," she replied with an exasperated sigh, her patience waning.The wizard gave a low huff, his displeasure evident as he pressed on. "Until further notice?" he repeated. "How long is... 'further notice' supposed to be?"Oh, for crying out loud, she thought, her frustration mounting.The queue behind them had begun to stir restlessly, the air thickening with whispers and inquisitive stares directed at her and Draco, who stood silently beside her, his posture tense."Until I say otherwise," she shot back, her tone brisk and resolute.The wizard's expression shifted, the corners of his mouth twitching as he struggled to mask his irritation at the ambiguous reply. It was clear he was not pleased with being left in the dark.“And what guarantee do we have that Mr Malfoy will not... revert to his old ways?” he questions, his voice edged with scepticism, the tension in his posture evident.She felt her irritation simmering just below the surface; he was starting to get under her skin.“Mr Malfoy has been stripped of his wand and all wandless magical capabilities,” she replied, her tone firm as she emphasised the gravity of the situation.The wizard's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her declaration, a flicker of curiosity igniting in his gaze as if he were reassessing the entire situation.“You’ve effectively neutralised him, then?” he probed.“Effectively, yes. He could still strangle you, though, like he did Miss Granger. Hence the restraints.” She delivered her words with a perfectly straight face, her eyes unblinking and her tone utterly sincere, the weight of her statement heavy in the air.She felt Draco’s arm twitch within hers, a subtle yet unmistakable sign of his agitation. Turning her gaze to his face, she noted the brief flicker of anger that crossed his features, his jaw tightening in unmistakable frustration. Despite the storm brewing behind his glazed eyes, he remained silent, a hesitant barrier shielding his thoughts from the world around them.“Yes, of course,” the wizard muttered.“May we process his visitor paperwork now?” she pressed gently, her voice firm yet encouraging as she sought to ease the tension in the air.The wizard hesitated, his brow furrowing, before he let out a long, resigned sigh. Eventually, he began to sift through the clutter of documents on his desk, reaching for the necessary forms.“Very well,” he muttered, gathering the papers and presenting them to her with an air of obligation. “But let it be clear, he will always be under strict supervision and is not to be left alone for any reason. Is that understood?”Oh, Merlin, this wizard was truly pushing her patience to its limits. Evelyn carefully extracted her wand from its holster, her fingers curling around the smooth, polished wood with urgency. As she tightened her grip, the familiar weight of the wand grounded her, and she took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure.“I understand,” she replied, her voice steady despite the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she waved her wand over the stack of paperwork sprawled across the desk. Instantly, the necessary boxes filled with shimmering ink, each letter forming elegantly as if guided by an unseen hand.The wizard nods. “Good. He stays with you at all times and does not leave the Auror office without your company. And the handcuffs stay on, of course.”“Of course.” She agreedDraco rolled his eyes and yawned loudly, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head from left to right.“Everything is in order.” The wizard glances at Draco for a moment, his voice a hint of warning. “You will keep him under control, Miss Meyer?”“The visitor pass, please.” She extended her hand confidently towards the wizard behind the desk.The wizard hesitated, his eyes flickering over her outstretched palm with apprehension. It was clear that he was grappling with the unusual circumstances, but after a moment, he relented and reluctantly handed over the visitor pass.“Here you are. Just keep a close watch on him, Miss,” he cautioned, his voice low and wary.She pocketed the pass, and with a firm grip, she tugged Draco Malfoy away from the imposing desk and towards the lifts that awaited nearby.“Salazar, I thought I was going to die of old age; you’d think he’s never seen a Death Eater before,” Draco remarked dryly, a hint of amusement in his tone as they walked away.“Not everyone is as skilled at dealing with scum like you,” she teased.“Ouch.” He feigned injury, mockingly placing his hands over his heart, a smirk dancing on his lips.As a handful of people patiently awaited the arrival of the lifts, a collective murmuration filled the air, punctuated by sidelong glances thrown in Draco’s direction. Their whispered comments danced around him, an unspoken ripple of curiosity and unease.Suddenly, with playful exuberance, he shouted, “Boo!” The startled expressions on their faces were a mixture of surprise and mild annoyance, a few even jumping in response to his unexpected outburst.“Merlin, can you not?” she said with exasperation as she closed her eyes, holding a hand over her face.He let out a chuckle, the sound laced with wry amusement, enjoying the minor chaos he had ignited amidst the otherwise mundane wait.An empty lift creaks into view, its metal doors clanging open with a groan as Evelyn swiftly tugs Draco inside. He stands tall and proud, an unmistakable smirk playing on his lips as if relishing every moment of their adventure.“You’re enjoying this,” she observes, arching an eyebrow at his unmistakable air of smugness.“Gotta take it where I can,” he replies, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.As the elevator glides seamlessly from one floor to the next, the doors occasionally part to admit a few new passengers. They enter hesitantly, glancing at Draco with uncertainty, instinctively stepping back as if an invisible barrier surrounded him. Among murmurs and whispers, one voice rises above the others, mentioning the tragic fate of Hermione Granger.Draco’s response is nonchalant; he shrugs off the comment with an effortless confidence. Eventually, the last few occupants of the lift disembark, leaving them alone in the suddenly silent space.“So,” he begins, an almost contemplative expression settling on his features, his silver eyes narrowing slightly as he studies her. “I don’t recall you from Hogwarts.”“As I mentioned, I was a year below you,” she replies,His brow furrows in curiosity as he probes further. “What house were you in?” His voice remains cool and calculated, but his inquiry has an underlying intrigue.Ah, finally, the moment she had anticipated.“What’s your guess?” she teases, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.Draco’s lips twitch faintly at the challenge, his gaze flitting over her features, assessing her as if decoding a complex puzzle.“Hmmm, let me take a shot,” he replies, an amused lilt creeping into his tone. “Ravenclaw, perhaps?”“Nope,” she responds, feigning boredom as the lift doors slide open with a soft thud. She grabs his wrist, leading him along the polished corridor toward the Auror office. As they walk, curious heads turn to glance at him; he strides confidently, a smug expression gracing his face, and a playful twinkle dances in his eyes.As Draco strides confidently through the bustling corridor, the atmosphere fills with tension. Several onlookers whisper and mutter among themselves, their voices barely above a murmur, yet their eyes are loud with judgment.Unfazed, he mocks their disdain, heckling them with a nonchalant smirk that disguises the turmoil beneath his facade - a carefully orchestrated performance intended to deflect their scrutiny. Yet, beneath the bravado lies something more profound.Upon reaching the Aurors office, she ushers him inside, a welcoming haven from the prying eyes and hushed conversations that followed them like shadows. The atmosphere buzzes with energy: Aurors engrossed in their various tasks, the rhythmic scratching of quills against parchment, and muffled discussions.A few Aurors glance up from their work as they enter, their expressions fluctuating between recognition and curiosity at their new guest.Inside the office, however, Draco undergoes a striking transformation. The lively chatter and surrounding urgency wash over him, and his demeanour shifts sharply. He goes quiet, retreating inward, his gaze locked straight ahead, his face taking on an expression of cool detachment.“Head Auror Meyer,” a young wizard said, approaching them. His grip was tight around a stack of official documents, which he clutched closely to his chest as if guarding precious secrets. “Everything seems in order. His wand and wandless magic are still blocked, I assume?”“Don’t worry, Matthews, he’s harmless,” she reassured him, glancing at Draco, his demeanour a mix of defiance and resignation.Matthews nodded slowly, though uncertainty still lingered in his eyes.“Are those for me?” Meyer enquired, gesturing toward the paperwork in his hands.“Yes,” he replied, handing her the papers. “The newest reports have just been received. Potter will want to know he arrived.” He gestured subtly toward Draco.At the mention of Potter, a flicker of irritation crossed Draco’s face, hardening his features momentarily and narrowing his eyes into sharp slits. The young Auror noticed the change, arching an eyebrow in mild surprise.“I’ll be in my office, Matthews,” Evelyn said decisively, brushing past the young Auror with a graceful yet purposeful stride, leading Draco toward her office - a sanctuary from the palpable unease that filled the general office.He strides into her office, and the heavy door thuds shut behind him, effectively muffling the ambient chatter and ringing phones that fill the rest of the workplace. The atmosphere shifts; the lively noise of the outside world fades, replaced by a palpable stillness surrounding them.“I thought you said Potter wasn’t an Auror,” he challenges.“He isn’t,” she replies with a measured calm. “He heads another department.”“You tricked me,” he accuses, his eyes narrowing slightly, betraying a flicker of annoyance.“I did no such thing,” she counters, her tone unwavering. “You asked if he was an Auror, and I simply answered truthfully.”“Another department, hm?” he murmurs, his voice cool and calculating like a predator patiently sizing up its prey. “What exactly does the ‘Golden Boy’ do for a living these days, then?”“He works in Investigations,” she states, her gaze steady, as she moves around a mahogany desk and sits behind it, placing the reports on top of the existing stack. “I know why you fear his name.” she gestures at the empty chair opposite.“Oh, do you? Pray tell,” Draco enquires as he remains standing.“Harry Potter is the only thing that stands between you and the Dementor’s Kiss,” she says matter-of-factly.At this, Draco rolls his eyes, “He hopes I will explain why I killed her. I deserve it. Don’t you think?” He murmurs, but his tone is raspy, as if he's struggling to contain his feelings. “After all I’ve done...”“You never commented on why you killed Granger. You didn’t accept responsibility, even though you were arrested standing over her body with your hand marks around her neck.”Draco glances at Evelyn, his cold grey eyes flickering with anger and shame and then something unreadable.“What does it matter why I did it,” he drawled, his voice low. “She’s dead. I killed her. That’s all anyone needs to know, right? I’m a monster. Blah blah blah….”“That’s still your official answer, is it?”Draco lets out a scoff, a harsh and bitter sound.“Yes, that’s still my official answer,” he mutters, his eyes narrowing. “What else do you expect me to say? That I’m sorry? That I regret it? That I-“He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching tightly and his eyes closing briefly in irritation.“Do you regret it?” she enquires“What does regret matter?” he mutters, his voice cold and hard. “What’s done is done. I can’t undo it. She’s dead by my hands.”His eyes flicker away, avoiding Evelyn’s gaze.“By your hands.” She saysDraco’s jaw clenches again, his expression hardening.“Yes, by my hands,” he repeats, his tone almost resentful, as if he’s angry at himself more than anyone.He let out a small snort, almost a pained scoff. “By my bloody hands.”The office door flung open at that moment, bouncing back against the frame with a bang. Harry Potter stood on the threshold; his unruly black hair fell into his eyes, and the familiar round glasses glinted in the room's soft light. As he stepped inside, a hint of determination flickered in his emerald green eyes, and the air around him charged with suspense.
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Draco's body stills instantly at the sight of Harry, his face becoming cold and guarded in the blink of an eye. He fixes Harry with a wary stare, his eyes sharpening into slits.Harry’s gaze lands on Draco, his expression hostile, his jaw tightening as anger radiates from him. The atmosphere thickens with palpable tension, wrapping around them like a cloak as silence engulfs the room. Both wizards stand rigid, their glares piercing through the stillness, each one bracing for the inevitable clash that seems poised to erupt at any moment.Harry's look flicks momentarily to Evelyn, taking in her tense posture, before he redirects his attention back to Draco, his eyes narrowing as if sizing him up.Everything happened very fast.“You!” Harry yelled, his voice echoing through the room as he lunged at Draco with an uncontrolled force. The chair opposite Evelyn was hurled back violently, colliding with the glass partition of the office. The impact reverberated through the air, sending a spiderweb of cracks dancing across the surface.Harry grabs Draco by the throat, forcing his head back against the glass wall, which begins to splinter at the point of impact.Draco's body tenses abruptly, a flicker of shock flashing across his features before it morphs into a fury-filled, stormy glare. Instead of fighting back or attempting to break free, he remains rigid, an unsettling calmness washing over him as he is thrust against the unforgiving glass.Evelyn had never truly considered Harry to be short, but in this moment, the contrast was striking. Draco towered over him, his eyes glinting with a predatory gleam that sent a shiver down her spine. The menacing intensity of Draco's gaze bore down on Harry, making him appear even smaller in comparison as if he were a fragile flower dwarfed by a great, overbearing tree.“I am still waiting, Malfoy!” Harry shouted. “Why did you kill Hermione?” His eyes blazed angrily.“Harry,” Evelyn called out, her voice tinged with urgency as she stepped forward, her brows knitted in deep concern. She reached out, aiming to rest a comforting hand on his arm, but he flinched and shrugged off her touch.Draco remained silent momentarily, his gaze darting uneasily between Harry and Evelyn, his jaw tight and muscles coiled with tension. He was pressed against the wall, the cold surface digging into his back. “You’re… wasting your breath, Potter,” he finally replied, his voice roughened and strained, a raw rasp that echoed his struggle. The pressure of Harry's grip around his throat made each word more difficult to force out, and the defiance in his eyes wavered as he fought against the choking hold.Harry's fingers tighten around Draco's throat with a firm grip, the pulse of anger and frustration evident in the storm that brews within his darkened gaze. The intensity of the moment hangs in the air, charged and electric, as emotions clash like thunderclouds brewing on the horizon.“You’re a coward, Malfoy. I know you are. We all do. You killed her, and you refuse even to give me a reason why.” He pulls Draco forward and then slams him against the glass again, the splinters spreading to the edges of the glass. “How does it feel to have my hands around your throat?”“Do it, Potter, kill me. You know you want to.” Draco snarls his voice, a low growl that escapes through ragged breaths.“Harry,” Evelyn repeats, slightly louder.Harry grits his teeth, a storm of conflicting emotions raging behind his gaze. Reluctantly, he loosens his grip on Draco’s throat, stepping back with an audible exhale, the tension in his shoulders not yet dissipating.Draco crumples against the cold, unforgiving wall, the clang of the cuffs around his wrists ringing in the still air. His fingers instinctively fly to his neck, where Harry's grip lingered, and he gasps for air, each breath a desperate, shaky inhale. His body trembles violently, a mix of shock and the remnants of adrenaline coursing through him.Harry's hand hovers, twitching as if yearning to reclaim its previous hold, the instinct to assert control simmering beneath the surface. Yet, with a monumental effort, he restrains himself, conquering an inner battle with himself. Draco’s coughs and gasps start to subside, and he looks up at Harry angrily and defiantly.“Bastard...” he mutters, his voice harsh and raspy, still trying to catch his breath.Harry’s eyes narrow at the insult, but he manages to keep his temper in check, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.Draco looks back at Harry, his face drawn tight, yet there is a hint of something else in his grey eyes besides the anger and hostility. Something that almost looks like regret, but it vanishes almost immediately, his face feigning cool detachment once more.The heavy silence stretches on, nobody daring to break it first. Draco and Harry glare at each other as if in a staring contest.“Did you need me, Harry?” Evelyn's voice pierces through the thick silence.Harry’s gaze whips toward her as though he had been pulled from a deep reverie and had momentarily forgotten she was present.“I understood our guest had arrived,” Harry mumbled through clenched teeth.His eyes keep flickering over to Draco, who had managed to push himself back up to a standing position, now leaning heavily against the wall. The faint rise and fall of his chest indicates he’s still catching his breath.Harry flicks his wand with practised ease to mend the splintered glass, the shards shimmering before they reassemble into a single pane. He then rights the overturned chair with a gentle nudge of his foot and takes a seat directly opposite her.His posture is rigid. Each hand clenches and unclenches on the chair's armrests, the tension evident in the air around them, like a taut bowstring ready to snap.“Do not worry, Harry. The situation is under control.” She reassured him.“I’m worried about what he might do while he’s here,” Harry replied, jerking his head in Draco’s direction.“You know why he’s here,” she continued, her gaze unwavering. “He’s the only Death Eater in captivity who hasn’t succumbed to madness yet. We need him to help us stamp out this new uprising before it spirals out of control.”Harry let out a derisive scoff, his eyes narrowing with distrust as he struggled to mask his unease.“I know exactly why he’s here,” he shot back, bitterness lacing his words. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it. We’re putting our faith in a bloody Death Eater to prevent another war from breaking out.”The disdain in his voice is apparent as he glances back over at Draco, who is watching the exchange silently, his face carefully neutral. Harry looks back at her, his expression slightly calmer.“You can’t trust him. You know that as well as I do,” Harry said, frustration etched across his face. “The very thought of relying on him makes my stomach turn. But, I suppose we have no other choice.” He sighed deeply, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained, you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.” She quoted.“What is that?” Harry asks brow furrowed in confusion“It’s a passage from The Art of War,” she replies, her tone casual. “I think it’s pretty relevant to our situation.” She shrugs.Harry nods slowly; he lets out a small scoff, the sound tinged with defeat. “I suppose you’re right. And he’s the best source of information we’ve got at the moment, even if he is a bloody spineless bastard,” he mutters, in disdain.“Trust me, Harry,” she reassures him, her voice steady, attempting to infuse a measure of confidence into the unsettling atmosphere.After a moment of silence, Harry lets out a long sigh, allowing his shoulders to slump slightly as the weight of the situation dissipates. “I trust you. I always do. But I can't bring myself to trust him,” he admits, his eyes narrowing slightly at the thought.“You don’t need to, Harry. He will be under my supervision,” she responds firmly, her tone leaving little room for doubt.At that moment, Draco snorted derisively from his corner, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as if he found the entire conversation intensely amusing.Harry’s gaze flickers to Draco; the air thickens with unspoken tension as both sides reevaluate their precarious alliance.“If he tries anything, don’t hesitate to stop him. But don’t kill him; I still need him to tell me the truth about Hermione. Understand?”Draco lets out a small scoff at Harry’s threat, his lips twisting into a hint of a mocking smirk. He raises his bound hands with a faint jangle of the cuffs, indicating his limited freedom.“And how exactly am I supposed to escape, Potter, when I’m chained up like a blasted three-headed dog?!” Draco's yelled in frustration.“Slippery snakes like you always find a way,” Harry shot back, his eyes glinting with determination as he fixed a piercing glare on Draco. “I don’t care how restrained you are. You could be trapped in a cage with a ferocious dragon guarding it, and I’d still expect you to find some cunning way out to spite us.”Harry abruptly stood up from the chair, his posture tense as he locked his gaze on Draco, who was slouched against the wall with an air of nonchalance, a faint smirk playing on his lips.“Just… be careful, Evelyn,” he urged, his voice full of concern. “And keep him away from me.”With a final, wary glance at the Draco, Harry shifted his focus back to Evelyn, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll check in later.”Evelyn nodded in response, standing as Harry turned to leave. As the door clicked shut behind him, she redirected her attention to Draco, her mind swirling with thoughts and emotions.“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. “I’m sorry about Harry; I didn’t think he would attack you like that.”He met her gaze, a flicker of surprise glimmering in his stormy eyes, but it quickly morphed into a sly smirk that danced at the corners of his mouth.“I’m made of stronger stuff, Meyer,” he replied, his voice slick with confidence.“Please, take a seat, Mr. Malfoy,” she urged, gesturing towards the vacant chair opposite her.Draco hesitated momentarily as if bracing for some hidden trap. With a reluctant sigh, he pushed himself away from the wall, the soft thud of his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. He strolled over to the chair, his bound hands resting heavily in his lap as he finally settled into the seat. His posture was a combination of defiance and guarded uncertainty.His gaze flickers toward her, those steely grey eyes strikingly cold and impenetrable. However, beneath that calm exterior lies a glimmer of something else - perhaps a flicker of curiosity or an entirely different emotion waiting to be unravelled.“Now you understand why you are here, why it had to be you,” she stated, her tone measured as she settled back into her chair. Her hands rest assertively on the desk's surface, fingers intertwined like the threads of a tightly woven tapestry.Draco’s eyes narrow slightly, but he offers a terse nod, signalling his understanding.“He’s testing me. I am here because…I am a valuable source of information - a resource, if you will. Because you believe I hold the answers you’re seeking,” he muses.“What I am about to share with you must remain strictly confidential. Do you understand?” Her voice lowered, becoming almost a hiss. “Leak even a whisper of this conversation to anyone outside the Auror Office, and I’ll see to it that you find your way back to Azkaban to rot away in despair.”Draco’s expression shifts as her words hang heavy between them. “My lips are sealed,” he replies, a smug smirk flickering at the corners of his mouth.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Evelyn carefully opened the buff file on her desk and began to sift through the assorted paperwork, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Several Muggles have been murdered through distinctly magical means,” she said, casting a serious look at Draco. “The dark mark had been left at each crime scene.”Draco’s gaze fell to the desk as she meticulously placed the various Muggle newspaper clippings in front of him, their headlines screaming of tragedy and fear. She laid out photographs of the victims on the desk between them. Their faces scrunched in pain, eyes tight shut, teeth clenched. Their bodies contorted.The gravity of the situation hung heavily as they both took in the stark reality reflected in the images before them.“Who would dare use the Dark Lord’s mark?” He queried, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the array of still photographs depicting the all-too-familiar mark. He shivered slightly.“Exactly,” she replied, her voice steady. “Voldemort is dead, and the vast majority of his followers are either dead themselves or imprisoned.” “Most... but clearly not all,” he muttered. “But who would dare to bear the Dark Lord’s mark again? Who would possess the courage - or perhaps the sheer stupidity - to use that symbol of terror now?” he furrowed his brow in confusion.“This is our number one suspect,” Evelyn declared, her voice steady as she placed several papers alongside a black and white still photograph on the desk. She slid the documents toward him, eyes focused on his reaction.He leaned forward, and a low chink sounded as he placed his cuffed wrists on the desk, anticipation flickering across his face as he examined the contents. But as he read the top page, his expression shifted to one of incredulity. He raised an eyebrow, glancing up at her with surprise and amusement. “Theodore Nott?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “No,” he replied firmly, pushing the documents back toward her.“‘No?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.“Theo is not a Death Eater,” he asserted, leaning back in his chair. “Where on earth did you get his name from?” His voice grew sharper, revealing the intensity of his conviction.“We have good intelligence - ” she began, determination edging her tone.“Check it again,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through the air with finality. “I promise you, Theo is not your man.”“I can assure you - ” she started again.“Was this a deliberate ploy?” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and suspicion. His brows furrowed as he observed her.Thirty seconds in, he’d already seen this for what it was.“A ploy?” she echoed, fighting to keep her composure.“Yes, a ploy to test my loyalty,” he responded, a playful glint flickering in his eyes as he leaned forward, the metallic clink of his handcuffs echoing. He interlocked his fingers, positioning his chin on them, his elbows firmly planted on the desk's surface. A knowing smirk danced across his lips, confidence radiating from him.“Why would you think that?” she countered, her posture shifting defensively as she crossed her arms.“This profile is exceptionally detailed. Where did you obtain all this information?” he inquired, deftly sidestepping her question.“Archives supply us with the necessary information,” she replied, maintaining her composure as she met his gaze.“Ah, so you have Theo working for you,” he said, a flicker of insight lighting up his features, the puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.What the hell?“Mr. Malfoy - ” she began, but he interrupted her.“Theo is a remarkably intelligent wizard; he crafted this document, didn’t he?” He gestured emphatically at the neatly organised file before him. “It’s clearly designed to serve as some sort of test to determine my loyalty.”Damn, he was more intelligent than they’d given him credit for.“Why would we do something like that?” she asked, impassive.“I don’t know, perhaps because you’re feeling insecure?” he shrugged nonchalantly.She fell silent, her keen eyes scrutinising him."Only Death Eaters can cast the Dark Mark," he stated with unwavering conviction, his voice slicing through the tense silence that enveloped the room. "Theo never accepted the mark, which means he isn’t your man." His tone was firm, leaving no room for doubt."But his father - " she started, attempting to weave a connection."His father is not Theo," Draco interjected coolly, delivering the rebuttal with a finality that effectively silenced any further speculation.“Have you ever cast it?” she asked casually.“No,” Draco replied firmly, his voice leaving no room for further discussion.“And yet you have….” Her voice trailed off, contemplating the mystery that hung unspoken. “There was no mark found above Hermione’s body,” she added thoughtfully, her brow furrowing with confusion.Draco’s eyes widened slightly, and the colour seemed to drain from his face, leaving him looking almost ghostly. His jaw clenched tightly.“That was not for the Dark Lord,” he asserted, his voice low and serious, as he stared at her with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.“Then who was it for?” she pressed.“We are not here for me,” he snapped, barely concealing his rising anger. His glare was sharp enough to send a shiver racing down her spine.“Was Miss Granger special to you?” she ventured again, pushing against the barriers he had erected.His eyes narrowed sharply, a flicker of disdain crossing his features before he let out a small, derisive scoff.“Why the hell would that mudblood be special to me?” he sneered, the venom in his words striking her like a slap.“Language, Mr Malfoy,” she admonished, her voice steady.“Oops, I forgot who I was talking to for a minute there,” he replied, a chuckle escaping him, though it lacked any genuine humour. He raised his chin defiantly. “She was nothing to me,” he emphasised, his tone icy and devoid of warmth, the word ‘nothing’ dripping with contempt.Silence followed as she reviewed his answer.“Can we continue?” he asked abruptly, gesturing to the paperwork scattered on the desk, eager to redirect the conversation.“As you wish,” she replied, her heart heavy with uncertainty as she complied.Draco’s expression settles into a slightly calmer one, though the simmering traces of anger and pent-up tension remain evident in the depths of his grey eyes. He draws in a deep breath as if summoning inner peace, his gaze wandering toward the cluttered desk scattered with paperwork that seems to bear the weight of his thoughts.He appears almost restless, a caged animal trapped in stillness. His feet tap rhythmically against the polished floor, marking his unease, while his shoulders are held rigid as if braced against an unseen pressure. Leaning back in his chair, he tries to find solace, but his cuffed hands remain clenched tightly in his lap, betraying the war of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of something more - a complex blend of excitement and anticipation that dances beneath his carefully maintained exterior. As he narrows his gaze, a spark of contemplation ignites in his expression. He scans the room, his eyes flickering toward Evelyn as if weighing the possibility of trusting her, searching for signs of sincerity in a world that has often let him down."Well, considering your investigation has yielded little value so far, I have a few questions, " he began, arrogance dripping from his tone.She suppressed an eye roll, her patience wearing thin under his condescension.“Go ahead,” she urged, crossing her arms in a show of reluctant interest.“What magical methods?” he pressed, leaning forward slightly, his intensity sharpening.“Unknown at this time. Our assumption is that it’s a modified version of the Cruciatus curse,” she replied calmly.His gaze flicked back to her, intrigued. “You do know who favours that particular spell, don’t you?” he queried, a hint of dark understanding flashing in his eyes.“Who?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued. “Dolohov. That evil bastard was a real piece of work, and he had a taste for muggle torture,” he replied with a hint of disdain. “Antonin Dolohov was apprehended during the Battle of Hogwarts,” Evelyn stated matter-of-factly, her expression serious. “Is that so? I never saw him in Azkaban,” he responded, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “Well, he was responsible for some truly heinous crimes, both abroad in his native country and Britain. From what I understand, he was imprisoned there instead,” she elaborated.He nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. “How long have these deaths been occurring?” he asked, his voice steady yet curious.“It's been ongoing for over six months,” she replied. “Determining the exact timeline has proven challenging. The locations are scattered across the entire country, and gathering comprehensive information from the Muggle authorities has been nearly impossible. We only became aware of it a few months ago.”He nodded again, deep in contemplation.“Which house were you in, if not Ravenclaw?” he asked suddenly.His piercing eyes glimmered with a hint of curiosity, and his expression softened ever so slightly. He leaned back in his chair, the tension in his posture easing as a playful demeanour crept onto his features.“Are you trying to unravel my mystery, Mr. Malfoy?” she retorted, arching an eyebrow playfully.Draco’s lips tugged into a sly smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he replied, his tone laced with mischief. “You’ve been probing me with questions this whole time. Maybe it’s time for me to turn the tables and ask you a few.”“Go ahead, but I can’t guarantee my answers will be what you’re hoping for,” she replied, a challenge sparkling in her gaze.His smirk widened. “So, which house did you belong to?” he ventured, his tone nonchalantly curious.The amusement lingered on his lips as if he revelled in their game.“I was in Gryffindor,” she replied earnestly.“Figures,” he muttered under his breath, the smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth as if he had expected nothing less.“Cigarette?” she offered, her voice teasing as she held out the packet she’d bought before collecting him that morning.Draco’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He glanced down at the cigarettes protruding from the pack.“Trying to win me over with a cigarette, are we?” he replied, smirking, the corners of his lips curving up in an almost playful challenge.“I know you can’t resist,” she countered, waving the packet in front of him.Draco let out a soft scoff, almost mocking, as he feigned offence. Yet the smirk lingering on his lips revealed the truth. He reached out, fingers brushing the cigarette gracefully as his cuffs jingled softly.“You’re right. I can’t resist,” he murmured, an air of cheeky mischief threading through his voice. “Got a light?”He held the cigarette out toward Evelyn, and she responded promptly, her wand flickering to life. A gentle spark ignited the tip, lighting the end with a warm glow.“Cheers,” he nodded in gratitude, taking a slow drag as the smoke curled upwards.He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself a brief escape from the world around him. His body slumps comfortably into the chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as if an invisible weight had been gently lifted. A deep sigh of satisfaction escapes his lips, a soft release that seems to echo in the room's stillness.He raises the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply, savouring the rich, familiar taste. As he exhales, wisps of smoke spiral upward, curling into the air like delicate tendrils of memory, dissipating into nothingness. In that quiet moment, he appears utterly at peace, a serene expression etched across his face as if he has found a momentary refuge from the chaos of life.“It’s bad for your health, you know?” she interjects softly.He opens his eyes slightly, narrowing them as he tilts his head, the faint glow of the ember reflecting in his gaze. He continues to smoke, the cigarette dangling from his fingers like a silent rebellion against her words.The cigarette's tip glows faintly with each drag he takes, a small trail of smoke following each exhalation.