Fix You

by MikeScofield-is-2-hot

After seven years the wizarding world is reaching the dull calm after storm. Everyone has jobs, lives, but there's someone missing from it all. She's been missing for years, but they won't let it go. So why should he care? DMHG

1. It's Been a While

A/N: Hey guys this is a filler for those waiting on my other story JIL which is on an undecided hiatus—so FY is really interesting, I gave it a lot of thought so it's pretty long, sorry if you don't like it, I do :P so enjoy! All characters, names, etc. belong to JK Rowling! Thanks to the University of Notre Dame for the Latin translator for some of the spells I'm going to make up/use in this and following chapters!

Fix You

Chapter One: It's Been A While

He exhaled the smoke out of the side of his mouth and dropped the cigarette to the pavement, stepping on it to put it out. He observed his surroundings: a deserted city square somewhere in the heart of London, at three AM. Draco Malfoy was not the only man on the job that night, there were several on the case. At the present moment they were all huddled around the body of a young woman, some were scouring the crime scene for the clues they knew they would never find.

The cases started out as what everyone thought was a serial killer and homicides, which turned into suspected femicide since the victims were all female and on their dead, naked bodies were found the words "You Lied" carved onto where their mouth would have been. The cases were then investigated by the aurors of the magical community because of the way the women's mouths were sealed shut—as if by magic—and it had baffled the 'please-men' and the aurors as well for they couldn't figure out what spell was being used to 'melt' their lips together. Someone had suggested the old Liquefacio spell, but it was too simple. Another had said it was the Angustatus spell which had three basic parts—that's where their suggestion fell flat: three basic parts. The killer was using a spell they'd never seen or heard of before.

Draco crouched down behind one of the aurors and looked at the dead woman, with pity for her and disgust at the person who would do such a heinous crime—her body was mutilated beyond recognition, her guts strewn upon the street. "God, she can't be older than twenty." He breathed, making Seamus jump.

It was eight years and a couple of months ago that the wizarding world had been freed of the fear and the cruelty that was Voldemort. His totalitarianism had nearly destroyed all that was good, until the final and fateful battle at Hogwarts and Potter's actions on that night and early morning had saved them all.

Draco had been captured but offered them a vast amount of information and the determination to fight for their side—for his family. After the war Draco, Harry Potter and numerous other young men joined the Auror Department in the Ministry and dutifully kept the wizarding world at peace—until this. Harry was working himself to the point of collapsing around the office out of exhaustion, never giving up the search for Hermione; Ron was grieving in his own way. Granger had gone AWOL about two days after the final battle and no one had seen or heard from her since; although it was rumoured she had spoken to Potter a month later, but Harry had repeatedly said he never remembered a conversation after her disappearance and his mind was searched to make sure he was not lying.

The Head of the Department practically had to Imperius Potter so that he would go home and gets some rest.

Draco reviewed what little evidence they had already, the only other connection with the murders was that all the women had at least one child, none of them were over the age of 10. He walked around the scene taking everything in. Something was amiss and he knew it, something had to be out of place to lead them to the killer—at least this one time let there have been evidence.

As if his prayers were answered he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. It was a brown journal hastily stuffed into the sewer grate under the sidewalk, some yards away. He bent down and retrieved it. As he opened it a key he didn't see fell out and fell into the sewer below. He flipped through the pages and found notes on all the women that had been killed so far as well as pictures taken from behind bushes and hiding places—the pictures were moving, the killer was definitely a wizard (or witch). He was frustrated for on every page the dates, names, and every note was either in Ancient Ruins, or any other kind of language. Not one scrap of it was in English. He turned to the page of a woman after the current dead victim and saw the picture of a young red-haired woman leaving (What looked like a General Store) with a cup of coffee in her hand.

He didn't recognize the store or the woman but he snapped the book shut and returned to the current crime scene. He would need to show everyone in the Office this notebook. He observed the tattered bindings and symbols along the spine, he walked away from the grate and his footsteps echoed around the street as they hit the pavement.

He pushed his hair back over his eyes, slicking one half backwards and it stuck to his head because of the chilling moisture that hung in the cold night air. His breath came out in white puffs and his long black jacket was slightly wet.

They quickly wrapped up after an hour and apparated back to Headquarters. The body of the woman was taken to the St. Mungo's morgue area and the rest of them gathered everyone from the Auror Office to the Briefing Room; he noted Potter and Weasley weren't there. Many witches and wizards were still in their nightgown's (having been summoned from their homes); everyone was red-eyed and tired at that point and sat lazily around to listen to the Head of the Auror Department brief them in about the killer.

Draco rubbed his face and eyed the notebook he had yet to announce. He cleared his throat when the meeting turned to the matter of evidence. "Actually, I found something tonight. It'll help us immensely for the time being. It's a notebook, with recorded notes of the killers' actions."

"Well? Bring it forward, Malfoy!" Shouted someone from the crowd; he did so and stepped onto the podium and magicked the notebook to float past them, turning the pages.

"As you can see it's obviously going to need decoding so we need to have someone on that ASAP because on the latest page is going to be his next victim—who knows, he might've gotten to her already. The killer's getting sloppy and he might know it too, it could be a trap so we need to know everything about this journal."

An outburst happened before Draco finished his sentence. Some were arguing, some were thinking out loud as to where he might strike next and some were plain tired and shouting to go home and that only a select few were in on the case so why should they care?

"It could be your daughters!" Draco shouted—his voice amplified by the Sonorous spell. "Or it could be your sisters, mothers, daughters, wives, or cousins! That is why you should care!" He angrily stormed out of the Room and past the cubicles and towards his joint office. He was packing up the things he'd need for the night and was pulling his coat back on when he stepped out of his office and saw the entire Department eagerly awaiting him.

"You're right mate." Seamus Finnigan called and stepped forward with the notebook in his hands.

"What do you propose we do then?" the Head of the Department stated; for it was Draco's discovery of the evidence and he should therefore have the rights to see what gets done over the notebook.

Draco looked at all the tired faces and sighed. "I want that notebook copied and sent to every section of this Department, everyone's in on this now, it's all or nothing, we need all the help we can get and every code could mean a thousand different meanings. The original stays here under lock and key…Get it done then." He said with an air of his old Malfoy commands. They obliged willingly and scurried off in different directions to speak with whoever was in the Ministry at the present moment.

Draco walked with the Head of the Department, followed by Seamus, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot. Draco spoke softly so they couldn't be overheard but that was pointless because the entire Ministry was awake within five minutes.

"I need St. Mungo's in on this case as well—"

"Are you barking? You might as well announce it in the Prophet what we're doing! You want the killer to know we're hot on his trail?" The Head said angrily, huffing and puffing as they climbed the stairs out of the Department, Draco was briefly reminded of a swollen eggplant.

Draco continued as if he hadn't been interrupted: "I need to know all the records they have on pregnant women matching the ages of the murdered victims, if any are coming in to have physicals what their names are who they're related to, everything." He picked up his pace and walked off towards the lifts and went up alone leaving the other men standing in the darkened corridor.

"I suppose so…" The Head said wearily, he assigned the men beside him to watch Malfoy: "And make sure he doesn't do anything stupid this time."

Draco used one of the fireplaces in the atrium to get to St. Mungo's which was bursting with activity, for there was a constant need for medical attention, many healers and many shifts, so St. Mungo's never closed its doors at any time of the day.

He glanced up at the grandfather-like clock hovering over the atrium of the hospital with four faces, each facing a direction so that anyone coming from any direction of the hospital could see the time. It read five AM. He sighed and briskly walked over to the Welcomewitch. She didn't look up when he stood waiting.

She blew a bubble and scratched something on the chart she was reading. He cleared his throat. "Check the board for what you need, sir." She said, persistently not looking up.

"I'm Draco Malfoy of the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic—"

She looked up, her green eyes wide with surprise and questioning.

"I need to speak to the Head Healer straight away if you please."

