Disclaimer : Harry Potter universe and all of the characters are belong to J.K Rowling.
I want to say thank you for my Beta Speedy Speck, for her time to go through the story and for her constructive feedbacks. This story wouldn't be like this without her :')
Chapter 01 - The Entourage
"Oh I can't believe it Parv, I really can't believe it," the twenty-five year old Miss Lavender Brown breathed in disbelief. She looked down at the moving pictures in her hands before turning her attention back to her companion. "Can you believe it? Pansy Parkinson cheated on Zabini!" She slammed the desk with such force, laughing hysterically, leaving Dennis' ears to be abused by the sound.
"She's not into their relationship, see, she never did things like this with Zabini in public," one of the Patil twins pointed at a picture where Parkinson was holding hands with her current love affair. The way Parvati Patil's brows knitted together in deep thought, and as her hands folded in front her chest, just reminded him of a dumb Muggle detective, who tried to solve a case beyond his competency.
"When will she be Parv? She's a slut," Lavender sneered nastily.
Dennis closed his eyes and counted to ten in Greek.
His head started to throb as the two friends continued deliberating the bollocks further in their sickening voice. Working as Witch Weekly's Gossip Column photographer would never, ever, be his thing.
Merlin's beard .. and it's only been a week? He thought bitterly while giving his poor head a gentle massage.
"He's not bad though." Lavender mumbled absentmindedly as she started observing the photograph once more, "Not bad at all."
"Italian?" the photograph was only an inch from Parvati's pointed nose.
"Possibly, but we won't make any assumptions right now, let's do more research about this mystery lover of Pansy Parkinson!" she clasped her hands together and a smile crept across her red lips, "This will be the biggest scandal of the year! Oh my God Parv, it's been awhile since we wrote such a phenomenal article!" She squealed in delight, almost bouncing on her seat.
Parvati gave her best friend a wide cheshire-cat grin with just the same enthusiasm as her friend, "Mrs. Darling will be more than delighted to he—"
Dennis cleared his throat loudly, "It's almost eight, three hours by my work time," he cut the woman off rather harshly, "I'm going."
"What? Wait Dennis!" Lavender cried out, she grabbed him by the sleeves and forced him to stay.
"What is it?" the mousy haired man managed to say between his gritted teeth. He mentally swore he would barge into Mrs. Darling's office this Monday and asked her about another transfer.
"You have to find more evidence," she brought her hand up when he opened his mouth to protest, "Just some more photos, okay? We need to make this article as splashy as possible. Get it on my desk by Monday."
Whatever.
"Sure," he said quietly before putting his cloak on his shoulders. The woman was horrible, but unfortunately, he wasn't lagging too far behind—he was the one who provided her with the photographs, right?
"It will be on your desk by Monday."
Dennis adjusted his scarf around his head to hide half of his flushing face with his gloved hands and begun to walk. The street was still busy, with many Muggles walking past and cars and trucks honking and rushing through the busy road. He turned his head and looked at some Christmas trees along the road. The decorations were light, elegant, and beautiful; creating a powerful and lasting impact for the sacred holiday.
Ah, Collin .. the things I've done because of you ..
It was due to his brother, really, that he had decided to enter the field of journalism.
Who knew that gossip columnist was on the journalism spectrum?
Dennis shook his head in dismay and turned his feet towards the abandoned alley to find a spot for Apparating.
Whatever, I've promised to make your dreams come true. Haven't I?
Yes. Indeed.
Yeah, but not as a gossip columnist you tosser.
The other voice in his head sneered.
He pursed his lips and sighed heavily. Dennis silently reminded himself to ask Mrs. Darling—the Witch Weekly Head Editor—to give him a transfer later.
He was walking towards the mossy trash can when something with a great impact hit him from behind, sending him flying nine feet across the alley and causing his head to make contact with the solid metal.
Dennis fell on the snowy ground with a loud thud. His face was the first to kiss the hard surface.
It hurt.
What the fuck ..
Something was gushing from his temple. He didn't wait long as he caught a glimpse of redness on the snowy ground as the thick substance of his blood pooled around his head.