“It’s not like I have anything to live for,” he said with a casual shrug, his indifference evident.Draco brought the cigarette to his lips once more, inhaling deeply, allowing the acrid smoke to fill his lungs. As he leaned back in the chair, it creaked softly under his weight, and he let the tendrils of smoke escape. His head tilted back slightly, exposing the elegant curve of his neck for a fleeting moment, his prison tattoo glinting in the light.He took another long drag, letting the smoke billow out slowly, savouring the silence between them like a charged atmosphere. “Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this, hm?” he murmured, his voice low and almost sultry, laced with a hint of mischief as a sly smirk danced on his lips.“Enjoying what?” she asked, confused, as his words hung in the air.Draco let out a small scoff, his expression a blend of amusement and mockery as if he found their exchange both thrilling and utterly predictable. “All of this. The questions, the tension, the conversation,” he muttered, his tone dripping with suggestion, each word artfully chosen to tease the edge of curiosity and desire.He took another deep drag on the cigarette, the faint glow of the ember illuminating his features as he exhaled slowly, a stream of smoke twisting into the air. His lips curled into a half-smirk, a playful challenge lingering in his expression.“You had a crush on me, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone dripping with smugness as he studied her intently, his silver eyes glinting with mischief.She rolled her eyes in response, the epitome of annoyance - typical Slytherin behaviour - always so self-assured, so infuriatingly confident.His words danced on the edge of teasing and mockery, each syllable crafted to provoke as if he derived some twisted pleasure from getting under her skin. Which, come to think of it, he probably did.“Is that what you want me to say?” she scoffed, crossing her arms defensively, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface.Draco let out another scoff, but this time, a flicker of irritation flared in his eyes, momentarily disrupting his cool facade. He took another drag from the cigarette, allowing the smoke to linger around him as if it could shield him from her piercing gaze. It was almost as if he was buying himself a moment, searching for just the right response to maintain his dominion in this exchange.“I want to know,” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice low and almost conspiratorial, “if you genuinely liked me or were just another one of my countless fangirls.”“A Death Eater has fangirls now?” she shot back, incredulity lacing her voice as she arched an eyebrow at his audacity.The banter was sharp, each word a careful strike in a battle of wits, neither willing to back down.Draco couldn't suppress a derisive scoff at her question, his expression dripping with condescension. His lips twisted into a mocking sneer as he replied, “Of course I had fangirls. You’d be surprised how many witches out there have absolutely dreadful taste.” His gaze narrowed, teasingly sharp. “I imagine you were one of them,” he muttered, the words laced with playful taunt.“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, an eyebrow raised, challenging his bravado.His scoff returned, more pronounced this time, and the half-smirk etched on his lips suggested he found her response more amusing than offensive. “Perhaps I would, precious,” he said, the word dripping with insincerity and allure, his voice laced with a suggestive undertone that lingered in the air like the smoke he exhaled.As their eyes locked, a charged tension hung between them, his gaze daring her to respond, to engage further in this verbal dance. He took another slow, deliberate drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as he exhaled a cloud of smoke that intertwined with the atmosphere, framing him in a haze of nonchalance. The smirk never left his face, a cocky challenge lingering in his expression.She held her ground, unwavering, refusing to take the bait and fight back against his teasing charm.He reclines into the chair, an air of relaxed indifference wrapping around him like a well-worn cloak. Yet, she notes the tautness beneath the surface - a telling sign of a man revelling in the thrill of their verbal dance, savouring the sweet pleasure of wielding control in their exchange.His voice, low and almost sultry, slips through the air as he murmurs, “Or maybe I’m just amused by how you respond to me, sweetheart.” The words hang between them, thick with tension.With deliberate grace, he returns the cigarette to his lips, fingers brushing lightly against the burning tip, a slow caress that speaks of his confidence. He takes a long drag, savouring the moment, letting the smoke swirl around them to deepen the magnetic atmosphere. He allows the silence to stretch, giving her time to digest his taunt, stoking the simmering undercurrent of their interaction.“Sweetheart? Precious?” she retorts in disbelief.Instantly, Draco's lips curl into that signature half-smirk, a gleam of mischief igniting in his eyes. He leans forward slightly, relishing her reaction. “What’s the matter? Don’t like the pet name?” His words flow with a mocking edge, a teasing undertone woven through a fabric of charm that keeps her on her toes.He shifts in the chair, the subtle sound of his cuffs jingling as he leans forward slightly. With a swift motion, he snuffs out the smouldering cigarette against the edge of the polished mahogany desk, the acrid scent mingling with the faint aroma of old files. His eyes, glinting with a spark of mischief, betray a playful defiance.“Mr. Malfoy,” she begins, her tone firm but even. “May I remind you that you are on probation, and I am your designated keeper?”Draco scoffs softly, an almost imperceptible smirk curling at the corners of his lips as if he takes offence at the reminder of their respective positions. The audacity of her words seems to stoke the embers of his rebellious spirit.“I’m just having a little fun; where's the harm in that, sweetheart?” he says, his voice dripping with casual nonchalance. He runs a hand through his long hair, the gesture lazy yet deliberate, while a half-smirk plays on his lips, hinting at the mischief brewing in his mind.Leaning back in his chair with a provocative ease, he sprawls out as if he owns the space, exuding an almost daring confidence, tempting her to take offence at the endearing nickname he had so casually thrown her way.“Okay, ferret, let’s continue,” she retorts, a playful glint in her eyes.Draco’s expression shifts dramatically; his eyes widen in exaggerated disbelief, and his lips curl into a disdainful sneer. “That’s a low blow,” he mutters, the offence clear in his tone. The playful banter, which once felt light-hearted, suddenly takes on an edge, their verbal sparring turning slightly more serious.His hand instinctively moves to run through his hair again, but he halts the motion, his fingers balling into a tight fist as if grappling with the urge to lash out. He pauses momentarily, taking a deep breath to steady himself against the sting of the previous insult, before his voice emerges again, laced with an edge of sarcasm.“Alright then, sweetheart, let’s proceed,” he drawls, his eyes narrowing slightly with amusement and irritation. “You thought you could test my loyalty by dropping Theo’s name, but that little trick didn’t quite pan out. So, where do we stand now?” A smirk curves his lips, a blend of confidence and mischief. “I mean, I could definitely play along if that's what you want.” He arches an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as he mimics a teasing tone. “Nott was always... captivated by the darker aspects of magic,” he recites playfully, his voice feigning seriousness. “Even as a child, he was buried in tomes filled with forbidden spells and shadowy incantations. He’s a threat, blah blah blah. Enough of that bullshit.”“You’re absolutely right; the Theo card was just a test, and you passed with flying colours,” she said, a warm smile lighting up her face.“And just like that, you manage to lift my spirits,” he replied, his tone playful yet sincere.His gaze drifted towards her, an almost smirk dancing on his lips - though softer, revealing a glimpse of affection.“I don’t have many reasons to smile these days,” he admitted, his voice laced with vulnerability. “But something tells me that in your company, I’ll find plenty of reasons to, especially since you seem to have a knack for brightening my mood.”Evelyn playfully pretended to blush, the faintest hint of pink dusting her cheeks. He let out a small, amused scoff, his eyes sparkling with mischief, catching the soft light around them.“You know I can tell you’re faking that blush,” he said, his voice dripping with an almost teasing mockery. “Come now. As cute as it is to watch you act like a schoolgirl smitten with a crush, we both know you’re not really blushing.”A laugh escaped her lips, light and airy, filling the space between them with sparks of electricity.Draco's lips curled into that familiar half-smirk, a sly and knowing expression dancing across his angular features. He leaned forward in his chair, creaking softly beneath him, his eyes glimmering with an almost ethereal light as they fixated on Evelyn.“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with an almost seductive quality, “the sound of your laughter works wonders on my fractured soul.” There was a softness in his tone, a rare vulnerability that seemed to flicker just beneath the surface.“Can we get back on topic?” she interjected, her finger punctuating the air as it pointed insistently at the scattered paperwork strewn across the desk.Draco’s candour had felt almost illuminating; he had nearly revealed something significant before retreating, clumsily attempting to bury the truth under layers of bravado.With a soft scoff, he dismissed her abrupt shift in focus, the hint of a playful challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he replied, a thin edge of sarcasm lacing his words as his gaze flicked over to the papers, momentarily studying them as if they held the answers to her questions.A sharp knock echoed through the room, cutting through the tension in the air.“Enter,” Evelyn called out loudly, her voice steady and authoritative. “Auror Parkinson, what brings you here?”Draco’s head whipped toward the door, his eyes wide and filled with an unmistakable panic as Pansy stepped into the room. A chill swept over him, and he struggled to regain his composure. The relaxation he had been enjoying dissipated in an instant. He straightened up in the chair, bracing himself for whatever unexpected news or challenge she might deliver.Pansy’s gaze landed on Draco almost instantly, a sly half-smirk creeping across her lips. She took a leisurely step forward, her confidence radiating in the slight arch of her brow. With a playful flick of her wrist, she offered him a small, almost taunting wave, her expression thick with mockery. The atmosphere shifted, crackling with the unspoken tension between them, as Pansy seemed to revel in the discomfort she had just instigated. “Draco, hun, you look terrible!”Draco’s lips pressed into a thin, uncompromising line at the sight of her, his eyes narrowing into slits of irritation and disdain. A derisive snort escaped him, a sound laced with contempt before he delivered his retort, his voice a low growl edged with venom.“And you look utterly dreadful as always, Parks. How in the hell did you manage to claw your way into the ranks of an auror?” he sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.Pansy let out a small scoff, her laughter teetering between amusement and provocation. A half-smirk played on her lips as she executed a small, exaggerated curtsey expertly laced with mockery.“Well, I actually have brains, which, as it seems, is a requirement here - unlike some of your talents,” she quipped, her voice dripping with an ironic sweetness that made her jibe all the more biting.Draco's mouth tightened into a thin line, his teeth gritting together as his piercing gaze narrowed into slits. He looked ready to deliver a sharp retort to Pansy, a cutting remark poised behind his lips, burning to escape.“Head Auror Meyer, I’ve brought the paperwork on Nott that you requested.” With a delicate flick of her wrist, Pansy placed a neatly organised file on the desk, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She then turned her attention to Draco, her voice dripping with a condescending sweetness. “Ciao, darling.” The words lingered in the air as she exited, each one laced with a hint of mockery.Draco’s gaze trailed after her retreating figure, a small scoff escaping him as the door swung shut behind her. “Bloody insufferable girl,” he muttered under his breath, the phrase heavy with disdain and frustration.“And yet, she speaks so highly of you,” Evelyn chimed in, her tone light as she casually swept the paperwork into the bin at the edge of her desk. It was clear that Draco had seen through their little ploy; the tension in the room thickened with unspoken understanding. “You know Pansy Parkinson, then?”“She’s my ex-girlfriend,” he replied, his voice low and almost bitter.“She seems to have fully recovered from that little dalliance of yours,” she remarked, a teasing lilt in her voice.Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his defensive posture made it clear he didn’t appreciate the jab. “I’m sure she’s had her fair share of other ‘dalliances’ after me,” he muttered, his tone laced with bitterness.“She’s married now, did you know?” she continued, her eyes glimmering with curiosity.“I’ve been rather out of the loop these days,” he replied dryly, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “I suppose I should send them flowers. Who’d be foolish enough to marry her?” The words slipped out, almost petty, revealing the sting of his past.“You know him,” she replied enigmatically, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips.“Poor sod,” Draco retorted, shaking his head slightly as if feeling genuine sympathy for the man.“You seem a bit upset that she’s moved on from you,” she noted teasingly. “Another cigarette?”“Upset? Of course, I’m not upset,” he shot back defensively, his voice dropping to a near whisper.He pulled out another cigarette from the crumpled pack, extending it towards her, the unspoken request for her wand to ignite the tip hanging in the air between them.With a flick of her wrist, she ignited the end of the cigarette, the flame dancing softly in the dim light. He inhaled deeply, and a look of relief washed over his face as if the act had momentarily dissipated his irritation.“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice steadier now, laced with a hint of genuine gratitude. “You know me so well.”He took another long drag, letting the smoke wrap around him like a cosy blanket. The tension in his posture seemed to melt away slightly with each inhalation, the thin wisps trailing from his lips indicating a fleeting calmness.He held her gaze momentarily, his eyes flickering from the glowing ember to her face. The corners of his mouth lifted in a sly smirk as he spoke, his tone teasing yet laced with something more profound. “You know,” he said softly, leaning in slightly, “if you keep lighting cigarettes for me, I might just find myself growing more and more addicted to you.”“Looks like you’ll be spending every waking minute with me from now on,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye.“Will I now?” he purred, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent a shiver through the air.Evelyn flicked her wand with a flick of her wrist, and his shackled hands jerked up from his lap, a stark reminder of his confinement. Draco scoffed at the gesture, his smirk unwavering as he glanced at the metal cuffs encircling his wrists. His eyes narrowed momentarily in frustration before he spoke, his voice laced with mockery.“Still intent on keeping me bound, are we?” he muttered, a playful challenge in his tone.“What would you suggest?” she replied, her curiosity piqued despite herself.“Well, I could offer you a few ideas,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “none of them particularly clean.” The words slipped from his lips with an alluring lilt, seductive and daring all at once.Evelyn raised an eyebrow, her expression caught between scepticism and intrigue.Draco’s smirk widened, taking on a distinctly wicked curve as if he revelled in the tension between them. The air crackled with unspoken possibilities, making the moment feel electric.He takes another long drag of the cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the air as he speaks again, his voice dripping with seduction. “Oh, come now, darling. Don’t give me that look,” he murmurs, his tone almost playful, a subtle challenge lingering in the air.With a flick of her wand, the metallic shackles binding his wrists fall away, the sound of clinking chains echoing softly in the dimly lit room. He rubs his wrists, the faintest hint of a smile gracing his lips as the freedom of movement returns to him. Exhaling slowly, he takes another drag of the cigarette, the tension in his posture dissipating as he leans back, utterly relaxed.“You promised that nice security wizard you’d keep me restrained. Naughty, Meyer,” he says, wagging his index finger playfully from side to side, his eyes glinting with mischief.“I don’t think you’ll be any trouble,” she replies calmly, her gaze steady and unfaltering. The air between them is thick with an unspoken anticipation.“You know,” he murmurs, his voice a languid caress laced with intrigue, “you’re quite bold to let an ex-death eater like me roam free without any restraints.”“Only in this room,” she replies firmly, her gaze steady, “the wards will prevent you from leaving.”Draco nearly snorts, a teasing glint in his eyes as he raises an eyebrow. “Wards, hm?” he questions, the corners of his mouth twitching as if the very idea amuses him. “You think a few feeble wards will manage to keep me here, sweetheart?”“Without your magic, yes, I genuinely do,” she asserts, her confidence unwavering.The smirk that usually plays on his lips falters briefly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression.“Well, I suppose in this case you are correct,” He mutters, his tone almost reluctant. “But I am curious. Without me bound, what’s to stop me from simply attacking you, physically?” His lips curved into a sly, taunting smirk, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Do you think you’re quick enough?” she asked, her voice laced with boredom, as she casually sifted through the clutter of paperwork sprawled across her desk, the papers rustling softly under her fingers.Draco’s smirk broadened, a flicker of self-assuredness crossing his features as if he relished the challenge. He took another long, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the plume of smoke curling lazily around him, creating an almost languid atmosphere. His tone dripped with smug confidence when he finally spoke, each word floating effortlessly from his lips.“Of course I do,” he mutters with a hint of defiance. “Have you seen how swift I am with a wand? My reflexes are sharp.”“But you don’t have a wand,” she counters, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.“I’m still quick, Meyer,” he insists, a glint of confidence returning to his eyes.“Even after five long years in Azkaban?” she probes, her expression challenging as she crosses her arms, gazing up at him.Draco scoffs at the thought, a dismissive wave of his hand. “Please, as if a mere few years could dull my instincts.” His tone is laced with arrogance, each syllable dripping with self-assured bravado. “Azkaban hasn’t chipped away at my reaction time in the slightest. I remain just as agile, quick enough to take you down if I so desired.”She raises an eyebrow, the challenge hanging in the air between them. “Surprise me.”Draco’s smirk deepens, a shadow flickering across his features as his eyes narrow in response to the challenge, a glimmer of excitement igniting within them. He flicks the ash off his cigarette onto the polished surface of the desk, stubbing it out on the desktop before rising slowly to his full height.“Are you certain you want me to surprise you?” he queries, his voice laced with mischief and anticipation.He begins to circle her desk with predatory grace; his gaze is locked onto her with an almost tangible intensity. Each step is calculated, reflecting the sharp mind that lies beneath his confident exterior. The smirk playing on his lips has shifted, now carrying a taunting edge, a challenge in itself.“Come now,” he growls, the sound a low rumble that sends a thrill through the air.She almost laughs at his sudden shift in demeanour, recognising the layers of defence he employs to mask the true Draco beneath - the man with insecurities hidden behind bravado. His movements are fluid, almost serpentine. The hunger in his expression is palpable as if he’s both the predator and prey in this intricate game they’re playing.“Oh, by the way.” She began casually glancing over a scrap of parchment on her desk. “You remember that implant I put in your wrist? It will send shockwaves through your body like a Cruciatus if you attempt to hurt anyone. Could be quite painful for you. Though you look like the type of guy, who prefers pain over pleasure.” She said, standing up and walking to lean against the wall, fixing him with a teasing stare.Another lie.Draco scowls, his eyes narrowing. He stops circling the desk.“Oh, I see. You added some more restraints to my freedom, hm?” He mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with mockery. With a predatory step closer, he looms over her, a menacing presence that sends a shiver down her spine. His lips curl into a twisted smirk, taunting and confident as if he relishes the power he holds. “And you have the gall to say I’m the type of guy who likes pain more than pleasure?”He steps forward again, reducing their distance until the air seems electrically charged. “I assure you,” he says, his voice laced with a dark allure, “I greatly prefer pleasure to pain. But I’m not averse to administering a touch of pain when it’s deemed necessary.” The words slide off his tongue, almost seductive in their implication.With each deliberate step, he closes in on her, his presence overwhelming, casting a shadow that envelops her entirely. His gaze is a fierce, unyielding force, locking onto hers like a hawk surveying its prey. He stands so close now that she can feel the warmth radiating from his body, his breath brushing softly against her face, warm and tantalising.“Sit down, Malfoy,” she commands, her voice steady despite the tension crackling between them.Draco chuckles, a low, mocking sound as he leans in slightly, his towering figure dwarfing her. “Make me,” he challenges.Her defiant glare holds his piercing gaze, each unyielding stare exchanging a silent battle of wills. The intensity is palpable as if the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of them at this charged moment.“Sit down,” she commands with an unwavering tone, her hand twitching slightly over the handle of her wand, concealed within the holster at her left thigh. “Or we’ll test your implant.”He hesitates, the weight of her words sinking in before walking away and reluctantly lowering himself back into the chair. His eyes remain fixed on her, an intense gaze that betrays little of the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface.Leaning back, he attempts to project an air of nonchalance, but every little shift in his posture reveals his underlying tension.“Well, now that we’ve established some boundaries,” she continues, her voice smooth yet sharp, “would you care for another cigarette?” She offers him a packet accompanied by a muggle lighter.He seems inclined to refuse momentarily, a flicker of defiance flitting across his features. Yet, the urge for a brief escape overcomes him. He accepts the cigarette and lighter, his fingers barely steady as they curl around the thin stick. As he brings it to his lips, he flicks the lighter and gets the flame to catch. The warm glow dances briefly before igniting the tip, filling the air with a crisp, smoky aroma.Cigarettes seem to be his only solace in this chaotic existence. He lifts the cigarette to his lips, taking a long, grateful drag, and closes his eyes momentarily as the smoke spirals upward, wrapping around him like a fleeting embrace."You’re going to kill me with these," he mutters, his voice raspy and worn, a hint of irony lacing his words."Thought you had nothing left to live for?" she replies, eyebrow raised in playful challenge.He glances down at the cigarette, its ember glowing with a fierce intensity, as he inhales again, letting the smoke blur the edges of his reality. He remains silent, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.“Hungry?” she asks, her tone shifting to a more practical note as she watches him.“Hungry, hm?” he responds, the corners of his lips teasingly curling as if the mere thought is both amusing and absurd.“It’s lunchtime,” she states, her voice bright with enthusiasm.“Of course it is,” he mutters, a hint of irritation lacing his tone. He takes another drag of the cigarette, the smoke curling into the air, before turning his gaze back to her. His eyes narrow as they study her expression.“And I assume you expect me to join you for lunch?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth."You got plans with someone else?" she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I can have lunch brought in. What are you in the mood for?”He leans forward slightly, contemplating her offer while keeping the cigarette poised between his fingers. “I suppose I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he replies nonchalantly as if it barely matters to him.Her brow arches inquisitively. “There’s nothing you’ve craved in the past five years that you couldn’t have? Go on, you pick, and I’ll order.”Draco lets out a faint scoff, amusement flickering in his eyes. He leans back in his chair, the cigarette hanging lazily from his lips as he considers her question. “Steak, rare,” he smirks, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a self-satisfied grin, clearly relishing the thought of a perfectly cooked meal.“You would like it bloody,” she remarked, her voice laced with playful sarcasm as she reached for a quill, preparing to summon a food delivery via owl.Draco nearly snorted at her words, an amused grin tugging at the corners of his lips, his expression a teasing mixture of disbelief and admiration. He took another long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as he considered the situation. “What about you?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow while relaxing back into his seat.“Medium rare,” she replied, glancing up at him with an expectant look. “Any drink?”“I suppose a glass of firewhisky,” he said with a nonchalant shrug,Her brow furrowed slightly, and she shook her head emphatically. “No alcohol.”Draco’s expression shifted dramatically at those words, darkening like storm clouds rolling in. His eyes narrowed into a fierce glower, betraying a mix of disbelief and indignation as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “No alcohol?” he muttered, his tone tinged with incredulity.“No alcohol,” she reinforced, crossing her arms defiantly and holding her ground, her gaze unwavering as she met his challenging stare. “This is an office lunch, not a party.”He glanced away for a brief moment, his jaw tightening in irritation. “Fine then, I’ll just have a tea,” he muttered reluctantly, his voice laced with a hint of defiance.“Just tea? Not a Butterbeer or some Pumpkin juice to brighten your spirits?” she asked playfully, raising an eyebrow.“No, just tea will be fine,” he replied, his tone flat and resolute. He took another drag of his cigarette, frustration evident in the narrowing of his eyes. Beneath the surface, it was clear he was far from pleased at being denied the comfort of alcohol, yet he knew he had no choice but to comply.Evelyn walked over to her office door, opening it smoothly. She called, “Parkinson, could you please order some food for us?”Pansy nodded, swiftly taking the slip of paper from Evelyn and exiting the main office with a purposeful stride. With the door closed, Evelyn returned to her seat, settling in with casual expectation. “Shouldn’t be too long,” she said, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.Then she paused, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, Mr. Malfoy. You did see through our little charade a bit too easily.”After a brief chuckle, Draco grinned widely, stubbing out his cigarette on the desk with a flick of his fingers. “So, Theo really does work here?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement and curiosity.“What exactly gave it away?” she inquired.“You can’t kid a kidder,” Draco declared, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, exuding confidence. “But honestly? He included this minuscule detail that you wouldn't even be aware of unless you were him - or at least very close to him.”“What’s that?” she asked, her curiosity piqued, leaning in slightly as if to catch every word.Draco chuckled, the sound rich and genuine. “He has a birthmark on his arse shaped like a crescent moon! No joke. After spending years sharing dormitories, you don't forget something like that,” he continued, letting out a hearty laugh that echoed around the room. He kicked back, lounging comfortably like a carefree teenager, a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes.She felt her cheeks flush at the unexpectedly personal revelation, the playful intimacy of their conversation igniting a warmth within her. A giggle threatened to escape her lips, a mix of embarrassment and amusement dancing in her expression, and she couldn’t help but join in his laughter, already savouring the buoyant camaraderie between them.A sharp knock on the door abruptly interrupted the air of lightheartedness, jolting them back into reality as Pansy stepped in, bringing with her a fragrant delivery of food that filled the room with appetising aromas.Pansy placed the crinkling paper food bag on the desk before turning on her heel and stepping out of the room, leaving Evelyn to unpack the assorted takeout boxes within. As she sifted through the contents, she produced a small plastic knife and fork, handing them to Draco for his steak. With a gentle smile, she also offered him a steaming paper cup filled with tea. Setting her own steak aside, she summoned a gleaming metal knife and fork with a flick of her wand.Draco's lip curled in barely concealed derision as he glanced at the flimsy plastic cutlery in his hands. The mere sight seemed to offend him as though it were an affront to his dignity. “Plastic, hm?” he muttered, his voice laced with scorn as he examined the utensils with a critical eye.Evelyn met his gaze with a hint of mischief in her expression. “Well, we can’t quite trust you just yet. At least with plastic, you can’t hurt yourself or anyone else,” she replied, her tone playful yet pointed.Draco's scowl deepened, irritation flickering across his features. “And you think I’d harm myself with a plastic fork?” he retorted, holding the utensil aloft as if it were an insult to his capabilities. “How desperate do you think I am?!”Evelyn's eyes softened momentarily before she delivered her counter. “We both know that your end goal is death rather than a return to Azkaban.” Her words hung in the air, a stark reminder of their precarious situation.Draco flinches, his eyes widening in surprise as he locks eyes with her, an expression that betrays his disbelief at her insight. It’s as if she’s peeled back the layers of his defences to reveal a deep-seated fear: the thought of returning to the suffocating darkness of Azkaban sends a shiver through him. He abruptly turns his head away, an almost childish refusal to meet her unwavering gaze, his posture tight with unspoken tension.“Enjoy your steak,” she remarks lightly, her knife cutting into the tender meat on her plate, the sound sharp in the charged air between them.He glances down at his plate, a flicker of reluctance darkening his features. With a heavy sigh, he picks up the plastic utensils, his movements stiff and reluctant as he begins to cut into the steak, the knife scraping against the plate with a discontented grating sound.A frown settles on his brow, an expression that carries the weight of his frustration, almost sulky as if the entire situation is a personal affront to him.“What’s wrong? Not bloody enough?” she inquires, a hint of teasing lacing her tone, even as she senses the storm brewing within him.His reluctance to speak hangs in the air like a thick fog. He swallows hard, grappling with the vulnerability that threatens to surface, his pride battling against the truth. After a stretched silence, he mutters, a bitter edge lacing his voice.“Do you have to treat me like a prisoner? And those Aurors outside the door? They really make me feel free,” he sighs, the weariness seeping into his words.In that moment, something shifts within her. For the first time, she catches a glimpse of the raw vulnerability hidden beneath his carefully constructed façades. It's a puzzle she yearns to solve, intrigued by the myriad of personalities he wears like a cloak. She knows that the mention of Hermione Granger is a trigger for him, a fleeting crack in his armour that reveals the chaos beneath before he swiftly recovers. She is determined to navigate through the maze of his identities to uncover the true Draco Malfoy.“You’re not free, Mr. Malfoy. You’re on probation while you work with the Auror Office,” she states firmly, grounding them in the reality of their circumstances.“Can’t trust the former Death Eater, can you?” he retorts bitterly, his voice dripping with disdain.“It takes a lot to gain trust,” she counters, her tone steady and earnest.“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” he concedes finally, resignation lacing his voice as he accepts the weight of his reality.
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It was well past nine o'clock when Harry pushed open the door to Evelyn's office, the warm glow of a wall lamp spilling golden light across the room. The atmosphere was inviting yet slightly tense, the faint remnants of cigarette smoke swirling lazily in the air and mingling with the rich scent of hot tea. Evelyn sat hunched over a cluttered desk; her brow creased in concentration as she meticulously reviewed a series of scattered notes, preparing for a detailed analysis of the day’s events.“Did you let him smoke in here?” Harry asked, his voice laced with a casual curiosity as he inhaled deeply, momentarily distracted by the lingering odour.Evelyn picked up a slender bottle filled with swirling purple liquid, lavender and berries wafting through the air as she squirted a fine mist around her cluttered desk.“Good evening, Harry,” she replied breezily, sidestepping his question.“How was your first day with Malfoy?” Harry inquired, leaning casually against the doorframe, a spark of curiosity igniting the dark depths of his eyes.Evelyn rolled her eyes dramatically, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “He is insufferable,” she said, exasperation lacing her voice like a bitter aftertaste. “Typical Slytherin.”She gestured towards the seat opposite her, and Harry settled into the chair.“Did you tell him which house you were in?” Harry pressed.“Yes, Harry,” she assured him with a confident nod, her gaze steady as she leaned back in her chair.“Good. Did he take the bait with Theo?” The intrigue in Harry’s voice hung in the air like electric tension.“No, he saw right through it. Theo made a mistake,” Evelyn replied, her expression shifting to one of contemplation, her brows furrowing slightly as if deep in thought.“What do you mean?” Harry asked, leaning in closer as his curiosity intensified.“Not important,” she dismissed casually, her focus shifting back to the scattered papers before her. “I have other ways of getting through to him. I will get him to trust me.”“How was Pansy?” he continued.“She did well,” Evelyn replied, a flicker of pride illuminating her features.“You’re not just saying that, are you?” Harry questioned, searching her gaze for any trace of insincerity, his eyes narrowing slightly.“Harry, have a little faith in her,” she urged, meeting his worried stare with unwavering resolve.“I do. I just worry, you know. She was affected by this too,” he responded, his concern evident, lines of worry etched deeply on his face as he pointed toward her desk. “Are these burn marks?”“Good night, Harry,” she interrupted gently, her tone soft and final. The hint of a smile lingered on her lips as she turned her attention back to her work.