"He's quite a busy man Mr. Malfoy if you just fill out a form of request and have a seat we'll get back to you when he's free."

"No, no I don't have time for forms I need to see him now." He said, he felt his hands shaking slightly but he had to control himself, he could not get angry. He shut his eyes when she continued to refuse him.

"If it's some sort of medical care Mr. Malfoy I'm sure we've got a handful of skilled Healers to fix you right up. Now just check the board—"

"I DON'T WANT TO CHECK THE FUCKING BOARD, GET HIM DOWN HERE NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?" He slammed his fist onto the countertop, and his shouting caused her break down into tears. She got up from her desk and ran. There were many people in the atrium and they were all staring at him and the noise that usually filled the hall was gone and quietness was deafening to listen to. The dimmed golden light gave them warm expressions but they were eerily silent and quietly judging him. He shut his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm himself. "Bloody hell, nice one Draco." He mumbled.

A few minutes later the noise had resumed as the Healers and the injured went about with their own business. Draco had his head bowed toward the receptionist's desk and had his arms crossed upon the sleek surface and when he heard hurried footsteps he looked up quickly.

The Head Healer was walking towards him and the Welcomewitch had a murderous look upon her face and seethed when they were beside Draco. He shook hands with the Healer and knew the Healer probably thought he was crazy because he started to ask him questions about his mental health.

"It's none of that, I'm part of the Auror Department in the Ministry and lately there have been a string of murders all over England and they've all been witches. They were all mothers and I needed to see all of their records if they were ever here, we need to know who's the next victim."

"Oh dear," the Healer breathed, taking out a handkerchief and mopping up his sweaty bald spot; Draco felt pity for the old man, for he was so frail and thin that Draco thought that one push would break him. "Why these women? And you have no idea on who could be next?"

"Well we've got it down to: every pregnant witch in England, or any mother who was pregnant eight years ago." Draco said quite casually but at the same time seriously. The Healer looked faint. He wiped his head again and twiddled his wand nervously.

"Well I suppose we might as well start off with that paperwork…may I ask if you have your superior's clearance?" They both stood and were walking down the hallway and Draco stopped abruptly, making the Healer turn quickly, confused. Draco was staring straight at the floor with his hands in his pockets. He wanted to forge a document right then and there with his wand in his coat pocket but he refrained and looked up at the Healer.

"Can I get back to you on that? I'll come round again tomorrow, er, later today." He corrected himself after glancing at the clock—it was technically the 'next' day.

"Oh, very well then, I've got business to attend to today why don't you owl me a letter and schedule a time. I shall see you then, Mr. Malfoy." The Healer concluded shaking Draco's hand with his sweaty palm—Draco did his best to mask his repulsed face. And as Draco used the main entrance and exit of St. Mungo's, his 'team' arrived just as he disappeared in the crowd and they went to the teary Welcomewitch to see if their colleague had been there.

Draco was back at his flat that was located just on the other side of the Thames and he threw his coat against an armchair and gazed out the window at the Tower Bridge. The sunrise was rapidly covering ground and everything was nearly illuminated by natural light. He walked around his flat familiarizing himself with it as if he'd never been there before.

Indeed, it had been quite a long time since he'd been home and so everything he'd leave cluttered stayed as it was. He had no will power to lift his wand and make a sweeping motion to clear the mess. Discarded clothes lay on the couch, old post littered the floor, rotten and stale food was gathering insects and flies from a semi-open window in the kitchen. Dust gathered around countertops and desks, covering the frames in a centimetre of it, the frames that housed old moving pictures of moments long past and forgotten in his memory. He picked up one of them, it was a family portrait and he was in the centre. His parents gazed down their noses at big Draco and little Draco smirked. Big Draco smiled in remorse and self-pity. He placed the picture face-down and walked upstairs, removing his shirt in the process. He threw it and it landed at the head of the stairs.

There were only the bathroom and bedroom upstairs so it kept the flat cheap and small. He walked into the bathroom and turned the tap on cold. He cupped some water and stared at the water that was slipping away and into the drain; he cupped some more splashed it onto his face and slicked back his hair and then his hands came back down and wiped his tired eyes. He held his hands over his eyes for a while, the sound of the running water filling his ears. He sighed and turned off the tap and leaned on the plain countertop breathing slowly.

He turned away without looking at his ghastly reflection—he knew what he would see; but on his way into his bedroom the mirror across the room caught his glance reluctantly and he saw the glimpse of a man defeated but still believed he was fighting the battle.

An old scar from the battles of the past was a clear remnant across the left side of his chest. His body chiselled after training but not overly muscular, he was one of the few men who could look tall and slightly thin but also be strong and appealing. His tired, shadow-covered eyes raked his reflection until they came upon the ring that hung around his neck on a long string and rested against his cold flesh in the middle of his chest; somehow it was warmer than him.

Its intricate design captivated him and the silver caught the light when it was exposed. He picked it up off his chest and he felt a strange pull towards it, as though his body were unwilling to part with the trinket even for a few millimetres. A flood of broken pieces of memories flashed before him in his mind's eye but he couldn't put any of it together. He hastily dropped the ring and it landed safely on his skin and he felt complete.

He walked towards his bed and unexpectedly collapsed, falling asleep almost in an instant. The last thing he did was have one of his hands holding his wand and the other was grasping the ring and he felt content and safe enough to fall asleep.

When he awoke he glanced at the clock and felt no justice, it was two in the afternoon and he was still insanely tired, for he had known if he'd allowed himself sleep he'd crave more. He suddenly remembered the woman beside him, she lay naked, half covered by his sheets and he tried to recall at what point he'd called her. It was just meaningless and he was trying to fill a black hole; a void of self-hatred. She woke up and rubbed his chest and tried to make love to him again he coldly pulled away from her, not looking her in the eye and said: "The money's on the table, take it and go."

She got up without complaint, dressed herself in her scant clothing before pulling her jacket on and grabbing the money greedily. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a while, thinking of all the nights he's spent without real love, he'd been with countless women after the war, far too many to remember—he even thought he'd gone through all the whores in London and that he was starting over again. It did not matter, his fate was to die alone, with the pleasure of a whore in his arms—only, the pleasure decreased with every woman—he felt now as though he were just doing it out of habit and he never really paid any attention anymore; he would black out and try to think of his slight amnesia from after the war, the Healers pegged it as something called Post-Traumatic Stress—a muggle ailment—but he knew it was something else. He pushed these thoughts from his mind.

Draco got up and took a quick shower, after that he pulled on a crisp, yet old, white dress shirt and black trousers; giving him a distinguished upper-class look. He combed his hair backwards away from his face and strands hung back down. He stuffed his pack of cigarettes into the pocket of his black trench coat along with his wand and lastly put on a pair of Aviators to blend into the crowd but also to soothe his aching eyes that were screaming in protest at being used for something other than being closed.

The warm sun encircled him once he was outside but a faint breeze from the Thames was wafting over and splashing tiny droplets on his face and coat. He turned on the spot and apparated right into the Ministry. He walked down the heavily crowded atrium and past the reconstructed Fountain of Magical Brethren—the statue of the wizard had been made in Potter's likeness—and into the lifts that were overflowing with witches and wizards; a flock of paper airplanes flew in and out before the lift doors shut and they rattled downwards.

A few in the lift were reading the Prophet,their noses in-between the pages, the paper covered their faces. They left the lift without looking up from their pages when the cool female voice announced the various departments. A witch in the corner eyed Draco and he gave her a sexy smile—she was quite attractive. But their flirting was cut short when the voice announced the Auror Department. He stepped out and the lift continued downwards. He walked slowly and tiredly and made his way past cubicles in the Office.

Many waved or called out a hello to him—Merlin, why won't these idiots leave me alone? He thought as he passed them until he reached his office. He threw his things down onto his desk and threw himself into his chair. He sighed and then reached over and pulled open a few drawers before finding what he was looking for.