Shit!
He tried to move his muscles but couldn't get even a flinch from his paralyzed system. The blow must have injured his spine hence he couldn't control his movement.
Dammit!
"You should look at your own face, Mudblood," a woman said with a wheezy giggle.
"Should I kill him now? It's bloody cold and I'm starving," this time it was a man who spoke with a similar wheezy giggle.
What?! No!
"Who-who the fuck are you?" Dennis managed to mumble through his freezing lips.
"Your worst nightmare Mudblood," the woman laughed at her own lame joke and, without warning, crushed his limp fingers with her nice soles, "Oh, oh, he's crying, Brother, look at him!"
He was. Dennis was really crying. He couldn't help it. Really. The pain was just unbearable.
"Whatever, I'm killing him now, Rod told me he baked ham. I don't want to have it cold."
He could hear a rustling sound from above him before the man kneeled next to his companion's foot and pulled out something from his coat pocket. It shone within the minimum light the alley had provided.
A dagger.
"Wha-wait!"
He ignored Dennis' incoherent rambling and pressed the dagger onto his neck, and in one swift move, slashed it down his throat.
Oh God ..
Dennis had seen many Muggle movies before. Some of them had the scenes where a man slashed—or bite—another man's neck and caused blood to squirting from the injured vessels.
At least he knew now it wasn't a joke.
"There, it's done, now c'mon, Rod might have it served on the table, you know those shits are fans of his cooking."
Dennis felt his head go heavy from the blood loss. He knew it was about time for him to loss consciousness.
"You're no fun," the woman hissed to her companion.
He closed his eyelids slowly as it got heavier with each passing second.
Stupid Collin, who knew that I'd meet you so soon ..
"Bye then Mudblood, count it as a Christmas gift from me, I promise to send you some company in the future, more Mu—"
"The ham!"
"Fine, fine!"
Dennis heard the woman murmur some cursing words before lifting her sole from his broken fingers and walking towards her brother.
"I can cook, you know."
"Yeah, but I don't eat dog food."
Killed by Death Eaters .. how ironic ..
Their footsteps, the woman's shriek, the sound of angry punches – they all echoed around the dark walls of the abandoned buildings as they walked further into the alley.
That was the last sound Dennis Creevey heard before he finally gave up and let the darkness possess him.
Seven months later
It was all pain.
"Bleeding on right calf and left forearm, and cuts on the back, but I can't identify the curses, Sir."
He could feel nothing but pain. They said humans could only feel one pain at any one time—the one that hurt the most—the one that left the rest of your body reaching the point of numbness. His was coming from his left forearm.
It burnt.
It felt like the nasty curse had ripped not only the delicate tissue of his muscles but went through the dense structure of his bones.
"The airway is clear? Alright, get me the Blood-Replenishing Potion and burn-healing paste—I'll deal with the spell damage. "
He felt a soft material touch his bare back. A deep grunt escaped his parted lips when the injured back made contact with it. He couldn't decide whether the stinging on his back or the burn on his left forearm was the worst.
"Stay with us Auror Malfoy."
He could hear the sound of people rushing around him as they moved frantically over here and there from somewhere, whilst things were pressed, and probed upon his body. They were trying to save his life. He let out a harsh laugh, mentally of course. He had been at hell's door, treading the line between life and death. So what was the point of saving his life?
"How's the vital sign?"
And then there was a light. It was the brightest light he had ever seen, piercing through a small crack. It was too much for his eyes and he'd never had a good tolerance for light.
So it was heaven then? How unexpected…
"The Blood-Replenishing—yes, good, and put more compression on the calf."
His taste buds were alarmed by an iron-like substance. It slid down his throat, burning the mucous layer as it passed through the hollow passage.
It lightened his throbbing head.
As time passed the noise became clearer. He could feel his sense awareness increase. The small crack turned into a blurry vision framed by his eye line. It wasn't the afterlife after all. As he gained more of his focus he soon realized the light was the bright light from the big bulb lamp above his head.
"Ah, Draco."