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3rd May 1998Was it cold in here, or was that just an illusion? A mortuary was an icy, sterile environment - never a place to find warmth, joy, or laughter.Harry looked down at the sheet, his heart heavy, as the auror peeled it back to see what lay beneath.Who lay beneath, he reminded himself. It was not just a body; it was a person, a life that once bloomed vibrantly.As the fabric fell away, his gaze fell upon her serene face, typically radiant with colour but now reduced to a haunting pallor. The vibrant spark that once danced joyfully in her eyes had been extinguished, replaced by a haunting stillness. Her eyelids were gently closed as if in a peaceful slumber, but the truth of her absence lay heavy in the air.His eyes traced the red and purple bruises around her delicate throat.“Is that where-” Harry began, his voice barely above a whisper, feeling the weight of the moment settle heavily on his shoulders.“Mr. Potter, I just need you to confirm that this is Hermione Granger,” the auror interjected sharply, cutting through Harry's hesitation with firm insistence.Harry nodded with a knot tightening in his stomach, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. “Yes, this is Hermione,” he said, his voice trembling with fear and disbelief. The weight of the situation enveloped him like a chilly breeze that left him breathless. As a wave of nausea surged within him, he quickly turned away, just managing to reach the sink before he threw up his lunch. He clutched the sides of the basin, his knuckles white. 4th May 1998Harry approached the chair that faced Draco Malfoy, an air of tension hanging between them like a thick fog. He slid into the seat, the chair's metal legs scraping softly against the cold, stone floor. A vast, empty table stood between them, creating a barrier that symbolised the distance in their friendliness.A heavy silence enveloped the room.As Harry studied Malfoy, he noted his expression, a blend of superiority and boredom, as he directed his gaze out the window.Harry leaned forward with a deep breath to steady his racing heart, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Malfoy,” he called, his voice steady despite his turmoil.Malfoy didn’t acknowledge him; he remained fixated on the horizon, dismissing Harry as if he were an unwelcome pest.“Malfoy!” Harry repeated, raising his voice slightly, but still, there was no reaction. Frustration surged within him. “Malfoy!” he shouted, slamming his balled fists onto the table, the sound reverberating in the stillness.At last, Malfoy shifted his focus, but his gaze was fixed somewhere over Harry’s shoulder, his eyes glazed with disinterest.“Potter,” he replied, voice dripping with elegance as though Harry were a mere annoyance intruding upon his perfectly curated life. “To what do I owe this privilege?”Harry’s heart raced, a mix of anger and sadness flooding his veins. “Why did you do it, Malfoy?”“Do what?” Malfoy countered with feigned ignorance, his tone flat.“Why did you kill Hermione?” Harry’s voice trembled, the weight of the accusation heavy in the air between them.“Oh. Is the mudblood dead...?” Malfoy responded coolly. “How tragic…”“Don’t fuck with me. Why did you do it, Malfoy?” Harry pressed desperately.“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Potter,” Malfoy retorted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.“You did it, Malfoy! Your hand marks are around her throat. I-I just need to know why. Why, Malfoy? What did she ever do to deserve that?”Harry's throat tightened as he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over from the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, desperate to clear the moisture that blurred his vision.Malfoy fell silent, his gaze drifting back to the window, deliberately ignoring Harry’s plea. June 1998He had won the war, hadn’t he?Then why had he lost so much?What was the point of it all?The losses before and during the war had been terrible. But the losses since the war had ended? He’d lost two best friends in one fell swoop, two friends who had always stood by him, unwavering in their loyalty, and whom he had believed would remain at his side until the end of time.Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Hermione's life would be cut short by the very hands of his childhood antagonist. He could hardly comprehend Ron’s words, confessing that he couldn't bear to be around him anymore because everyone always died. And Ginny, sweet, fiery Ginny, had turned her back on him, shattering the delicate bond they had built together. Then, the entire Weasley clan chose to uproot their lives and move to the quiet embrace of relatives abroad, just as Harry began his Auror training.So, he resorted to the only thing that felt like control: he wielded his status as the saviour of the wizarding world like a fucking weapon. He testified at each trial of the captured Death Eaters, relentlessly advocating for severe sentences. Not a single marked Death Eater escaped the grip of justice. Any sympathisers to Voldemort’s cause and the loathsome snatchers were all sentenced to the dark depths of Azkaban.During Malfoy’s trial, the atmosphere in the grand chamber of the Wizengamot was filled with tension. Many members of the were inclined to impose the Dementor's Kiss as a fitting punishment for the heinous murder of Hermione Granger, a loyal ally of ‘the boy who lived’ and one of the saviours of the wizarding world. However, Harry, unable to remain silent, stood up to voice his objections.He passionately argued that Malfoy deserved to experience profound suffering, much like the suffering he had inflicted upon Hermione and her loved ones. Granting him the Kiss would be a coward's way out, a betrayal of the justice Hermione so richly deserved.Malfoy managed to maintain an impassive expression, his features betraying none of the turmoil he may have felt within. In contrast to Harry’s energy, Malfoy seemed unaffected by the weight of the situation, as if he had resigned himself to his fate. After much deliberation, the court ultimately sided with Harry’s view, and Malfoy was sentenced to life in Azkaban's cold, unforgiving confines. ~ Month after month, Harry found himself visiting Malfoy in prison. He was relentless, determined to get justice for Hermione, his heart filled with the weight of his unresolved loss. But no matter how hard he pressed, the bastard refused to speak, deepening Harry's frustration and rage.Harry was tired, and he was so fucking angry. He threw himself into his Auror training, striving for a sense of purpose, yet he felt like grasping at straws. His anger changed into a desperate craving for comfort, and he turned to alcohol for relief. It began with a single glass of firewhisky, an evening indulgence to quell the storm within him. But soon, entire weeks slipped through his fingers, forgotten in the haze of his inebriation, as he drowned his sorrows in a suffocating stupor each night. How he managed to pass his Auror exams with flying colours, he had no fucking clue.Harry grappled with the agonising contrast between his desperate longing for justice and the loneliness that enveloped him. The weight of his thoughts pressed heavily, leading him to question the very outcome of the war they had fought. What if Voldemort's lethal curse hadn’t rebounded but instead struck Harry down? Would she still be alive, her fierce spirit persevering in the battle against the dark, tirelessly fighting in his name?Each sip of alcohol blurred the edges of his reality, pulling him further into despair. With each passing day, he felt increasingly unworthy of life, plagued by the haunting memory of his failures in achieving the justice she so richly deserved. The echoes of their shared laughter and dreams lingered in his mind, a reminder of the light that had been so cruelly extinguished.The wizarding world still viewed him as a saviour, and he clung to that image as he tried to fulfil his role as an auror. One day, his boss took him aside for a heart-to-heart. With genuine concern, he urged Harry to get his life back on track before it was too late. “You’re sinking,” he said, “and it’s time to seek help. If you don’t address this drinking, you’re going to lose everything. Take some time for yourself - you’re still so young; don’t ruin your life.”The old head auror’s words struck a chord within Harry, making him realise just how far he had fallen. That evening, he returned home and made a pivotal decision: he poured every single drop of alcohol down the drain. This was more than just a personal battle; it was a commitment to those who had lost their lives during the war. He strived to move forward, determined to continue his path to justice for Hermione. September 1999After months of sobriety, Harry began to feel a sense of liberation that he hadn't experienced in years. Yet, the heavy burden of his grief loomed over him, constantly threatening to destroy the last few months of hard work. It was during one of these heavy moments that his boss, noticing Harry's struggle, suggested he consider grief counselling.And so, Harry found himself in a cosy, dimly lit corner of The Three Broomsticks, a pub renowned for its warmth and welcoming atmosphere, every Monday at 8 AM for the past six weeks. The familiar creak of the floorboards and the enchanting aroma of Butterbeer filled the air as he settled into his usual chair.“Welcome, everyone. I see a lot of new faces here as well as a few familiar ones,” the mind healer announced, his voice smooth and calming. By the end of his greeting, he smiled slightly, inviting everyone into a safe and nonjudgmental space.In grief counselling, Harry was not labelled as ‘the Boy Who Lived,’ nor was he burdened with the title of ‘the saviour of the war’ or any of the other stereotypes that had trailed him throughout his life. In fact, most of the participants seemed to regard him as just another person grappling with loss, which was a welcome relief. Their eyes skated over him, absorbed in their own stories - anonymity that Harry found comfort in, allowing him to explore his feelings without the pressure of expectation.Today was different from the usual routine, with a fresh addition to the group that immediately caught his attention. He’d know that striking figure anywhere - the black-haired witch was unforgettable. Her sleek, chin-length bob contrasted sharply with her porcelain skin. Gone was the rounded face of her youth; she had developed into an attractive, beautiful woman, her sharp cheekbones now accentuated by an outfit that hugged her angular frame beautifully.Pansy Parkinson, the very girl who had once tried to betray him to Voldemort and had not only been friends with but had also dated Malfoy. As she casually helped herself to tea and biscuits, seemingly at ease in the gathering, Harry felt a surge of irritation well up inside him. He could no longer tolerate her relaxed demeanour, not when the memories of their past clashed so violently with the present. With a determined stride, he approached and effectively cornered her near a tempting assortment of chocolate biscuits.“We need to talk,” he said, the urgency lacing his tone.Pansy pivoted to face him, an expression of blank confusion etching her features. As recognition dawned, her eyes widened momentarily in shock. However, she quickly masked her surprise, shifting back to indifferent neutrality. “We do?” she replied, her voice devoid of emotion.He seized the moment, guiding her away from the rest of the group, the air between them thick with unresolved tension.“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Parkinson?” he demanded, his patience wearing thin.“This is grief counselling, right?” she retorted flatly, her deadpan delivery catching him off guard.“And who the hell have you lost?” Harry shot back incredulously.“Who have you lost?” she countered a hint of challenge in her voice.Frustration boiled over. “Fine, keep your secrets,” he spat, his anger simmering close to the surface. “Just stay away from me.”“I believe you’re the one who approached me, Potter,” she replied, a sly smirk curling at the corners of her mouth, eyes sparkling with mischief.When they returned to the group, Harry was overcome by a wave of emotions, compelling him to share his feelings for the first time. He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability.“I’m Harry,” he began, glancing around at the faces that observed him with a mix of empathy and curiosity. “I lost a lot of people, both before and during the war. That shouldn’t surprise anyone here. But the hardest loss came at the end; I lost my two best friends. Hermione Granger... I still don’t understand what happened to her. Why did she go into the forbidden forest? I mean, I saw her in the courtyard with Ron just moments before everything changed, and then when it was all over... she was just gone.” He felt the weight of his grief pressing down on him, and he dropped his head into his hands, the emotion overwhelming him as he fought back tears. He couldn’t continue.“Thank you, Harry,” the mind healer said gently. “Anyone else wants to share?” A moment of silence followed before a familiar voice broke through.“I’m Pansy.” Her introduction drew Harry's attention, and he looked up to see her sitting with her arms crossed, her expression conflicted.“I lost my best friend at the end of the war,” she continued, her tone thick with sorrow. “I’ll never find out what really happened to him and why. What changed? Was it him, or was it me? I keep wondering if I could have done something to help him. Why didn’t he come to me for help? I would have tried - really tried... to support him.” She paused, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and they shared a fleeting moment of mutual understanding and empathy, their shared pain bridging the gap between them.As the session ended, Harry found himself seeking Pansy out. He approached her with a tentative smile, hoping to lighten the mood, even if just for a moment. “Do you want to get some breakfast?” he offered his voice softer now, a hint of hope mingling with their sorrow.“I’d like that,” she replied, a small nod of agreement breaking through her earlier solemnity. For the first time that day, a flicker of warmth sparked between them, an unspoken promise of companionship in a world that had often felt so isolating.They sat in a quaint little café on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village, the mid-morning light streaming through the windows and casting a warm glow on the rustic wooden tables. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, mingling with the faint sound of laughter and chatter from other customers. Harry cradled a steaming cup of tea in his hands, taking slow sips as he savoured its warmth, while Pansy wrapped her fingers around a large mug of black coffee, seeking to chase away the early morning chill.“So, who was the guy you lost?” Harry asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.“Draco,” she replied, her voice steady but edged with emotion. She poured a splash of milk into her coffee and stirred it with a delicate rhythmic motion."You can’t be serious," Harry said, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.“Why not? A loss is still a loss, whether they died or simply transformed into someone you no longer recognise,” she said, her eyes reflecting a hint of pain.Harry took another sip of his tea, allowing the warmth to fill him as he waited for her to elaborate.“Draco changed for us,” Pansy continued, her brow furrowing slightly. “He used to be this confident, fun-loving guy who seemed happy. But over the last few years, all of that vanished. I dated him for a while, and by the end, he was a completely different person than the one I first met. I have no idea why he ended up killing her, and honestly, I have just as many questions as you do. I’ll never get the chance to ask or find answers to these questions. Yes, he might be alive, but the Draco I thought I knew? He’s long gone.”Harry felt strong empathy as he recognised his feelings in her words. Although he and Malfoy never got along in school, he never imagined he could actually kill someone. He had been a bully in his youth, but he would not have believed if someone had told him back then that Malfoy would be responsible for Hermione's death.He nodded, a sense of understanding passing between them. “He isn’t worth your time,” he said, his voice firm but compassionate.“Maybe. But maybe if I’d given him more time before…” Pansy’s voice trailed off, lost in thought.“He made his choice,” Harry interjected decisively, and the weight of his words seemed to settle over Pansy, making her fall silent.As the café bustled with activity, their breakfast finally arrived. Steam rose from their plates, and the tantalising sight of perfectly cooked eggs and golden-brown toast instantaneously lifted the mood. They settled into a comfortable silence, the air filled with clinking cutlery and the occasional conversation from other tables. Now and then, they exchanged comments about the egg yolk’s texture or the curious passersby outside. For the next few weeks, Harry found himself immersed in grief counselling, trying to navigate the heavy emotions weighing upon him. As the autumn leaves began to fall, he looked forward to moments of respite, particularly when he met Pansy afterwards for breakfast.One crisp mid-November morning, as a gentle chill lingered in the air, Harry spotted Pansy outside the Three Broomsticks. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold. She wore a violet scarf wrapped snugly around her neck and a playful smile on her lips.“Do you fancy skipping the session today and exploring the Christmas markets in Diagon Alley?” she suggested, her eyes sparkling excitedly.Harry didn't hesitate, and with a shared grin, they took hold of each other’s arms and apparated to Diagon Alley. The familiar sights and sounds enveloped them as they materialised amidst the bustling market. They treated themselves to rich hot chocolate topped with clouds of whipped cream and colourful marshmallows, savouring every sip as the aroma of festive treats filled the air.Stalls adorned with twinkling lights and cheerful decorations beckoned them, each offering a treasure trove of handmade goods, enchanted trinkets, and festive delights. As they wandered through the stalls, the season's warmth surrounded them, momentarily lifting the heaviness in Harry’s heart. January 2000Their breakfasts together became a cherished routine, and they no longer needed counselling as they moved on with their lives. They gathered in their favourite cosy café, the aroma of warm pastries enveloping them as they settled into their seats.Harry opened up to Pansy about his struggles with alcohol. It had been nearly a year since he decided to take control of his life, and he expressed a deep sense of relief and pride in his sobriety. Pansy listened intently, her genuine happiness for him shining through as she congratulated him on this significant milestone.In return, Pansy shared her battles. She spoke of her upbringing in the rigid and traditional pure-blood society, a world that felt increasingly suffocating. The weight of her relatives’ antiquated beliefs regarding muggle-borns bore down on her, filling her with a desire to break free. She described the heart-wrenching conversations and the isolation she felt, struggling to reconcile her values with the outdated views of her family. Pansy longed for acceptance and a life where she could embrace diversity without fear of judgment. Their bond over shared experiences created a safe space to explore their past.Harry animatedly shared stories from his thrilling career as an Auror, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he recounted daring missions and close encounters. Meanwhile, Pansy eagerly delved into her latest venture in the fashion world, discussing the intricacies of launching a joint business with one of her close friends. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and shared hopes, as they embraced the promise of new beginnings. By February, they gathered every Saturday in addition to their Monday mornings. Harry's vibrant sense of renewal flowed through him, his excitement evident as their friendship deepened and flourished. Each encounter brought a fresh wave of energy, transforming their time together into something unique and inspiring.On the evening of February 29th, under a sky illuminated by the soft glow of the stars, they shared their first kiss after an enchanting night at the theatre. The air was filled with the lingering melodies of the show, and as they stepped onto the quiet streets, a blend of excitement and nervousness danced between them. With a gentle pull, they leaned closer, their hearts racing, and in that magical moment, their lips met, sealing the promise of new beginnings. April 2000Pansy took the opportunity to introduce Harry to her friends, the charismatic Blaise Zabini and the contemplative Theodore Nott. Their names rang familiar to him, echoing from the halls of Slytherin, yet he had never truly had the chance to know them. Theo, with his sharp wit and polished demeanour, was carving out a career at the ministry. At the same time, Blaise, effortlessly stylish, was a key partner in Pansy's fashionable enterprise, bringing flair and creativity to their collaborative designs. 2nd May 2000They both stood together in solemn attendance at the ceremony, honouring the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. This was a poignant occasion for Harry, as he had been too blind drunk to recollect last year's events. She held his hand throughout, providing the courage he needed for the day.Harry engaged in a heartfelt conversation with familiar faces from Dumbledore's Army - Neville Longbottom, with his steady resolve, and Luna Lovegood, her dreamy demeanour offering a touch of comfort. Together, they laid colourful wreaths in the courtyard, each flower representing a beloved friend and fallen comrade.As they remembered those who had been lost, Harry's grief hung heavily in the air. Sensing his sorrow, Pansy leaned closer, her presence a lifeline amid the waves of emotion, offering solace as they stood together. Fast-forward six months, and they had taken the next step, moving in together and building a life filled with love and companionship. The cosy space was filled with personal touches, from photos of their adventures together to Pansy’s new designs in the hallway. As the holiday season approached, excitement filled the air, and they eagerly planned their first Christmas celebration as a couple.On Christmas Day, they set out to prepare a traditional turkey, the non-magical way, complete with all the trimmings. However, their ambitious culinary endeavour quickly spiralled into chaos. With the turkey turning out dry and unsavoury, they decided to opt for a more manageable feast. Ultimately, they enjoyed a delightful platter of pigs in blankets and an assortment of colourful, roasted vegetables and crispy roast potatoes. The kitchen, though not successful in its original mission, echoed with laughter as they recounted their cooking mishap and made playful jabs at each other’s culinary skills.The warmth and comfort of their home contrasted sharply with the solitude and despair Harry had experienced just a couple of years prior. Now, their space was alive with the spirit of Christmas, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and the sweet scent of cranberries. The love they had developed was evident in every shared glance and inside joke, marking a beautiful step in their lives together. The atmosphere was electric on New Year’s Eve as they arrived at Theo’s spectacular manor for a lavish gala. The night was filled with laughter and joy as revellers danced under glimmering chandeliers. As the clock neared midnight, Harry took Pansy’s hand and led her to the balcony, where the sky was a majestic canvas of stars. With the crisp winter air surrounding them and a sense of anticipation, he knelt down on one knee, his heart racing. Overcome with joy, Pansy leapt into his arms in confirmation, embracing him tightly as tears of happiness glistened in her eyes. Their friends, witnessing the heartfelt moment, erupted in cheers, celebrating the beautiful union about to blossom. Fast forward to July, when the summer sun illuminated their wedding scene. Pansy, radiant in one of her exquisite designs - a flowing gown adorned with delicate lace and purple flowered embellishments - stood at the altar, beaming as she officially became a Potter. Surrounded by their closest friends, they exchanged vows, promising to support and cherish one another for all their days. The celebration that followed at The Three Broomsticks was bathed in nostalgia, as the original setting of their first meeting all those months ago. The after-party was filled with toasts, dancing, and joy as people from their past and present came together to celebrate their love.With Pansy’s unwavering support and encouragement, Harry flourished in his career, swiftly rising through the ranks to become a senior Auror. His determination and hard work did not go unnoticed; when his boss retired, Harry's dedication and skill made him the natural choice to step into the role. Shortly thereafter, he successfully secured the prestigious position of Head Auror, a testament to his commitment to justice and the wizarding community April 2003Harry sat at his cluttered desk in his dimly lit home office; his brow furrowed in frustration as he stared at the muggle newspaper in his hand. The faint sound of a clock ticking on the wall accompanied the silence, each tick echoing his unease. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, feeling the weight of impending dread settle over him like a thick fog. Just then, Pansy entered the room, carrying a steaming cup of tea, the aroma wafting through the air and momentarily breaking his concentration.He looked up and managed a faint smile as he accepted the cup, turning to thank her. He leaned in and placed a gentle peck on her cheek, grateful for her comforting presence. But the moment's warmth was quickly overshadowed by the tension in the air.“What’s wrong?” Pansy asked, her concern evident as she studied his troubled expression. Her eyes, usually filled with mischief, now reflected genuine worry.“It’s happening again, Panse,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it more real. He pushed the newspaper toward her, the headline glaring at them like a sinister warning: “The Phantom Strikes Again.” The ominous text was surrounded by a chilling image of a terraced house, its facade illuminated under the eerie glow of the streetlights, but the true horror lay in the wispy figure hovering above - an ethereal skull with a snake slithering from its mouth, weaving through the air like a dark omen.Pansy’s eyes widened as they flickered to the image, her breath hitching in her throat. “How…?” she stammered.“Has to be a Death Eater that we missed; only someone with a Dark Mark can cast Morsmordre,” Harry said, his voice heavy with fatigue as he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the weariness that clung to him.“Come to bed, hun. You’re exhausted, and you can do this in the morning,” she said softly, her voice gentle as she stepped closer.Harry sighed again, the lines of stress deepening. “Would you do me a favour, Panse?” he asked, his tone now more serious, a note of desperation creeping in.“Anything,” she confirmed, her gaze unwavering, ready to support him however she could.“Would you consider training as an Auror?” he proposed, his eyes lighting up with a glimmer of hope amid the shadows of doubt.She stared at him, a mix of confusion and surprise washing over her features as she processed his request. “Me? An Auror?” she repeated.“I have a plan,” he continued. “I think there’s a way to uncover the truth behind Malfoy’s actions, using this case.”Her expression shifted from confusion to contemplation.“Please, I need you by my side. I can’t do this without your support,” he pleaded, urgency creeping into his voice.After a moment of silence, she finally nodded slowly. “Alright, I trust you, Harry," she said firmly, her resolve solidifying. “Let’s do this together.” ~ Harry stood outside the corner booth designated for the Head of Investigations. The small office was dimly lit and enveloped in a blanket of silence. He could hear the faint melodies of 90s music wafting through the partition wall, a nostalgic tune adding a touch of warmth to the air. Taking a moment to steel himself, he lightly tapped on the office partition.“Come in,” a familiar voice called out, warm and inviting. “Evelyn, can we talk?” he asked, his voice conveying urgency and hope as he entered the cluttered booth.“Sure, Harry! What’s up?” she replied brightly, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she closed an open file and turned down the volume on her modest Muggle radio, the music fading into a soft background hum.He took a deep breath, gauging her reaction. “You’re Muggle-born, right?” he inquired.“Half-blood,” she corrected firmly.“Close enough,” he said dismissively, a casual shrug of his shoulders betraying the seriousness of his intent. “Hufflepuff?” “Yes...” her voice trailed off, curiosity blooming on her features.“And a Legilimens?” he probed eagerly, his heart pounding as he leaned slightly closer, the air crackling with anticipation.“Wha-” she began, confusion knitting her brows together.“I need your help, Evelyn,” he said, his tone earnest, the weight of his request hanging heavily between them.
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From a tender age, Evelyn possessed an extraordinary gift - an innate ability to perceive the emotions swirling around her like vibrant colours in a stormy sky. However, it wasn't until she stepped into the bustling halls of infant school that she discovered something even more profound: she could hear the unspoken thoughts of those around her, as if their inner voices echoed in her mind.Each day, as she navigated the lively chaos of the playground, she would catch snippets of whispered musings. One moment, she’d hear the innocent delight of a classmate expressing a peculiar fondness for the squirmy texture of worms. In another instance, the shadow of a little boy's insecurity would reach her ears - a tumultuous swirl of thoughts revealing that his teasing of a girl was merely a twisted attempt to mask his own shy affection.She often pondered the origin of her unusual talent, a gift that seemed to flow effortlessly through her veins. Her mother frequently attributed it to her father, an enigmatic figure who loomed large in Evelyn’s imagination. She had never had the chance to meet him, having been raised in a quaint little town in Lancashire where tales of her lineage whispered through the wind and echoed in her mother’s stories.All Evelyn knew about her father was his name - Dante - and the tragic fact that he had passed away before she ever took her first breath. The remnants of his existence were woven into her mother’s memories, which Evelyn often absorbed like a sponge, craving any detail that could fill the void in her heart. He had been a man of striking charisma, charming everyone with his devilish good looks and a smile that could light up even the gloomiest days. An Italian by birth, Dante was poetically described as having chocolatey, soulful eyes, a feature Evelyn had inherited, along with an untamed mane of curls that framed her face like a halo.To Evelyn, he was more than just a name; he was a captivating mystery, an alluring spectre that haunted her thoughts. Her mother’s longing for what might have been seeped into every story she narrated, painting Dante as a romantic hero who swept her off her feet before vanishing without a trace. It was a bittersweet narrative, one filled with what-ifs and dreams unfulfilled, as she grappled with the allure of a father she would never truly know, a fleeting connection that left her yearning for a deeper understanding of her own identity.As time passed, it became increasingly evident that she possessed a unique ability to perceive children's thoughts with remarkable ease. Their minds, still vulnerable and not yet fully matured, broadcasted their fleeting thoughts like open books. In contrast, delving into the minds of adults proved to be a more challenging endeavour. The complexity of adult thoughts, shaped by life experiences and layers of introspection, often obscured the immediate content of their minds.An intriguing factor that profoundly influenced her ability to grasp others' thoughts and feelings was the depth of the emotional connection she shared with them. When her emotional bond with someone was strong, coupled with physical closeness, their inner thoughts and feelings became remarkably clear and vivid to her. In these moments of intimacy, she could almost sense the nuances of their emotions, picking up on subtleties that might escape a casual observer.In stark contrast, the thoughts of strangers often flitted past her like fleeting shadows - superficial snippets of everyday concerns such as the weather or mundane plans for the day - devoid of any real depth or significance. With strangers, there was an overwhelming sense of disconnection; their inner worlds remained largely inaccessible, rendering her attempts to understand them frustratingly shallow.Nevertheless, closer physical proximity could enhance her ability to sense thoughts and memories, even without an established emotional bond. In those situations, the ambient energy of another person's presence would reveal fragments of their experiences and feelings, allowing her to glean insights amidst the lack of familiarity. This complex interplay between emotional ties and physical closeness shaped her understanding of the people around her in profound and unexpected ways.Among all the minds she encountered, the one from which she could glean the richest tapestry of thoughts, emotions, and memories belonged to her mother. She could sense a profound intertwining of feelings and recollections in her mother's mind, allowing her to experience the essence of their shared history and love more vividly than any other.Evelyn had no idea how extraordinary she was until the day an elegant owl landed on her windowsill, delivering her a letter from a mysterious magical school that would change her life forever. The thick parchment, embossed with the school’s crest, contained elegant script that seemed to dance before her eyes. Her mother, of no magical lineage, beamed with delight at the news, expressing a deep belief that this remarkable opportunity was a gift from Dante.Filled with excitement and curiosity, Evelyn was eager to immerse herself in the enchanting world of magic. She spent countless hours poring over ancient tomes and spellbooks, each page revealing wonders and dangers. She absorbed the rich history of magic, learning about the illustrious figures who shaped it and the tumultuous eras marked by strife.She uncovered tales of formidable dark wizards who had sought to impose their twisted beliefs upon others, considering those of non-magical descent inferior. The accounts of bloody conflicts sparked a profound sense of empathy within Evelyn; she recognised the peril that loomed for those like her and her mother, both vulnerable in a world divided by bloodlines. These revelations ignited her passion for knowledge further, motivating her to understand the magic surrounding her and honour the legacies of those who fought for acceptance and understanding.She was sorted into Hufflepuff, a house known for its dedication, loyalty, and hard work. Although she often preferred the company of her books over that of others, she gradually formed a small circle of friends within her house. Among them were fellow students who, like her, were discovering the wonders of magic. She became particularly curious about other talented witches and wizards who had grown up unaware of the magical realm surrounding them.One such acquaintance was Justin Finch-Fletchley, a quiet boy in the year above her, who often shared amusing anecdotes. Another was Colin Creevey, an enthusiastic Gryffindor in her Herbology class, always eager to capture every magical moment with his muggle camera.Much of her spare time was spent in the dimly lit corners of the library, where the scent of old parchment hung in the air. There, she diligently scoured through dusty magical newspapers and yellowed magazine clippings, searching for any mention of a mysterious wizard named ‘Dante.’ She felt a sense of urgency in her quest, as though uncovering the secrets of the past might somehow illuminate her own path in the magical world. Each clipping she examined brought her closer to unravelling the enigma, fuelling her determination to piece together the history that had eluded her for so long.A chilling incident overshadowed her first Halloween at Hogwarts - the school caretaker's beloved cat had been discovered petrified, frozen in a moment of terror. A pale boy with white-blonde hair from the year above her had shouted a cruel taunt, implying that mudbloods were next on the list.Through her studies of the magical world, she understood that ‘mudblood’ was a derogatory term used to describe those like her, who lacked a lineage of magical ancestry. The ominous whispers surrounding the so-called ‘Chamber of Secrets’ had become a frequent topic among students. According to ancient legend, it held the power to cleanse the school of anyone deemed unworthy of practising magic.With Colin and Justin, both Muggle-born like herself, recently petrified, a sense of dread began to creep in. The fear that had initially felt distant was becoming all too personal, making her anxious about her place in a world that seemed increasingly hostile.Evelyn's resolve deepened as she delved further into the mystery surrounding her potential magical heritage. One evening, as dusk settled over the library, she stumbled upon a riveting article that chronicled the life of a Death Eater who had taken a perilous turn as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. The piece vividly describes the tragic fate that befell this individual; he was relentlessly pursued and ultimately murdered by the ruthless followers of Lord Voldemort.The article bore a name that sent a jolt through her: D’Angelo, Dante. It noted that he had died on the 13th of January, 1981 - just three short months before her birth.Could this enigmatic figure be her father? A Death Eater, indeed, but one who had chosen to betray the very ideology that once defined him? The thought sent a thrill of confusion and intrigue coursing through her. Was he someone who truly believed non-magical people were beneath contempt, or was there a flicker of redemption in his actions, a desire to change the world around him?The nagging uncertainty twisted in her mind; she wasn’t even sure this was the right Dante. Was she simply grasping at shadows in a dimly lit room? All she knew was that this revelation stoked a fiery curiosity within her. Evelyn felt an urgent need to uncover every detail about Dante D’Angelo.As she advanced through the esteemed halls of Hogwarts, her innate talent for Legilimency - a term she had only recently discovered - began to flourish. With each passing year, she honed her ability to peel away the layers of a person's consciousness, effortlessly extracting seemingly trivial information without a hint of awareness from her subjects. It was astounding how she could delve deep into the recesses of their minds, retrieving entire conversations that had long since faded from their memories as if unravelling a complex tapestry of thoughts and emotions.For her, the once mysterious art of Legilimency transformed into a pursuit as natural and straightforward as reading the printed words of a book. Yet, despite the ease with which she navigated the minds of others, she made a conscious decision to restrain herself. The private thoughts and cherished memories of those around her were sacred, and she respected the boundaries that should not be crossed.Determined to master her craft, she delved into extensive research on Legilimency, poring over ancient tomes and modern texts. Through her studies, she sought to understand not only the mechanics of the skill but also its ethical implications. With dedication, she worked to refine her abilities, striving for precision and control in a realm that, if misused, could lead to profound invasions of personal privacy.During her fourth year at Hogwarts, Evelyn received an unexpected invitation from Justin. He urged her to join an exclusive group known only to a select few, a clandestine circle where the legendary ‘Boy Who Lived’ himself would be their guide. This gathering was formed in response to the Ministry of Magic's tightening grip on the curriculum, particularly the suppression of Defence Against the Dark Arts - a subject crucial for confronting the dark forces threatening their world. With the ominous return of Lord Voldemort and his loyal followers, the Death Eaters, the urgency to hone their defensive skills had never been greater. Evelyn was eager to participate, knowing that mastering defensive magic was vital for their future.She continued her diligent research into the enigma surrounding her father, Dante, and unearthed new insights that deepened the mystery. A fleeting article tucked away in the pages of the Daily Prophet published roughly ten months after Voldemort's demise shed light on a group of former Death Eater spies who had played a pivotal role in tipping the scales of the war. Among them was Dante D’Angelo, who met a tragic end in 1981 at the tender age of 19, brutally murdered by loyal Death Eaters. Remarkably, he had switched allegiances in August 1980.Nineteen? He was barely more than a boy. How had he become entangled in the dark machinations of the Death Eaters? The article revealed that Dante had provided critical intelligence on Ministry personnel who were covertly operating as Death Eaters by night, masquerading as respectable members of the wizarding community. His adept skills as a Legilimens allowed him to extract vital information from those unwilling to divulge their secrets, making him an invaluable asset in the fight against the dark forces.Her mother had first encountered the enigmatic Dante on a balmy Sunday in July 1980. Could she be the catalyst for his dramatic shift in loyalties? The weight of possibility hung heavy in the air as she considered the implications of their meeting. Yet, beyond this tantalising lead, her quest for understanding brought her to the dimly lit corners of the Hogwarts library, where resources on the elusive Italian gradually dwindled, leaving her with more questions than answers.It wasn't until she made the pivotal decision to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the aftermath of the war that Evelyn unearthed significant details about her father.An extensive background check was mandated for all recruits as part of the application process, and Evelyn was no exception. This investigation corroborated her long-held suspicions: Dante D’Angelo was her biological father. Despite being somewhat prepared for this revelation, it still felt like a heavy weight to bear, prompting a complex array of emotions.Official records painted a sparse picture of Dante. The only information available was that he originated from a quaint village in southern Italy's rolling hills, known for its picturesque landscapes and rich cultural heritage. Beyond that, Evelyn encountered a labyrinth of dead ends as she grappled with the enigma of her father's choices and the shadows of his past.Dante had been a Death Eater, deeply embroiled in Voldemort's deranged ideology, yet his narrative took a divergent turn when he allied himself with the Order of the Phoenix. This twist of fate added layers of complexity to Evelyn's understanding of her lineage.Though she never delved deeper into her heritage, the knowledge profoundly altered her perspective. It fostered a sense of empathy within her; she realised that not every individual who strayed onto the wrong side of the moral divide was innately malevolent. People could evolve, question their beliefs, and seek redemption. This understanding shaped her identity, instilling in her a commitment to extend compassion and opportunities for change to others, regardless of their past transgressions.After Evelyn’s extensive background checks were meticulously completed, and the information surrounding her father was fiercely guarded by the Minister of Magic - available on a strict need-to-know basis - she earned her place on the esteemed Investigations team as a junior officer. In this role, she tackled minor yet persistent everyday crimes. At the same time, the seasoned Aurors focused their formidable talents on tracking down dark wizards and the notorious Death Eaters that still threatened the wizarding world.Evelyn's ascent within the department was swift, largely attributed to her exceptional talent in Legilimency, an ability that allowed her to navigate the intricate labyrinth of the human mind. With painstaking precision, she could peel back the layers of a suspect’s thoughts, extracting crucial and often hidden pieces of information that would lead to confessions and uncover the truth behind various incidents.Her remarkable skills and unwavering dedication did not go unnoticed; Evelyn ultimately rose to Head of Investigations. She embraced this accolade with immense pride, wearing it like a badge of honour. Esteemed by her colleagues and feared by wrongdoers, she became renowned as a relentless seeker of truth, ensuring that no deception went unchallenged and that justice was served in the wizarding community.She was a profoundly private individual, and her extraordinary gift, while undeniably useful, often made it difficult for her to forge intimate connections with others, leaving her feeling isolated and alone. Her colleagues were aware of her unique ability, but unlike in her youth, she had worked hard to master it; she no longer involuntarily intercepted her coworkers' stray thoughts unless she deliberately sought them out. This control was a significant relief for the people around her.To create a comfortable work environment, she adhered to a personal code of restraint, avoiding any unnecessary intrusion into the private musings of those she interacted with. She found that the genuine reactions of her colleagues often revealed more truth than their inner thoughts ever could - facial expressions, tone of voice, and body language painted a more vivid picture than mere whispers in her mind. In this way, she navigated her relationships carefully, maintaining her privacy while allowing her colleagues the space to connect on their own terms.When Harry first approached Evelyn with his ambitious plan, she carefully weighed the implications. Draco Malfoy, known for his formidable skill in Occlumency, posed a significant challenge; extracting valuable information from his mind without his awareness would require patience and finesse. Evelyn realised that to succeed, she would need to earn his trust - a feat that would not come easily, considering his reputation.Yet, the endeavour intrigued her. Not only did it promise to be a worthy challenge, but it also held the potential to unravel a mystery that had haunted the magical world for far too long. The stakes were high; if she could navigate the delicate intricacies of Malfoy's mind, it could provide crucial insights that would aid Harry, Pansy, and their friends in finally putting the past to rest. This mission could mean the difference between lingering shadows of the past and a brighter future free from the burdens of ancient grudges.Based on her extensive experiences, she understood that people were driven to kill for various motives: to gain power or possessions, to seek revenge, engulfed by anger or jealousy, or to act in self-defence. However, when it came to the murder of Hermione Granger, there seemed to be no tangible reward for Draco Malfoy. Killing her would only lead to a life sentence in Azkaban, hardly demonstrating allegiance to his Dark Lord. Nor was there any legitimate cause for self-defence; there was no evidence to suggest that Hermione had posed any threat to him, physically or magically.Hermione's wand had revealed no traces of offensive spells, nor had it been used for defensive purposes before her death. The notion that Draco had acted out of jealousy was equally implausible; such intense emotions typically ignited impulsive decisions clouded by passion, leading to rash actions in the heat of a moment. Yet, this was not the case here. Draco had pursued her with a chillingly calculated intent, hunting her down with a clear purpose rather than succumbing to a sudden fit of jealousy.Revenge could be a conceivable motive. Harry had described Draco’s persistent disdain for Hermione, noting how the Slytherin prince had long harboured bitterness towards her existence, sometimes even expressing a desire for her demise. However, murders committed out of revenge often lead the perpetrator to boast about their valour in vanquishing their foe. Strangely, Draco had remained silent; not once had he bragged about the act, nor did he ever openly acknowledge having taken her life.The entire situation was shrouded in mystery, and she felt an unyielding determination to uncover the truth. The question resonated in her mind, echoing relentlessly: why had Draco Malfoy, in the aftermath of the war, chosen to murder Hermione Granger?