He pulled out a stack of forms and set out on the long task of filling them out. When he was done he placed his quill back into its inkpot, his forefinger, thumb and middle finger covered with ink; he lifted the heavy stack off the table and practically ran from his dreary office. He walked through the cubicles until he reached the Head's office and didn't bother knocking, but walked straight in.

The Head of the Auror Department had apparently been speaking to his daughter (Draco couldn't remember if she was the legitimate one) and she looked him over when she was told by her father he would speak to her later. Draco in turn allowed his eyes to quickly rake her form but did not incline his head for his boss would have killed him then and there. The short blonde shut the door behind her.

"What is it, Malfoy?" He sighed wearily and then began the long process of lighting a cigar with matches—but he was getting nowhere—Draco took the opportunity and lit it for him using the lighter. The Head looked at it astonished.

"What in Merlin's name is that?"

"It's er…a lighter; muggles use them because they're getting too lazy to strike the match on the little box. Sir I came to you in this moment for a favour—"

"—you usually do—" the Head interrupted under his breath,

"—I need you to sign these forms allowing me to go over old records of patients at St. Mungo's; for the case." He added at the end.

The Head sat, unmoved by Draco's request and observed him for a while before he gave him his answer: "Only if you take your men with you."

"Absolutely, anything—"

"And that fancy…'lighter' was it?" He hinted, not so subtly. Draco pulled out the lighter and tossed it to the old man who caught it with glee and a puff of strong smoke. Draco felt nauseated from the cigar, he could only stand cigarettes and even those only when he was stressed (it's not like he was addicted…). The Head Auror signed the papers with his gold-feather quill and Draco grabbed the papers and rushed out of the office.

He looked them over to see if he'd signed his real signature and used his patronus (a wolf) to send a message to his 'partners' but he would be long gone before they got the message. He saw the lone wolf dart around the corner in its silvery brilliance and then he turned to use the lifts.

***

Draco rubbed his temples and threw down the paper he was reading rather roughly, damaging it. He sat in the large archive room in St. Mungo's and all around him were files piled up as high as the ceiling, filling the room. He'd removed his long coat and had unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and had rolled up his sleeves.

He was cursing the women; there were so many of them! He had seen their moving photographs smiling or looking serene in their files and he had a horrible feeling their time was short-lived.

"Oi!" Seamus and the rest of the men had just arrived. "Are you barking? Why didn't you wait for us?" He removed his jacket, as did the others, and they started to get down to work. Draco was losing hope; any one of the women could be next or even dead in that moment and they were wasting time.

"Potter came into work today, he's eager that we've made headway on the case." Dean said as he shuffled through two files at the same time, glancing at the important facts. Draco looked up at the group and contemplated. He got up and went across the room to the files he was not supposed to be looking at—daily records. He searched through the 'G' section and found her in a heartbeat. He pulled out Hermione Granger's file.

It was light and the record showed only one visit but its reason was undisclosed. He checked the date of the visit and found it to have been when they were teenagers, after the war. Of course Potter must have searched St. Mungo's records for any sign of her, she was gone, and they all had to admit that. There were many that were kidnapped after the war was over by crazed Death Eaters who still believed their Lord would come back.

Her moving picture smiled wearily at him and she crossed her arms proudly—same old Granger, he thought. Without knowing what he was doing he slipped her picture into his pocket and put her file back, then turned away from those records and back to his mission.

The men were laughing and joking with each other to pass the time but they found a few women who were candidates for the killer. "Anything on the journal yet?" Draco asked, distracting them from whistling rudely at the pictures of the 'sexy' mums.

"They said they'd send word as soon as they found something." One of them said flipping through the pages of one file.

"Here look at this 'un!" Shouted one of them and they clustered for a look and they wolf-whistled and cheered. Draco turned away and left the room. The hallway he stood in could fit an entire flat and a half, St. Mungo's was indeed the largest magical building in muggle dwellings. He pulled out a cigarette and another lighter, his spare, he brought his thumb down and the flame was a few millimetres away from the cigarette when he spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

A child was standing beside the large doorframe that lead off into another ward Draco was unfamiliar with. She was no more than eleven, he guessed. She stood there watching him with her large eyes, as if she'd never seen a grown-up before. He finished lighting his cigarette and walked towards her. She ran back down towards the ward from whence she came, and he followed for reasons unknown to even him. Weird noises were coming from this ward.

He heard it soon enough, babies, crying, they were in their little sections of boys or girls and parents were at the visiting rooms watching them and smiling, hugging each other lovingly. He turned away from the sight and saw that the little girl was gone. A lone mother stood behind the glass held by the beige stones of the St. Mungo's walls. He walked towards her and stood beside her, at first watching her—she had a serene look and she looked as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

He saw her child and felt his heart clench a little at the adorable display. The mother spoke, making him jump: "Do you mind? You're in the children's ward." She didn't sound angry and when he turned to face her she was staring pointedly at his cigarette. He took it out of his mouth hurriedly and extinguished it.

"Sorry."

He watched the child in its crib, crying slightly. He couldn't fathom the thought of making one of those. He would make a horrible father and he knew it—he'd probably end up just like his own father.

"Do you have any?" She asked kindly, gazing up at him—she was so short, in her ward slippers and robe.

"God, no." He snorted a laugh and she looked somewhat discouraged. "I mean, I know that I wouldn't be very good at it, I don't have any prior experience." He sounded as though he were listing his cons in a job interview. "D-do you?" His voice broke slightly as the baby stopped crying and smiled at the spectators.

"I have three." She smiled proudly.

He whistled, impressed, he couldn't marvel the amount of love she and her husband must have for each other to be able to have that many children—pure-blooded families only procreated to benefit future arranged marriages, and to ensure their legacy lived on in a son; his parents had stopped after he was born, they had their son and their heir. He subconsciously placed his hand on the glass, trying to reach out to the child. He smiled slightly and felt his heart melt into a sort of tranquil peace. He needed to have one of these—to secure his faith in himself and to secure the fact that his love was not being withered away with every woman he held in his arms.

Something snapped his attention back into the present, the child he saw earlier was on the other side of the glass and he jumped back in fear. The woman took no notice of the child. She frowned at his behaviour. "Are you alright?"

"Didn't you see her? She was right there, that child!"

The woman was getting alarmed for her safety and the safety of the babies and children in the ward. She probably thought that this man was wandering freely from the Psych Ward on another floor. She backed away slowly and said she'd get him help.

He rubbed his eyes and looked back at the room; the only person staring out from the glass was his own reflection. He was breathing heavily and walked away from the observation room, to find the child.

He saw her and he ran down the corridor; the tip of her hospital gown whipped around the corner, she was a blur of blonde hair and a white wispy-looking gown. Just as he turned the corner he had to skid to a halt for she stood in front of him, inches away. Her dark brown eyes were somewhat familiar—the ring on his chest burned and made him sag with weight. He was struggling to breathe and then it was all gone, a hand on his shoulder made him jump out of his trance. Seamus and the others had followed his trail.

His head swung around, looking for the girl, his eyes shooting from side to side like a madman. "Did you see her? She was right here!" He said hysterically. The others looked as though they were witnessing an execution; they were disgusted yet also empathic.

"We've got a lead Malfoy, one of the women, Seamus recognizes her name."

"Matilda O'Flaherty. Me mam was mentionin' Matilda back when we were in Hogwarts; she said it was brave of her to raise her child—as a single mother of eighteen. So she matches the type of women the killer goes after, and her picture in the journal is the same one as the medical file."

"Well what the hell are we standing around for? Let's go, do we have her address?" He was working hard to regain his composure.

"Sixty miles outside of Dublin, Ireland."

***

"We'll split up and cover more ground this way." Draco suggested, and when he saw their doubtful looks, he walked into the crowd of people in Dublin, Ireland. He hailed a taxi and confounded the driver to take him about sixty miles outside of Dublin. They needed to take cabs because they'd never been to her address and therefore could not visualize the setting.