He was greeted by a familiar wrinkled face, cladded in his usual shabby green lime robe—Albert. The said man was pointing his wand right onto Draco's bare chest and there was blue phosphorescence radiating from the pectoral region.
"Excellent, here, here, we've passed the critical phase, no need to worry," he assured kindly, "Besides the injuries, your condition was quite stable."
Draco gave him a slight nod and hissed when an immensely intense sharp pain struck his left forearm. He shut his eyes tight and gritted his teeth to prevent a foul curse slipping from his mouth—as pleasant as the old man could be, one thing he couldn't tolerate in his presence was the use of profanity. He respected the man and had a good enough control over his words.
"Oh, right, forgive me, son," Albert called one of his young apprentices and told him to bring him some more potions.
"So, did you get them?" he asked in his usual casual way as he sat on the seat next to Draco's bed.
Draco kept his eyes fixed on the dusty ceiling, "No."
"No?"
"We were outnumbered."
The old man raised one of his grey brows, "Oh?"
"It was four against seven."
Albert hummed and absentmindedly scratched his shaved chin. "They hit you with the stunning spells, no? Three or four times I think, it's quite surprising, knowing how much they tend to use the killing curses, isn't it?"
Draco was silence for a while. He had known the man long enough to know the kind of things that were going through the old healer's venerable mind. He knew Albert Nelson knew why, he just liked to make him talk. "You know why they used the stunning spells on me Albert."
"Of course," Draco heard him chuckle, "It's the same reason why they gave you the burn on your forearm—ah, thank you Brian."
Draco brought up his limp left arm and observed the bandage-covered limb. Some of the yellow paste had saturated the white cloth. He tried to flex his fingers but only managed a small twitch from the body part. The muscles felt extremely weak. And the throbbing was excruciating.
"Ah, about the burn Draco, I'm afraid it will take weeks before your muscles can be used functionally," he said while pouring down a good amount of purple liquid from its phial into a glass, "The damage is quite severe I dare to say, hence, you need to take a full rest from work."
Draco's frown deepened.
"Now, now, it isn't wise to make any objection, here, drink this, I'll inform Auror Potter about your condition, you'll be back to England this morning, won't you?" Albert rose from his seat and once again gave Draco a reassuring smile, "You'll be alright when you wake up, except the burn of course, I promise you," he said before leaving and headed towards his black-haired apprentice, who had waited for him at one of the patient's bedsides.
Draco brought the glass to his lips and emptied its content in a single draught. It only took a second before the very potent dreamless sleeping potion took effect.
They had known about the Auror's mission, or luck was on their side last night.
His team had it all planned for almost a month. Days of searching, tracking, and observing. They had been in disguise for weeks, stalking, studying how both Lestrange brothers left their coastal cottage under a full protection and where Carrow, their other companion, spent his Sunday morning at the coast, yachting in his marina.
They had grasped the facts, the important information, and finally planned the invasion.
And they were outnumbered.
When they finally managed to break the wards, it wasn't the Lestranges or Carrow they found at the sitting room, drinking the muggle liquor they had begun to value, as they usual did. No. Instead it was seven men, cladded in their black robes, with wands already in their hands and pointed towards Draco and his fellow Auror members.
It was either pure luck that had his team barge inside when those Death Eaters had an unarranged meeting. Or pure incompetence on his side that had the Death Eaters find out about their carefully planned mission.
Draco tended to believe the latter.
But the idea of incompetency utterly displeased him, if Draco was anything, he was far from incompetent.
Could be just misfortune…
Draco scrunched his brows.
If he wasn't mistaken, Edgeworth and Plunkett, two of his newest members on the team, had just passed the training before they were sent under his supervision. They could make errors .. slipped some information to Death Eaters' messenger, divulged it under the influence of potions or spells.
Or alcohol.
Both of them weren't very good drinkers but they fancied those Muggle Bars ..
"Top of the mornin' to you Malfoy."
Finnigan.
It was obvious from the man's familiar harsh voice—beside the Irish lilt that could only come from the Barlney Stone.