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13th May 2003As Evelyn returned to the manor the next day, anticipation tinged the air. She wandered through the dimly lit downstairs rooms, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors, searching for Draco, but it soon became apparent that he was likely still holed up in his room.In her perusal of the kitchen, her gaze fell upon the damaged microwave, its door slightly ajar, hinting at the chaos within. Viscous yellow liquid oozed around the walls and surfaces, glistening unpleasantly under the morning light. A couple of empty tins lay haphazardly across the counter, remnants of a culinary disaster that had no doubt unfolded in her absence.With a resigned roll of her eyes, Evelyn waved her wand, watching as the clutter vanished into thin air, leaving the kitchen restored to a semblance of order. She sighed, mentally noting to procure a replacement for the ill-fated microwave and diligently working to impart essential cooking skills to him without any magical shortcuts.Before she left him the previous night, she had gifted him an alarm clock, a small gesture. She had also added several clocks throughout the kitchen and the entrance hall, their shiny faces reflecting the ornate decor, clashing dramatically with the elegance of the surroundings. The Muggle technology seemed almost out of place as if it were intruding on the timeless grandeur of the space.Determined to give him the breathing room he needed, she chose to wait for him in the entrance hall rather than in the intimacy of his room, as she had done the day before. When he finally appeared, he wore another long-sleeved shirt; this time, it was a deep shade of blue, reminiscent of a twilight sky. He looked weary, the shadows under his eyes suggesting a restless night, and he still struggled to stifle a yawn as he made his way toward her, the day's weight evident in his posture.“What happened to the microwave?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow as he approached, a look of confusion on her face.“It broke...” he replied deadpan as if the answer was obvious.“How?!” she exclaimed, her curiosity piqued and her mind racing with scenarios.“I was attempting to cook some eggs,” he explained, his voice hinting at exasperation. “And it just... exploded!”“Did you leave them in the shells?!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.Draco rubbed the back of his neck, a frustrated frown creasing his brow. “Well, yes. You told me to put stuff in the microwave but warned me against using metal. No specific time was mentioned, so I just made an educated guess.”Despite her efforts to remain serious, a laugh escaped her lips, and Draco huffed in annoyance, his irritation evident.“You don’t cook eggs like that in the microwave,” she explained, her tone shifting to one of gentle understanding as she watched his frustration mount.“Well damn, how the bloody hell was I supposed to know that?!” he shouted, his voice rising in exasperation. The tension between them was thick, but the situation's absurdity added a lightness that was hard to ignore.“Well, I can't fix electrical equipment,” she said with a slight shrug. “I’ll arrange for it to be replaced, but in the meantime, I’ll show you how to cook eggs on the hob later.”With a hint of curiosity, he asked, “How do I make toast?”She raised an eyebrow and replied, “With a toaster. Wow.”“Wow, what?” he responded, puzzled.“You’re pretty useless, you know,” she smirked, crossing her arms playfully.“Useless? Charming,” he retorted, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And who did you get to decorate this place anyway, a blind troll?”The air between them crackled with banter and underlying tension, illuminating their contrasting personalities.“Is it not up to your usual standards?” she teased, her voice laced with playful sarcasm.“The whole bedroom is just fucking grey,” he replied, frustration seeping into his tone.A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she absentmindedly flicked her wand toward the drab room. “There, Slytherin house colours just for you,” she said, a mischievous smile across her face.He rolled his eyes, unimpressed by her whimsical gesture.With a swift motion, Evelyn retrieved a pair of handcuffs from her bag, their metallic glint catching the light. “Come on then,” she urged, her demeanour shifting to one of playful authority. “Just until we get to my office.” Resigned, he extended his arms toward her, and she secured the cuffs around his wrists, the cool metal biting slightly against his skin. Together, they headed toward the ballroom to floo to the Auror office. ~ They sat in her office, the desk cluttered with stacks of documents, meticulously reviewing the case details sent by the various Muggle authorities. The files, some worn and dog-eared, others crisp and freshly printed, chronicled the lives of the victims, each a tragic thread woven into this dark tapestry of mystery. Each constabulary had its own set of theories attempting to connect the dots among the deceased: they shared a common race, were all single, and the bulk of them were in their youth, save for a few who defied that pattern.One particularly ambitious detective at Scotland Yard had embarked on a line of inquiry suggesting that all the victims were members of an elusive kink club, a notion that quickly unravelled under closer scrutiny. In truth, there was little linking the victims beyond the most apparent detail - they were all Muggles.Diverse in their origins, they hailed from different regions and backgrounds. Their investigation required exhaustive checks to piece together each victim’s family history, probing into their blood status and lineage and searching for any hidden connections that might explain the chilling circumstances of their situations. Each file turned over revealed more questions than answers, deepening the sense of urgency and dread in the air.As Auror Matthews dropped a new case file onto her desk with a dull thud, Evelyn was taken aback, her breath catching in her throat.“Justin Finch-Fletchley?!” she exclaimed, her voice laced with disbelief. “Are we absolutely sure about this?”He met her incredulous gaze with a steady nod. “They have just confirmed it,” he replied, his tone serious. “They triple-checked everything; it matches the same MO.”“B-but… he’s a wizard,” she stammered, her mind racing to process the implications of such a revelation.“A Muggleborn wizard,” he reiterated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed her reaction.A chill crept down her spine, sending shivers coursing through her. She could feel Draco’s intense gaze boring into her from across the room, and its weight was almost suffocating. Determined to regain her composure, she blinked furiously, willing her heart to stop racing. The atmosphere in the office felt electric, charged with tension as the reality of the situation settled in around them.“Thank you, Matthews,” she said, her voice steady yet filled with urgency. “We need to keep this new revelation strictly confidential. Not a single word should leak to the press. Additionally, we must investigate how the Daily Prophet got hold of this story in the first place.”“Parkinson is currently looking into that matter, guv,” Matthews replied.“Excellent. Have her come to see me as soon as she has gathered the relevant information,” she instructed, her brow slightly furrowing in concentration.Matthews nodded, taking note of her request.“Who’s currently at the Finch-Fletchley scene?” she inquired, shifting her focus to the ongoing investigation.“Potter's present, along with Tyler,” he answered, glancing at his notes.“Right. That’s good,” she mumbled.The door clicked shut with a soft finality, plunging the office into a profound silence that seemed to wrap around Evelyn like a thick fog. In this quietude, she opened the case file and delved into its contents, her eyes scanning the words with careful precision. Being a fellow Hufflepuff, she was already acquainted with Justin’s story. He had left Hogwarts after the tragic death of Dumbledore, a choice spurred by the haunting fears of persecution that loomed over muggle-borns like dark clouds on the horizon.“Are you okay?” A tentative voice broke through her reverie, pulling her from the depths of her thoughts.She looked up, momentarily disoriented, to find Draco's piercing gaze fixed on her, a mix of concern and curiosity etched on his features.“I’m fine,” she replied dismissively, her tone sharper than she intended.He nodded slightly as if weighing her words against the weight of his intuition.“Did you know Justin?” he probed softly, his voice barely above a whisper.“Not really,” she lied, the words feeling heavy on her tongue. “He was just another muggleborn in the year above me.” She quickly deflected, her curiosity piqued. “Did you know him?”Draco furrowed his brow, searching his memory. “I think I’d heard of him. Wasn’t he one of the petrified victims in second year...?” His voice trailed off, the gravity of that knowledge hanging between them. The loss permeated the moment, drawing them into a shared silence.“Yes, of course,” Evelyn murmured, her mind drifting back to her first year at Hogwarts, a time filled with whispers and unanswered questions about the enigma of her alleged wizard father. She recalled how she had fervently reassured her classmates of her half-blood status, desperate for their acceptance.“What does the file say?” he prompted, leaning in earnestly.Evelyn stared blankly at the pages before her, the ink seeming to blur as her mind struggled to comprehend the contents. The words felt like a riddle she couldn’t solve - no protective wards around the property, no indications of defensive magic employed, nothing that spoke of precaution. Just Nothing.“Um.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into her scalp as if trying to force clarity into her thoughts.Moments later, she felt a gentle presence nearby; a hesitant hand rested upon her shoulder, warm and grounding.“Meyer?” Draco’s voice broke through the fog, soft and unexpectedly reassuring.He stood just behind her, his touch surprisingly soothing - an intimacy she had never considered he possessed. The weight of his hand offered a comfort that contrasted starkly with the chaos swirling in her mind.“I’m fine,” she insisted, clearing her throat to mask her vulnerability. “Let’s just get back to work.”She felt a strange mix of relief and embarrassment as he withdrew his hand, retreating to the chair opposite her. Had she really allowed him to witness her weakness? But then she recalled his momentary hesitation, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and it dawned on her: he was not the heartless villain Harry had painted him to be. Perhaps there was more to Draco than she had ever dared to imagine.“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she declared firmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.“I wouldn’t dream of it, Meyer,” he replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, the glint in his eyes playful and teasing.Evelyn inhaled deeply as if trying to anchor herself in the moment, her chest rising slightly with the effort.“Don’t start with the smart-arse remarks, Malfoy,” she warned, the tightness in her voice betraying the irritation brewing within her.“What happened to ‘Mr. Malfoy’?” he asked, his tone mockingly innocent, a sparkle of mischief evident in his gaze.Evelyn’s eyes narrowed at him, a storm of annoyance brewing as she shot back, “Don’t get cute with me.” Her tone was almost threatening, each word laced with a sharp edge as her glare bore into him.Draco chuckled softly, seemingly unfazed by her frosty demeanour, his relaxed posture betraying no hint of the tension in the air. “What? I’m just stating a fact,” he replied, a nonchalant smile spreading across his face.He leaned back in his chair, arms casually crossed, observing her with an amused expression that deepened her irritation. Yet, beneath that frustration, Evelyn felt the stirrings of appreciation for his efforts to lift her spirits, even if she refused to acknowledge it outright.With a roll of her eyes and a scoff that barely concealed her reluctant amusement, she muttered, “Oh, shut up.” The words escaped her lips, but the begrudging smile creeping onto her face betrayed her.“You know, you’re not yourself when you’re craving nicotine,” she continued, her tone lightening ever so slightly as she reached into her pocket. “Cigarette?” She offered him, an almost teasing smile forming at the corners of her mouth.He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes as he regarded her momentarily before finally accepting the offer. “Thank you,” he said, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he reached out and took the cigarette from her delicate fingers. “Thought you’d never ask.”He positioned it between his lips, and she ignited the tip with a graceful wand flick. A satisfied smile crept across his face as he drew in a long, smooth drag, savouring the rich, swirling smoke that billowed from his mouth and vanished into the air.“You’re not so bad either when you’re not being a bitch,” he remarked, shooting her a cheeky grin between puffs, the smoke curling elegantly around his head like a phantom.She narrowed her eyes. “Can we get back to work, please?” She gestured at the scattered file on the table, clearly irked. Although their banter had provided a welcome distraction from the tension in the room, the task loomed over them like an unyielding shadow.Taking another drag, he expelled a thick cloud of smoke, watching it drift lazily before responding with a nonchalant smile, clearly enjoying her flustered demeanour.“Of course, Head Auror, Meyer.” He said, his voice dripping with mockery, a sardonic smirk lingering on his lips as he flicked his gaze at the case file resting between them. “Shall we delve into the intricate details of this particular case file, then?”“Meyer will suffice, or even Evelyn,” she replied, her tone firm yet laced with a hint of challenge.He raised an eyebrow; the smirk on his face wavered just a fraction. “Oh? We’re on a first-name basis now, are we?” he teased, amusement dancing in his eyes.He took another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him in lazy spirals, before continuing, savouring the moment. “Very well, Evelyn.” He meticulously enunciated each syllable of her name, letting it roll off his tongue like velvet.Evelyn's eyes narrowed slightly at the sound of her name slipping from his lips, an unexpected flutter stirring in her stomach. There was something unnerving about how he said it, a resonance that sent her heart racing, leaving her momentarily off-balance.She forced the feeling deep down, pushing it aside with a determined resolve that refused to grant it any power. “Right, let’s focus, shall we?” Her voice was steady and assertive, contrasting with the tumult within as she redirected her attention to the case file sprawled before her.He chuckled softly, like a low rumble, as he extinguished his cigarette on the edge of her desk. A teasing smirk danced on his lips, igniting a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Eager and bossy. I like it,” he remarked, his tone playful.He picked up the file with casual confidence, flipping through its pages with practised ease as he scanned the contents. “Anything that stands out differently?”“Different? You mean aside from the fact that we’re dealing with a muggle-born wizard this time instead of just an ordinary Muggle?” she shot back, her sarcasm sharp as a blade.His smirk broadened, clearly unfazed by her biting wit. “Yes, apart from that, genius,” he replied, amusement lacing his words.She began to flip through the pages, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Aside from that, it appears the MO remains consistent, with the same mark above the murder location. No witnesses, just like before. The property was locked up tight, but curiously, it wasn't warded.”As she spoke, the weight of the case settled around them, and the atmosphere thickened with the gravity of the day’s revelation.“Could that be significant?” he inquired, a note of curiosity in his voice. “It seems rather strange that a wizard would neglect to cast wards around his property.”“I’ll see what they come back with once they return from the scene,” she replied, her brow furrowed in contemplation.“We're not going to get much from this, are we?” he questioned, a hint of scepticism shading his tone.“I doubt it,” she admitted, frustration seeping into her words. “Every single one of these killings is shrouded in vagueness, with no evidence left behind - nothing to connect any dots. It’s all so meticulous.” Her hands clenched slightly, betraying her growing irritation.“What does your gut tell you?” he pressed, studying her intently.“Definitely a Death Eater,” she asserted, eyes narrowing with conviction.“Well, yes…” he conceded.She ignored him, thinking aloud. “Someone who is still faithful to Voldemort’s ideals. Someone who wants to finish what he started. They enjoy this; you don't kill this many people because it's a chore. You do it cause you like it. The primary thrill is the torture; the killing is secondary. This is not just someone who wants an outright kill but thrives on the whole event. We need to revisit your Dolohov theory.”“I thought you said he was imprisoned?” Draco queried, his brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced at her.“He was five years ago,” she began, pausing to gather her thoughts. “But given everything that’s happened since, maybe that’s changed.”
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Evelyn had instructed Pansy to contact the various Eastern European ministries to gather information about Dolohov's current imprisonment location. The task was urgent, as every moment counted in their search.After finishing up at the office, Evelyn and Draco flooed back to the hostel. She led him into the kitchen as promised, enthusiastically unveiling the toaster gleaming on the countertop alongside the electric hob. Draco, however, was a complete novice in the non-magical culinary arts. He preferred his toast to be thoroughly charred, and instead of adjusting the timer to achieve the perfect golden brown, he kept it on the lowest setting, pressing the lever repeatedly. Eventually, the unfortunate result was a haze of burnt toast wafting through the air, triggering the shrill wail of the smoke detector.With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Evelyn waved her wand, conjuring a gentle gust of air that dispersed the acrid smoke. Swiftly, she reset the alarm, and with a flick of her wrist, the charred remains of toast vanished as if they had never existed.“Stop, stop, stop,” she insisted, her voice firm as she gently but firmly grasped his wrist, preventing him from attempting again. “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be,” she added, her tone laced with exasperation. As she released a long, frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumped slightly.“Well, excuse me for being a bit new to all of this,” he retorted, annoyance evident as his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. The frustration in his voice echoed the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a clear sign of his impatience.With a steely resolve, Evelyn refused to relent, patiently walking Draco through the intricate steps of toasting for what felt like the tenth time. Her patience was stretched thin, the subtle twitch in her brow revealing the strain, yet her commitment to helping him never wavered. Each time she demonstrated the technique, her voice was steady and encouraging, and she noticed the flicker of confusion in his eyes slowly give way to clarity. Finally, after much persistence, he eagerly grasped the fundamental art of toasting, a proud smile breaking across his features as he celebrated this small but significant victory. The week continued in a similar fashion, with Evelyn dutifully collecting Draco from the manor each morning. Their first stop was the ballroom, where she navigated the floo network, transporting them directly to the familiar fireplace within the Aurors’ headquarters.Once there, Draco could roam freely, unchained for the day, relishing the fleeting sense of autonomy within the confines of the bustling office. He gravitated towards Evelyn’s desk in her private office, a sanctuary cluttered with teetering piles of case files and legal documents, rather than venturing into the more chaotic main Auror office, which often set his nerves on edge.In this quieter space, they would immerse themselves in reviewing case files, a blend of focused silence and the occasional light banter that danced between them - a teasing remark here, a playful jab there - each moment temporarily easing the weight of their everyday responsibilities.Lunchtime became a cherished interlude, a delightful escape from their otherwise high-pressure routine. They would explore various takeout options and shared meals punctuated by laughter and easy conversation, offering sustenance and a momentary respite from the intensity of their work, allowing them time to connect before diving back into the tumult of their workload.As the sun began to set, she would gather her things, ensuring that Draco was ready for their evening journey to the manor. They would glide back to the hostel through the Floo, the comforting warmth of the fire enveloping them momentarily before they emerged at their destination.In the meantime, the case file involving Justin Finch-Fletchley continued to gather dust in the ever-growing stack of unsolved cases. Each day passed without significant advancements, the Aurors no closer to apprehending the elusive perpetrators than they were to sprouting wings and soaring to the moon.The investigation remained frustratingly stagnant. The crime scene yielded no clues or evidence suggesting a specific suspect or faction at fault. This all-too-familiar scenario left Evelyn feeling more determined yet increasingly disheartened with each passing day. On the Friday afternoon of Draco’s first week, he returned to the hostel, where Evelyn handed him five gleaming galleons. He accepted the coins with a slight smile, rubbing his thumb over the intricate engravings adorning their surfaces.“What are you planning to do with your money?” she asked, a hint of curiosity sparking in her eyes.“I think I’ll treat myself to a haircut,” he replied playfully, running his fingers through his long, tousled hair and glancing at her through his lashes.“I’ll have to get used to the new look,” she said, a mix of amusement and intrigue evident in her tone. “So, what do you have planned for the weekend?” she ventured, hoping to draw him into more conversation.“Why? Planning to invite me out somewhere?” he replied, a teasing smirk spreading across his face.“Hardly,” she chuckled a bit awkwardly. “I know the hostel can be a bit dull, and you’re not exactly the type to venture out much.”“I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably just stay in my room and indulge in some reading, or maybe I’ll check out that gym downstairs,” he said with a soft chuckle that danced in the air.“You should give the gym a shot; exercise is good for the mind,” she suggested, her eyes brightening.He rolled his eyes dramatically, a mock exasperation painting his features. “Salazar,” he exclaimed with a grin, “you sound like a sodding healer.”"Well, someone’s got to look out for you," she said with a playful smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief."Why's that?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.She shrugged nonchalantly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We're working together, remember? It only makes sense. Plus, it’ll keep you occupied during downtime.""Well,” he nodded. “have a good weekend, Meyer," he replied, turning to leave."Are you all set with the cooking situation for the weekend?" she called out as he started to walk away.He paused momentarily, turning back to face her, a smirk creeping across his face. "Oh, I'm sure. I won’t starve. I can manage some simple meals just fine," he assured her, a hint of confidence in his tone.“Here,” she said, tossing him a small, glimmering silver object, which he caught instinctively, his fingers curling around its smooth surface.“What is it?” he asked, lifting the device to eye level and examining the intricate engravings that seemed to glint in the light.“It’s a mobile,” she replied.He raised an eyebrow, curiosity etched across his face. “A mobile?”“It’s a communication device,” she explained, her eyes sparkling enthusiastically. “Much quicker than owl post. You can call me if you need me during the weekend or are just feeling lonely and want to chat.”She stepped closer, her movements purposeful as she opened the silver device carefully, revealing a small, sleek screen. She navigated to the contact list, where she’d amusingly added herself under the pseudonym ‘Bossy Witch’.He chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth lifting at the playful title.With a quick demonstration, she showed him how to make a call. Just then, her mobile rang sharply, and she pulled it from her pocket to reveal the incoming call from ‘Ferret’.He rolled his eyes with feigned exasperation, even as a smile tugged at his lips.“Well, I’ll see you Monday then,” she said, beaming at him.“Thanks, Meyer,” he replied, his voice tinged with hesitation. A sense of gratitude and curiosity bloomed within him. ~ A wand in his hand, splintered, cracked, dead… Draco jolted awake, his skin clammy and glistening with sweat, the sheets clinging to him like a second skin in the stifling heat. A heavy blanket of humidity enveloped the room, amplifying the discomfort that clung to his every movement. He had been trapped in that familiar dream once more, a haunting echo of the past that refused to fade - the memory of a fateful journey into the forest's depths, meant to be purposeful but ultimately spiralling into chaos.With a groggy rub of his eyes, he stifled a yawn that seemed to echo in the stillness of the pre-dawn hour. He padded over to the window, its frame cool against his fingertips, and swung it open wide, allowing the crisp, refreshing air to rush in like a welcomed embrace. Hanging his head out into the darkness, he inhaled deeply, enjoying the contrast to the stifling heat of his room. Below, the streets lay shrouded in shadows, deserted and silent, with only the dull glow of streetlights casting a gentle illumination across the pavement, creating pools of golden light amidst the encroaching night.Draco pushed himself away from the window, the fading light casting soft shadows across his face, and went to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, the refreshing droplets glistening like tiny crystals before rolling down his skin. Standing there, he gazed into the mirror, studying his reflection. The image of the splintered wand in his hand flickered in his mind like a ghost, but he resolutely shoved it deep into a mental chest, sealing it tightly to keep those painful memories at bay. Instead, he summoned forth more recent memories, constructing a sturdy barrier that safeguarded the moments he sought to hide.After introspection, Draco changed into a more casual outfit, exchanging the stiffness of his usual office attire for something relaxed. He descended the staircase to the ballroom, where elegant décor mingled with the soft shimmer of crystal chandeliers. The sight of various gym equipment caught his eye, each piece a challenge waiting to be explored. He studied the machines intently, his mind racing with possibilities as he visualised how they could be utilised.He carefully examined the apparatus before him, which featured a wide, rectangular platform with a podium brimming with an array of buttons, each distinctly marked and waiting for a command. Atop the podium lay a matching set of rails designed for gripping. With curiosity and trepidation, he stepped onto the platform and grasped the rails, feeling their cold metal beneath his palms.For a moment, nothing happened, and he furrowed his brow in thought. Ah, he recalled, this device required something vital – what was it she used to call it? Elexcity, that was the term, wasn't it? It sparked a memory in him, but he pushed it aside for now.Peering down at the multitude of buttons, he searched intently for one that would activate the machine. His eyes finally landed on a button boldly labelled ‘Power’. With a feeling of anticipation, he pressed it. Instantaneously, the platform beneath him jerked to life, beginning to glide backwards with surprising speed. He instinctively stepped forward to maintain his balance. Still, the platform continued to retreat, forcing him to keep stepping ahead, a mix of thrill and panic coursing through him as he adapted to this unexpected movement.The experience was rather dreary; he might as well have strolled leisurely around the grand manor for all the exertion he was getting from the contraption. A spark of curiosity flickered in his mind - perhaps one of these shiny buttons had the power to accelerate his pace. With a mix of impatience and whimsy, he pressed buttons randomly, his fingers dancing across the panel.Suddenly, without warning, the base lurched backwards at an astonishing speed, catching him completely off guard. He had barely registered the movement before it sent him reeling, and in a chaotic tumble, he found himself flying backwards. The world spun around him as he lost his balance and, in a split second, collided with the platform's edge, cringing as he felt a sharp jab at the bridge of his nose. He tasted blood in his clumsy descent.“Fucking Salazar!” He shouted, his voice muffled by the torrent of liquid spilling from his mouth. With great effort, he pushed himself off the sleek, polished floor, the cool surface contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from his bruised body. As his fingers grazed his face, they encountered the tender skin round and the warmth of fresh streams trickling from his nose.Bloody hell, How the hell was he supposed to fix this without magic? His mind raced, the ache in his nose pulsing like a heartbeat.Cradling the bridge of his nose with his fingers, he tilted his head back to staunch the flow and blinked through the haze of pain. Determined, he took a hesitant step, his other hand extended before him, fingertips brushing against the air as he navigated blindly through the manor, intent on returning to his room. Each carefully placed footfall echoed in the silence, underscoring the urgency of his unsteady journey.He finally reached his room, the door to the bathroom creaking slightly as he pushed it open. Standing before the mirror, he took in the sight of his reflection. The bridge of his nose was a deep, angry reddish-purple, a reminder of his hard fall. His grey t-shirt clung to him, soaked through with thick rivulets of blood that cascaded down like dark, heavy rain.How had she fixed it last time?“Tilt your head up,” she instructed firmly, her voice steady and unwavering.As he complied, he felt her gentle yet assertive fingers cradling his face, guiding him to tilt his head back. The cool evening air brushed against his skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the blood trickling from his nose.“Granger, why the face?!” he sighed dramatically, gazing upward at the sprawling sky, a tapestry of fading colours as dusk approached. He swallowed hard, the metallic taste of his blood lingering uncomfortably in his mouth.“You were being a prat,” she replied, her tone unyielding as she deftly placed a soft towel beneath his nose. Her touch was both soothing and practical.“I was not!” he protested, a hint of indignation creeping into his voice.“Yes, you were! You were acting so typically Malfoy-esque to Ron right in front of me!” she scolded, her eyes flashing with exasperation.“Weasley is fair game,” he retorted, a smirk threatening to break through despite the situation.“Just sit still, Draco,” she sighed, her frustration evident as she prepared to tend to the mess he had gotten himself into.He released a deep grunt of resignation, sinking into the moment's stillness. She raised her wand, its slender form glinting in the dim light, and aimed it carefully at the bridge of his nose. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for what was to come.“Episkey,” she chanted, her voice steady and resolute.As the spell coursed through the air, he felt a peculiar warmth. There was a sharp click, like a door locking into place, as his nose began to mend itself. A sudden sting made his eyes water, blurring the edges of his reality."That’s normal," she explained gently, her tone soothing.He felt the warmth of her lips brush against his cheek, a sweetly tender gesture that made him smile. Eager to return the affection, he opened his eyes, hoping to meet her gaze. But instead, he was met with an unsettling emptiness. The bathroom loomed around him, stark and cold, the walls closing in as he realised he was utterly alone.Clutching a blood-soaked towel to his face, he could still feel the throb of his broken nose, sharp and unforgiving."Damn it," he muttered softly, the bitterness of defeat lingering in the air.He retrieved the mobile phone from the depths of his back pocket, the familiar weight solid in his hand as he flipped it open with a practised motion. The screen illuminated, casting a soft glow contrasting with the dim surroundings. He navigated to the contact labelled ‘bossy witch,’ his thumb hovering indecisively above the ‘call’ button, a moment of hesitation in the air. Despite the swell of pride threatening to hold him back, he surrendered to the urge, pressing the button firmly. As he lifted the phone to his ear, ringing echoed softly, each tone a ticking reminder of his choice. After a few rings, he heard the unmistakable click of the line connecting, and then…“Hello, ferret.”“Fucking hell.”“What’s up?”“I need your help.”“Okay?”“Can you just come over….please?”“Um, okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” “What on earth happened to you?” Evelyn asked, her brow furrowed in concern as she took in the sight of him. He had been slumped on his bed, a damp towel pressed against his face when a gentle knock had disrupted the solitude of his room twenty minutes after he ended the call. Although the bleeding had ceased, a dull, throbbing ache radiated from his nose.“I fell,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to mask the pain in his voice.She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh and crouched before him, her expression softening.“Move the towel out of the way,” she instructed gently.He reluctantly shifted the towel, revealing the angry red mark that marred his skin. With a flick of her wrist, she whispered, “Episkey,” pointing her wand delicately at his face.He felt the familiar, comforting click as his nose realigned, and he couldn’t help but wince as tears pricked at his eyes from the sudden sensation.“That’s normal,” she reassured him, her voice soothing like a balm.Draco squeezed his eyes shut tightly, wishing with all his heart that when he opened them again, he would find Hermione seated across from him, her enchanting smile lighting up the space between them.He slowly opened his eyes, forcing himself to face the reality that Evelyn still knelt before him, concern etched on her features. Disappointment washed over him like a cold wave, but he fought to keep it hidden beneath a mask of gratitude.“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.Evelyn peered at him intently, her curiosity piqued. “So, what really happened?” she pressed gently.“I lost a fight with your gym equipment,” he replied, his words vague yet laced with an unwilling hint of humour.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
19th May 2003On the crisp Monday morning, with the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, Evelyn made her way to the manor to collect Draco, as she had done the previous week. Before they could Floo to the Ministry, she had some disappointing news to share with him.“Before we head to the office, we need to address something important,” she explained, her tone a blend of firmness and genuine concern that conveyed the gravity of the situation.“What now?” he sighed wearily, running a frustrated hand through his tousled hair, his eyes reflecting a mix of fatigue and irritation. Clearly, he was not in the mood for any complications to his day.“Magical maintenance has been on my back about your smoking habits,” she admonished, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.“Huh?” he replied, his brow furrowing in confusion, completely taken aback by her unexpected revelation.“I got you these,” she said with a hint of enthusiasm while pulling a small white box from the depths of her oversized bag. The box was sleek and minimalist, but its contents carried a weight of implication that he wouldn’t be too willing to accept.“What are they?” he asked suspiciously, eyeing the box as if it held some sort of trick.“Nicotine patches!” she exclaimed, her voice rising a pitch too high in her eagerness to convey the benefits of her gift.“And what exactly do they do?” he jeered, crossing his arms defensively, unwilling to show any sign of appreciation.“They help you quit smoking,” she encouraged, her voice softening to appeal to his better judgment.“But I don’t want to give up smoking,” he sneered stubbornly, shaking his head in condescension, his jaw tightening.“Look,” she said, exasperated, “with everyone complaining that their office smells like an ashtray, and considering you’ve been stubbing out your cigarettes all over my desk and leaving burn marks everywhere, we need to find a solution. You’ll have to stop smoking in the office, at least. You can still smoke in your room if you need to,” she explained, trying to reason with him.“Fine,” he relented, wrenching the box roughly from her hand, his impatience evident. “What the hell do I do with them?”“You stick them on your arm. Would you like me to show you?” she offered her tone, a mix of patience and gentle guidance.“I think I can figure out how to stick a patch on my arm,” he spat angrily.“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning,” she replied with a half-smile, attempting to lighten the mood despite the tension between them.He glared at her, his frustration evident in every line of his face.“You really do insist on controlling my freedom. Don’t you enjoy berating me enough, Meyer?” he sneered, the words laced with sarcasm.“A little,” she teased, an impish grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re just so receptive to it.”In that moment, he couldn’t shake the memory of a certain bushy-haired witch from another time and place, someone he used to engage in verbal sparring matches with. The nostalgia tugged at him, but he quickly pushed it aside.With a hint of impatience, he ripped open the packet and extracted a sleek patch. He glared at her, unbuttoning his right shirt cuff and rolling up his sleeve to reveal his shoulder. Gripping the patch in his left hand, he used his teeth to peel away the sticky backing and pressed it firmly against the skin at the top of his upper arm.“Good enough?” he asked, searching her eyes for approval. She nodded, a flicker of satisfaction in her expression, before he rolled his sleeve back down, concealing the evidence of his decision. “I can already feel its loving embrace,” he deadpanned, an exaggerated roll of his eyes following.“Shall we head to the office then?” she said, her voice steady as she turned towards the floo, ready to depart.“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he prodded, a teasing edge to his tone.“I don’t believe so,” she replied, a hint of uncertainty creeping in as she backtracked.“You aren’t going to chain me up?” he questioned, genuinely curious.“I don’t think I need to anymore. You’re not dangerous,” she replied, the certainty in her voice striking him.Damn, was he being that obvious? He could feel her assessing him, and the realisation settled uncomfortably in his stomach.“You’re not afraid of me?” he asked, half hoping for a different response.“No, I don’t think I ever was,” she said, her unwavering gaze meeting his with unshakeable confidence.“Then why the handcuffs?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.“Image, mostly. To keep up appearances for the public. To ensure you’re subdued. It’s about maintaining a sense of safety for the people of the wizarding world,” she explained, her tone turning serious, yet there was a playful glint in her eye.“You conniving - ” he began stepping towards her menacingly, but she interrupted.“Ah, ah, ah,” she said, waggling her finger at him playfully. “We could always continue our little charade if you want to, but I don’t think you’d want to.” That afternoon, the dim light of the office flickered as Evelyn meticulously pored over the case files, searching for any minuscule details that may have eluded them in their previous investigations - anything that could offer a breakthrough. Her brow furrowed in concentration while the scattered papers around her formed a chaotic landscape of clues long overlooked.Across the room, Draco leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk curling on his lips as he balanced precariously on the back legs, his feet hovering above the floor like a mischievous child testing boundaries. He reread the victim profiles, his mind dancing between the grim statistics and the darker implications of their case.A sharp knock on the door interrupted the silence.“Come in,” Evelyn called out, her voice steady despite the swirling thoughts in her head. The door creaked open, revealing Pansy, who entered with purposeful strides, clutching a small stack of papers that seemed to pulse with urgency. Draco immediately dropped all four chair legs to the floor, his playful smile disappearing instantly.“I’ve heard back from the Eastern European Ministry,” Pansy announced, her tone serious as she approached Evelyn’s desk. “Dolohov was held there, but he has since… been released.” Her voice trailed off, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air.“Released?!” Evelyn exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief. “He’s a convicted Death Eater!”“Not there, he isn’t,” Pansy sighed, the flicker of frustration evident in her expression. She flipped through the papers in her hands, searching for the specifics. “The Ministry advised that he was supposed to be extradited to the UK after completing his sentence with them, but it seems he was accidentally released instead...” she concluded, her voice heavy with the implications.“When exactly did this happen?” Evelyn pressed, a sense of urgency creeping into her tone.“Uh,” Pansy said, her eyes scanning the documents. “January 2002...” she read, her voice trailing off as the date settled heavily in the room.“Right. Can you check back with the Eastern European Ministry? See if any Muggle deaths have been reported similar to what we've encountered here?” Evelyn instructed, her mind racing with the potential connections.“Will do,” Pansy nodded, multitasking as she noted Evelyn's request.“Oh, and did you discover how the Prophet got wind of this story?” Evelyn inquired, her curiosity piqued.“Potter told them,” Pansy sighed, rolling her eyes.Of course, he did. Harry would want the Prophet to spotlight the serial killer angle of their case, diverting attention from their newly acquired assistance - Draco Malfoy - whose release back into society was anything but welcome news for the wizarding world. Give the Prophet the sensational headline while glossing over the fact that they had just enlisted an ex-Death Eater to aid in solving this grim mystery.“Thank you, Pansy,” Evelyn said, dismissing her with a wave, keenly aware of the storm they were about to plunge into.Pansy left, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Evelyn alone with her thoughts - a daunting case looming ahead and the undeniable shadows of their troubled past trailing closely in tow.“Someone tampered with his extradition papers...” a voice murmured, shattering the tense silence that had enveloped the room.Evelyn lifted her gaze to meet Draco’s penetrating stare, a mixture of confusion and concern furrowing her brow. “What do you mean?”Draco leaned forward, the gravity of the revelation etched deeply into the contours of his face. “He wasn’t merely released; he was mistakenly set free instead of being extradited. You’d hope the Eastern European Ministry isn’t that stupid.”Evelyn felt a rush of adrenaline quicken her pulse as the implications crystallised in her mind. “So, you’re suggesting that an external party might have altered the paperwork?” she proposed, her thoughts racing in a whirlwind of possibilities. “Or could it be that someone was imperiused into making such a critical error?”Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the hint of regret flashing in his eyes. She was acutely aware that one of his charges had been using the Imperius Curse on Madam Rosmerta in his sixth year.He shook his head slightly, his expression grave. “Either scenario is troubling. If it's an outside influence, then we might be facing a far more complex web than we ever anticipated.There was a moment of silence between them as Evelyn contemplated his theory.“But who would have the audacity to do that? Who would risk everything for a two-bit Death Eater?” he mused, his voice laced with genuine puzzlement.In a moment of clarity, Evelyn flicked her wand with practised ease, summoning a silvery figure from the tip. The ethereal form listened intently to her whispered message before padding silently out of the room, its translucent shape glowing faintly in the dim light.“Was that an otter...?” Draco asked, eyebrows raised in surprise as he observed the creature’s graceful movement.“Badger,” she clarified, the corners of her lips hinting at a wry smile despite the seriousness of their discussion.A sharp knock broke their moment, and Evelyn said, “Come in.” The door creaked open to reveal Matthews, the young Auror looking expectantly at them. “Ah, Matthews, I need you to run a full background report on Antonin Dolohov. I want to know everything about his family and associates - past and present.”Matthews nodded earnestly, jotting notes on his pad before quickly departing the room.Draco watched her intently, curiosity etched on his features. “What are you thinking?” he probed, his tone more serious now.“I think you’re right,” Evelyn replied, her hair falling slightly over her eyes as she gathered her thoughts. “Someone tampered with Dolohov’s extradition documents, and I want to know who orchestrated this.” The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her, a web of intrigue and danger beginning to unfold before them. Later that evening, after Evelyn escorted Draco back to the hostel's safety, she returned to her office for a much-needed catch-up with Harry. The atmosphere was tense, charged with the weight of recent events.“I would have appreciated a heads-up about your announcement to the Prophet,” she said, her tone sharp as she settled into her chair.“Damage control,” Harry shrugged, his expression unyielding. “They’re going to report that Malfoy has been released, but hopefully, in light of a serial killer on the loose, he’ll be relegated to third-page news.”“Is it worth creating a panic, though? People are going to jump to conclusions and think you-know-who is back,” she countered, a hint of worry creeping into her voice.“Voldemort is dead,” Harry replied, his voice firm.“I know that as well as you do; I was there, too,” she reminded him, her eyes narrowing slightly.“The Prophet has only been informed about a killer targeting Muggles,” Harry explained, leaning forward slightly, “I have withheld the information regarding Justin’s death. That detail has been classified at the highest level.”“But surely people who knew Justin...?” Evelyn started, her concern evident.“Justin was a quiet man who lived a solitary life; he never returned to Hogwarts to finish his final year and worked exclusively within the Muggle world,” Harry elaborated. “As a result, very few in the magical community even knew him. Therefore, the risk of leaks to the Prophet is minimal.”“We hope,” she murmured, scepticism evident in her voice.“Just focus on your responsibilities and let me deal with the press,” Harry instructed a touch of finality in his tone.“Fair enough,” Evelyn conceded, though her mind remained a whirl of thoughts.“Where are we with the serial killer investigation?” Harry inquired, pivoting the conversation. “Any suspects yet?”“Malfoy suggested Dolohov,” she replied, brows furrowing in concentration.“I thought Dolohov was captured?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.“He was accidentally released about sixteen months ago,” she clarified.“Accidentally?” Harry echoed, incredulity lacing his voice.“We’re currently delving into his background,” she affirmed, her resolve hardening. “It’s evident someone has a use for him now.”“That sick son of a bitch...” Harry muttered through gritted teeth, anger and determination battling in his expression. The implications loomed darkly over them, an unwelcome reminder of the darkness they were still fighting against. “You know he was the one who cast the curse on Hermione, back at the Department of Mysteries during our fifth year," Harry added."I had heard she sustained an injury," Evelyn replied, her tone measured and matter-of-fact. "But I wasn’t aware of who was responsible or the true extent of her injuries.""We need to ensure this information stays out of the Daily Prophet," Harry insisted, his brow furrowing in concern. "I don’t want Dolohov’s name splashed across the front page.”Evelyn nodded in agreement, but she could feel a wave of anxiety washing over her. The repeated mentions of Dolohov sent a shiver down her spine.