As time passed Draco looked over the parchments they had on the killer and the latest decoding of the journal the rest of the Department was working on.

They decoded a phrase that had repeated on every page and found it to be a mix of Ancient Ruins, Egyptian and old Latin; it read: 'Better death than dishonour. Shame will forever befall her flesh and blood.' He rubbed his eyes as he scanned the moving pictures of the women, his eyes fell upon Matilda, he hoped she was still alive at the present moment; he was in desperate need to protect the women, and if it was—God forbid—too late he would set down his life to protect the next girl.

The girl after Matilda was not in the book, the next few pages were written in invisible ink and there were no pictures present. He stared out the drizzled window at the countryside. It was beautiful but dreary—the middle of nowhere. There were farmhouses and some villages, but all, dispersed.

The car had come to a stop but he had fallen asleep and he had not realized that he was in the village. All the buildings were clustered and some were attached to each other. He got out, pulled his bags from the trunk, and didn't bother to thank the confused driver.

The light drizzle covered his jacket and dampened his blond hair. He quickly made for the boardwalk and the squished buildings. They were all made of stone or heavy timber—strong against the elements—and there were few people outside, with umbrellas.

An open street market was bustling around the corner and there were more people on this side of the small town. The noise from the crowds, haggling, laughing and shouting, made him uncomfortable. He stood for a few minutes trying to figure out his next move. Then something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. A child standing under the cover of what looked like the General Store—Draco took in the surroundings feeling as though the town had not changed much since the 1800s—the child merely looked at him.

The rain was coming down harder and Draco frowned through the curtain of hail to the boy. He was no older than seven or eight at the least, his piercing gaze made Draco shudder. He suddenly ran off the porch of the Store and into the rain and down the street. Impulsively Draco ran after him.

The streets were emptying, the crowds bustling back to the shelter of their homes and businesses as the stall-keepers hurriedly covered their possessions. The rain was pounding the top of Draco's head like a hammer, worse than a hangover but he persistently ran after the boy who turned another corner. Draco nearly slipped in the gathering mud as he tried to catch up to the boy.

He had run up some stone steps to the largest building Draco had seen in the town so far, and disappeared behind the door. Draco stopped in his tracks, across the street from the building. It was an old hotel, attached to which was an antique store, complete with a tavern on Draco's side of the street. He drew a breath and walked towards the antique store first.

The small bell dinged when he opened the ancient wood-framed glass door. The air was thick and hardly any light made its way into the store completely; the ceiling was too low for him but he paid it no attention. The store was full from top to bottom and every corner was occupied by an aging item.

From furniture to jewellery the store seemed to posses any item that had been untouched since the turn of the century. He was lost in the providence of certain items. He made his way deeper into the store, eyeing the jewellery encased in thick glass boxes that served as countertops.

He noted a frame with no door to his left that led into the lobby of the cozy-looking hotel and spotted the boy at the bottom of the main staircase. He ripped his gaze away from the soaking child and made it look as if he were interested in the rings under the countertop. He brought his hand gently over the silver bell to call for service, and he heard hurried footsteps over the soft carpets in the hotel approach the store as soon as he rang it twice.

"Aeron, you get your sopping self up those steps, go on! Get cleaned up ye silly boy." The sound of an angry Irish woman filled the lobby and Draco never let his eyes wander in curiosity until she came into the shop. She plastered a smile over her furrowed brow as she spotted Draco, leaning sideways against the counter. He noted a look quickly pass over her face as she looked at his but it was covered up quickly.

"G'day sir, what can I do for ye?" Her Irish burr was thick and her voice husky but he gave her a dazzling smile. "Me name's Ida, we haven't had too many tourists here," she laughed a husky laugh, "can I offer you a room to board?"

"Actually, I need a few for my colleagues; they'll be joining me shortly. I haven't seen many people in the town…" He wanted to get something on the child, weather it had been Matilda's or not.

"This damned weather, sir; I assure you the townsfolk are priceless, much like those rings you were eyein' before I came in." Her aged brown eyes reminded him of someone…

"I was actually trying to find an old friend…Matilda O'Flaherty, do you know her."

Instantly the older woman's face fell, she dropped her head, her dimmed red hair that was flecked with grey fell forward, curtaining her face. "Poor Mattie, she…she's passed away. Just yesterday."

Draco tried very hard not to slam his fist on the counter, his jaw furiously clenching and unclenching as he kept all his anger at bay. Ida who was older than his own mother could not be the child's mother, she could've been but there was no ring around her finger—he didn't make any assumptions but she asked: "How did you know her?"

"Friend of a friend, I heard she came back here and was happily with child." He added subtly. He realized his voice was showing almost no attachment for a girl he was supposed to have known.

"Aye, she had a child, but poor child, she was taken away so early…"

"I couldn't help but notice, that young boy…" he drifted off, eyeing the rings again.

"Aeron? Mattie's child? Oh no, the young boy was sent off to live with his grandparents. Aeron's just another child in this town, fortunately, he still has his family." She took note of Draco's frustrated face.

"I didn't catch ye'r name sir."

"Draco Malfoy. I know Seamus Finnigan."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh! Little Seamus, how's the lad?"

"He's perfectly fine." They were getting off topic. "I wanted to um, make amends to Matilda…"

"The service will be held in two days, her parents need to make the necessary arrangements. Would like a room to stay?" She was moving from behind the counter and towards the door that lead into the lobby of the hotel. Draco remained rooted.

He saw a ring that caught his eye and it seemed to hook him there, he wanted it. He wasn't particularly sure why and for who but he was sure that he needed it.

Ida's eyes followed his gaze. She smiled, "Would you like something from the Shoppe as well Mr. Malfoy?"

His expression didn't waver. "No, not yet, just a room for now." He followed her into the warmer lobby of the small hotel and she moved behind an old wooden concierge desk and was filling in parchments of information. He signed where he was supposed to and was awaiting his key.

"Any room for your friends?" She asked politely.

"No." He didn't go into detail. Since Matilda was dead he wanted some time to think of the next move, without the chaperones around. He heard someone moving around down the small hallway behind the desk, and some voices. His eyes flickered towards the darkened hallway, interested.

Ida sighed in frustration and excused herself for a moment. "Do you know where the key for room four is?" She asked the other person as she walked down the hallway and turned right into an antechamber. He heard the other person's voice more clearly when it was hushed, it was a woman's.

"Oh yes that's right. Thank you dear, could you prepare the dining room when you're all done here?" She added as she walked back towards Draco, holding an ancient bronze key in her hand. "Now, all I need is the number of days you'll stay then, love." She had her pen poised over the paper, gazing at him expectantly.

He snapped his attention back to her. "Indefinite."

She wrote something down and was explaining the rules and places he could go, and the dangers of the wild animals they sometimes got at night.

The other person had finished whatever they were doing in the back and had loaded what sounded like dishes onto something before moving out of the room.

Ida handed him the ancient-looking key. "Enjoy your stay Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank—"

A crash sounded and they both looked towards the source of noise. The other person had dropped the tray of china and silverware. She was on her knees immediately, attempting to clean it up, her long hair covered her face. Draco was extremely curious and cursed the dimmed lighting of that hallway for hiding identifiable features.

"Jean, dear, it's alright, go take Aeron up, Adwen's still awake, go on, I've got this mess, and just show Mr. Malfoy up to his room." The other girl froze. She muttered something to Ida that Draco couldn't make out, if he could see her face he could have easily read her lips—one of the many Auror perks—but he turned his back on the pair and sighed with faked exhaustion. The day had gone and outside, the lights lit up in various houses and businesses. He saw the tavern across the street open its doors for a late night.

"Follow me." The girl called Jean said, he turned but she was already hurrying up the steps. He quickly followed. There was something about her brisk walk that made him frown in memory. He watched her from behind and smirked at how nice her butt was.

They were at his door in moments but Draco couldn't remember how they got there. She was in front of him one moment and she mumbled something about having a good stay before she was behind him, descending the stairs, her skirt and hair billowing.