"I was thinking," Draco said, slowly turning his head toward his fellow Auror, "About our last mission."
"It was fucked up. We're battered, what's there to think about Malfoy?" Finnigan blurted out and slumped his tired body on the seat next to Draco's bed, "Days of work, and it was all in vain."
Draco was silent for a while. The permanent frown on his forehead slightly deepened as he stared at the man before him. "Fucked up, but not in vain Finnigan," he always made sure none of his actions were wasted, "We've come to know that the Lestranges and Carrow were heading to England with the other four men last night."
Upon hearing this, Finnigan straightened his posture, "They moved from their safehouse?"
"Apparently, for Carrow said—if my mind didn't fool me at the time—'what a shame, to leave such a nice place, eh? But wasn't it last Christmas when I last saw my dear sister?' "
"He said that?"
"Yes, and we've been informed for a long time that his sister was hiding somewhere in England."
Draco saw as Finnigan opened his mouth to say something but shut it instead. Something he couldn't identify flickered in the man's eyes. "Okay then .. I'll make sure Lewis knows about this information," he said quietly, putting back his façade as fast as he dropped it, "And I, er, I've brought your clothes," he patted the tattered leather satchel on his feet.
A slob he might be, but ignorant he was not. And Draco knew this.
There should be questions after information like that—that was what had always happened between them through their partnership.
Something was bothering Seamus Finnigan. And it was concerning England and those Death Eaters. He was thinking about his friends. Obviously.
He suddenly remembered, Lewis once told him about a murder case—or was it cases?—that happened there. It had been months ago and he wasn't paying much attention at the time, since it was not part of his Auror assignment, and Draco didn't like to spending his time on something unrelated to his task.
And Lewis had sent him the transfer letter last week.
The murder case—or cases. Carrow and Lestranges movement to England. Finnigan's friends. And his transfer.
Ah ..
"Stop it Malfoy."
"Stop what?" Draco grabbed the satchel in one swift movement and shoved his hand inside the magically extended space.
"Stop thinking."
That was new. He usually asked 'what are you thinking' or 'what's on your mind'.
"I'm only good at explaining and you're not asking," Draco pulled out his plain white t-shirt and put it over his head with much more difficulty since the limp hand couldn't be fully used. "So it left me thinking."
Draco heard his partner's annoyed growl and chose to ignore it, "Where's Edgeworth and Plunkett?"
"Oh, I tried to find them this morning and they were nowhere to be seen—canteen, the duel rooms, meeting rooms, I've searched everywhere and it was as if they had disappeared."
Of course.
"Just tell them to stop visiting those Muggle bars, will you? They are troublesome even under my supervision," Draco threw the satchel over his shoulder and got to his feet, "And send my regards to Lewis."
"Wait, wait, wait, you're going? Right now? To England?" Finnigan followed him from behind, "Malfoy, seriously? And what's this about telling those idiots about their Muggle bar things?"
Draco spotted the bald head of Albert Nelson and turned towards the man.
"Malfoy, you didn't answer my question," Finnigan hissed between his clenched teeth.
Ah, that was more like him.
Draco smiled at Albert politely as he and his clearly fuming partner approached him. Albert did some thorough examinations of him before talking about his regret at losing a good Auror and finally, released him from the Auror Hospital Wing.
"Lewis is having his lunch, isn't he?" Draco finally said when they reached the Ireland Head Auror's office door. He really didn't want to face the Head Auror's usual wail right now.
"You really are going?" Draco raised an eyebrow at his partner's whining tone, "Malfoy, you can't leave me with those two!"
"They're possibly responsible for our fucked up mission, tell Lewis that, ask for a replacement, they're certainly under qualified Aurors," Draco strode inside the empty office and immediately headed to the fireplace, "they might have slipped some of our mission information when they were drunk."
"You're sure?"
He thought for a while, "eighty-five percent possibility, just slip some drops of Veritaserum into their pumpkin juices to make it a hundred."
Finnigan let out a loud laugh, "Good idea, I'll make sure to steal some of our Veritaserum reserve this night."
"Genius as always."
He heard the Irish man snort.