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He gazed into the mirror at his freshly cropped hair, attempting to sculpt it into a style he knew she would adore. The cut was sharp - short on the back and sides with tousled strands cascading atop. He turned on the hot tap, letting the steam rise as he wet his fingers, then ran them through the top of his hair, striving for that effortless, messy look. With each slight tilt of his head, he admired his reflection, a smile slowly forming as his eyes settled on the ink of the neck tattoo that slowly melted away."You're so vain." Her voice pierced through his thoughts, filled with playful teasing.He turned to find her leaning casually against the wall by the mirror; arms crossed, amusement dancing in her expression."What?!" he exclaimed with feigned innocence. "I have to look good.""Tell me, Draco, what possessed you to believe that slicking your hair back was an attractive choice?" she quipped, arching an eyebrow."Ugh, that was all my mother’s doing," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I was her ‘little darling’.”"You looked like a posh prat," she chastised, shaking her head disapprovingly."Well, darling, I was a posh prat," he chuckled, a nostalgic glimmer in his eyes."And you still are," she shot back, a smirk playing on her lips."Admit it, Granger, you love it," he replied, a confident smirk stretching across his face.He turned to examine his reflection again, but the mirror had fogged up, obscuring his image. He turned the tap off, wiping away the condensation with the back of his hand.When he turned back, ready to compliment her fabulous curls, he discovered she had vanished. He looked behind him, scanning the empty, lifeless bathroom, only met with silence. She was never here.He closed his eyes, a swell of disappointment crashing over him like a wave, drowning out the lingering warmth of her presence. ~“New haircut?” Evelyn inquired, a playful glint in her eyes as she arrived to pick him up the following day.“Out with the old, in with the new,” he replied with a confident smirk, running a hand through his freshly styled hair.“Definitely an improvement compared to the days when you slicked it back like a - ”“A posh prat,” he interjected, a knowing smile crossing his lips. “I know.”“Actually, I was going to say like a Slytherin Prince,” she teased, raising an eyebrow.“Hmm,” he chuckled, the sound warm and full of camaraderie.“Have you had a chance to hit the gym again?” she asked casually, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in her tone.“Not since the last time,” he admitted, gently rubbing the bridge of his nose.Evelyn nodded thoughtfully. “I could show you how to work the machines properly if you’d like,” she added hesitantly as they approached the fireplace to floo travel.“I think I’ll manage, but thanks,” he replied, his confidence evident.“Fair enough. Just remember, you have my number if you want me to go over anything with you,” she said, her voice warm as she tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. The flames erupted into a brilliant green hue, illuminating the room.She stepped into the fireplace, reaching out her hand to him.He hesitated momentarily before accepting her hand as he stepped into the emerald flames beside her. In the dimly lit office, Evelyn meticulously sifted through the scattered case files that the Muggle authorities had reluctantly handed over. Their preliminary notes from the crime scenes were sparse at best, shrouded in confusion and incredulity. The investigators struggled to grasp the bizarre phenomenon of seemingly healthy individuals, safe within the confines of their own homes, suddenly choosing to drop dead without a trace of explanation. Each house stood sentinel, locked tightly from the inside - a façade of security that only deepened the mystery. No visible entry points marred their walls, not a single window was broken, and not a door was kicked in. The stillness of the homes belied the chaos that had unfolded within.Muggle medical examiners had been unable to determine a definitive cause of death, as the individuals examined exhibited no underlying health issues. Comprehensive evaluations revealed that they were all in robust health, free from any serious or life-threatening medical conditions that could have contributed to their demise. They had no noticeable physical injuries; they weren’t strangled, stabbed or shot. There was no poison or drugs in their system, or at least nothing lethal. There was no sign of physical torture, no fingernails pulled off, or teeth forcibly tugged out. The victim's hands were balled so tight they had to break their fingers to uncurl them, and there they found the only physical trauma - the indentations from their fingernails in their palms.It wasn't until the medical examiner at St. Mungo's Hospital conducted a thorough examination of Justin Finch-Fletchley's body that the true extent of his injuries became tragically apparent.His face was screwed up as if in a silent scream, hands balled into fists, eyes tightly closed, just like all the others.But inside, hidden from the Muggle doctors, dark magic had torn through his body. His nerve endings were scorched like he had been set alight from the inside out. Undergoing repeated use of a curse they couldn’t yet determine. Everything pointed to the cruciatus, but it was different somehow.“What's your favourite colour?” Draco inquires, his voice cutting through the quiet, pulling her thoughts away from the dense case files across the desk. They had settled into a comfortable rhythm, a mix of analysing the intricate details of their investigation interspersed with light-hearted banter. She felt a wave of gratitude for the distraction, a welcome reprieve from the weight of the case.She leaned back in her chair, placing the file down, and pondered her response for a brief moment. “Teal,” she affirmed, letting a smile slip onto her lips.“Teal?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in playful surprise.“Teal,” she reiterated, her voice firm. “It’s this lovely blue-green hue, reminiscent of the vibrant waters of a sunny, warm sea - almost like a tropical oasis.”He nodded thoughtfully, absorbing her description.After a brief pause, she countered with a knowing smirk, “Let me guess, Slytherin green is your favourite colour?”“What else?” he shrugged nonchalantly, yet she caught a glimmer in his eye that suggested he was not entirely sincere.Curiosity brimming, she shifted the conversation. “Favourite food?” she asked, curious to see if he was engaging in this playful exchange, a seemingly innocent game of twenty questions.Draco leaned back, his chin resting against his hand, feigning deep contemplation as if savouring the choice between myriad sumptuous options. Finally, in a tone imbued with a hint of mischief, he declared, “Steak. Rare, bloody preferred.” His eyes sparkled with enjoyment as if the mere mention of it conjured the irresistible aroma of a perfectly seared cut.“Apart from steak,” she clarified, her tone slightly teasing. “You’ve already told me about your unwavering fondness for all things bloody.”Draco snorts with amusement, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes as he relishes the playful banter.“Lobster. Crab cakes. Any form of seafood, really,” he declared with a hint of sophistication.“Posh guy,” she quipped back, a sly grin spreading across her face as she enjoyed their back-and-forth.Draco smirked, his expression suggesting he was revealing in her light-hearted ribbing. “If the shoe fits,” he replied with a casual shrug.“Yes, the jewel-encrusted shoe, crafted from gold and worthy of a royal court,” she countered, arching an eyebrow as she painted a vivid picture.Instead of bristling at her playful jibe, he appeared amused, relishing the label of sophistication as though it were a compliment. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed one leg over the other, his smirk widening as he muttered, his tone almost teasing. “What can I say? I have a refined palate.”“So, lobster for lunch tomorrow?” she suggested, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.Draco chuckled a warm and genuine laugh that echoed in the air. “Posh girl?” he asked a playful challenge lingering in his voice.“Never tried it,” she shrugged nonchalantly, meeting his gaze with a hint of mischief. “But since we’re all about trying new things…”For a moment, his excitement was palpable. His eyes lit up at the mere thought of indulging in fresh seafood as if the idea had been a long-held craving finally finding its voice.“Sounds wonderful.” He nodded, the smirk that typically graced his lips remaining firmly in place. “Who’s your inspiration?” he added, curiosity sparking in his eyes.She paused for a moment, contemplating her words carefully. “You’re not going to like my answer,” she finally said with a hint of mischief.“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely intrigued. “Colour me intrigued.” His posture leaned forward, eyes fixed on her expectantly.“Well, as a Muggle-born witch myself, Hermione Granger was my inspiration,” she declared, her voice steady and deliberate.Of course, it was an outright lie, but she relished the idea of riling him up; watching his reaction would be worth it.The effect was immediate. Draco shifted awkwardly in his seat, his expression morphing as discomfort washed over him. His previously confident demeanour faltered, eyes darting away from hers as he glanced uncomfortably at the polished wooden floor. He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing against the faded ink of his prison tattoo, a subtle reminder of the past he struggled to escape.“Yes, she proved that you didn’t need to be a pureblood - or even a half-blood - to excel in magic,” she continued, her voice laced with challenge. “She was a remarkably adept witch. Plus, she was the brains behind Harry in the war effort.”Silence enveloped them like a thick fog as he took in her words. She relished the moment, allowing the tension to linger, watching him fidget in discomfort. He half-closed his hand, anxiously rubbing his fingernail across the palm, a nervous tick she had noted before.After a long, tense silence, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily as if bracing himself. He straightened his posture, and his head lifted defiantly, though she could see the turmoil behind his composure. He rubbed the arms of the chair absently, a balm for his rising anxiety, before clearing his throat with a low cough.“I could really use a drink of water,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, each word laced with a restrained fragility as he stood up and exited her office.A twinge of regret flickered within her; she had pushed him with that comment, but he had opened the door with his question, inviting her to challenge him.As she picked up the case file, her gaze fell upon a random note, her mind momentarily distracted while Draco left the room. When he returned, a clear glass of water in hand, she noticed that his eyes had taken on a slightly red hue, as if he had been fighting back emotions.The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. He didn’t utter a word, even when she escorted him back to the hostel at the end of the day. When she collected him again the following morning, the atmosphere remained heavy with unspoken thoughts. He sat in silence at her office, poring over the case files, immersed in a world of analysis while a quiet tension still lingered between them. Three days passed, and he still gave her the cold shoulder. Their interactions had dwindled to the bare minimum; he’d occasionally mutter commands like, “Pass me that file,” or inform her that he would be back shortly, but that was the extent of their communication. Lunch had become a grim affair filled with silence that felt almost oppressive. She had even gone out of her way to order a lavish lobster, only to watch him pick at it absently, the vibrant dish barely touched as he focused on anything but her.The unnatural stillness that hung between them was unbearable. She attempted to breach the chasm with idle chit-chat, hoping to revive the easy camaraderie they once shared. Still, he remained unresponsive, offering nothing but grunts that cut through the conversation like a knife. On Friday afternoon, as they approached the hostel, she felt an overwhelming urge to address the rift. Just as he was about to ascend the staircase to his room, she called out, her voice earnest. “I’m sorry, alright?” she said, desperation lacing her tone. “You asked me a question, and I just answered truthfully.”Her admission was a half-truth, a fragile attempt to bridge the widening gap between them. She searched his face for any sign of understanding, her heart pounding.“Why do you think I give a damn?!” he snapped, his voice low and fierce as he surged toward her, towering over her petite frame. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine before he abruptly turned, storming away up the stairs with a heavy tread that echoed in the silence behind him.She let out a long, shaky sigh, biting her lip to suppress the regret rising within her. She had pushed too hard, and now he was retreating behind walls of defence, leaving her feeling alone. With a sinking feeling, she realised that she might have lost him for good. Fucking Salazar.Draco let out a heavy sigh as he collapsed onto his bed, kicking off his shoes with a fervent flick of his foot. He leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed the crumpled packet of cigarettes, pulling one out with desperation. His hands trembled as he fumbled with the lighter, but a wave of frustration washed over him when he realised it was bone dry. He shook it repeatedly, the empty case echoing in the silence of the room, but it only amplified the anger boiling within him. In a fit of rage, he hurled the lighter across the room, its plastic clatter a harsh punctuation to his turmoil, and buried his face in his hands.How the hell had she managed to break through his carefully constructed defences so effortlessly? She had offered him a calculated and revealing response, a hint that she knew would unravel him, and he had exposed himself so completely that she could have read him like an open book. Acknowledging that he had set himself up for this inevitable fall was infuriating.And what had he done to regain control? He'd fucking sulked like a petulant child, retreating into a self-imposed silence that did nothing but deepen the chasm between them. It felt even more unjust because it should have been him. He should have died.
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August 1994Lucius Malfoy was relentless in his enthusiasm for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, his voice echoing with fervour as he spoke of the ‘big changes’ he believed were on the horizon. With a glint in his eye, he insisted that the dark lord would soon return to establish order in a chaotic world. Lucius’s fervent rhetoric painted a vivid picture of a society reshaped by power, where Purebloods would bask in newfound privileges. At the same time, Mudbloods and Muggles would be firmly relegated to their places in the shadows. He fumed about the blood traitors, like Draco’s own aunt, envisioning their punishment as a public spectacle, a lesson to all who defied their bloodlines.Around their grand dining table, Lucius spun tales of ambition and glory. He painted a future where Draco, empowered by loyalty, would carve a name for himself in the annals of dark history. The prospect of being a celebrated follower of the dark lord loomed before him like a twisted honour his father believed should be revered.Yet, as his father's words washed over him, Draco felt an unsettling disconnect. His father’s grand aspirations felt foreign to him, colliding with the reality of his own desires, which lay far beyond the confines of his father’s dark dreams. In the depths of his heart, he dismissed the visions that filled Lucius with such passion. Draco didn’t care about the dark lord or the future his father envisioned; they were separate worlds, and his true aspirations were yet to be discovered.Draco’s dreams revolved around a pretty little witch with dark hair who might let him have a go at some over-the-clothes action if he was lucky - or winning the Quidditch House Cup final after Potter stole it from Slytherin last year - or getting to finally snog Pansy Parkinson in a quiet corner of the library, while he copped a feel of her tit.His dreams did not centre around some half-blood eccentric who embodied the very essence of contradiction. Salazar, when will his father finally understand that his aspirations were, in fact, futile and misguided?In contrast, girls captured his attention far more deeply. Lately, even Granger had piqued his curiosity in ways he hadn’t anticipated. That slap she had delivered to him last year? It had been surprising, but he would be lying if he said it hadn’t ignited a flicker of excitement within him. There was something undeniably captivating about her fierce spirit that made him reevaluate everything he thought he knew about the muggle-born witch. Draco had felt a gnawing apprehension in the chaotic aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup when his father and the other Death Eaters had chosen to indulge in their twisted sport of Muggle baiting. He had desperately tried to warn Potter and Weasley to ensure that Granger stayed out of harm's way, sensing the impending danger that loomed over them like a dark cloud.Yet, Draco hadn’t intended his warning to carry such a stark, ominous tone. He hadn’t meant to sound like he was issuing a challenge rooted in pureblood superiority; instead, it was a genuine plea draped in a subtle hue of concern. But, as expected, they had twisted his words, interpreting them through the distorted lens of their prejudices. He had made no effort to correct their assumptions, allowing the misconceptions to fester deeper than he would have liked to admit.His stupid pride would be the death of him.The look she had given him, though. Pure fucking hatred. As the summer holidays dwindled, he increasingly retreated to a secluded corner of the sprawling manor gardens, a hidden sanctuary teeming with the soft rustle of leaves and the heady scent of blooming foxgloves. There, immersed in the pages of ancient tomes and fragile scrolls, he dedicated himself to the meticulous refinement of his potion. With careful precision, he stirred the bubbling concoction counterclockwise twice daily, adhering to the intricate theory he had painstakingly crafted.The potion had been brewed under the enchanting light of the full moon just that past weekend and the air seemed to hum with anticipation; it should be ready soon, teetering on the brink of transformation. As September loomed on the horizon, promising the onset of a new year, he felt a flicker of hope. He envisioned a world where his father’s absurd proclamations of an impending war against muggles would become a distant memory, overshadowed by the possibilities that awaited him. September 1994The Triwizard Tournament was set to unfold at Hogwarts this year, a prestigious event that stirred excitement throughout the wizarding world. Draco could faintly recall his father discussing the tournament in passing - a conversation laced with expectations about ingratiating himself with the lads from Durmstrang, a school notorious for its rigorous curriculum in the dark arts.His father had harboured a strong desire to send him to Durmstrang, believing it would be the perfect institution to cultivate Draco's burgeoning magical talents, particularly in the more sinister aspects of the craft. However, to Draco's immense relief, his mother had firmly opposed the idea. With her usual determination, she insisted that her precious son go to Hogwarts, where she believed he could shine. After all, he was meant to embody her vision of the perfect 'Slytherin prince,' a title he wore with a mix of pride and expectation. In her eyes, his destiny was intertwined with the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, not cast adrift in some foreign land. Salazar was this potion even working, It hadn’t even been a week, and he’d already been transformed into a fucking ferret by that mad, old ex-Auror in front of everybody.He had meticulously brewed the potion, following the instructions to the letter, hadn’t he?As he took that first sip, the rich flavours danced on his palate - warm notes of ginger mingled with a subtle sweetness that lingered as an aftertaste. Was that a good sign?Surely, brighter days were ahead; things had to improve soon, didn’t they? October 1994In her boundless wisdom, Professor McGonagall had concluded that Draco would significantly benefit from supplementary lessons focused on the intricate theories of Transfiguration, especially with his OWLs examinations rapidly approaching. This particular year seemed ideal for such an undertaking, as the absence of Quidditch meant there would be fewer distractions to pull his attention away from his studies.However, as if the disappointment of a Quidditch-less season wasn't enough of a burden for Draco, McGonagall had an additional surprise in store for him. She wouldn’t deliver these extra lessons, as one might expect, but instead by none other than Hermione Granger.Fuckity fucking fuck.The prospect of learning from a Gryffindor, especially one who had often been the subject of his disdain, was a twist Draco had not anticipated. As he braced himself for the challenge ahead, he could only wonder how this arrangement would unfold. The tables nestled among the Transfiguration shelves in the library became their sanctuary every Wednesday at 4:15 PM, the designated time for their additional lessons. Draco sauntered in after a long day filled with various classes, his bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. He spotted Granger seated at the table, a sea of notes spread out before her as she awaited his arrival.Draco dropped his bag onto the floor with a dismissive flick of his wrist and sat across from her. She looked up from her notes, her keen eyes studying him intently as if trying to decipher the enigma that was Draco Malfoy.“I’m Hermione Granger,” she said, her voice steady yet warm. “I’m going to be helping you with Transfiguration.” Her straightforward introduction felt a touch unnecessary, given their long history together.“Did you just introduce yourself?” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips, bemused by the formality.With a perfectly arched eyebrow, she responded, “I think we should introduce ourselves since we’ll be working closely together.”Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “We’ve known each other for years…”“Yes, and those years have been filled with the most profound and meaningful conversations, haven’t they?” she retorted, sarcasm lacing her words as she leaned back in her chair, unimpressed.“Fine,” he conceded, puffing out his chest in a mock display of grandeur. “I’m Draco Malfoy, stunningly handsome Slytherin Prince and the best Quidditch seeker there is.” He delivered this proclamation with a smug smile, relishing the moment.She let out a laugh rich with sarcasm. “Oh, I can think of a few inaccuracies in that statement.”“Like what?” he challenged, narrowing his eyes defensively.“Well, Slytherin Prince, perhaps. But best Quidditch seeker? Ha!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward, eager to poke holes in his bravado.“What do you know about Quidditch, Granger?” he shot back, crossing his arms, a hint of defiance in his tone.She didn’t miss a beat. “Have you ever actually caught the Snitch?” Her question hung in the air, sharp and challenging, as Draco's expression hardened in response.He bit his lip, wrestling with his thoughts as an uncomfortable silence settled between them.“Don’t forget, you’re also a smug, bigoted, arrogant, mean, nasty, horrible bully.” She added, arching an eyebrow with an air of knowing defiance.Salazar, she had grown surprisingly confident since that slap.“Charming, Granger, really.” He responded with a deadpan expression, the corners of his mouth twitching in a barely suppressed smirk.“Just being honest, Malfoy,” she replied, her gaze steady as she shot him a pointed look that could cut glass.“I could always call you Mudblood instead of Granger. Which would you prefer?” he said playfully, the words dripping with mockery.“Or you could call me by my actual name,” she countered, resolutely ignoring the slur that hung in the air between them.“Granger is your name,” he pointed out with a hint of satisfaction, relishing in her irritation.She growled softly in response, a low, frustrated sound emanating from her throat. “Are you going to put any effort into studying, or are you just going to sit there and hurl bigoted remarks at me all afternoon?”“I don’t believe I made any such remark, Granger. I merely suggested a potential nickname. I never claimed I would use it,” he replied, maintaining his playful demeanour.She rolled her eyes, exasperation etched across her face. “Can we just get to work? Don’t make me have to bring this up with Professor McGonagall. I can easily tell her that you refuse to cooperate, you know.”“I’m not refusing; we were simply engaging in introductions. Consider me introduced, Granger,” he quipped with a nonchalant shrug.This was turning out to be quite entertaining.Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “If there’s one thing I detest, it’s a know-it-all like you. Let’s just study,” she insisted, pulling several heavy textbooks from her satchel with a huff.He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her frustration.“Oh, what is it now, Malfoy?” she asked, exasperation bubbling to the surface as she noted his quirked eyebrow.“Did little miss know-it-all just call moi a smarty-pants?” he feigned offence, delighted by the opportunity to rile her further.“Sorry, I meant snob,” she deadpanned, her voice edged with irritation. “Can we start now? I’d prefer not to be here any longer than necessary,” she sighed, exuding a mixture of impatience and determination.Draco shrugged casually, his expression shifting as he reached for a quill and a roll of parchment, ready to dive into the work ahead
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May 2003Draco stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his gaze fixed on the reflection staring back at him. The sterile lighting cast a harsh glow over the contours of his face, emphasising the conflict simmering within. He pondered the intricate web of choices and circumstances that had shaped his life, particularly the moment he had downed the potion.What if the potion had never existed?Would the shadow of an inevitable war have loomed ominously over them all?Was it truly possible that the dark lord would have managed to wreak havoc on the world if not for the choices he made?And would she still be alive today, her laughter echoing in his memories instead of haunting him like a ghost?As he reflected, he couldn’t shake the feeling that some events had already been set in motion, cascading beyond his control long before he had felt the potion's effects wash over him. It had intended to alter only his reality, yet its repercussions had rippled outward, ensnaring others in its grasp.This potion promised a near-perfect world - a utopia crafted for the drinker, devoid of pain, conflict, and division. A place where his father’s bigoted beliefs would be nothing but a fading memory. A realm where he wouldn’t be shackled by the legacy of the Malfoy name, burdened by the expectations and prejudices that came with it.In that imagined world, he could finally shed the weight of familial obligation and societal judgment, free to explore his desires and ambitions without restraint. It was a tantalising vision, glimmering just out of reach - a dream world where he could be himself, a world that felt as inviting as it was elusive.Sometimes he wished he’d never drunk the fucking potion.Draco clenched his fist, his knuckles whitening as he drew it back, then unleashed it with force - his punch connected with the mirror, shattering it into a cascade of jagged shards. The glass exploded outward, glittering like deadly confetti as it flew toward him. Instinctively, he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and raising his hands to shield his face.A few shards found their mark, slicing into his palms before he could fully duck out of the way. A sharp sting followed, and when he turned his hands over, thin lines of crimson began to bead along the fresh cuts. His breath hitched as he grabbed a clean white towel, his fingers trembling as he pressed it against the wounds. The fabric quickly darkened, soaking up the blood as he stood there, his hands shaking and his reflection now a fractured mosaic. He had ironed out the kinks in that running machine, dedicating a few sessions to mastering its rhythm since. Set to a moderate pace, the machine allowed him to push himself just enough to feel the blood pumping through his veins without straining his muscles. The years spent in a cramped cell, along with a habit of smoking, had taken their toll, eroding the endurance he once took for granted in his youth.Yet, there was something rejuvenating about running - an exhilarating sense of freedom that cleared his mind, offering an expansive canvas to unpack his swirling thoughts. After long days spent in the clutches of corporate monotony, his mental landscape became chaotic, with memories scattered like fallen leaves in a gust of wind.He envisioned his mind as a vast, ancient castle, each chamber meticulously organised yet deeply layered in complexity. The deepest recesses housed his most intimate memories, stored in a sprawling dungeon where the shadows danced with echoes of laughter and whispered secrets shared with her. Above that sombre vault lay the memories of their playful feuds, those spirited exchanges that masked their budding affection. Interwoven with this tapestry were remnants of the war - fragments of a tumultuous past that refused to fade, lurking in the corners like ghostly sentinels. Each stride on the machine felt like a step deeper into this castle, where he could explore the corridors of his mind and find solace in the rhythm of his heart.But he grappled with where to compartmentalise his new memories - memories of this peculiar friendship - no, that wasn’t quite right. This new acquaintance, Evelyn, was a striking reminder of someone he had once known so intimately, a spirited presence echoing traits of her predecessor. Evelyn was an intelligent and captivating Gryffindor, a Muggle-born witch whose essence seemed to embrace vibrancy. Her long, expressive brown curls framed her face, often styled in a playful half-up, half-down fashion or sometimes woven skillfully into a single French braid that cascaded down her back. Her rich and voluminous hair fell well beyond the length of Granger’s, but her eyes captured his attention most profoundly. Those warm brown depths, resembling melting chocolate infused with a flicker of fire, struck a familiar chord within him.Though she was more petite than Granger, her silhouette was shaped vividly by her unique curves, and the resemblances were uncanny. If he didn’t know any better, he might have entertained the wild notion that Granger had returned to him in this fresh guise, sent to challenge him in ways he had never imagined.Draco was acutely aware of Evelyn's intentions. She sought his trust in a meticulous task, which allowed her to inch closer to the secret he clutched so fiercely within his heart. Yet, he was resolute that he would battle her every step of the way. However, that didn’t prevent him from relishing their playful game.He stacked the simmering hostility toward Evelyn like a defensive fortification around the fragile castle of glass, using it as a barrier while concealing his other, softer emotions just beyond the strengthened entrance.Exercise is good for the mind. He powered off the treadmill, the machine’s rhythmic whir fading into an oppressive silence that enveloped the room. Clenching the handrails tightly, he felt the blood drain from his knuckles, leaving them pale against the stark metal grip. Bent forward, gasping for air, his chest heaved violently as he struggled to draw in breath, each inhalation a desperate attempt to grasp the oxygen that felt perpetually just out of reach.His throat felt raw and constricted, every breath raspy. With slow determination, he straightened, his legs quaking beneath him, the exhaustion settling into his muscles like a leaden weight. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the moisture slick against his skin, but the ache in his lungs was unyielding - a persistent and dull throb.The room closed around him; the air felt stifling, thin and suffocating, as if the walls were leaning in to enclose him in their grasp. Each laboured step away from the treadmill felt like a monumental effort, and as he stumbled to the floor, his back collided with the chill of the wall, sending a jolt through his spine. His breaths came sharp and shallow, slicing through his chest like shards of jagged glass, each one a painful reminder of the struggle that consumed him. The lingering, acrid taste of smoke gnawed at his senses, a bitter ghost haunting the back of his throat - a stark reminder of every cigarette he had ever recklessly lit.Lying there, he tilted his head back, the muscles in his neck trembling under the strain, and stared up at the ceiling, his vision blurring at the edges. This was it, he thought, the culmination of a lifetime of choices weighing heavily upon him. His heart thundered like a relentless drumbeat, chaotic and insistent, every pulse quickening the fire in his chest, sharp and searing with each shallow breath. It’s over, he realised, as his eyes fluttered shut against the encroaching darkness. This is the end.Fucking finally.But then, a moment of stillness enveloped him like a gentle embrace. The intense burning within his chest eased just slightly - enough for him to take notice. Another breath came, slower and deeper, though it still stung like a fresh cut. And then another followed. His hand moved instinctively to his chest, fingers pressing lightly to confirm the subtle whisper of relief his lungs were offering. Once oppressive and heavy, the air trickled in with surprising ease, like water seeping through the cracks of an ancient dam.He opened his eyes, the world around him slightly blurred. His head swam in a disorienting haze, but gradually, the dizziness began to relent. Though still ragged, his breaths managed to find a semblance of rhythm. The once sharp edges of his discomfort dulled into a sensation he could almost bear, a distant echo of pain rather than an overwhelming presence. He let his head fall forward, chin resting against his chest and opened his eyes wider. The floor came into focus, each detail - the rough texture of the wood, the interplay of light and shadow - revealing itself along with the faint sound of his breathing, steadying, reclaiming its natural cadence.For what felt like an eternity, he simply sat there, allowing the profound quiet to wash over him like a soothing balm. His body ached in protest; his lungs still felt raw from the struggle, but his breath was there - persistent and steadfast. He was still here, existing amid the echoes of uncertainty. Somehow, despite the turmoil threatening to consume him, he’d emerged intact. The thought lingered in his mind, faint yet undeniable, as his trembling hand found its place against his chest. Not today. Not yet.Minutes ticked by slowly, each second a reminder of the battle he had waged. Gradually, his breathing began to even out, the wheezing subsiding into a steady, rhythmic rise and fall. He ran a trembling hand through his damp, dishevelled hair, letting out a low, shaky exhale that felt like a release. He was uncertain how long he would remain in this position, slumped against the wall, but for now, he was anchored to this moment - rooted in the fragile gift of breath, a survivor in a world that felt momentarily still. Once he had finally caught his breath, he returned to his room, passing by the library, which looked inviting in the soft evening light. The air was thick with the scent of aged paper and leather bindings, a smell that lulled him into a sense of nostalgia. He trawled through its limited collection, searching for anything that might provide insight into his current predicament - a perplexing situation that gnawed at the edges of his mind.After a few minutes of rummaging, he discovered a handful of old tomes that appeared to hold some promise. He carefully bookmarked pages he deemed worthy of further analysis, each thin slip of paper a potential key to the mysteries he sought to unravel.Later that evening, he settled onto his bed, the fabric cool against his skin as he lit his third cigarette of the night, the smoke curling lazily into the air. The last rays of sunlight streamed through the open curtains, offering a welcome circulation of cool air that danced around the room, stirring the dust motes in its wake. He picked up a couple of books from the myriad of tomes he had brought from the library, their spines cracked and worn, each a vessel of forgotten knowledge.His attention was soon drawn to a passage in an ancient book, its pages yellowed and fragile, filled with intricate runes and speculative theories that seemed to shimmer under the dim light. The ash from his cigarette delicately threatened to drop onto one of the dusty pages, a minor disaster he deftly avoided by flicking the ash onto the wooden floor with a practised hand. He smoothed out the page, the texture rough beneath his fingertips, and his eyes caught a handwritten note penned at the margin.The note bore only his name, accompanied by an arrow directing his gaze toward a string of runes beside it. The handwriting was familiar - small, neat, and deliberate, igniting a flicker of recognition in his mind. Memories flooded back, swirling amidst the haze of cigarette smoke. His runes were a little rusty, but a thrilling possibility arose as he deciphered the symbols before him: was this saying what he thought it was? The weight of the moment pressed down on him, the air thick with anticipation as he leaned closer, his heart pounding with hope and dread.He held the cigarette he was currently smoking out in front of him, examining it meticulously from end to end, the glowing embers casting a warm, flickering light in the dim room. A frown creased his brow as he felt the harshness of the smoke clawing at his throat; with a sudden resolve, he crushed the cigarette in his fist, feeling the paper crumble beneath his grip.With a decisive motion, he gathered the remaining packets of cigarettes, the crinkling sound of the plastic wrappers echoing in the silence. He tossed them into the bin with a sense of finality, leaving only one packet behind - a relic of his indulgence.His gaze shifted to the small box of nicotine patches resting on the table, and he reached for it, the cardboard cool against his fingers. He wrestled his sleeve up, revealing the smooth skin of his left arm, and with a firm yank, he affixed the patch to the top, its adhesive a comforting reminder of his commitment to change.His eyes landed on the faded mark as he glanced at his arm. He stared at it thoughtfully, memories washing over him before closing his eyes to block the distractions around him.“I know you’re waiting for me,” he murmured, as if speaking to the invisible entity lingering in his mind. “But I have something to do first,” he added, determination inspiring his words.No more wallowing in self-pity; he had a killer to help catch, and with that thought igniting a sense of purpose within him, he stepped away from the shadows of his grief, ready to confront the days ahead.