He would have to see her sometime; he thought she was repulsed by him and that thought made him angry, he was certainly good-looking—his ego was getting bruised. She wouldn't be able to keep this game up for long. He smiled; it was a long time since he'd played a game.

He stepped into the small room and heard his shoes once he'd hit the wooden floor, and looked down. They were covered in mud and so was the bottom of his trench coat. He'd kicked up rain and mud. He cleaned the floor and his clothing and shoes with magic. He took out his luggage from his pockets and set them on the bed before using the Engorging Charm.

He leaned beside his window, watching the street below. The rain had stopped and so, many people were out once more. Many were filing into the tavern across the street. He needed to do a background check on the last few days to see if anyone suspicious had checked into town; or anything that could be linked to Matilda's death. If she had just died yesterday then he was hot on the killer's trail. He couldn't waste time in this room.

He grabbed his coat once more and flung it on as he turned left from his room and down the hall slightly to reach the staircase on the right. Something caught his eye and he turned to look. A little girl was standing in the doorway of another room, in her nightgown, her eyes wide. Draco rolled his eyes, was he some sort of child magnet? Or was his conscious trying to tell him to give up his 'bachelor for life' act?

She was holding a blanket up to her cheek in fright. It was the girl in the Children's Ward—or, she could be a sister, she was younger than the one he'd chased in St. Mungo's. Draco made to move towards her but she took a step back, her curly blonde hair moving slightly. He gave her a hesitant smile and then asked: "Shouldn't you been in bed by now?" He didn't have any parenting skills but he guessed that because she was in her nightgown and it was dark that she should have been in bed. She was braver now and nodded. He walked towards her and crouched.

Her warm brown eyes were staring into his grey ones with wonder. "What's your name?"

"Adwen." She whispered.

"And where is your mum?" He asked, in a whisper, he didn't know what had come over him.

"Downstairs." She had a lisp because of the few fallen baby teeth.

"Well I don't think she'd be very happy if you weren't in bed."

The door creaked open further and another child emerged. It was the young boy that led Draco to the hotel. His brown hair was slightly curly and still wet from a bath; he was rubbing his eyes, clearly awoken from their conversation. When he stopped rubbing his eyes and opened them Draco teetered dangerously on the balls of his feet at the sight. He had piercing grey eyes.

Draco stood up abruptly, making the children stumble back in fear, as he stood at his full height. He turned on his heel and practically flew down the stairs; seeing something in the corner of his eye he guessed it was Jean but he didn't stop.

Ida was sitting in the parlor reading a book by the fireplace. She looked up at his heavy footsteps. "Going out Mr. Malfoy?"

Goddamn nosey, annoying…"Yes, across the street, to the tavern."

"Don't stay out too late, I lock the doors when we all go to bed." She warned, her motherly tone breaking past the friendly façade.

"Is there any way I can get a key, I will be out late." His voice was menacing and he didn't know why he was suddenly so angry; his hands were balled into fists, shaking.

She stood and walked past him to the check in desk and rummaged around under some things. She pulled out a key and handed it to him with a stern look on her face.

"Don't make this a habit. Be sure to say hullo to Thomas."

He didn't have the faintest idea of whom that was and didn't even say thank you before he rushed out the front, through a small antechamber where they would hang coats and such and out the door. He practically ran across the street and only glanced behind him once. The children's faces were pressed against the window looking at him. He swerved his head around to face the tavern, and nothing but the tavern in front of him. He breathed slowly, trying to keep his anger under control. He needed a plan, first things first.

Once he walked into the tavern he felt instantly better…maybe going out for a drink when he was recovering…no, he wasn't going to drink. He was going to ask questions as casually as possible, this was business. He found an empty stool amongst the brawling men, their shouting and laughter was raucous. They clinked their large beer mugs—that resembled barrels—together in salutes for the night, hailing each other loudly over the live music (a few fiddlers playing Irish jigs), a few couples were dancing drunkenly but still in time to the music. The few women in the tavern were laughing and sitting astride the laps of their men. The bar looked like it was something out of the sixteenth century.

Draco felt out of place, his pale skin seemed to feel as though it were radiating a beacon; everyone was tanned from the hard, back-breaking work they did in the daytime, and the tavern was the social gathering centre of the town. The barman came over to serve Draco from behind the counter and he was stereotypically cleaning out a mug with a rag.

"Thomas I presume?" Draco asked, over the noise. The young man nodded in recognition and extended his hand towards Draco. Thomas was probably the same age as Draco but he still felt like he was older than the barman. He shook it quickly and let his hand drop.

"Not from 'round here are ye?" He asked loudly with a smile still plastered across his face. He shook his red hair out of his eyes as he leaned against the sturdy wooden counter.

"No, just came to pay respects." That was all he needed to say, Thomas' face instantly sobered and he clenched his jaw.

"Mattie?"

Draco didn't answer.

Thomas stood back a little and poured a shot glass for him. He then cleared his throat loudly and—miraculously—everyone was quiet, the players, the dancers, the guests. "To Mattie." Thomas said solemnly and everyone raised their drinks in silent tribute, many scrambled to share drinks from their neighbours in her honour, they didn't want to be singled out. Draco drank his whisky and placed the glass face down.

"I was wondering…do you have anything stronger than this? Firewhisky maybe?" He hinted every so subtly, he needed to know if this was a magical dwelling, and if not then Thomas would simply think he misnamed some drink.

He laughed and said: "Aye I've got the strong stuff. Ye're a wizard then I presume?" He turned around, his back to Draco, as he pulled out a bottle from the shelf behind the counter against the wall, and another glass.

"So this is a magical dwelling? It's quaintly small."

"Aye, we only get a few muggles out every now and again but we do a fine job disguising the fact that we wield wands." He winked at the joke Draco didn't find funny and poured him his Firewhisky.

"So has there been anyone in town, within the last few weeks, someone you thought was a little guarded?" He needed another shot, but he willed himself to drink the whisky slowly.

Thomas leaned against the counter once more and nodded quietly, looking around. "There were a few blokes who came out from Dublin askin' questions but none stayed too long. You'll need to ask Ida if any of them stayed at the Inn. Can't be too sure, we get too many drifters comin' and goin'. Why the interest?"

Draco clenched his jaw, this bloke was going to be annoying, well Draco knew he was annoying from the moment he saw his face but he had wanted to give him a chance—part of his anger-management—it hadn't worked. Now he was annoying as well as useless. He sighed.

"I'm here to honour Matilda, but also to investigate."

"You're an Auror?" His green eyes were wide with disbelief. "How's Mattie's death a Ministry matter?" He was smarter than he looked and Draco sighed again, draining his glass. Thomas poured him another.

"It's an interest because her death is just another in a string of femicides by a killer who is practically invisible."

Thomas' mouth was hanging open slightly and Draco was reminded of Weasley's stupid face.

"I just need some information about the past week or two, anything you can remember. Or anyone here." He added doubtfully.

"Sure, I'll see what I can dredge up, make yerself at home, and ask away. The folk 'round here are too observant." He waved his hand out, his ring catching the light. It was an insignia for a men's league—Draco knew this because his father used to be in a league as well. Now that he'd noticed it he saw it on the fingers of a few other men.

Draco spun in his stool and faced the crowd. It had grown since he'd arrived an hour ago. He drained his third glass and filled up once more, it was going to be a long night.

***

She saw him from her bedroom window. She made sure the kids were tucked in and then made her way downstairs, shaking slightly with anger.

He wobbled dangerously as he left the bar. Many late-goers were leaving; their weight supported by their partners as Thomas and his crew laughingly waved them all goodnight, making jokes about the coming day.

Draco was too drunk to know the time but he guessed it was very early in the morning. He couldn't believe he had gotten drunk. He was trying so hard to recover, his alcohol, smoking, anger. The Department was on his ass faster than he could manage to get himself out of bed and they were keeping tabs from St. Mungo's, checking his blood-alcohol level every now and then. He stumbled and fell. "Fuck".