Draco grabbed some silver powder from the ashtray and stepped into the fireplace.
"Hey, for the last time Malfoy, tell me, what are you thinking now?" Finnigan asked Draco with his familiar five-year-old curiosity.
"I'm not thinking," Draco replied with a small tug on the corners of his lips as he tossed back, "just wondering what could possibly await me there after all these years."
And that was the last thing he said to his partner before the emerald-green flames engulfed his vision.
Dennis Creevey, Dean Thomas, Penelope Clearwater, Kevin Entwhistle, and Donaghan Tremlett. And who's next?
Harry had scribbled down the names on the crumpled parchment with such force that the paper ripped in the center.
Dennis Creevey, Dean Thomas, Penelope Clearwater, Kevin Entwhistle, and Donaghan Tremlett. And who's next?
He shut his eyes tight and let his forehead fall onto the desk with a loud thud.
And who's next?
"Stop it," he mumbled wearily.
Who's next?
He groaned loudly and brought both his hands to cover his head.
Merlin's hairy bollocks .. he was so fucking tired. And the bloody voice in his head just couldn't let his mind rest in peace.
And it had barely been a month since he sat on the Head of the Auror Office's chair.
Bloody hell ..
It was ten minutes later when Harry finally lifted his sluggish head from the desk and decided to once again concentrate on his work. He straightened his posture, adjusted his round-rimmed glasses, and reached the opened case next to his empty coffee mug.
Seven months, and six murders.
And they had been murdered in the same way—no curse or spell whatsoever.
They were all left bleeding until they died.
Harry pursed his lips. He knew all along it was those scums work—those bastards. Fucking Death Eaters. It couldn't be more obvious, for their targets were all Muggle-borns. But it was their pattern that confused him the most. They preferred to commit it in the Muggle way—slicing their victims' throats or injuring their kidney without the use of a wand.
It would be much easier, and Death-Eater-ish, had they used the Unforgivable—Hannah once told him that it was all about torturing and slowing their deaths. True, but why not use the Cruciatus? And Harry himself knew plenty of Dark Curses that were—if not more— sinister than the Unforgivable.
He sighed heavily. He couldn't care less about their reasons for choosing the Muggle way. They were insane. Who could tell what was inside the head of a mental, barbaric, murderer?
Whatever sick reasons they had, the murder itself had indubitably caused so much frustration, heartache, anger, and consternation amongst him and his friends. Harry was sure it would only be a short while before those Death Eaters finally broke him in half.
The pain was sometimes unbearable.
He gave his tense temple a gentle massage and averted his eyes from the papers in his hand to look at the blue folder on his desk, placed between the scattered papers, photographs, and over-used quills.
Draco Malfoy's.
Indeed. It was the first thing Harry did as soon as he placed his stuff on the Head Auror's working desk twenty-eight days ago—searching for a guard.
Harry was worried—no, he was scared.
It had nothing to do with him and his well-being—Merlin, no! He wasn't chosen as the Head of the Auror Office for nothing for heaven's sake. He was more than capable of defending himself.
He was scared for her.
Hermione.
The one he loved and cared for so much. The woman that he had called best friend since he had discovered Magic and would do until he was buried in his grave.
Hermione ..
He had made a promise. He had promised himself that nothing would ever hurt her again. Not when he was still living and sat in the Head of Auror Office's seat. He had promised .. after the things that had happened to her ..
"Whoa Boss, I swear you get older and older every time I see you."
"Huh? Wha—oh, right, Hannah," Harry cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched his neck, "I was just thinking."
"I know," she offered him a sympathetic smile and took the seat across his desk, "You should go home Harry, you've been in the Office for two days straight, no break, no eating—and no Harry, cookies and coffee don't count," Hannah cut him off before he could protest, "And I'm telling you this as your friend—you look like shit."
"Thanks," Harry grumbled—he knew that of course. Hearing it said aloud just reminded him of his desperate need for solace.
"So," Hannah finally said after a moment of silence, "You're sure about him?"
"Him? Him who?" Harry asked in bewilderment, his brain was a little bit slow these days, thanks to caffeine.