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It had been two weeks since Draco had begun assisting them with their case, and in that period, Evelyn had developed a deeper understanding of him. Every morning, she would bring him to the office and return him to the hostel in the evenings, a routine that allowed them to bond over shared lunches and casual conversations. With each passing day, layer by layer, Draco's carefully constructed façade began to peel away, revealing complexities hidden beneath.From their initial encounter, Evelyn had noticed subtle nuances in his behaviour that contradicted the persona he projected to the world - a persona that served as a shield. The Draco Malfoy the public saw starkly contrasted with the real man lurking beneath those carefully orchestrated layers. He was not merely the schoolyard bully Harry had painted him to be; instead, he possessed a depth that belied the shallow characterisation. His former Slytherin peers believed they had known him best, often describing him as sharp-witted, amusing, and somewhat of a showoff. Yet, Harry's perception cast him as a cowardly oppressor, one who delighted in belittling those he deemed beneath him and resorted to cruel jabs at Hermione and those life her.As Evelyn spent more time with him, she discovered his humorous side - even if it was often masked by arrogance. An unexpected realisation struck her: while he struggled with Muggle technology, cursing under his breath as he faced microwaves and treadmills, he was not entirely repulsed by the unfamiliar items. It was a striking contradiction for someone who once wore his 'Proud Death Eater' label as a badge of honour. During their conversations, he had hinted at Slytherin green being his favoured colour, yet she had glimpsed deeper truths buried within his mind in those moments of vulnerability. His authentic favourite shade turned out to be a delicate periwinkle blue - an oddly specific choice, one she couldn’t quite decipher the significance of.Evelyn admired his sharp intellect; he quickly grasped concepts she thought had flown under their radar. He astutely saw through their meticulously devised plan that pointed the finger at Theo as the prime suspect. A thought nagged at her, suggesting that perhaps Theo had cunningly added the details about his birthmark to alert Draco of their intentions - typical of Theo’s sly nature.However, one aspect caught her off guard: the palpable sensitivity he displayed whenever Hermione Granger’s name was uttered. His carefully curated persona began to fray in those moments, exposing deep-seated emotions and vulnerabilities. These fleeting gaps in his armour revealed glimpses of the true Draco, moments that shone brightly before hastily assembled façades immediately masked them.In particular, one incident stood out when Evelyn shared her inspiration derived from Hermione’s tenacity. In response, Draco snapped, a flash of anger erupting as his walls crumbled, creating a chasm between them that she desperately needed to bridge. It was clear that beneath the bravado lay a man grappling with unresolved feelings, and Evelyn was determined to understand the heart of the matter, to mend the fracture that had formed between them.He was quiet and lost in thought when she collected him that morning. The usual spark in his eyes seemed dimmed, and he didn't snap back at her cheerful greeting as he often would.“Morning,” he said, his tone subdued.It felt as if they were both skimming over the surface of their unresolved conflict from last week, pretending it had never occurred. She hoped to bridge the gap with small talk.“Did you have a good weekend?” she asked, her voice bright and inviting.“Productive,” he replied vaguely, the word barely escaping his lips.There was an elusive change in him, something she sensed but couldn't quite define. It was as if a revelation had dawned on him, sparking a shift in his perspective - but he had built walls around his thoughts, retreating into a realm she couldn’t access. His mind was closed to her; he had been occluding heavily this weekend.She nodded, accepting the limits of their conversation.“Are you ready for work?” she inquired, trying to keep the atmosphere light.“Can’t wait, Meyer. Lead the way,” he said, his voice hinting at irony yet lacking the enthusiasm she longed to hear. They sat in her dimly lit office, surrounded by towering piles of victim case files, sifting through the grim details in search of any leads that might stand out amidst the countless tragedies. The atmosphere was thick with concentration when a sharp knock broke the tense silence.“Enter,” Evelyn instructed, her voice steady and authoritative.Auror Matthews pushed open the door, an eager expression lighting up his features as he clutched a thin file.“I’ve got the background check on Dolohov,” he announced, the excitement evident in his tone. He held the file aloft like a trophy before striding to her desk and placing it down with a soft thud.Evelyn’s curiosity piqued as she flipped open the file, eyes scanning the neatly typed pages. “Anything interesting?” she inquired, searching for any nuggets of information that could aid their investigation.“Not particularly,” he replied, his brow furrowing slightly. “He’s an only child - both parents have passed away, and as far as we can tell, he hasn’t started a family of his own.” His summary had an air of finality, but he continued, “Oh, there was a mention of a relationship he had with a woman. Tragically, she was murdered a couple of decades later. But beyond that, not much else.”Evelyn’s interest sharpened at this piece of information. “She was murdered. Do we know anything about her?”Matthews shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “Not much, I’m afraid. The records show she died in 2001, but I couldn’t dig up any substantial details regarding her life or background.”“Was she a witch?” Evelyn pressed, her instincts urging her to connect the dots.“I would assume so,” Matthews replied with a hint of scepticism. “Dolohov certainly doesn’t strike me as the type to involve himself with a Muggle, does he?”Evelyn contemplated the implications of this relationship, her mind racing with the possibilities. “Thank you, Matthews,” she finally said, dismissing him with a wave.Matthews nodded as he exited the office, leaving Evelyn to ponder the dark threads that seemed to weave through Dolohov’s past.Evelyn sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she looked up from the documents across her desk. "Well, there goes that theory," she remarked, her voice heavy with disappointment.Draco frowned, confused by her sudden shift in demeanour. "What do you mean?" he inquired, his brows knitting together as he leaned closer."Everyone he knew is dead," she replied, her tone laced with resignation.Draco glanced at the file, curiosity piqued. "It seems a bit strange that he was accidentally released from prison, and now, just like that," he said, flipping through the pages with a mix of scepticism and intrigue, "he seems to have vanished without a trace."Evelyn nodded thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she considered the implications. "Someone knows something. We’re just not going to find it through background checks. There’s too much missing.""I think we need to dig deeper into this woman’s murder," he suggested his voice firm. "It’s odd that she was killed, and there's virtually no information available about it."Evelyn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You think it’s a cover-up?" she asked, glaring at the file as if expecting it to reveal hidden truths."I'm not sure," Draco replied, his expression thoughtful. "But something about this whole situation feels off like we’re not being told the full story."Evelyn’s mind raced as she considered their next move. "Could you reach out to Matthews and ask him to contact the ministry that investigated her murder?" she proposed, her eyes piercing into his."Me?" he exclaimed, incredulous."Yes, you," she affirmed, crossing her arms defiantly.Draco shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "He’s not going to take orders from me."Evelyn shot him a pointed look. "Well, you could try softening the approach with a 'please' and a 'thank you'.""You don’t," he pointed out, a teasing glint in his eye."That's because I'm ordering you," she replied with a smirk, her confidence unshaken.He rolled his eyes dramatically, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. "You’re a real piece of work, you know that?""I know," she responded, a satisfied grin playing on her lips as he exited the office, determined to track down Matthews.She glanced down at the scattered papers on the desk, her anxiety evident as the end of her pen hovered lightly between her teeth. The ink smudges on the pages told of a female victim who had met a mysterious and untimely demise. There were no leads, no suspects - a chilling absence of information.The report detailing the unknown woman was so sparse it bordered on uselessness, raising questions about why her ties to a notorious figure were even included.Just then, Draco returned, resuming his seat in the chair across from her, looking uncharacteristically deflated. “He doesn’t like me,” he muttered, a frown creasing his brow.Her confusion deepened as she met his gaze. “What do you mean?”“I asked Matthews about what you said, and the look he gave me was… well, let’s just say it spoke volumes.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.“He's had a rough history. Death Eaters murdered his older brother,” she explained, searching his eyes for understanding. “I think there may be a trust issue at play here.”Draco sighed resignedly, slouching deeper into the chair, his bravado gone. “Great...”She watched as he fell silent, his mind clearly racing as he contemplated her words. “Everyone has their reasons for working in the DMLE,” she continued, shrugging slightly. “I think many will approach you with caution. Ultimately, it's up to you to change their perceptions.”He didn’t respond, instead choosing to focus his gaze on the worn wooden floor beneath his feet. A deep frown creased his brow, casting shadows over his eyes, as if the weight of unspoken thoughts pressed heavily upon him. The silence in the room hung in the air, thick with tension, amplifying the turmoil that clouded his expression.“What do you fancy for lunch today?” she asked, her voice cutting through the tension like a ray of sunshine. She was attempting to redirect their conversation into friendlier territory. “Anything in particular you’ve been craving this week?”“Not really,” he replied, his tone flat and drenched in resignation.“Come on, there has to be something that catches your eye,” she urged with an air of cheerful optimism, her vibrant spirit in stark contrast to his dismal outlook.“Why do you have to be so insufferably perky?” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.“Why are you such a gloomy prat?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued by his sullen demeanour.“Touché,” he conceded, a half-smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he mulled over her retort.“What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in interest, eager to decode his cryptic expression.“Nothing,” he replied, deflecting, then quickly changed the topic. “What do you want for lunch?”“How about fish and chips? There’s a fantastic little Muggle chippy just around the corner,” she suggested, her enthusiasm palpable.“Muggle?” he questioned.“Yeah,” she said, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Unless that’s a problem for you?”“I’m not averse to Muggle food,” he drawled, his tone still languid but now laced with curiosity.“Well, that seems rather at odds with your previous views,” she pointed out, her smile widening as she leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the banter.“A man can change his ways,” he asserted confidently, his gaze steady.“I suppose that’s true,” she replied thoughtfully, her brow slightly furrowing. “Are you alright with just fish and chips, or do you want something else?”“Like what?” he asked, a hint of curiosity sparking in his eyes.“Scallops, pie, sausage, mushy peas, or maybe some curry sauce?” she suggested, her voice laced with enthusiasm.“What happened to the good old-fashioned tartar sauce?” he inquired, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.“Ah, that’s a bit too posh for a proper chippy tea,” she teased, her eyes shimmering with playful mischief.“Well, that’s me told,” he chuckled.“I’ll have curry sauce and mushy peas. Ooh, and perhaps I’ll indulge in a scallop too! Did you want something else?” she queried, her notepad poised in readiness.“I’ll give anything a try once,” he stated, adventure in his voice.“Is that so?” she replied, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.“What do you mean by that, Meyer?” he pressed, smirking.“Nothing at all,” she said airily, quickly jotting down their order. With a swift flick of her wrist, she sent the paper flying through the open door, where it landed neatly in front of Pansy, ready to place their order. About thirty minutes later, Evelyn began carefully peeling away the newspaper wrapping that cocooned the various takeout boxes and pots sprawled across the table. The familiar scents wafting up brought a sense of comfort. As was her custom, she handed him a flimsy plastic fork, which he regarded with a dismissive sneer, prompting her to retrieve her own matching blue plastic fork - just as practical but more appealing.“Alright, here we have the curry sauce,” she declared, pointing to a small, lidded tub of vibrant yellow liquid. “And these,” she gestured to a larger container filled with a vivid green mush, “are mushy peas. Quite the classic, I assure you.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pointed to an unassuming paper bag. “And this - these are scallops.” A wide grin spread across her face, eager for his reaction.He glanced down at the assortment before him with scepticism and intrigue. “This is not quite what I envisioned when you suggested fish,” he remarked, eyeing the polystyrene container with wariness.“This is the Muggle way of doing things,” she replied teasingly.“Slumming it?” he raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief.“More like traditional,” she corrected with a playful air. “Now, for the ultimate experience, try the fish paired with the mushy peas.”“Where, precisely, is the fish in this dish?” He sneered, still unconvinced.“It’s right there,” she pointed, directing him to the golden-battered piece nestled among the crispy chips.“This?” He held up a piece of the battered fish, his expression of disbelief. “This is fish?”“It’s battered,” she explained, a chuckle bubbling beneath the surface.“I prefer my fish cooked, not beaten senseless,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.Evelyn stifled a laugh. “It is cooked, just prepared in a different style. I promise you, the taste is worth it.”He scrutinised her momentarily before cutting a small piece of the battered fish with the edge of his fork. Tentatively, he stabbed it with the fork and brought it to his nose for a hesitant sniff; his brow furrowed in concentration.Unable to resist, she suppressed a giggle, and he shot her a frown.“Meyer...” he began warningly, but she swiftly stabbed a piece of her fish, topped it with a generous dollop of mushy peas, and swallowed the entire mouthful in one go.He arched an eyebrow at her hurried approach to eating, clearly bewildered by her enthusiasm. With equal deliberation, he added mushy peas to his piece, opened his mouth, and took a delicate bite.Evelyn watched closely as he savoured the flavour, taking his time to chew thoughtfully before swallowing.“Hmm,” he muttered, pausing as he reflected on the taste. “It’s different.”“Different good?” she pressed, a hint of hope in her tone.“It’ll do,” he declared, swallowing with a slight nod. “So, what about the chips?”“Dip them in the curry sauce,” she suggested, nudging the pot of yellow closer to him.He leaned forward, spearing a chip and dipping it into the curry sauce before popping it into his mouth. His expression shifted to one of intrigue and surprise.“Good?” she inquired eagerly.“Interesting flavours,” he replied, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice.“Care for a scallop?” she offered him the bag, her eagerness still palpable.“Ah, something I finally recognise,” he said, plucking a scallop from the bag, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked down at it. “What the hell are these, Meyer?”“They’re scallops,” she replied with a smirk.“This is not seafood,” he protested, incredulity colouring his tone.“No, they’re potato scallops,” she explained, arms crossing her chest playfully.“Why?” he pressed, bewildered.“Why what?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.“Why would you serve chips with potatoes?”“It’s an English takeaway classic,” she shrugged, a teasing smile on her lips. “Honestly, posh guy, I swear.”He levelled a condescending glance at her, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he began to appreciate the unique spread before him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
October 1994When Draco arrived the following week, she was already seated at their designated study table, meticulously organising her notes across the polished wood. His footsteps echoed in the nearly empty library, prompting her to look up.“Granger.” He offered a curt nod as he slid into the chair opposite her.“Malfoy. It’s nice to see you decided to show up.” She set her quill down with a slight flourish, her gaze steady.“Well, with the absence of Quidditch this year, I find myself with an abundance of free time.” He leaned back in his chair, tilting it playfully, arms crossed casually.“And what about your precious time with your cronies?” She arched an eyebrow as she regarded him sceptically."My cronies?" He echoed a hint of surprise in his tone.She nodded emphatically. “Crabbe and Goyle. They follow you around like little pups. Frankly, it’s a bit peculiar.”“Isn’t that what you and Weasley do with Potter?” He shot back, a smirk playing on his lips.Her expression darkened at the implication. After a long, tense silence, she replied, “I am not a lost dog, Malfoy.” Her voice was laced with frustration. “Harry, Ron, and I are true friends - unlike your little group of misfits who hang on your every word.”“Are you suggesting that I don’t have friends, Granger?” He leaned closer, his gaze sharp.She held his stare firmly. “I’m suggesting you have followers, not friends. There’s a profound difference, Malfoy.”"I see…" he said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice as he abruptly shifted his weight. With a sharp snap, he brought all four legs of his chair crashing back to the floor, the sound echoing through the room like a sudden clap of thunder, emphasising his irritation.She exhaled slowly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against her palm and took a deep, calming breath. “Let’s just focus on studying, alright? No more comments about my friends.”“Or my lack thereof, apparently.” The sardonic edge in his voice was unmistakable.“Yes, or your lack of friends.” She replied dryly, rolling her eyes. “Now, let’s get this over with.”“Very well.” He pulled out a quill and a roll of parchment, the tension between them lingering in the air as they prepared to dive into their studies, setting aside their differences - at least for the moment. Salazar, he was sat at the long Slytherin house table, a privileged spot that placed him beside none other than Viktor Krum, the legendary Seeker hailed as the hero of the Quidditch World Cup. Draco could feel the seething animosity radiating from Ron Weasley, who glared at him with resentment and envy as he indulged in their lavish feast. The familiar sight of Weasleys clenched fists and narrowed eyes ignited a flicker of amusement within Draco; perhaps the potion he had taken was finally beginning to work its magic.Draco’s gaze shifted across to Granger as he savoured his moment of triumph. To his surprise, she caught his eye and offered a warm, radiant smile that sent a wave of confusion washing over him. It was a glance filled with kindness, and he didn’t quite know how to process it. His usual composure faltered as he turned to Pansy, who was animatedly chatting with a rugged, older boy from Durmstrang, his muscles bulging beneath his robes. The sight of Pansy’s laughter and how she leaned into the conversation stung with an unexpected pang of jealousy. November 1994Draco strode over to the long wooden tables nestled among the towering library shelves, where the scent of old books lingered. With a frustrated grunt, he flung his bag down in the empty seat beside Granger, the sound echoing slightly in the hushed room.“What’s got you all worked up?” she asked, looking up from her notes with an inquisitive frown.“It’s all political, Granger,” he replied with a dismissive wave, his frustration palpable.“What is?” she pressed, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him with curiosity and concern.“Potter being a Triwizard champion,” he sneered. “He’s not even of age. It’s all about favouritism, Dumbledore’s pet.”“Why do you care?” She challenged her brow furrowing.“I don’t care,” he shot back, a flicker of defensiveness in his tone.“You obviously do,” she insisted, her gaze unwavering as she saw through his facade.He shot her a glare, his silvery eyes shimmering with irritation.“Harry didn’t want this,” she stated simply, her voice steady.“Of course he did; he always wants the attention,” Draco retorted, crossing his arms tightly.“I could say the same for you,” she replied coolly, raising an eyebrow.“Excuse me?” he said, taken aback.“You’re an attention seeker, Malfoy. You always have been. You thrive on it, unlike Harry, who just wants to go about his life and gets dragged into the limelight,” she observed pointedly.“If he didn’t want attention, he shouldn’t have entered his name then, should he?” Draco countered, a sly edge to his voice.“He didn’t,” she asserted firmly. “You saw what happened to Fred and George.”Draco smirked. “That was funny.”“But it showed that Dumbledore’s age charm worked,” she reminded him, her eyes narrowing as she pressed on.“So, who put his name in?” he asked, his tone lit with intrigue.“Exactly. Anyway, let’s get on with today’s lesson,” she said, eager to shift the focus back to their studies. Her determination was evident as she began to organise her books. Draco settled into the seat beside Granger, a faint frown creasing his brow as he saw her robes. Emblazoned on the lapel was a badge that instantly caught his attention. “Granger, surely you’re not wearing a Potter Stinks badge, too?” he asked, incredulity lacing his voice.“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy,” she responded, glancing casually at him as she adjusted the badge.He leaned in, his voice low and mocking as he read the lettering aloud. “S.P.E.W....”She sighed, a hint of exasperation in her expression. “Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare,” she recited, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that dared him to make a snide comment.“Catchy,” he replied dryly, unable to resist a jab. “I thought it was Slytherin Prince Eagerly Waiting…” His voice trailed off dramatically, leaving an air of intrigue between them.“Waiting for what?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow, curiosity mixing with annoyance.He paused, pondering her question thoughtfully as if the answer might slip from the tip of his tongue. “For you to begin today’s lesson, Granger,” he replied, a note of mischief in his tone, though he wasn’t entirely certain how he had intended to complete that sentence.She regarded him with sharp eyes, a look that suggested she could see right through his façade. “You need to be a bit more creative with your designs, Granger. A touch of charm work should help.”Her gaze drifted to his badge, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You mean like yours?”"I’ll have you know,” he said, puffing out his chest slightly. “The Potter Stinks badges are selling like hot cauldron cakes, thanks to my eloquent charms.” He couldn't help but smirk, enjoying the banter.“Shame you don’t put that much effort into Transfiguration theory,” she shot back, a teasing glint in her eyes.“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of spending all this delightful time with you, Granger.” To his surprise, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, softening his usually aloof demeanour.What the hell? Was he flirting with her?Caught off guard, she blinked at him in surprise, and he quickly sought to douse any lingering tension with a hasty change of subject. He cleared his throat, the sudden tension wrapping around them as he tried to regain his composure. “What is the lesson today, Granger...?” he asked, his tone shifting to something more neutral, desperate to navigate away from the unexpected moment that had just passed between them. December 1994As soon as the Yule Ball was announced to take place on Christmas Day, Draco felt a flutter of excitement mingled with hesitation. He had his sights set on asking Pansy to join him, but he was acutely aware of not wanting to appear overly eager. He bided his time for three days, carefully observing Pansy and contemplating the perfect moment. Finally, after lunch on the third day, he took a deep breath and approached her. The moment he posed the question, Pansy’s face lit up, her cheeks flushed with joy as she effusively began discussing plans for matching outfits.When Draco first laid eyes on Pansy in her dress for the Yule Ball, his heart swelled with pride. She wore a captivating emerald green velvet gown that clung to her curves and accentuated her delicate hips. Her black hair was styled in soft waves that shimmered under the enchanting glow of the ballroom lights. Several boys cast admiring glances as she moved, but Draco barely noticed them; her beauty riveted him. He donned an exquisite set of emerald green and silver brocade dress robes, complete with luxurious velvet lapels, and together they were the envy of the evening.However, his moment of pride was abruptly overshadowed when he caught sight of a breathtaking vision gliding effortlessly across the dance floor - the enchanting Hermione Granger, adorned in a flowing periwinkle blue dress that delicately hugged her figure. She was elegantly wrapped in the strong embrace of Viktor Krum, her arm entwined with his. A jolt of jealousy pierced Draco as he watched her spin gracefully, Krum twirling her with a fluidity that seemed almost magical. Her hair, styled in voluminous curls cascading down her back, appeared softer than usual, framing her exquisite face perfectly.She turned heads wherever she went, including Draco’s. There was no denying the truth; Granger had transformed into a stunningly attractive young witch. Her posture radiated confidence, a newfound self-worth that ignited a spark of admiration deep within him. She owned the room, her presence captivating all who were fortunate enough to witness it.Beside him, Pansy pouted, and Draco found it a challenge to resist rolling his eyes. At that moment, Granger eclipsed everyone in the room with her beauty. His heart momentarily stopped when she met his gaze across the dance floor, a moment so electric it sent a thrill down his spine. He wanted to smile, to convey his admiration, but he held his expression steady, masking the turmoil within.As he leaned down to kiss Pansy, his lips met hers with gentle pressure, yet his mind was elsewhere, immersed in thoughts of Granger. With Pansy’s soft lips against his own, he closed his eyes, letting his imagination conjure an image of kissing Granger instead. When he finally opened his eyes, he found Granger looking back at him, her gaze piercing. Their eyes locked for an eternity before she blinked and returned to her dance with Krum.As Draco pulled away from Pansy, who beamed at him with unbridled happiness, he couldn’t shake the thrumming ache of longing for the girl who had stolen his attention and provoked feelings he thought he could easily suppress. The night had only just begun, yet the stirring emotions within him promised an unforgettable evening.
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June 2003Draco and Evelyn sat in the office, their expressions a mix of concentration and fatigue as they reviewed a daunting stack of Muggle victim case files sent over from the Yorkshire authorities. Seven murders had occurred within their jurisdiction in the last three months.Suddenly, a quick knock on the door shattered the silence, and before Evelyn could respond, Pansy burst into the room, her eyes bright with excitement as she clutched a thick stack of files close to her chest. She walked briskly to the desk, casting a furtive glance at Draco, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze dropping momentarily.“The Eastern European Ministry finally got back to me,” she announced, her voice a mixture of urgency and enthusiasm. She unstacked the files, laying them out methodically across the desk. “There were fifty-four cases of Muggle murders that mirror our own. Every case involved similar circumstances: no signs of forced entry, the same cause of death, but… no Dark Mark left behind.”Evelyn raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “No Dark Mark? That’s different.”“Exactly. But every other detail aligns closely with our cases here,” Pansy replied, determination lacing her tone.Evelyn nodded, digesting the information as Pansy continued, flicking her wand to produce even more files with a practised flourish. “The breakdown is as follows: five murders in Poland, eight in Ukraine, fifteen in Belarus, and sixteen in Russia. An additional ten scattered across several smaller countries in the region.”With a sharp motion, she placed the new files onto Evelyn’s desk, which was quickly becoming a chaotic whirlwind of papers and reports.“The sequence of the murders is particularly telling,” Pansy added, her brow furrowing in thought. “They originated in Belarus before spreading to neighbouring countries.”“We need a map,” Evelyn decided, rising from her chair with purpose. With a wave of her wand, a large, detailed map of Europe materialised against the wall of her office. She waved her wand once more, and vibrant pins began to attach themselves to each affected country, representing the locations of each crime scene. As Evelyn continued to work, she summoned little black pins that bore miniature floating Dark Marks, which affixed themselves ominously to the map of Great Britain.They stepped back, the three of them gazing at the chilling mosaic before them—a horrifying tapestry woven from the threads of needless violence and tragedy that spanned across Europe. The sight made their stomachs twist, a stark reminder of the urgent need to uncover the truth behind these brutal attacks.“When precisely did the first killing occur, Panse?” Draco inquired, his voice tinged with anxiety as he finally spoke after an extended silence since her arrival. His gaze flickered to Evelyn as if he sought refuge from Pansy's eyes.Pansy seemed taken aback by his direct address. “It was a week after Dolohov was released,” she replied, her tone almost nonchalant as she raised an eyebrow.“Could you look into any recent murders across other European countries?” Draco continued, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Please,” he added after a brief hesitation, signifying his growing confidence and authoritativeness.“Of course,” Pansy nodded curtly, a look of determination crossing her face as she exited the room without another word.“Good thinking,” Evelyn remarked, acknowledging Draco's insight. “If these murders began in Eastern Europe over a year ago, it's possible they spread to neighbouring countries before reaching us.”Draco stepped closer to the large map mounted on the wall, his fingers brushing against the array of coloured pins representing various case files that marked each crime scene. The sight was both daunting and compelling.“Impressive charm work, Meyer,” he noted, taking in the meticulous details that had been painstakingly gathered.“It can’t be solely attributed to Dolohov, can it?” she questioned, her voice laced with uncertainty, her eyes darting back to the map.“It’s too soon to draw any conclusions,” he replied, his tone serious as he continued to analyse the intricate web of connections displayed before them.Just then, Harry strode into the room, his expression sharp and piercing. He fixed Draco with a stern glare, causing Draco to instinctively shrink back against the wall, retreating into the dim corner of the office. His earlier bravado had evaporated, leaving his face impassive, while his eyes betrayed a flicker of anxiety."Evelyn," Harry began, his tone urgent. "Archives have just contacted us. There’s been a murder in Aberdeen. The scene is still active, and I need you, Hunt, and Tyler to respond immediately."“What about Malfoy?” she asked, glancing hesitantly at Draco, who now looked smaller than ever.“Absolutely not,” Harry shot back, his voice rising in frustration. “Take him back to the hostel. I’ll meet you at the scene. I’ll send you the address via stag.”He added, almost in a shout, “And why is he not in handcuffs?” before turning sharply and storming out of her office.Evelyn sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy for Draco. “Sorry, Malfoy,” she said softly, summoning the handcuffs from her desk drawer with a flick of her wrist.Draco approached her slowly, his arms extending in resignation as she secured the cuffs around his wrists. The cold metal clinked softly, a stark reminder of his predicament.“He's got to keep up appearances,” he said simply, his voice devoid of its earlier swagger as he glanced down at the cuffs binding him. The fight had drained out of him, leaving him withdrawn. Evelyn couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for him.“Hopefully, it won’t take too long,” she began, trying to reassure both of them.“Take all the time you need; this could be a valuable lead, Meyer,” he replied, a faint smile gracing his lips, a flicker of determination shining in his cool grey eyes.Evelyn met his gaze, lost in silent contemplation, before nodding resolutely. She gestured for him to follow her as she led him to the floo, the tension of the situation hanging thick in the air, punctuated only by the soft crackle of magic as they flooed to the manor. Once she had left Draco at the manor and received the Aberdeen address via Harry’s patronus, she disapparated with a sharp crack, materialising in a narrow cobblestone alley. The air was thick with an eerie stillness, and although the time showed only 3 PM, the sky was cloaked in ominous grey, casting shadows like elongated fingers over the surroundings.Her heart sank at the sight above as she glanced upwards: a brilliant green symbol set against the murky backdrop — a serpent emerging from the gaping maw of a grotesque skull. It was a chilling image, one she had not encountered since the harrowing day of the Battle of Hogwarts, where it hung ominously over the castle, a silent harbinger of doom. The very memory sent shivers down her spine, and she had hoped never to see that emblem again. Yet here it was, looming above a modest bungalow in this quaint lane of Aberdeen, a stark reminder of dark times past.Gathering her resolve, she walked to the front of the bungalow, where Harry awaited her. He stood with an air of urgency, ready to brief her on what lay ahead, his expression a mixture of determination and concern.“Ah, Evelyn, you made it,” Harry said, his voice echoing slightly as he motioned her to follow him up the winding garden path flanked by overgrown hedges leading to the painted blue door of the quaint bungalow. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, but it was tainted by the sombre atmosphere surrounding them. “The victims were an elderly Muggle couple, both in their 80s. They sat down to watch television one afternoon and never got up again.”“Sounds about normal,” she replied, her tone betraying only a hint of indifference.“Normal, yes, but not entirely,” he continued, pushing open the door to reveal the small entrance hall, dimly lit and meticulously tidy. “The house was locked up tight until their evening carer arrived and discovered them.” He guided her further into the lounge area, where a pair of high-backed chairs faced an old, button-operated Muggle television. The room exuded an air of nostalgia, and the faded floral wallpaper seemed to whisper memories of laughter and peace. A couple of white sheets draped over two mounds on the threadbare carpet added an unsettling contrast to the serene setting as both senior Aurors, Hunt and Tyler, expertly inspected the scene around them.“We’ve warded off a mile-wide radius to ensure we won’t be disturbed by Muggles,” Harry stated, glancing around the room, his expression grave.Evelyn followed his lead, acutely aware that despite their guise, this was Harry's case, and she was assisting. “Okay, what do you need me to do?” she inquired, a sense of determination igniting within her.“We need a breakthrough in this case,” he began, motioning for her to join him in the small, functional kitchen with the faint smell of lingering spices. “Where are you up to?”“We're looking into a theory that it may be Dolohov,” she replied, her brow furrowing as she considered the complexity of their investigation.Harry nodded thoughtfully.“We’re running checks on a previous associate of his,” she continued, leaning against the countertop, fingers tapping nervously.“What associate?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.“A woman,” she replied, her voice dropping to a whisper. “She was found murdered a few years ago, and her file indicated she was affiliated with him. So far, every lead has turned into a dead end.”“Pansy mentioned an Auror linked to the Muggle murders in Eastern Europe. What if we brought him over to share his insights with us? It could be instrumental in cracking this case open,” Harry suggested, his eyes brightening with hope.“Good idea. We’re also waiting for responses from other European countries to see if they’ve experienced similar deaths,” she informed him, her resolve strengthening.He nodded again, the gravity of their task weighing on them as they prepared to delve deeper into the mystery ahead.“How is your progress with Malfoy?” he inquired, his brow furrowing with concern.“Slow but steady,” she replied, her voice steady despite the weight of the situation.“Evelyn, I brought you into this because you’re the best at what you do.” His tone was earnest, underscoring the gravity of their task.“There are ethical implications to this,” she explained, her gaze dropping momentarily as she considered the moral complexities of the situation.“Evelyn, he’s a bloody Death Eater,” he said, his voice rising in frustration. The sharpness of his words reflected the pain he felt.“I don’t actually think he is,” she countered thoughtfully, a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes.“He’s got the mark, hasn’t he? He…” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, laden with hurt. “…he killed my best friend.”“We both want to uncover the truth, Harry,” she said, her expression softening in sympathy. “But his mind is intricate. If I force my way in before establishing a connection, he’ll shut down completely, and we’ll be left in the dark forever. It has to be a gradual process. Have patience.”“I’ve had patience, Evelyn; for five damn years,” he exclaimed, frustration bubbling to the surface as he straightened, his emotions spilling over.“Then another year won’t matter in the grand scheme of things,” she said, her voice firm yet compassionate.“You really believe you can unravel all of this in a year?” Harry challenged, crossing his arms defiantly as he leaned against the cool countertop, the tension palpable in the air.“Yes,” she asserted, her eyes locking onto his with unwavering determination. “Give me a year, and everything will be known.”