He then realized he was already on the other side of the street. He had stumbled on the first step of the Inn. He climbed on all fours up the stairs, helping himself balance. The cold Irish breeze made him shiver. He finally made it to the door but he couldn't remember how to get in. He jiggled the heavy brass door-handles for a full minute, not comprehending and then gave up. He slumped against the door and on the floor, one knee raised and one arm resting on it.

Then he was weightless for a moment as the door opened and he fell at someone's feet. They gasped and kicked him off slightly. He grumbled and shifted off onto the stone porch. He looked up, his head spinning. A woman was standing with her hands on her hips in a familiar fashion he couldn't quite place; it reminded him of his stern mother.

She bent down to look at him, the darkness obscured her face. He reached out and grabbed her by the back of her neck and brought her towards him, she lost her balance and landed on her knees, hard. She gasped in pain and he tried to kiss her for a reason that was lost to him.

She pulled away and slapped him, muttering something unintelligible in his state of mind. He sighed and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He took one and put it in his mouth, and with his lighter started to light it. She yanked it out of place between his dry lips and threw it onto the street. He ignored her and pulled out another one. She did the same thing. He pursed his lips at the wave of anger that was building up. He stopped for a moment. He could hear her heavy breathing—her angry breathing—and he almost laughed before he pulled out a third cigarette. It didn't even make it to his mouth this time. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at him. He felt another wave of stupidity hit him as he tried to reach for his wand. He heard a swish and saw a flick.

He was again weightless, but this time he was drifting in front of the girl and into the Inn. He realized she was levitating him. He let his head loll lazily as he enjoyed the ride up the stairs and into his room.

He hit the bed rather hard and he groaned in anger. He felt a tugging as his shoes came off and then he felt her hands on his chest and he laughed drunkenly and reached for her, glad he was getting some night-time pleasure. She grimaced in disgust and yanked his coat off harshly. She rolled him to his side so he wouldn't choke on his own bile and left the room in a huff. He shut his eyes and his brain shut down all awareness for the next few hours.

***

The sunlight that burst into his room made him start awake and he fell off the bed with a loud thump against the floor. He groaned and clutched his head in pain. There was fuzziness on his tongue and he was unwilling to open his eyes.

An hour later he was washed and dressed and seated in the dining room. He picked up the morning's edition of The Prophet and propped it open against his table. He heard the tinkle of plates from the kitchen and hushed talking. Then someone laughed. He bent one corner of the paper by moving his finger slightly to peer over the paper, and then straightened it again by readjusting the paper with a slap sound.

Draco heard the swinging door of the kitchen open and then someone walking around the tables setting up; were there more guests? He wondered silently. Someone set a plate in front of him and his utensils and then she laughed when she caught sight of him.

"Rough night Mr. Malfoy?" Ida asked her husky voice full of mockery. She looked pointedly at his face and he sighed, eyes never leaving the paper. "I didn't know it was so sunny in the Inn, would you like the shades down?" She could hardly contain her glee at the sight of his Aviators.

"I'm fine thank you." He replied stiffly, his body language and voice giving her a hint.

"Well you just wait until you've got some food in ye."

"I'm greatly looking forward to that." He said sarcastically, but in truth he was ravenous. Draco waited another few minutes before Ida came bustling out again and set his plate of food down. He smelled it and he forgot the question he was going to ask Ida. He put the paper down and she nearly laughed at his face. He could hear movements in the kitchen but he looked down at his meal.

"An Irish Breakfast: sausages, black and white pudding, bacon, and fried eggs. I've put out some soda bread for ye in this container here," she pointed to a glass box in the shape of toast, "some hash browns in this one, brown sugar in that, cream, milk and yer coffee or juice," she pointed to various items before wiping her hands on her apron and then placing them on her hips. "Enjoy the Chub! Just holler if ye need something dear."

"You've outdone yourself Ida, thank you. I hope you won't be offended if I don't finish the whole thing?" He was already digging in, stuffing his face with eggs and sausage, cramming in the hash browns. He heard her chuckle.

"I can cook but I'm no chef! This was all Jean's doing." He heard her leave and he immediately froze, the fork halfway to his already full mouth, bits of egg falling off the fork.

His eyes wide, he tried to spit out what he had half-swallowed and ended up nearly choking. He pounded his chest and gulped down the juice. He gasped as the giant lump of food made its way slowly down his oesophagus. He coughed a couple more times and his eyes were watering. He took his sunglasses off unwillingly to wipe his eyes and he caught sight of someone watching him. He looked through the blurriness but he needed a tissue to clear the wetness.

Once his eyes could see the person was gone. He was sure it was Jean, making sure she'd poisoned him. He only just remembered the way he treated that woman last night and the only logical answer as to who it was had been staring him in the face. How could he be so drunkenly stupid? He could hold his liquor, so how much did he drink last night? He shook the thought out of his head, not wanting to get into numbers. It was that idiot's fault, what's his name, Thomas, he'd gotten him drunk for the purpose of exploiting his reasons for being in the village.

The tinkling of utensils brought him back to Earth. He looked to his left and saw the two kids sitting at a table, with one table in between them and Draco. They stopped and stared at him—these kids needed to go out more often—he stared right back.

Adwen had her long blonde curls pulled up into a ponytail which showed her face more clearly to him than the night before; her pointed nose was probably the focal point but her brown eyes were wide once more, except that this time they held a sort of kindness that melted his heart.

He couldn't—wouldn't—face Aeron. The young boy had shaken Draco's nerves last night and made him scared. He wasn't sure why. He took a breath, he was being cowardly he reminded himself, so he stole a glance at the boy.

Aeron wasn't scared of Draco, only intrigued. His slightly wavy brown hair was combed to the side slightly—a poor attempt to tame it—and he shared his sister's nose. Draco couldn't bear to look into those too-familiar eyes. He wondered if his father ever had a sexual tryst with some woman from Ireland—but the chances were too improbable. He racked his brain to remember his own trysts.

They were dressed nicely, Adwen in a simple light green dress with stockings and white dress shoes. Aeron was wearing a dress shirt tucked into black dress pants and children's loafers. He was swinging his legs enthusiastically under the table and Draco felt one corner of his mouth pull up in an awkward attempt at a smile.

He looked to the paper again and noticed that today was Sunday. They were going to church. How traditional of them, he thought with a mental smirk. He continued to read the paper, wondering where the hell the church was in that godforsaken town.

He didn't seem to have been poisoned by Jean so he finished his meal and was content with a full stomach. Ida collected his plates and he stood. He noticed she was also dressed for church.

"Going for a walk Mr. Malfoy?"

Couldn't they mind their own business? He thought with an urge to shout it.

"Yes, I thought I'd talk to some of the, er, townsfolk."

"Oh you won't find anything open, everyone'll be at the church, it's Sunday." She stated the date as if he were stupid.

"Yes, I saw in the Prophet. Speaking of which, I didn't know that this town was magical. Why didn't you mention it?" He interjected, trying to throw her off.

"It's of no importance to me, I'm a squib, and if we ever got any muggles to stay I can't very well go off blabbering 'bout it!" She collected the last of the plates and tucked the Prophet under her arm—not asking if he was finished with it. "Will you be joinin' us?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"To church, will you be joining us and the rest of town in church this fine day." It was a statement, not a question. She let her eyes bore guilt-beams into his soul which would be damned to hell if he didn't go.

He was going to hell anyway.

He was reluctant to answer. He smirked and moved away from the table, not bothering to put the chair in.

"I can't help but wonder what yer going to do for the next three hours?" She said to his back as he was leaving the dining room. He paused, cursing a million profanities in his head at this woman.

"Joining you at church of course." He said with a sickly sweetness that was clearly a façade. She was delighted.