"Malfoy."
"Oh, what about him?"
"Well, I don't know, he's surely one of the best Auror we have, I've seen his record before—ten Snatchers and two Death Eaters in a year, quite impressive as much as I hate to say."
"Indeed, and don't forget he helped the Dragon caretakers to catch a Norwegian Ridgeba—"
"My point is, Harry," Hannah huffed in annoyance, "this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, he is a Muggle-hater—"
"Was Hannah—"
"And Hogwart's biggest bully!"
Harry knew it was coming—his friend's objection. But it wasn't as if he had made the decision without thinking.
"It's been seven years, I'm sure we've all grown up—no, let me finish this," this time Harry cut Hannah off before she could let out a protest, "We all had a hard time after the war, we were lost, we were broken, and so was he ... You heard about his mother. Whilst I'm not a friend of Draco Malfoy, I have a feeling it's due to her death that the man decided to join the Auror training. And it's a common knowledge that this thing had affected his relationship with his father hence he went off to Ireland. Give him a chance, will you?"
Hannah remained silent for almost a minute before she finally sighed and unfolded her arms from her chest, "I still can't fully understand your decision Harry, but Hermione once told me that you have the best intuition that she sometimes used it as her reference for reasoning. So I think I can try."
Harry gave her a small smile and decided to change the topic, "So ... Neville told me you two are moving in together."
"Ah, yes," Hannah beamed, clearly delighted with the decision, "It's hard when we are both Aurors," she unconsciously rested her hand on her flat tummy, "And as much as I enjoy being Hermione's guard, pregnancy and beating Death Eaters are not a good combination."
"Yeah, I respect your decision ... but still, it's such a big lost Hannah, you're—"
Both he and Hannah jerked their head in unison when Harry's fireplace suddenly roared with emerald-green flames.
Harry frowned—his fireplace was only connected with other Head of Auror Office's and he didn't remember receiving any memo about a visit this morning.
He didn't need to think though, as a blond headed man silently came out from the fireplace and briskly brushed off the dust from his white t-shirt.
Draco Malfoy.
"Malfoy?" Harry rose from his seat and blinked his eyes several times, "But I thought you were on a mission?"
"Were on a mission Potter," Malfoy studied his desk with his calculating eyes before locking his eyes with Harry's.
"Well, I—er, Hannah, could you call Hermione here? She's in the front room, right?"
Hannah seemed reluctant at first, but got to her feet and left the room after sending the blond Auror a heated look, oblivious to Malfoy's quizzical expression.
Nice try Hannah, Harry thought bitterly.
"Please, have a seat Malfoy, there are things we need to discuss," He hastily picked the folders, photographs, and files of the murders case from his desk, "Er, here, almost all the things you need to know about the case, Lewis has informed you about this, right?" He handed him the piles. "Er, but the thing is, Malfoy, I, er .."
Okay, this's the hardest part .. you can do this Harry, he's your subordinate for Merlin's sake, he will do anything you say.
"I need you to—"
"Can I come in Harry?"
Tap, tap, tap, tap. She took a step inside without waiting for an answer and a small smile crept upon her pretty face.
"Hey 'Mione, I was talking with your, er, your new guard—"
Malfoy's head snapped into his direction. Harry pretended to be oblivious to Malfoy's questioning gaze.
Tap, tap, tap, tap. Another few steps. Another swing of her cane.
"Oh, good afternoon, erm .. Mister? Or Miss? I'm sorry, Harry hasn't told me about you," she said with an apologizing smile and stood in the middle of the room.
Harry eyed Malfoy wearily as the man rose from his seat and took several steps toward Hermione. His platinum brows furrowed as if in a deep thought. He stopped when he was only a foot away from her and then looked down at the much shorter woman before him before finally answering her, much to Harry's surprise, gently, "It's a Mister, Granger, but I prefer you to call me without the honorific."
Yes. That's right. Hermione Granger had lost her sight.
To be continued ...
So, what do you think ? Let me know what you think. Thank you for reading (and reviewing) :)