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As Evelyn briskly departed to investigate the crime scene, Draco was left standing in the shadowed entrance hall, a tumultuous feeling of exclusion gnawing at him. He had always understood his role as merely an adviser, not an auror, yet the realisation still felt like a sting, sharp and unwelcome. Trust was a fragile thing, and in the eyes of others, he was forever marked as a death eater—his past decisions starkly contrasting with the values he wished to uphold.The weight of the day’s events pressed heavily upon him, surfacing insecurities he had long tried to conceal. In frustration, he launched a crystal ornament with an erratic throw, sending it crashing into the clockface that adorned the hall’s wall. The sound of shattering glass rang through the air, a resonant echo that mirrored the chaos within his mind. Perhaps it was poorly timed, or possibly, depending on one’s perspective, it was a cathartic release.Turning away from the shards of his hasty action, Draco sought solace in his newly embraced routine: the running machine. He didn’t see the need to change; instead, he loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves, liberated from the confines of his office attire. With a few deft movements, he slipped off his polished shoes, choosing to feel the cool surface beneath his bare feet as he embarked on his run.As he began to run, he delved deep within himself, practising the art of occlusion. One by one, he meticulously filed away the day’s tumultuous memories into designated rooms within the sprawling corridors of his mind, compartmentalising the chaos that threatened to overwhelm him. He took his time, relishing in cherished recollections—the warmth of genuine laughter, the tranquillity of sunlit afternoons—before neatly tucking them back into the recesses of his vast castle of thoughts. It was like exploring a grand library, pulling out beloved books, savouring their contents, and then placing them back lovingly on the shelves, each memory a testament to a life once lived yet still evolving.He heard a faint rustling behind him and turned his head to see Evelyn standing in the makeshift gym’s doorway, the hallway's soft light framing her silhouette.“Is it morning already?” he asked lightheartedly, slowing the machine beneath him, letting its mechanical whirring fade to a gentle hum as he matched his pace to a leisurely walk.“I just came to check on you,” she said, her voice brightening the dreary ambience of the room. A plastic bag crinkled in her hand, its contents swaying slightly as she spoke. “We never had lunch, so I brought Chinese.”A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, warmed by her thoughtful gesture. It was clear she had noticed his earlier expression of exclusion, and her attempt to lift his spirits did not go unnoticed. He turned off the machine and stepped off, the rubber matting beneath him cushioning his feet as he walked toward her.“I’ve never had Chinese before,” he replied, an oblivious lustre to his voice.“You’ll love it,” Evelyn assured him, her smile infectious. “I even got us a movie!”He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms defiantly. “What makes you think I want to watch a movie with you?” his emphasis on the ‘you’. “I spend enough time at the office in your company.”“Thought you might enjoy a change of scenery,” she said, her enthusiasm unwavering. “It’s a great film, too.”“What is it?” he inquired, curiosity piquing despite his attempt to appear aloof.“The Mummy,” she answered, her eyes sparkling with excitement.He furrowed his brow, confused. “You want me to watch a film about someone’s mother?”“No, THE Mummy, you know, ancient Egypt!” she clarified, exasperation lacing her tone.“Ah,” he replied slowly, comprehension dawning as he finally grasped the reference.“But…” she held up her hand, playfully pushing him back as though to emphasise her point. “You need a shower first; you stink.”He raised his arm and took a tentative sniff of his armpit before a chuckle escaped him, a warm laugh that echoed in the sparse room. Nodding in agreement, he turned towards the bathroom.“I’ll get everything set up in the sitting room,” she called after him, her bright and cheerful tone filling the air with an infectious energy hinting at the comforting evening ahead. About twenty minutes later, they settled into the soft embrace of the plush sofa in the cosy sitting room, surrounded by a colourful array of aluminium and polystyrene trays filled with an assortment of Chinese cuisine. The air was infused with the mouthwatering scents of stir-fried vegetables and savoury sauces. Evelyn had brought a hefty, metallic silver box, its glass front glimmering invitingly under the lamp's soft glow. Its assortment of buttons twinkled like tiny stars along the bottom, hinting at the mysteries within.Beside it rested a large and bulky rectangular device, reminiscent of an ancient tome but far heavier. Its surface was adorned with various buttons that promised a world of entertainment. With a careful motion, Evelyn pulled out a much smaller rectangular item, sliding it into a designated slot on the front of the device. As she pressed one of the buttons, the screen flickered to life.“It’s a television,” she explained enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Otherwise known as a TV. You use it to watch things. This,” she added, gesturing towards the bulky rectangular device, “is a video player. It plays films stored on VHS tapes, allowing you to see and hear them through the TV.”He raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “How does that work?”She beamed at him, a playful grin spreading across her face. “It uses electricity,” she replied brightly.He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “What about these?” he asked, pointing at two slender, narrower rectangular devices resting innocently on the table.“These,” she explained, “are remote controls. They allow me to change the channel, adjust the volume, or start the film from a distance instead of getting up and pressing the buttons on the TV or video player. That way, I can lounge comfortably on the sofa.”“You could just use your wand,” he drawled. Evelyn shook her head, the laughter in her eyes sparkling. “Not really! Magic and electricity don’t mix well. This whole building has mostly been stripped of magic, except for the floo. It’s been fully upgraded with Muggle technology.”“Which dish do you recommend, Meyer?” he asked, gesturing toward the colourful spread of food before them.“Well, this here is sweet and sour pork,” she replied, enthusiasm sparkling as she pointed to the dish. “tender, battered pork in a rich, tangy sauce with pineapple pieces.” She continued, her finger dancing from one dish to the next. “These are spring rolls—filled with vegetables wrapped tightly and fried. We also have chow mein, a stir-fry of chicken with vegetables and noodles. These are BBQ pork ribs glazed in a sticky sauce. Lastly, egg fried rice, though it’s typically a side dish to pair with the others. Or, you could always try a bit of everything!”With a warm smile, she handed him a plate and metal cutlery, its knife gleaming sharply under the ambient light. It was a small gesture, but it bore the weight of trust for Draco. Unlike the flimsy plasticware he was accustomed to, this real cutlery was a sign of care, a bridge built in the chasm of their past.As recommended, he filled his plate with various dishes and sank comfortably into the plush sofa beside Evelyn. As she reached for the remote control, the soft glow of the screen illuminated their faces, drawing them into the world of the film.They settled into the cosy embrace of the couch, the glow of the television painting their faces with flickering light as the film drew them into its thrilling narrative.“Well, this certainly doesn’t seem very realistic,” he remarked, munching thoughtfully on a piece of juicy pineapple.“You’re a wizard, and you find this scenario improbable?” she exclaimed, turning to face him, disbelief etched across her features.He raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ve got BBQ sauce smeared all around your mouth.”“Oops!” she laughed, glancing down in surprise before hastily wiping her mouth with her sleeve.“You have no sense of decorum, do you? Ever heard of a serviette?”“Forgot them,” she shrugged nonchalantly, undeterred. “Now, where were we?” She gestured back at the flickering screen.“Nothing can reawaken the dead, Meyer,” he stated, his tone turning serious as he contemplated the unfolding plot.“Different cultures have their own beliefs and magical lore,” she countered with a hint of passion. “Besides, this film is categorised as ‘fantasy.’” She made air quotes, her expression playful.“Story of our lives,” he muttered, piercing a piece of chicken with his fork, lost in thought.“Are you suggesting you are Brendan Fraser? Because I can definitely point out a few flaws in that analogy,” she teased, tilting her head.“Which ones he then?” he asked, feigning innocence.“Rick,” she answered matter-of-factly.“Of course, I’m the dashing young hero who swoops in to save the day, and you’re Evelyn, Evelyn,” he said with a smirk. “Bookish and all.”“You know they kiss at the end,” she said with a raised brow, a hint of mischief in her voice.He paled slightly, shaking his head with a smirk. “Well, that certainly isn’t happening here.”"No, I didn’t expect it would," she replied.He cleared his throat, sensing the need to shift the conversation away from the heaviness in the air. “So,” he began, his tone casual yet probing, “what did you discover at the crime scene?”“Not much, to be honest,” she said, her brow slightly furrowed in thought as she munched on a crispy role. “Harry wants us to invite the auror who investigated those murders in Eastern Europe to assist us with our case.”“Oh, am I not enough?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his words masking a twinge of jealousy.She shrugged, savouring a mouthful of fragrant rice. “The more help we have, the better,” she replied, steady and resolute. “We all want the same thing.”He paused, contemplating her words. “I suppose so,” he conceded, gazing out the window as the faint glow of lights flickered in the dusk.As the climax approached, tension swirling in the air, the hero gallantly rescued the damsel in distress. Their lips met in a passionate kiss that felt almost electric. Draco shifted uncomfortably beside Evelyn, with a subtle tension in his posture.“And that’s The Mummy,” she said, her voice mingling with the soft hum of the end credits rolling across the screen, a sense of satisfaction tinged with exhilaration in her tone.“Very good,” he replied, a hint of scepticism colouring his words. “But if magic like that truly existed, it would be utterly terrifying.”Evelyn furrowed her brow, pondering his statement. “Is it really so different from some of the magic we have in our culture?”He shook his head, resolute. “We don’t have books that reawaken the long dead.”“What about Inferi?” she countered, an eyebrow raised in challenge.“That’s different,” he stated firmly, crossing his arms in disagreement, his expression a mix of conviction and defensiveness.“Is it?” she began, her voice tinged with curiosity, leaning slightly closer. “I mean, if they’re both undead, aren’t they fundamentally the same, regardless of how they’re reawakened?”She was just like Granger, fiercely unwavering in the heat of a disagreement—her passion igniting the air between them. Heated discussions often erupted, charged with tension, and always culminated in impulsive moments that left him breathless. But hold on; scratch that last thought. This was Meyer, not Granger.“The moral of the story is that no good comes from reading,” he declared with a playful arrogance, a teasing glint in his eyes.“Don’t be ridiculous!” she shot back, her voice sharp as she rose to her feet, glaring down at him with a fiery intensity. “If they hadn’t read the other book, they would never have been able to defeat Imhotep!”He matched her ferocity, standing tall and towering over her, embodying confidence. “If they hadn’t read the original book first and reawakened him, they’d never have needed the second book to undo it. Ergo, I am correct.” The smug satisfaction lingered on his lips, a challenge wrapped in a smirk.“Ugh!” she exclaimed, stamping her foot in a way that echoed Granger's indignation, a gesture so reminiscent that he couldn’t suppress the amused smirk creeping onto his face.“You are so annoying,” she admonished, exasperation lacing her tone.“Granger, I—” he began but froze mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the slip. His eyes widened in horror.Evelyn’s eyes widened in surprise as the room fell silent around them. Their playful banter, the verbal sparring that usually danced between them, had spiralled in an unexpected direction—one that always led him to her. And now, with her name hanging in the air, he realised his mistake too late, a wave of panic washing over him.Fuck.
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Draco's entire demeanour shifted the moment her name slipped from his lips. He stood frozen, his complexion draining of colour, mouth agape as shock and dread carved deep lines into his features. An oppressive silence enveloped them, thick and charged.His hands began to tremble, fingers curling and uncurling in a restless rhythm as if caught in an invisible battle for dominance. Vulnerability seeped from him, and he fought to reconstruct the shattered pieces of his composure. Evelyn observed as his eyes glazed over, a fleeting haze overshadowing the icy blue. He desperately attempted to occlude his thoughts, but she had already captured a glimpse of the turmoil within—a reaction sparked by an unasked question. It was the first time he'd mentioned Her name since her death, abandoning the usual derogatory label of ‘mudblood’ that he so often clung to.Evelyn remained silent, choosing not to break the delicate tension between them. She didn't need to articulate her thoughts; Draco had unwittingly allowed her a glimpse beyond his carefully constructed walls. In his unexpected admission, she had caught the subtle nuance in how he uttered the word ‘Granger’ — a richness that conveyed a sense of care and concern. It was a small yet significant revelation; she had mattered to him, and her existence had left an impression. In that moment, Evelyn understood that beneath his bravado, he had formed connections that resonated deeply. He and Hermione had shared playful banter before, much like the lighthearted exchange that had just unfolded between him and Evelyn. This realisation opened a new chapter in their relationship, where the unspoken bond of empathy and understanding began to take root.She refrained from pressing him further, allowing the silence to stretch between them, a fragile bridge filled with unspoken words. Eventually, he took a deep, purposeful breath, a wave of calm washing over him as he exhaled slowly, releasing the tension coiled within. When he finally reopened his eyes, they had transformed into a steely grey, resolute and hardened—he had rebuilt his defences.His voice emerged low and raspy yet endowed with unexpected strength. “It’s late,” he stated simply, the weight of finality in his tone. “You should go.”She nodded, the gesture softening the heaviness in the air. With a flick of her wand, the remnants of their takeout vanished into nothingness. She turned off the television, ejecting the video and leaving it as a silent offering atop the player.“In case you want to watch it again,” she replied gently, her voice barely above a whisper. With that, she turned on her heel, moved towards the main entrance, and prepared to apparate home, the soft click of her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. In the days that followed, an unspoken tension settled between them, palpable yet unacknowledged. Neither Draco nor Evelyn dared to mention his slip-up; instead, they resumed their routine as if nothing had changed. They delved into the intricacies of case files strewn across the table, their fingers brushing against pages filled with names and cryptic notes. Dinners of takeout cluttered their workspace, the aroma of cold noodles and deep-fried delicacies mingling with the weighty silence that now enveloped their interactions. While they occasionally engaged in lighthearted banter, the laughter felt muted, shadowed by the spectre of the name ‘Granger,’ which loomed ominously between them, a ghost in their conversations.For Evelyn, the simple acknowledgement of ‘Granger’ opened a window into the developing complexities of their relationship, an insight dripping with curiosity and caution. She felt the stirrings of something deeper that transcended mere partnership, yet the fear of crossing invisible boundaries held her back.Determined to forge ahead with their investigation, Evelyn requested that Pansy contact the Eastern European ministry, seeking to arrange a meeting with the Auror assigned to the perplexing muggle murders haunting that region. It was a strategic move, a hope to combine their efforts against a common enemy lurking in the shadows. This puzzle promised to deepen their alliance and perhaps illuminate the darkness between them. On the morning of the 5th, Evelyn made her way to the manor with a bright grin lighting up her face as she spotted Draco. With delight, she approached him and declared, “I’ve got you a present.” She produced a small, rectangular package wrapped in shimmering gold paper, its corners carefully folded and edges crisp, and handed it to him with a flourish.Draco blinked, disbelief and confusion spreading across his features as he saw the gift. “A present? Why?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he examined the ornate wrapping.“It’s your birthday, Draco. That’s generally what you do for someone’s birthday,” she replied, her voice laced with warmth.As the reality of her words sank in, a look of realisation crossed his face as if the weight of the occasion had finally registered. “It’s been a while,” he admitted, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone as he accepted the gift from her outstretched hands.“Don’t get many gifts?” she inquired, a smile playing on her lips as she regarded him with curiosity.He let out a soft laugh, though it held a trace of bitterness. “Well, my last birthday present was a visit from my mother after I was arrested. She brought me three packs of cigarettes and a muggle lighter. Her words were harsh—she called me a disgrace to the House of Black and claimed she was done with Malfoy men, even her own son. Then she told me she was leaving immediately for the continent. That was my last birthday gift,” he recounted, the shadows of the past briefly clouding his eyes.Evelyn’s expression softened in response. “Well, hopefully, this gift is a bit better. Just don’t get too excited; it’s not new—I just repurposed it,” she said, unable to hide her enthusiasm as she watched his reaction.With a frown of concentration growing on his face, Draco tore open the shimmering packaging. As he peeled back the gold paper, he revealed an intricate device that sparkled faintly in the morning light. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of familiarity and nostalgia danced across his features, causing the corners of his mouth to twitch upward. However, that brief smile was quickly replaced by a look of puzzlement and confusion as he examined the item more closely.“What is it?” he asked flippantly, his fingers idly rotating the sleek device.“It’s a cassette player for listening to music,” she replied, her voice laced with excitement. “Plus, I got you a tape.” She extended her hand, revealing another smaller, rectangular item encased in plastic.“And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?” His superior tone cut through the air, and he shrugged dismissively, raising an eyebrow.Evelyn, unfazed, took the cassette player from his hands and demonstrated how to open it with a flick of her wrist. She then slid the tape into the player, ensuring it was secure. She held out a pair of earphones, their tangled cords a testament to their previous use, inviting him to put them in his ears. With a press of the play button, their ears were suddenly filled with warm, nostalgic music sounds, causing him to jump slightly in surprise.“You can rewind, fast forward, or increase the volume with these buttons,” she continued, her finger tracing the controls enthusiastically. “To eject the tape, just press this button, then turn it over, like this, to play the other side. You can also swap it out for an entirely new tape, but I’ve only made you this one for now.”“You made the tape?” he asked, his tone shifting to genuine surprise as he raised his gaze to meet hers.“Yeah, it's really not that hard,” she replied casually, shrugging as if it were just another mundane task. “I just compiled a mix of my favourite songs from the 80s and 90s.”Draco fell silent, staring at the cassette player in disbelief and amazement, the weight of her gift sinking in.“Well, I thought it might give you something to do when you’re alone here,” she said hopefully, a shy smile gracing her lips. “And maybe you could even listen to it while running.”For a moment, his expression softened, and a fleeting smile crossed his face as if her gesture had warmed a part of him he rarely acknowledged. He held the cassette player delicately between his fingers, flipping it up and down as he absorbed the gesture.“Thanks, Meyer,” he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity.“Happy birthday, Draco,” she replied, her smile widening, radiating a warmth that filled the room.
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January 1995“What's that?” Draco asked, nodding toward the peculiar rectangular device protruding from the top of Granger's bag as he settled into his seat for the first lesson after the Yule Ball and the long-awaited Christmas break. Her hair, having returned to its familiar wild tangle, framed her face in a chaotic but endearing way.“Oh, I received it for Christmas. It’s a Muggle device for playing music,” she replied. She shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes lighting up momentarily before dimming again as she added, “But there’s just too much magic here; it doesn’t work properly.”He nodded thoughtfully, considering her dilemma. “Have you tried it outside?” he suggested, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “The lack of magic in the air might just do the trick.”“Thanks, I’ll give that a try,” she smiled warmly, the hint of excitement sparking in her eyes. “Did you have a good Christmas?”“Bit different from the norm this year, Granger,” he replied, a flicker of something deeper hidden beneath his casual tone.“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” she replied, her voice softening. “Did you enjoy the Yule Ball?”Did he enjoy watching her glimmer in that dazzling blue dress that hugged her figure perfectly? Yes, yes, he fucking did. The image lived in his mind, almost distracting.“You went with Pansy, didn’t you?” she continued, her curiosity evident.He nodded, reluctant to divulge too much. “And you went with Krum.”“Yes, that was a bit surprising,” she said, a bemused smile touching her lips.“You didn’t know you were going with a famous Quidditch player before you went?” he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.“Well, I’m just a normal witch,” she retorted, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Out of all the girls here from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, he chose me? It’s just... crazy.”He was at a loss for words, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. He longed to express to her that she wasn’t just any witch; she possessed an inner fire, a fierce spirit that made her a force to be reckoned with. He wanted to tell her that any guy would be incredibly fortunate to be seen with her, and above all, he would consider himself the luckiest of all to be by her side in that way.Yet, despite the torrent of thoughts swirling in his mind, he simply shrugged and nodded in agreement, reluctant to voice his true feelings.When Pansy sauntered over at the conclusion of his lesson with Granger, he couldn't help but wish he had the courage to speak up, to say something—anything—more meaningful.“Draco,” Pansy whined, annoyance dripping from her tone. “Haven’t you finished your lesson with her yet?” She shot him a disdainful glare before directing a bitter look towards Granger. “Honestly, it seems like you enjoy spending time with that mudblood more than your girlfriend.”Granger’s expression fell at those words. Her shoulders slumped as she gazed toward her books, the disappointment evident on her face.“Don’t be ridiculous, Pansy. The mudblood and I are almost finished here,” he replied instinctively, the derogatory term slipping from his lips before he could rein it back in.He watched as, if possible, Granger's face fell even further at his thoughtless choice of words, and Pansy, triumphant, sauntered away.A heavy silence enveloped them, palpable and uncomfortable, as Draco turned back towards Granger.“I—” he began, desperate to bridge the widening chasm between them, but she cut him off sharply.“Don’t,” she said firmly, her voice shaking slightly with suppressed emotion. With that, she stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder with finality, and walked away from him, the corners of her eyes glistening with unshed tears.Fucking hell, Pansy. The following week, he was the first to arrive at the library, the familiar old air filled with the scent of aged parchment and polished wood. For a moment, he contemplated whether Granger would actually show up. Just as uncertainty began to settle in, she appeared. With a confident stride, she made her way across the room; she dropped her bag onto the table with a thud before sitting opposite him.As she began to unpack her belongings, he couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes; she looked worn as if the weight of their previous conversation rested on her shoulders. She pulled out her thick books, quill, and a small bottle of ink, letting out an exasperated sigh echoing in the quiet library.“Granger,” he started tentatively.“Don’t, Malfoy,” she replied with a sharp edge to her voice. “I almost didn’t come today.”He felt a pang of remorse wash over him. “I know, and I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have said that.”She shot him a stern look, her frustration palpable. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve never given me any reason to believe we were friends. That’s what you call people like me, isn’t it?” Her words cut sharply, filled with a mixture of disappointment and hurt.“Granger—”“Let’s just get started,” she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.He inhaled deeply, sensing the tension between them. “I need you to know...” he began, his voice faltering.“Know what?!” she snapped, her eyes lifting to meet his, glimmering with unshed tears at the corners.He was at a loss for words; the apology he wished to convey felt stuck in his throat. How could he express the depth of his regret? Instead, he let his silence linger, allowing his unspoken feelings to drift like an empty promise. With a resigned sigh, he pulled a parchment scroll toward him and dipped his quill into the ink, ready for her to begin the lesson.“Nothing,” he muttered under his breath, the weight of the moment heavy between them. They didn’t bring up his blunder with the m-word again and simply continued as they had before. He clung to the hope that, given enough time and with no further slip-ups, she might eventually forgive him.When he arrived, Granger was already seated. Her posture was rigid, and her gaze was fixed on him with apparent irritation.“What’s with that face, Granger?” he asked, trying to defuse the tension.“You’re late, Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice carrying a sharp edge. “I’ve been waiting for a full fifteen minutes.”“Salazar, my last class overran, okay? I’m sorry,” he replied with a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair as he took the seat opposite her.Her frown deepened, revealing her discontent. “This needs to stop happening, Malfoy. You have to be more considerate of my time. I could be engaged in other activities, but I’m stuck waiting for you instead. You owe me for making me sit here.”He raised an eyebrow, intrigued but somewhat defensive. “How do you want me to make it up to you, Granger?”“You can start by showing a bit more respect for my time,” she said firmly. “I’m doing you a favour here. You need to take this studying seriously. That means no interruptions while I explain concepts you struggle with and no mocking, my friends. You need to pay attention and learn, even if it takes some time. Do you understand?”He fell silent, contemplating her words.Granger arched an eyebrow, her expression a mix of frustration and impatience. “Do you understand?” she asked again, her voice rising just enough to convey her escalating annoyance.He continued to remain quiet, a defiant smirk forming on his lips.With an exasperated sigh, she rolled her eyes dramatically. “You are infuriating, Malfoy! I ask you a straightforward question, and all you do is sit there and look insufferably smug. Are you just going to sit there like a statue? Kneazle got your tongue?”“You specifically asked me not to interrupt,” he pointed out, leaning back in his chair with an air of nonchalance.“When I’m explaining, yes!” she retorted. “But a simple 'yes' or 'no' answer wouldn’t kill you. Now, will you start showing some improvement or not?”“Hmm, could you ask me again?” he replied, feigning ignorance.“You are so annoying! Will you be on time from now on? Are you going to stop goofing around? And will you focus and learn something without complaining?” she demanded, her voice rising.“Possibly,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.Her frustration simmered beneath the surface. “What does that even mean? Is that a yes or no?”“It’s a possibility,” he mulled, a sly smile dancing on his lips. The thrill of their banter was intoxicating, and she was always so much fun to wind up.“Possibility isn’t good enough, Malfoy,” she replied firmly, her tone laced with determination. With a dramatic sigh, she rose from her seat, the playful spark in her eyes dimming.“I swear, Granger, I’ll do my very best just for you,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, his expression earnest and teasing all at once.She glanced back at him, exhaling another sigh. “That’ll have to do for now. Now, come on. I’m trying to explain how Vanishing Spells work, and I don’t need you distracting me by zoning out.”“I’m all yours,” he replied, a hint of mischief lingering in his voice.She narrowed her eyes at him, but he held her gaze with unwavering innocence, his smirk betraying his enjoyment of the moment.As she delved into the complexities of Vanishing Spells, her passion illuminated her features. He found himself captivated, nodding along as she meticulously explained the theoretical underpinnings of the magic, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration. She was surprisingly enchanting when she was animated about something she loved.Occasionally, she stole glances at him, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across her face as if she was gauging his level of interest. He jotted down notes, though he couldn't help but be more absorbed by her infectious enthusiasm than the content itself. And whenever she smiled to herself —genuine and warm—he felt a rush of warmth that made it hard to focus on anything else.She continued, her voice steady and clear, outlining the principles behind the spell, and occasionally checked in with him to see if he understood or was still with her.Finally, after what felt like hours pressing into the evening air, she concluded her lecture.“Got all that?” she asked, arching a brow as she assessed him critically.“I think so, Granger. It all makes sense,” he replied, attempting to meet her intense gaze with a confident nod.She nodded, satisfied. “Good. Do you have any questions, or shall we proceed to the practical?”With a swift motion, she pulled out her wand, a spark of excitement igniting her eyes. She spread several hefty tomes out on the table, their spines creased and worn from use.“No questions,” he assured her, feeling a mix of anticipation and curiosity.“Here’s the practical demonstration of the spell,” she declared, confidence radiating from her as she waved her wand gracefully over one of the books. “Evanesco!”With an elegant flourish, the book vanished, leaving nothing but an empty space on the table. A proud smile blossomed on her face, her eyes sparkling with triumph, as she glanced back at him, seeking his reaction.She glanced back up at Malfoy, her smile warm and genuine. “Now, it's your turn to give it a try.” It was perplexing to him—she was actually smiling at him. What in Salazar’s name was happening?“Don’t worry; we can do this together. I’ll guide you through every step. Come on!” Her words were laden with encouragement. She stood up with a sense of purpose and sauntered over to him just as he grasped his wand, rising to his feet. She positioned herself beside him, their shoulders nearly brushing.“Hold your wand like this,” she instructed, gently taking his hand in hers. She adjusted his grip, positioning his fingers just as hers were placed. The brief contact sent a jolt of surprise through him, and he froze at the unexpected warmth of her touch.She seemed oblivious to his reaction, focusing entirely on ensuring his grip was correct. “Like that. Good. Now, point the tip of your wand at the book. Go on; I’ll help you through it.” Her tone was unwaveringly supportive, yet he remained rooted in place as her small, soft hand lingered over his.She regarded him, her eyebrows knitting in a frown. “Malfoy, move your hand. You need to point your wand.”But her hand remained on his, and he found himself momentarily paralysed, his mind racing but unable to process anything but the sensation of her warmth.Looking into his eyes, she noticed the shocked expression on his face. “Malfoy? Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a poltergeist.”“Y-you’re touching me,” he managed to stammer, his voice a cautious whisper. He was acutely aware that she might misinterpret his words; she would likely take offence and assume he was cruel to her for being a Muggle-born. Yet, he had never been this close to her before. The proximity stirred feelings within him he had never encountered.Indeed, her reaction was exactly as expected. She stiffened, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m not contagious!” she exclaimed, hastily dropping his hand as if it had become too hot to touch. “I just needed to demonstrate how to hold your wand correctly. Please, stop being so dramatic. We need to get some work done. Now, point your wand at the book and say the incantation.”He shook off the daze that had clouded his mind and reluctantly pointed his wand at the book, muttering the incantation under his breath. The book shimmered for a heartbeat before vanishing completely, and her eyes lit up with a dazzling grin. “See? That wasn’t so difficult. Good job, Malfoy!”Good job, Malfoy. Praise indeed, he thought, focusing on her words rather than the odd flutter in his chest.“Now, you just need to keep practising. You’ll pick it up in no time. It’s quite easy for me because I actually pay attention. Do you understand, or shall I continue reminding you? Because I will, you know.”“Oh, Salazar, you just love to give me a hard time, don’t you?” he retorted, trying to mask the mix of annoyance and admiration.“You’re just so receptive,” she teased, her smile playful and light, easing the tension that had settled between them. February 1995As had long been his dream, he found himself lost in a passionate embrace with Pansy, tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the library surrounded by ancient, dust-laden tomes. Their lips met fervently, his heart racing as he felt the warmth of her body against his; he plunged his tongue deeply into the kiss, savouring the moment as if it were the culmination of everything he had envisioned. He curled his fingers into her sleek hair as he massaged her thigh through her skirt. Just then, the familiar and delicate scent of lavender wafted through the air, jolting him from his reverie. Turning his head slightly, he caught a glimpse of an utterly astonished Granger, her wide eyes filled with shock as she rounded the corner into their secluded aisle. Time seemed to freeze as their gazes locked, and the breath caught in his throat as she abruptly turned and fled, leaving behind an air of unfinished tension. The following week, Draco met Granger in the dimly lit library for their next lesson, and they chose to ignore the hippogriff in the room—the fact that she had caught him sharing a rather passionate kiss with Pansy."Did you try using the cassette player outside, like I suggested?" he asked, his tone curious as he leaned slightly closer."Yeah, but it still doesn’t really work as well as I hoped. There’s just too much magical interference in the air around the castle," she replied, shrugging slightly as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear."What about closer to the Forbidden Forest?" he proposed, his brow furrowing as he considered the possibilities. "That should be far enough away from all the enchantments.""I'm not that desperate to listen to it," she shot back, her voice laced with mock indignation. "I’m not going to risk breaking any rules, Malfoy.""That doesn’t usually stop you," he countered, the words slipping out before he could think better of it.A playful smirk danced across her lips at his taunt, and he returned the expression, savouring the lighthearted banter that had developed between them."What kind of music do you listen to?" he asked, genuinely intrigued."I mostly enjoy 80s music, with some 90s thrown in for good measure. What about you?" she replied a hint of nostalgia in her voice."I can’t say I’ve ever really listened to any Muggle music," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his tone."Of course, you don’t," she retorted with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "I forgot who I was talking to.""This isn’t a pure-blood thing," he defended, crossing his arms. "I genuinely just haven’t had the opportunity to explore anything from the Muggle world.""You’re missing out on so much," she replied, her voice softening, genuinely concerned for his limited experience. "There’s a whole world of music completely untouched by magic.""Then enlighten me," he said, a playful smile creeping across his face."Why would I do that?" she asked, curiosity etched on her features."Why not?" he replied, leaning back with casual confidence."Because you don’t actually care," she stated, tilting her head and studying him closely."The truth is, Granger," he said earnestly, "I'm genuinely curious. Please educate me."She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Who are you, and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?!"He simply smiled wider in response, revelling in their unexpected connection. She had been the one thing that Viktor Krum would sorely miss, And yet, it had been he, Draco Malfoy, who stood captivated, heart racing like a wild creature in panic, as he watched the second task unfold before him. The chilly waters glistened under the pale light, and when Krum finally pulled her from the depths, a rush of relief flooded him like warm sunlight breaking through storm clouds.What did she really mean to him? Just Granger—annoying, bossy, feisty, a whirlwind of intellect wrapped in the guise of an undeniably beautiful witch. Curse it all.As Pansy tugged insistently on his hand, drawing his gaze back to the present, she lifted her chin, her bright eyes locking onto his. He leaned down, kissing her softly, just as Krum captured Granger’s lips in an eager embrace. In that fleeting moment, the world blurred around him, and Draco couldn’t shake the thought of Granger’s lips brushing against his instead of Pansy’s, igniting a flicker of longing that sent his mind reeling. “So, what was it like underwater, Granger?” Draco inquired curiously as they sat across from each other in the dimly lit library.“I don’t know,” she began, her brow furrowing. “One moment, I was in McGonagall’s office, and the next, I found myself on dry land after being rescued.”He nodded slowly, a contemplative expression crossing his face as he unconsciously rubbed his fingernail against his knuckle, a nervous habit he had developed over time.“I wasn’t aware that you and Krum were so close,” he remarked, trying to piece together the dynamics of her relationships.“We’re not really; we’re just friends,” she clarified, her tone firm yet casual.“Like you and I, friends, Granger?” he asked, injecting a hint of hopefulness into his voice as he leaned forward slightly.“Are we friends, Malfoy?” she replied, arching an eyebrow at him, her expression sceptical.“Well, I don’t think we’re enemies,” he shrugged nonchalantly.“But friends are generally nice to each other rather than just tolerating one another,” she pointed out, her voice steady and resolute.“I believe I tolerate you rather well, actually, Granger.” He smirked, a playful glint in his eyes.“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t exactly label you as a friend,” she retorted, her gaze unwavering.Ouch, Granger. Careful.“So, how would one become friends with you?” he probed, genuinely curious about her perspective.“Well,” she started, her tone shifting to a more serious note. “Absolutely no use of the M-word…”“I can’t even remember the last time I used that word,” he replied, feigning innocence.“I can,” she shot back, a touch of defiance in her voice.“And as I mentioned before, I’m sorry, Granger,” he said earnestly.“That apology doesn’t mean much to me, Malfoy. I mean anyone. Someone who truly wants to be my friend wouldn’t resort to calling others that word simply because they are different from you,” she explained, her conviction unwavering.“I have to admit, Granger, you’ve rather changed my perceptions of that word,” he admitted, a hint of admiration creeping into his tone.“Oh?” she asked, intrigued, her expression softening slightly.“Look at us— the Muggle-born teaching the pureblood about Transfiguration theory,” he observed, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.“This is precisely what it’s always been about, Malfoy,” she began passionately. “We are not defined solely by the magical worth of our blood. We create our own value in this world. Just because you are a pureblood does not make your magic any richer than mine. The magical essence within us both holds the same weight. We are both worthy. It’s what we do in our lives that determines our self-worth.”He nodded slowly, absorbing her words, a newfound respect beginning to blossom within him.“Very philosophical, Granger,” he replied, a thoughtful smile spreading across his face as he acknowledged her insights. March 1995“It worked,” she began, her voice brimming with excitement as she bounced slightly on her heels.“What did?” he asked, a trace of curiosity creeping into his tone.“My cassette player worked in the forest,” she replied, her eyes widening with delight.“I told you it would,” he responded, a hint of pride in his voice.“I had to do a little magic, some general warding, but it did work,” she explained, her enthusiasm contagious.“So, what did you listen to?” he inquired, his interest piqued further.“It’s a mixtape, you know—a compilation of my favourite tracks,” she shared, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of sharing something personal.“Are you not going to share it with me?” he probed, raising an eyebrow.“Well...” She hesitated, trailing off. “Like I said, it doesn’t work in the castle.”“But you just said it worked in the forest,” he reminded her, the confusion evident in his features.“Listen, Malfoy. I know you’re trying to be all nice to me right now, and I get the feeling it’s probably because you think I might be able to get you an in with Krum so you can—”“Is that what you think this is, Granger? You think I’m just using you?” he interrupted, his voice sharper than intended.“Well, aren’t you?” she challenged, crossing her arms defiantly.“No. I wasn’t,” he replied, his sincerity catching her off guard.“Then what are you still doing here?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “We both know you don’t need help with Transfiguration theory anymore.”She had put the pieces together, and being one of the brightest witches in her year, it was no surprise. He decided to dance around the truth, at least for the moment. “I like you, Granger.”“What?” Her eyes widened, disbelief mixing with surprise.“You’re intellectual, and I genuinely enjoy our conversations,” he admitted, feeling the weight of his words.Was he really confessing this?“So if you wanted to invite me to listen to some of your Muggle music in the forest, I wouldn’t object,” he added, testing the waters.“Is this some kind of game to you?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her tone.“Game?” he echoed, taken aback.“Yeah, like some sort of bet you’ve made with your Slytherin pals or even Pansy to lure me in?” she insinuated, her eyes narrowing slightly.“Lure you into what?” he shot back, incredulity written across his face.“You tell me,” she insisted, her expression unwavering.“Granger, this isn’t a conspiracy,” he said, trying to maintain his composure.“Then what is it?” she pressed, determination shining in her gaze.“I told you. I genuinely like our conversations,” he reiterated, feeling the tension build.She studied him closely, her brow furrowed in puzzlement.“Okay, if this really isn’t a trap...” she started, her voice softer but still cautious.He rolled his eyes, trying to suppress the amusement at her wariness. Undeterred, she continued. “I’ll meet you at the entrance to the forest near the Care of Magical Creatures paddock at noon on Saturday.”“Okay. I’ll see you then,” he replied, relief and anticipation flooding his chest. She had said noon, hadn’t she? At the Care of Magical Creatures paddock, right? So where was she?He ventured into the forest alone, keen to avoid the prying eyes of passersby who might suspect him of mischief. With a flick of his wand, he ignited a bright orb of light that flickered to life, casting a warm glow across the dim, shadowy expanse of the woods. The trees stood tall and sparse as he navigated the narrow dirt path, full of fallen leaves that crunched under his steps. He held the wand aloft, illuminating the way ahead as the thick canopy of interwoven branches blocked out much of the sunlight, transforming the cheerful day into an enigmatic twilight.Eventually, he reached a clearing where a magnificent tree loomed, its gnarled arms stretching skyward as if in fervent supplication to the heavens. The path diverged into two distinct trails, each leading deeper into the wilderness.Suddenly, a rustling sound drew his attention, and he turned, scanning the mist that coiled low around the ground like an ethereal shroud. There was movement just beyond his line of sight, and he narrowed his eyes, straining to catch a glimpse of whatever lurked in the shadows. Just then, he felt a slight tremor of movement behind him. Whirling around in surprise, he collided with a low-hanging, sturdy branch, the impact jarring him as he stumbled backwards. The world blurred and faded to black with a sharp crack, darkness consuming him.As his consciousness began to surface from the murky depths of oblivion, the first sensation that enveloped him was pain—a dull, relentless throb radiating across his temple. He groaned softly, shifting on an unfamiliar surface beneath him, oddly soft yet sturdy. When his fingertips grazed the texture, they encountered rough, uneven stone, cool and unforgiving.The second sensation was an overwhelming disorientation, the darkness swirling behind his closed eyelids like a tempest. His mind grasped at fleeting fragments of memory—the twisted silhouettes of gnarled branches, the crunch of forest leaves beneath his feet, and the sharp snap that marked the moment everything went dark. Where was he now? Panic clawed at him as he struggled to piece together the scattered remnants of his consciousness.When he opened his eyes, a blue light's soft, flickering glow cast gentle shadows across the uneven contours of a low ancient stone wall surrounding him. Above, the last remnants of sunlight filtered through tree branches, creating a dappled pattern of light and shadow on the cool ground. The air was crisp and refreshing, with a subtle hint of something sweet and familiar—lavender. It floated toward him like a soft whisper, pushing aside the heavy fog of confusion that clouded his mind.And then he saw her. At first, she was just a silhouette against the dim light, the graceful curve of her face illuminated by the ethereal glow. She knelt beside him, her delicate hands cradling a damp cloth, which she pressed gently to his brow. A rush of emotions surged through him—a mix of surprise and an undeniable warmth that quickened his pulse, igniting vulnerability and a strange familiarity within him.Despite the urge to speak—to thank her or to ask about how he had ended up in this tranquil, enigmatic place—his voice hesitated, snagged on the ache radiating through his skull. Instead, he let his gaze drift toward hers, searching for an anchor in the swirling mist of his thoughts.“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice a melodic murmur that sliced through the tension in the air.Sorry? For what, he wondered, his mind racing to catch up with his thoughts.His confusion must have been evident in his features, for she quickly clarified, “You heard me and turned around, but you hit your head.”Ah, yes, his head—now he recalled the pulsing pain and the disorientation that clung to him like a shadow. He attempted to push himself up, but a gentle hand pressed against his chest, holding him back. He glanced down at the hand, then followed the smooth line of her arm back to its owner, captivated by the concern etched in her gaze.“Granger.” He breathed.“I’m brewing you a potion,” she replied with a calm assurance, her eyes focused on the simmering cauldron before her.“Where am I?” he asked weakly, trying to take in his surroundings through a haze of confusion.“You're in the forest. I levitated you in here,” she explained matter-of-factly, her voice steady. “A cushioning charm did the trick. If you prefer, you can head to the hospital wing, but this potion will be ready in just a moment.”“What is it?” he inquired, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity.“It’s just a health potion,” she said, her demeanour relaxed. “You'll probably have a bit of a headache.”He attempted to nod in understanding, but he quickly realised that the throbbing in his temples made any movement uncomfortable, so he settled back in silence.“You should be a healer,” he remarked, a hint of admiration in his voice.“Maybe in another life,” she shrugged lightly, the corners of her lips turning up in a small smile as she stirred the cauldron. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a delicate vial and filled it with the glowing, iridescent liquid. “Here, drink this.”He gazed at the shimmering potion in her hand with curiosity and intrigue. “Thanks,” he murmured. As he brought the vial to his lips and drank it, a comforting warmth flowed through him, soothingly erasing the throbbing pain in his head until it was nothing more than a faint whisper.“You were late, Granger,” he remarked, his eyes narrowing with a hint of suspicion. “I thought perhaps you had set a trap for me.”“I had to give Ron and Harry the slip,” she replied, shrugging nonchalantly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.“Ah… didn’t you tell them who you were meeting?” he asked teasingly.“Did you?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk.“Touche,” he conceded, a smile creeping onto his face.“I don’t think they’d be very impressed with my new choice of friend,” she said, her tone laced with a hint of mischief.“No, I don’t suppose they would,” he replied, his expression turning thoughtful.“I’m sure Pansy will be thrilled to know you’re meeting me too,” she added, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes.“Hmm,” he replied, his mind racing with the unexpected consequences of their rendezvous.“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asked her tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion.“I told you—” he began, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice.“You’re lying,” she countered, her eyes narrowing.“I’m not. I—”“What?” she pressed, her arms crossing defiantly over her chest.“I’m not lying,” he repeated firmly, determination lacing his words.“I don’t believe you,” she said defensively, her stance strong.“Granger, I just trusted you with that potion. How about a little trust in return?” His suggestion hung in the air, and she couldn’t help but soften at his earnestness.“What is this place?” he asked, glancing around at their surroundings. They were enveloped by the sounds of the forest—birds chirping, leaves rustling, and the faint rush of wind. Yet, it all felt muffled, as if an invisible barrier separated them from the outside world.“It’s an abandoned cottage,” she explained, a hint of pride in her voice. “I repurposed it. I come here when I need a moment to myself and want to listen to my music.”He nodded, appreciating the effort she had put into creating her sanctuary.“You’ve added some wards, too,” he noted, scanning the area.“Yes,” she replied. “It’s unplottable. You won’t come across it unless you’re actively looking for it. And since there’s no roof, I’ve placed an umbrella charm above to shield me from the elements, but it’s two-way, so I can still see the sky. The wards are also designed to deter creatures; the walls are too low to be protective on their own.”He admired the thoughtful details of her haven, recognising the care she had taken to ensure it felt safe.“Come on, Granger. I’m dying to try this cassette player,” he said, a flicker of excitement lighting his features.She held out a long, thin line of black to him.“What is it?” he asked, curiosity piquing his interest.“It’s an earphone.” She demonstrated, placing one end in her ear and then offering him the other half. He mimicked her, sliding the piece into his ear before lying back on the cushioning charm beside her.As the music began to fill his ears, an upbeat rhythm danced through the air—a vibrancy that contrasted sharply with the tranquil forest surroundings.“Who is this?” he asked, genuinely intrigued.“This is Queen,” she explained, her enthusiasm evident.“I like it,” he said, closing his eyes and allowing himself to sink into the moment. Here, he lay in the heart of the forbidden forest beside Granger, immersed in Muggle music through her peculiar contraption. It was a world apart from the rigid life his father had planned for him, a welcome escape into a reality where he could simply be himself.