"Wonderful, I'll just let Jean know we're locking up the Inn for the morning." She disappeared before he could say another word, which was fine with him. This old woman spoke too much for his liking. Even his own mother—of the same age—knew when to hold her tongue. But perhaps that was because an evil wizard that was bent on destroying a boy would have incinerated her in a heartbeat had she commented on anything.

"Is he coming with us mummy?" Aeron whispered, too loudly for Draco to ignore, but he simply stood in the doorway to the dining room with his back to them and his hands in his pockets.

"He's scary mummy." He heard Adwen say. Then, he presumed, Jean spoke, too low and too fast for him to catch. If he had been facing her he could have read her lips.

"Here darling, put this on, Aeron come on, grab your coat just in case and wait for Ida by the door. Adwen, I've got your gloves here darling, and your hat, we don't know if it's going to be too sunny today."

Draco snorted at her over-protectiveness and there was stillness and quiet behind him. He watched Aeron file past him slowly, his body stiff, his head slightly turned as if he wanted to see Draco but was too afraid to look. He was slightly clumsy as he tried very hard not to stumble over his feet…

He heard two sets of footsteps—another perk of years of Auror training, he finally understood why they needed to know so much—one was light-footed and lithe, he presumed was Adwen, the other heavier but also clumsy like Aeron, this was Jean. They walked straight past him and Draco cleared his throat.

Jean stopped but did not turn; she moved her head so that he glimpsed her profile. "It seems you're joining us today Mr. Malfoy." She said icily. She hadn't forgiven him for last night.

"It appears so." What a stupid reply.

She didn't speak again but waited by the door for Ida with her back to him. He took her appearance in. She was wearing a modest sundress in the colour of light green like Adwen, but from the waist down there were slashes and another colour, yellow, was pulled through. She wore her hair up and it was concealed by a sun hat.

How do they think it's going to be a sunny day in a dreary countryside in Ireland! He felt like shouting but he kept his anger in check.

The dress reached her shins and she modestly wore a thin light yellow cardigan to cover her exposed back and arms. She was so unpretentious it made him want to vomit. She reminded him of someone though…

The whole setup looked like something out of the 1950s, complete with white gloves on Adwen's part. He hoped Jean wouldn't pull out gloves of her own. He noticed he looked underdressed compared to the Brady Bunch over there but he was sure the other men of the town wouldn't be so traditional.

Ida finally came downstairs and was wearing something that was from the 50s and they all shuffled quickly outside, Draco strolling along behind. She locked the Inn and they all made their way down the street. He wondered where the church was. Draco saw many of the town's people moving in the same direction, and a few late-risers just leaving their homes, grabbing coats just in case it rained. Didn't anyone have a muggle car? Or couldn't they just apparate there? Merlin, he was getting lazy.

They rounded a corner and the giant stone church came into view, its stained-glass windows shimmering in the sunlight. He was surprised the weather was this nice, and so he was not looking forward to spending the next three hours in a stuffed church. Everyone was crowding in through the entrance, many stayed outside to chat with others before the sermon and there were a few well-dressed children running around, their mothers threatening them if they ruined their clothes.

He glanced at Jean and saw she was holding both of her children's hands firmly within her own, on either side of her, and they were trying to keep up with her mad-dash for the church. He chuckled but it was lost on the wind.

They made their way inside, Ida stayed to chat with a few people outside. He didn't know why he felt compelled to follow Jean; he had the instinctive male urge to protect her and the 'young'. Even though being in a church was probably as safe as one could be he still felt obligated.

She made her way all the way to the front of the church, trying desperately to find good seating—he hated people like that. It was no different than in school, why would you want to be in the front, when the same thing is happening at the back, only less people are paying attention? But he doubted any of these townsfolk would not pay attention.

Aeron had wanted to sit by the aisle so he did, and then went Adwen and then Jean who removed her and her daughter's hats. He stood awkwardly. There was a small divider in the long pew for the next set of four or five people and he didn't want to squish in beside the already uncomfortable Jean. Aeron saw him singled out and so he moved over. Draco liked this boy, he reminded him of himself, always picking the right friends, the right connections.

He smiled and sat down. He saw through his peripheral vision Jean staring him down, probably with a horrified look on her face.

They looked like a family in the pew; well, if Jean wasn't throwing daggers at Draco they could have pulled it off. Except for the minor detail of clothing; he instantly regretted coming. He was the most underdressed person in the whole church. His jeans and button up dark blue shirt—that was not tucked in—seemed to be a beacon of gossip. Jean was facing forward, refusing to look at him any longer. He ignored the hushed whispers around him and faced her.

Again he was dealing with her profile—she had a very angelic face, even though she was a little demonic with her temper—her brown hair was pulled back away from her face and forced into a tight bun behind her, it didn't sparkle as if it were glossy, something he'd seen many girls have, but it was as if she didn't care who saw her, or commented on her hair. He gave her credit for looking somewhat respectable.

The church seemed to be nearing its maximum limit because it was stifling; Draco undid a button or two and received a glare from an older woman across the aisle. Aeron saw this and let out a boyish giggle before attempting to do the same. Draco shook his head, the expression on his face was frightened, and he didn't want to have to deal with Jean.

Where was Ida? Damned old hag…

A hush settled over the church as everyone took their seats and the sermon began. A few women had hand-held fans and he rolled his eyes; once they got back outside it would be coat-mania. Ireland was not hot, even in the summer it still had some cold breezes, right?

He was daydreaming so rapidly he didn't notice the whole crowd cross themselves as they rose out of their seats. Draco got the gist and got up too late. He reached out and grabbed the pew in front, hoisting himself up with a slight groan that was loud in the quietness of the church. This issued a whole new set of glares. He needed damage control. He glanced at Jean who was looking directly at the pastor. He sighed and bowed his head to listen.

He vowed to God he would find the killer and save these innocent people and the best place to start looking for clues was Mattie's house—

They were all seated again and he felt Aeron tug on his shirt to make him sit as well. Draco wholeheartedly did so; he was failing miserably at paying attention, but how could he when the killer could still be here? He doubted that. They would have been long gone the moment they killed the poor girl.

He needed major damage control before his partners showed up, starting with Athena herself…

He stole another glance at Jean but found her whispering to her neighbour, she was leaning slightly to the left; the whole thing was so subtle that if you weren't facing her it wouldn't have looked like she was doing anything but paying attention.

Draco took this opportunity and leaned down to Aeron and spoke softly. "How old is your mum?" He didn't know why that was the first question he should ask about this woman but he felt she was probably in danger, being a single mother with the killer around—or not around…

Aeron bit his lip…he didn't know. That was alright; when Draco was seven he didn't know his mother's name, surprised it was anything other than 'Mum', let alone knowing her age. He settled on another solution.

"Do you know how to find Ida after this is over?"

He nodded. Good.

"Find her and I'll escort your mum back home alright?" He nodded again but Draco got the feeling he was being watched so he looked up and saw Adwen eyeing him suspiciously. He straightened and watched Jean out of the corner of his eye. He could see her lips—Yes!—he focused on them and found them a little distracting, they were so…yummy. He snapped out of it and zeroed in on her words.

"He's really quite atrocious I have no idea who he is or where he came from. I fear for my children's safety."

The other woman said something before,

"Yes, this is altogether too strange, first that other drifter two weeks ago and then he fell off the face of the Earth and now him."

She stole a glance at the pastor, then Draco. The other woman said something before Jean replied,

"That's too kind of you Eloise, but I have Ida and I'm quite a capable witch, I did go to Hogwarts after all, studied from the best—

He coughed, a little too loudly but he quickly made it look like he was praying, he brought his hands—clasped—to his forehead and he shut his eyes, leaning forwards. He needed to collect his raging thoughts that were bounding around in his brain, threatening to explode.

She went to Hogwarts, something about her was familiar, her walk, her anger, her hair, lips, nose; he shut his eyes tighter to stop his brain from imploding. It couldn't be, could it? He had to be sure. But there was an element in his brain that was blank, just like after the War was over, he couldn't remember anything for days, maybe a week, they had chalked that up to PTS; he was now thinking otherwise.