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6th June 2003After Evelyn returned to the manor with Draco, she returned to the office to review some paperwork. Later on, Harry entered to inform her that Pansy had received word from the Eastern European ministry. The Auror assigned to the Muggle murders would visit them in a fortnight.Evelyn decided they needed to present a unified front to the visiting wizard. Much to Harry's dismay, she intended to introduce Malfoy as a trainee Auror.“If he discovers that we’ve brought in outside assistance, it could undermine our credibility and cohesion as a team,” she explained, her voice steady yet concerned.“Fine,” Harry replied, his teeth clenched in frustration. “But I’m pretty sure the mark on his arm will give him away, don't you think?”“Well, we can always present him as an advisor,” she suggested, trying to find a solution.Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to maintain his composure. “Before he arrives, we must establish some strict ground rules.”“Such as?” she inquired, curiosity flickering in her eyes.“First and foremost, no mention of Justin’s murder,” Harry said emphatically. “As I’ve said, that information is highly sensitive and classified. I don’t want to start a panic. Only you, me, Theo, and the Auror officers are privy to that situation.”“And Draco,” she added quietly.“But that’s it. No one else can know,” he reiterated firmly.“Agreed. I’ll inform the team and emphasise the importance of discretion,” she said, nodding decisively. ~ The hour was late, yet Draco found himself surprisingly disinterested in food after his hearty lunch—a generous portion of gammon steak, a perfectly fried egg, and chunky chips. Instead, a different urge tugged at him, leading him to the running machine that sat idle in the corner of the dimly lit ballroom. He picked up the gift from Evelyn—his birthday present, a retro cassette player. Though it wasn't exactly a Walkman, it resembled Granger’s contraption, albeit with a more simplistic charm. It secured firmly to the waistband of his jogging bottoms, its lightweight design ensuring that it would remain comfortably in place as he moved.He positioned himself on the running machine and pressed play. The song's first notes washed over him like a tide of nostalgia, transporting him to a realm far removed from his current reality. As he started the machine, his feet began to pound against the treadmill, and he closed his eyes, letting the music guide his thoughts back to moments spent with Granger, joyfully listening to her eclectic Muggle tunes.Time slipped unnoticed as he lost himself in the warm embrace of cherished memories. When he finally opened his eyes, darkness had enveloped the ballroom, casting a shadowy veil that only the flickering sconces on the walls could penetrate, creating pools of light amidst the gloom.A pang of hunger snapped him back to the present—enough of this distraction; he needed to eat. With a reluctant sigh, he turned off the machine and went to the kitchen. As he rummaged through the cupboards, searching for a snack, he sang along to a familiar melody, feeling like floating in his little world. Suddenly, a flicker of movement behind him caught his attention, and he spun around his heart racing.“Evelyn!” he exclaimed, startled. He hastily pulled out the earphones and paused the cassette player, his hand pressing against his pounding heart as if to calm it.“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, her voice tinged with shyness as she stepped into the soft glow of the room, “I brought food and a film again.”He glanced from the cold tin in his hand, its metallic surface cold against his palm, to the enticing bag she held. A fragrant waft of delicious aromas danced in the air, drawing him in. He set the tin on the counter, letting go of his earlier intention.“If I didn’t know better, Meyer,” he teased with a smirk, “I’d think you’ve got nothing better to do on a Friday night than spend time with your charge.”“Yeah,” she sighed, a hint of defeat lacing her voice. “I should really get a life.” With a nonchalant shrug, she looked around the kitchen, a faint smile creeping onto her lips.“Honestly, your offer of warm, fragrant food is much more tempting than anything I was about to eat.” He lifted the tin can, eyeing it with mock disdain. “I mean, what on earth is this—baked beans?”“Hey,” she admonished playfully, a sparkle in her eyes. “I’ll have you know baked beans are a British staple food.”“Not in my mind,” he replied, crossing his arms defiantly as he leaned against the cool counter, his posture casual yet assertive.“What would you call a staple food, then?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.“I’m a growing man, Meyer. I need meat,” he declared firmly.“Is that so?” she replied, placing her hand on her hip, the food bag swaying precariously. “Well, if you have no plans tomorrow, I can take you food shopping.”His face softened at her thoughtful offer, warmth spreading at the thought of spending more time together. However, an undeniable flaw popped into his mind—he couldn’t cook the Muggle way.As if she had plucked the thought right from his head, she added, “I’ll even show you how to cook them.”He smirked, feeling a thrilling challenge in her words. “You’re on.”A playful grin spread across her face as she moved to the counter beside him, collecting some gleaming cutlery from the top drawer.“So what’s on the menu for supper tonight?” he asked, trying to sneak a peek into the mysterious bag.“Indian,” she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. She had set up in the sitting room again, transforming the low table between the plush sofa and the flickering television into a colourful spread of food containers, each more enticing than the last. A couple of gleaming plates gleamed under the soft glow of the room, accompanied by neatly folded napkins and polished cutlery.“What is everything?” he asked, his gaze darting between the vibrant dishes with a hint of scepticism.“Okay, so... I’ve never actually tried Indian food before,” she replied, a playful grin spreading across her face as she gestured toward the abundance before them. “So, I just got an assortment to sample.”“Wait, you got me food that even you might not like?” he replied, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief.She shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m open to trying new things,” she said, her enthusiasm bubbling beneath the surface.He narrowed his eyes, still suspicious but intrigued.“Alright,” she began, excitedly leaning forward from the sofa as she pointed at the various enticing dishes. “This is chicken tikka masala—marinated chicken in a rich, spiced sauce. Over here is the biryani; I picked the seafood for you, a mix of rice and spices. This is chicken korma, chicken in a creamy, spiced sauce that’s supposed to be really mild. Those are samosas, crispy pastries stuffed with vegetables and potatoes. And then there’s naan bread to scoop it all up, accompanied by mint yoghurt dip.”“Does everything have spices?” he asked, scepticism still lingering in his voice.“Pretty much,” she answered with a teasing smile. “But like I said, the korma is supposed to be mild. You might want to start with that. Plus, the yoghurt dip is meant to cool things down a bit.”He released a resigned sigh, surrendering to the moment as he sank onto the sofa. With a plate in hand and a serving spoon at the ready, he eagerly helped himself to an impressive mound of everything, the vibrant colours and enticing aromas stirring a sense of adventurous anticipation within him.She flicked the remote, and the soft glow of the TV screen illuminated the dimly lit room as the film began to unfold.“So,” he began, tearing off a piece of warm naan bread, its surface golden and slightly charred. “What’s this film about?”“It’s a time travel adventure film,” she explained, her voice a mix of excitement and delight. She took a generous mouthful of fragrant masala and waved her hand before her mouth to cool off the warmth.“Muggles have time travel?” he asked, his mouth half-full, a piece of naan precariously dangling.“No,” she shook her head with a playful smile. “It’s just fiction. You see, this brilliant inventor named ‘Doc’ creates a way to travel through time using a DeLorean.”“What’s a DeLorean?” he inquired, taking a hefty bite of korma next. “Fucking Salazar!” he exclaimed, his tongue burning due to the spices as he instinctively opened his mouth wide, trying to let cool air in while quickly covering it with his hand, as if that could contain the fiery sensation.Evelyn chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. With a flick of her wand, she aimed it at an empty glass, declaring, “Aguamenti!” Instantly, the glass filled with refreshing water that she passed to Draco. He accepted it gratefully, downing the entire contents in one gulp, his throat still ablaze from the spice.“That was the mild one; maybe Indian isn’t for you,” she teased, her tone light yet filled with genuine concern.His eyes were watery, tears threatening to spill as he leaned forward, spluttering and coughing as he struggled to regain his breath.“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning in closer, her hand gently resting on his shoulder, grounding him as he steadied himself.“You’re trying to kill me, Meyer,” he gasped between breaths, his face flushed and incredulous.“If I wanted to kill you, I would have gotten you a vindaloo,” she smirked, her fingers slipping from his shoulder as she lounged back into the softness of the couch, a playful glint in her eyes.He leaned back in his seat, a curious expression crossing his face as he gestured toward the screen. “So, a DeLorean?” he asked, puzzled by the strange name.“It’s a car,” she began, her voice light and teasing, before pausing to check his understanding. “You do know what a car is, right?”He nodded, a playful smirk forming. “Muggle mode of transport,” he replied, his tone laced with amusement.“Very good,” she congratulated him, a hint of laughter in her voice.They settled into a comfortable silence, the glow of the film flickering in front of them. Evelyn munched on a samosa, her plate filled with a colourful array, while Draco chose to stick with the naan bread, which he found both tasty and not too spicy.“So,” Draco began thoughtfully, his brow furrowed as he focused on the unfolding plot. “His mother is starting to fall for him, right?”“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice steady and engaging. “And if she succeeds, then she may never fall in love with his actual father, which means Marty and his siblings would cease to exist.”“Are you sure these Muggles don’t know about magic?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Because that’s pretty similar.”“Like the last film, it's a branch of fantasy. This one, however, is rooted in science fiction,” she explained, her tone patient but animated.“Tell me he doesn’t just cease to exist, and that’s the ending?” he inquired, concern etched on his features.“No, there is a happy ending,” she assured him, a smile appearing as she anticipated his reaction.“Good,” he said, crossing his arms, focusing intently on the film as he leaned forward.“I thought you said it was a happy ending,” he remarked a while later, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice as he turned to face her. “What’s the problem with their children?”“Well, that’s an ending that leaves the film open for a sequel,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.“There’s a sequel?!” he exclaimed, excitement bubbling in his voice, his earlier annoyance forgotten.“Do I take it that you liked the film?” she teased, a playful grin spreading across her face as she watched his enthusiasm. ~ On Saturday morning, they set out for the nearest supermarket in town, the air crisp and filled with the weekend buzz of Muggles bustling about. Draco, intrigued by the sight of the everyday shopping trolley, could hardly contain his excitement. He gave it a playful shove, leaping onto its wheelbase and careening down the brightly lit aisles like an exuberant child.They perused the aisles filled with colourful packaging and enticing aromas inside the store. They picked up ready meals, juicy cuts of meat, oven chips, and fresh vegetables. She promised to teach him the ways of preparation and cooking, a new adventure he couldn’t wait to embark upon.Draco moved confidently down the aisles, his eyes darting from one product to another, fascinated by the myriad of Muggle creations. He picked up various packages, examining their contents with curiosity, before either tossing them into the trolley or placing them back in their rightful spots with meticulous care. From time to time, he couldn’t help but express his thoughts, marvelling aloud at certain meals or quipping, “These Muggles are quite clever, aren’t they?”Each observation peeled back another layer of Draco Malfoy, revealing an unexpectedly curious side and delightfully engaged with the world around him.
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March 1995They had long since abandoned the library, opting for a cosy sanctuary in the derelict cottage, where they could sprawl comfortably on the plush cushions she had borrowed from the Gryffindor common room. Each moment spent there felt like a small escape from reality, the gentle sounds of her Walkman enveloping them in a soothing cocoon. With its charmingly imperfect low stone walls, the cottage had become their little haven, its rustic charm drawing them in like a well-loved book.Draco had taken it upon himself to add a personal touch, adorning the walls with a vibrant Slytherin Quidditch scarf, much to Granger's exasperation. She often rolled her eyes at his house pride, but deep down, Draco sensed it added character to their secret retreat.Through her, he was introduced to an array of Muggle songs, each track a window into a world he never truly appreciated until now. He became increasingly envious of her upbringing—so rich with the warmth of music that flowed freely in the background of her childhood.One particular song captivated him: Queen's ‘Radio Ga Ga’. The infectious rhythm and electronic beats opened his eyes to a new realm of auditory experience that magical music often failed to provide. Her enthusiasm was infectious as she explained the intricate layers of sound, and he couldn't help but nod in agreement. It dawned on him that by shunning the Muggle world, he had unknowingly deprived himself of a treasure trove of artistic expression that brought people together through shared rhythms and melodies. April 1995It was becoming increasingly difficult to weave elaborate tales to Pansy about his Saturday escapades at noon. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn’t have to fabricate stories; after all, his rendezvous with Granger held no scandalous undertones. They merely sank into the soothing embrace of music, sharing conversations that danced between the realms of magic and the experiences of Muggle life that she had known since childhood.Yet, there was a thrill in maintaining this secret, a flicker of excitement that ignited within him. So much so that when they found themselves in the halls of Hogwarts, their interactions were steeped in a façade of mutual disdain, a carefully constructed illusion that made navigating social circles much simpler. It was easier, allowing the world to believe they loathed each other.His relationship with Pansy was little more than a fleeting dalliance, marked by stolen moments in hushed corners of the library where their fingers brushed in a soft caress and the whispers of affection flared into brief, passionate kisses. It was not the deep connection he had once envisioned; months prior, as he meticulously brewed the potion that had sparked this entanglement, he had imagined Pansy was the one for him. They had been friends for so long, and evolving into something more had felt like a natural progression. Yet, as the days wore on, he found her increasingly clingy, craving a level of independence that he wished she could embrace. He longed for a partner in life who could stand on her own, someone who mirrored the strength he admired in Granger. The much-anticipated Hogsmeade weekend loomed on the horizon, set to take place at the end of the month. Pansy was practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of wandering the quaint cobblestone streets with Draco by her side. She envisioned their trip filled with leisurely shopping, the aroma of freshly baked pastries wafting from charming little cafes, and the indulgence of delectable desserts. On the other hand, he harboured a bittersweet disappointment that he would miss a particular music event that Saturday. Nevertheless, he resolved to maintain the façade that everything was as it should be with Pansy.True to their plans, they settled into a charming café savouring rich chocolate cake and sweet pastries. The afternoon sunshine danced over them as Pansy allowed him to kiss her passionately on a weathered wooden bench, her laughter mingling with the gentle breeze. Draco's hand wandered, his fingers caressing her thigh, revelling in the warmth radiating from her soft, supple skin. He felt a rush of heat as his fingertips glided teasingly along her bare inner thigh, inching toward the hem of her delightfully short skirt.Just then, he saw Granger strolling through the village, flanked by Potter and Weasley. A rush of instinct pulled him abruptly away from Pansy, his fingers withdrawing from her leg as if burned. Pansy frowned at him, confusion flickering in her eyes.“Not here, Panse,” he murmured, a hint of urgency in his tone, aware of the prying eyes surrounding them. May 1995Granger wore her skirt longer. He noticed this at their next Saturday meetup. It was just above her knee rather than just below her hips like Pansy. There was still a little bit of thigh peeking out, but it was covered in a navy blue pair of tights. The weather was getting warmer now, so maybe she would forgo her tights soon and let him see some flesh.Salazar, what the fuck was wrong with him. He was such a creep, letching over Granger’s thighs.He wondered what Granger’s thighs would feel like.A deep warmth surged beneath his skin, spreading like wildfire. His heartbeat quickened, each thud echoing louder than the last as if his chest could barely contain it. There was a subtle tremor in his hands, betraying a tension he couldn’t quite suppress—a heady blend of adrenaline and something more primal. The air felt charged, every detail of the moment razor-sharp, his senses heightened to the edge of focus.He shook himself, letting go of the sensation of caressing her thigh.He tuned back into the music coming through his earphone. This song was a little on point as he tried to control himself and his ever-increasing desires. Relax. June 1995They had transformed the Quidditch pitch into an elaborate maze, a sprawling labyrinth of confusion and frustration, and that was why the matches had been called off for the year.The third and final task loomed ominously at the end of the month, and Granger had informed him that she wouldn’t be available to meet on the weekends until it was all over. Her time would be devoted to helping that bumbling idiot, Potter, prepare for the challenge. He could see the logic in that; after all, Potter was utterly hopeless without her.So, for the weekends in between, he found solace in retreating to the quaint cottage, armed only with a book and a desperate desire for solitude. There, he could lie back, enveloped by the tranquil rustle of leaves outside, savouring a reprieve from the chaos of life. It was a chance to escape Pansy’s incessant chatter, to distance himself from the rising tension in the Slytherin common room fueled by rampant rumours. It was a brief getaway from the burdens that weighed heavily on his shoulders, a moment of peace in a world that felt increasingly chaotic. As Potter emerged from the dark maze, his hands gripping the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory, he declared with a haunting finality that ‘he was back.’ In that moment, Draco felt the precarious world he had known begin to quake beneath his feet, threatening to collapse around him. He scanned the crowd, his eyes searching for the bushy-haired witch among the throng of onlookers. Just then, he spotted her, her face streaked with tears, the shimmering droplets catching the light as they traced down her cheeks, revealing the depth of her sorrow.That night, in the dimly lit Slytherin common room, a cacophony of emotions swirled among the students. Crabbe and Goyle, with their brutish enthusiasm, erupted into celebrations, revelling in the grim news of the Dark Lord's supposed return. In stark contrast, Theo sat hunched in a shadowed corner, inconsolable; his father, much like Draco’s own, had eagerly awaited the revival of the ‘good old days’—an era steeped in chaos and control. Both boys harboured no desire to be swept up into the dark tide.Pansy wrestled with her conflicting emotions, torn between the instinctual urge to distance herself from impending conflict and a simmering resentment fueled by jealousy. She longed to rid herself of certain Muggle-borns who, in her eyes, posed a threat to her relationship with her boyfriend. Meanwhile, Blaise maintained a stoic indifference, observing the storm around him. They all understood that regardless of their feelings, the return of the Dark Lord signified one undeniable truth: war was not only brewing; it was inevitable. When Draco next encountered Granger in their retreat in the shadowy depths of the forest, she appeared subdued, her usual vibrancy muted.“How are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a timidity that was new to him.She shrugged, her expression distant. “Numb,” she replied, the word hanging heavily in the air. “Everything is going to change now. You’ll turn around and start calling me Mudblood soon.” The bitterness in her voice cut through the tranquil sounds of the woods, echoing the turmoil within her.“I haven’t thought of you like that for a while now, Granger.” He stepped closer, turning to face her fully, the tension of their unspoken bond palpable in the air. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the weight of their history hung between them. “You are more than a single word.”A flicker of a smile danced across her lips, a soft light breaking through her clouded demeanour, and he couldn’t help but return it, feeling the warmth spread through him.They lay together in silence, the world around them seeming to fade as they listened to the melodies drifting from her music device. Deep in his thoughts, Draco's mind swirled with concerns over a future that felt perilously fragile. He longed for a way to turn back time, to pause his life in a blissfully serene moment with Granger by his side, where the encroaching darkness of the future seemed unbearable. As the week before the end of the school year approached, Granger surprised him with a roll of parchment delicately tied with string, the gesture almost intimate in the quiet of the forest.“I know you won’t be able to listen to any Muggle music over the holidays, so I thought this might help,” she explained, her eyes gleaming with affection and apprehension.Curiosity piqued, he accepted the roll and carefully untied the string, unfurling the parchment. To his delight, he discovered several scrolls filled with the lyrics of all his favourite songs, written in her neat, precise handwriting—a tangible piece of her he could carry with him.He chuckled softly, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier worries, filled with appreciation for her thoughtful gift. “Thanks, Granger.”“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” she replied, her voice lightened, the fleeting connection between them deepening in its unspoken promise.
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June 2003Evelyn found herself increasingly devoting her free time to Draco, and surprisingly, she relished every moment of it.Her evenings after work transformed into delightful culinary adventures, during which she took great pleasure in guiding him through the art of cooking. With every lesson, she introduced him to the vibrant array of ingredients she had collected—crisp vegetables, succulent cuts of meat, and golden chips. As they navigated the kitchen together, laughter and the sizzling sounds of the stove filled the air, creating a cosy atmosphere that felt almost like home.Once the meals were prepared and savoured, they would settle into easy conversations, discussing everything from their daily lives to the latest films they might enjoy. Evelyn had noticed how his eyes lit up when he talked about movies, a spark of enthusiasm that made her smile. Inspired by his newfound interest in fitness, she decided to craft a collection of mix tapes, blending timeless classics with contemporary hits—each song was chosen to energise his workouts and fill the space with rhythm.Gradually, the nature of their connection evolved from strangers who occasionally conversed in the office to friendly acquaintances sharing laughter over simmering pots. It was a strange yet comforting transformation; what had begun as simple interactions blossomed into a warm friendship, a sense of camaraderie that felt oddly fulfilling. Evelyn marvelled at how their relationship had shifted; each shared meal and conversation weaving a richer tapestry of companionship. The investigation had barely moved forward at the office, a creeping frustration settling in. However, Pansy had uncovered startling information: the ministry official in Eastern Europe responsible for Dolohov's release had mysteriously vanished, suggesting that darker, more intricate schemes were at play, orchestrated by unknown antagonists.Evelyn called for a thorough background check on the missing official, diving deep into every possible lead surrounding their history and connections. In tandem, the team had gained a more precise understanding of the horrific injuries inflicted by the modified torture curse. They began the painstaking task of cross-referencing these injuries with the vast archives of similar reports from St. Mungo's that had piled up during the war—thousands of accounts waiting to be sifted through. To invigorate Draco with a sense of purpose in the investigation, Evelyn entrusted him with the sole responsibility of this daunting cross-reference.Evelyn and Harry gathered the Aurors for a crucial briefing. They were preparing for the imminent arrival of a delegate from the Eastern European Ministry of Magic, and she meticulously advised them on the delicate balance of information that could be shared and what needed to remain closely guarded. It was clear that the UK Ministry would safeguard certain critical details, just as they fully anticipated the EE Ministry would keep some of their cards hidden, heightening the tension in an already complex situation. Sitting at her cluttered desk in the dimly lit office, surrounded by a mountain of case files, Draco’s voice cut through the silence, prompting Evelyn to lift her gaze from the detailed report she had been poring over. The case in question involved a tragic double murder in the remote village of Rhiconich, another mystery to add to the pile.“Why did you give me the manor?” he asked, a hint of curiosity lacing his tone.Evelyn’s brow furrowed as she considered his question. “What do you mean?” she replied.“When we first met, you insisted that none of the Malfoy assets were available and that I would stay in a Ministry hostel.”Evelyn shifted in her chair, her posture tense. “I checked the other hostels, and they weren’t up to scratch,” she said, a practised nonchalance in her voice.Deep down, she knew it was a convenient excuse; she could sense that he saw through the facade, but neither acknowledged the underlying truth.“Evelyn?” he said quietly, his tone unexpectedly gentle.Surprised, she looked up, taken aback by his sincere use of her first name. “Yes?”“Thank you.” He offered a slight nod, a gesture that carried a weight of gratitude she hadn’t anticipated.She smiled softly in return, warmth blooming in her chest as their eyes met for a brief moment of connection.“How are you progressing with the files from St. Mungo’s?” she asked, hoping to redirect the conversation.“Slow,” he replied, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “At this rate, I should be finished in about… ten years.”“Well, keep at it. I want you to find a link; there must be something that connects these cases,” she urged, leaning forward slightly, the spark of determination in her eyes.“Why is this my task?” he countered, irritation creeping into his tone.“It makes sense. You’re completely office-bound.” she offered simply“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, annoyance flickering across his features.“I want you to have some responsibility in helping catch a killer,” she stated, her voice steady. “It will be beneficial for your probation.”He nodded glumly, returning to his task.
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Recognising the critical need to establish a connection to a specific file from St. Mungo's, Evelyn had granted Draco special permission to take a pile of reports home. This rare privilege would allow him to sift through the documents at his leisure, an opportunity he valued deeply.Draco is acutely aware, due in part to his relationship that the types of trauma detailed in their case are all too familiar. He recalls how Hermione had endured similar traumas after her harrowing encounter in the Department of Mysteries, where she received treatment at St. Mungo's. Although he'd prefer not to admit that his understanding of this context came directly from the source, he knows that he must connect the dots carefully. If Potter had taken a moment to think, he would have also pieced the puzzle together.If only Draco had access to his magic, the task would be simplified; he could effortlessly summon the necessary report with a flick of his wand. Instead, he faces the painstaking process of retrieving files manually, leafing through pages one by one. With each turn of the page, he draws on his familiarity with the various forms, deftly recalling which boxes to check for names or specific descriptions of injuries, hoping that he will find the connection he desperately seeks within these bureaucratic documents.Evelyn had already informed Draco that she would be visiting her mother this weekend up north, giving him ample time to search for what he needed. Seated in his dimly lit room, he meticulously sifted through countless reports, each a potential clue, as he sought her name among the seemingly endless stacks he had brought back to the Manor.The atmosphere around him was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustle of paper and the distant sound of raindrops tapping against the windowpane. Isolated from the outside world, he remained in his sanctuary all weekend, breaking only to heat up the precooked meals he and Evelyn had prepared together days earlier, which somehow made the solitude feel less oppressive.As he sat at his cluttered desk, Draco carefully twirled strands of spaghetti around his fork, his concentration unwavering as he tried to avoid splattering bolognese sauce on the delicate sheets of paper strewn about. Each bite was deliberate, almost meditative, as he savoured the familiar taste.In this tense moment, smoking seemed like the elusive solution to help him focus his scattered thoughts; the familiar act promised a momentary escape from the mounting pressure that weighed heavily on his mind. He had relied on nicotine patches for a while, but as the last packet dwindled to emptiness, he realised he no longer needed them. It was never the nicotine he craved; rather, smoking had become a ritualistic means of dissociating from the overwhelming feelings of grief that plagued his existence. Now, any slight urge to smoke flickered only sporadically, surfacing during particularly challenging times when reality felt too harsh to bear.For those gruelling episodes that threatened to engulf him, he discovered that articulating his thoughts aloud provided a strange sort of solace. In the stillness of the night, when the shadows danced around the dim corners of the lonely manor after Evelyn had departed for the day, he would engage in quiet monologues. He would recount the day's events as if Hermione were still by his side, her unwavering presence a comforting echo in his mind. It was a peculiar ritual that blurred the line between memory and imagination, but in those moments, he felt a glimmer of connection to the affection he once cherished.“You remember that bastard who cursed you in the Department of Mysteries, Granger?” His voice was thick with frustration, and he paused, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably as he awaited a response he knew he would never receive. It felt oddly fitting to leave this gap, a small space for her spirit to fill, should she ever choose to join the conversation.“We think he’s on a Muggle killing spree, Granger. It’s not just here; it’s all across Europe. This is a puzzle that even you would struggle to solve, darling.” His words hung in the air, heavy with weight.Another pause came, longer this time, and he sighed deeply, the sound echoing in the stillness around him. “It’s got to be him. The descriptions of the victims’ injuries—the brutality of it all—remind me disturbingly of the hex you suffered at his hands. It’s chilling, to say the least.”He was met with nothing but silence, and he felt a dull ache in his chest. “Granger, I wish you were here. Without you, I feel utterly lost. The chaos of this world is overwhelming, and I’m so confused.” His throat tightened as he fought to keep his composure, but the weight of his emotions was crushing.He hesitated before voicing the next confession, the vulnerability of it gnawing at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Meyer—she reminds me of you in so many ways. It’s almost eerie as if she embodies a part of you. I know how crazy that sounds.”He ran a hand through his hair, the stress palpable in his movements. “I know she’s prying into my past; my memories aren’t where I left them. But she hasn’t uncovered you yet, at least not entirely. I can sense her trying to get closer to me, and the truth is, I’m lonely, Granger. I’m so damn lonely without you.”He hung his head in shame, hot tears threatening to spill as he admitted the heart-wrenching truth aloud, “It was never meant to be this way.” He buried his face in his hands, the pressure of his grief pushing down like a physical weight, reminding him of the gaping hole she had left in his life. He still makes it a point to fit in a morning run on the treadmill, a ritual that invigorates his body, sharpens his mind, and clarifies his thoughts. This daily meditation serves as a crucial practice, bolstering his mental defences against the chaos of life.As he laced up his trainers, he favoured a particular song—what he affectionately dubbed the ‘no no no’ song. Its infectious rhythm perfectly matched the steady thump of his feet striking the treadmill, creating a euphoric synergy that propelled him forward. With his eyes gently closed, he sank deeper into a state of blissful nothingness, where the outside world faded away, and all that mattered was the rhythm of his breath and the pounding of his heart.When the track came to an end and a new melody began to weave through the air, his heart momentarily skipped a beat. The familiar notes echoed from a distant memory, hauntingly reminiscent of another time in his life. The slower tempo urged him to decelerate, and as the opening lyrics floated through the sound waves, he opened his eyes to the stark reality. Coming to a sudden halt, the treadmill shut off beneath him, leaving him breathless, his heart racing as if he had just completed the most demanding of sprints.There she stood, poised gracefully by the ornate double doors of the ballroom, as radiant as ever, a vision that seemed to illuminate the dimly lit space. Her rich brown curls tumbled elegantly down her back, catching the glimmer of the chandeliers overhead as she turned to face him. He stepped off the exercise machine, which faded into oblivion, leaving only her presence in sharp focus.With each deliberate step towards her, a smile spread across his face, and he was met with a playful grin that danced in her eyes. “Granger…” he breathed, closing the distance until he could reach out and gently cup her face in his warm hand. The feel of her skin ignited a familiar spark within him, and he leaned in, planting a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek she instinctively offered. “You’re here.”Her smile, both mischievous and comforting, lit up her features. A twinkle in her gaze hinted at secrets shared and adventures yet to come.He embraced her tightly, savouring the warmth radiating from her. “Salazar, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, the world around them blurring into insignificance. “It’s been so hard without you.”“When are you joining me, Draco?” she asked, her voice imbued with tenderness, as he reluctantly pulled back just enough to meet her enchanting gaze. Her eyes, deep and full of warmth, seemed to hold the promise of everything he longed for.“Soon,” he replied, delicately caressing her cheek as if he were afraid she might shatter like glass. “You had something to accomplish, and now I do too,” he explained his voice a mixture of hope and regret.She beamed at him, a radiant smile that could banish the darkest of shadows. Then, as if caught in a gentle breeze, her figure began to dissolve into swirling smoke, a bittersweet farewell. The vibrant hues of the ballroom returned, and the gym equipment re-emerged.Draco was alone, a hollow ache settling in his chest. She hadn’t truly been there—just an ephemeral vision conjured by the music that had enveloped him, offering a fleeting moment of solace. But it had felt so real; she had felt so real.