They rose a few more times before the pastor wished them all well etc. etc. and a reminder of Matilda's passing, for which they had five minutes of silence. Draco being the impatient child he was, danced on the balls of his feet, anxious for it to be over. He was surprised the three hours flew by so fast.

Once it was he glanced at Aeron who nodded and grabbed his sister's hand; he explained he wanted to play with the other kids outside the church and Draco gave him credit for lying, he didn't think he was capable.

Jean gathered their things but remained in the pew until everyone was gone. Draco hung back at the back of the church, beside the confessional booths. She put her face in her hands and leaned forward to the pew in front of her and sank to her knees. She was shaking slightly, and Draco realized she was crying. He walked slowly over to the shadows and remained there.

It was a few more minutes before she breathed deeply, some sobs escaping, and got up. She was wiping her face and so she didn't see Draco grab her arm and wheel her into the shadows with him. She tried to scream but he covered her mouth.

"It's just me." He said turning her around. She was breathtaking.

The tear-streaks added to her beauty. But Draco didn't know why he was so captivated with her; she was so average-looking compared to all the model girlfriends he'd dated and all the prostitutes he'd had. There was a virgin vulnerability that enthralled him and there was also the fact that he'd just found her.

"Granger." It wasn't a question. He reached around to the back of her head and undid her bun. He ran his finger through her hair slowly, sensually. Her hair spilled around her shoulders and slightly down her back. They weren't the bushy curls he remembered, but slightly wavy now. If her hair hadn't changed, she would be the Granger he knew, only as a woman.

Her warm brown eyes that used to so frequently throw ice at him were vulnerable and mature now. Her body's certainly mature, he thought. He traced her lips with his eyes and found himself longing to touch them, as if it were the Forbidden Fruit.

"Why are you crying?" Of the millions of questions he had, he asked that.

"Because you're here, you've found me. How long do I have before Harry or Ron show up?"

"I'm not here with them, we're—the Department—is investigating a string of murders, your little Mattie's one of them." Good God, they've got me saying her name like that now. She frowned.

"So you didn't know I was here?" She was confused and he could feel her fright ebb away as it was replaced by anger, anger at herself for getting caught.

"No, not until this morning, I guess I knew when I got here but my brain's been a little dull."

"It's always been dull Malfoy."

He let that one slide.

"So it was you who dropped the china at the sound of my wonderful voice."

"Just when Ida said your name, I thought you'd been Lucius."

"Why did you lie?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"When you were talking to Eloise, in the pew…you said you didn't know me." He took in her flabbergasted expression with smugness. "I was reading your lips." He interjected her thoughts he knew were wheeling around trying to make logical sense of things. His eyes dropped to her lips for only a second.

She pursed them.

"Well?" He prompted.

"I don't want to be associated with you. You'll give me away; I guess that's what you'll do now?"

"Why are you hiding?"

"Why do you care?" She snapped. He realized he was still holding her close, almost against him, and she pushed away.

"Hermione." She almost turned back to him at the softness of his voice. "You've been missing for seven years. Why did you run away, everyone thought you were dead? Potter and Weasley may as well have had heart-attacks."

"I needed to disappear. Something happened to me. And I—I couldn't face it."

His brain knew what she was talking about but he pushed it out of his thoughts. "Ida?"

"Distant relative of Ron's mum. She was the only magical person I could trust to help me. I-I was too scared to face it alone."

His heart was throbbing with…sympathy? A crackle of thunder brought them back to the present and he gestured. "Shall we finish this back at the Inn?"

He walked under the rain without a jacket but Hermione used the coat she brought and was trying not to get her feet stuck in the gathering mud. The rain pelted hard against them like bullets but Draco didn't mind. He was ahead of her when he realized she'd stopped. He turned and found her trying to dislodge her foot from a thick mud puddle. He turned back to help her. He yanked her foot out easily but it was covered in mud from her toes to mid-shin. She'd lost one of her flats. He picked her up easily using his strong arms and kept walking for the Inn. She was deeply embarrassed, and kept mumbling about the neighbours. He winked, "Let's give them a show."

She pursed her lips again but she didn't struggle at being carried the rest of the way. She detangled herself from him before he'd set her down on the stone porch of the Inn, the canopy shielding them from rain.

"So you're going to tell everyone now?" She asked, her voice choking up in her throat which felt like it was throbbing from the tears not yet spilt.

He stared deeply into her eyes and she was mesmerizing him; she quickly turned away from him but he caught her wrist, making her spin, and her wet hair flying back around. He brought her close to him, so close that she could feel his breath on her ear, he meant to kiss her but he did something much more intimate.

"No."

She was taken aback but he ignored her expression and walked inside the toasty Inn. He shook himself off and he heard Hermione mutter something about him resembling a dog…

"Why not, why don't you go marching off with me in shackles and present me to Harry and Ron?" She was annoyingly persistent. But he let it slide because she'd been missing for seven years. He felt an odd light-weighted feeling where he was neither ecstatic about having found her, yet also at the same time wanting to ravish her and yell at her at the same time. He had half a mind to bind her and bring her to Potter right that moment but the look of her stayed his thoughts.

She was a mess, even more so with the added affects of the rain. Her dress clung to her and her eyes had dark circles under them; her hair wet, back to long curls, her lips puffed from the crying she'd done earlier. She was pitiful—like the true mudbloods he visualized, though they were ugly, she was bordering on average and plain-Jane. He turned away from her, quite willing to change out of his soaked jeans and shirt. He longed for a lengthy, hot bath…perhaps she could join him? He jumped. She was right in front of him, her monstrosity scaring him. I think I'll be alone in the bath.

"Answer me." She said menacingly.

"Or what? You'll glare at me? That's all you've done for a day Granger, and all I've done is: nothing. So don't you already have your answer? I know a little prissy-know-it-all like you must have any and every possible answer but since I'm here and Potter and Weasley aren't, aren't you satisfied?"

She stared at him in shock. He turned away from her, and up the stairs, he could hear the drops of water hitting the stone and the squishing of his shoes against each step. He saw that Aeron had been watching them from the top right corner of the staircase, shrouded in shadow. He ignored the boy in a huff and kept walking, leaving Hermione. He felt as though he'd done this before, in another time or place, it felt like a déjà vu, except the images were unfamiliar to his brain when they should have been.

He used the washroom on the landing and locked the heavy door behind him by magic, not wanting to use his hands to do that much work. He flicked his wand at the bathtub and it began filling immediately. He peeled his clothes off and they landed on the cold stone floor with a slap. Once inside the hot bath he sighed, calming his thoughts and body relaxed.

He nearly fell asleep in the tub, but he rubbed his eyes vigorously, out of frustration with work and other things. He wrapped a towel—that was not for bath use—around his waist and gathered his things, Scourgifying them (he knew they'd need washing) and left the bathroom leaving trails of water along the floor and carpets. He didn't care about their feelings; they were just like house elves to him.

He was about to slam his door when he spotted Adwen at the top of the stairs, looking down at something going on in the foyer. Aeron was beside her and he turned to see Draco looking at them, interested. He walked over to the children but remained hidden by the wall as he peered to see what they were looking at.

It was that cheeky bastard what's-his-name…Thomas. He cringed at the sight of him flattering Hermione. She smiled politely and when he took her hand Draco took a step forward. The children were watching the scene before them and Draco's actions, their eyes wide. He was scowling at the fact that Thomas was wooing her and she was making it very obvious she was not interested. He watched his face (she wasn't facing Draco) and he read his lips.

"With this new fellow in town investigating I thought he might give you and the little 'uns a hard time."

Was it so hard to say 'ones', why must it be 'uns'? He rolled his eyes and continued to eavesdrop.

"Ida might think he's alright but me and the otha' lad's 'ave been worried 'bout you an' all the lasses in town. We can't have another attack like Mattie's happen. He could 'ave killed the guy he's impersonating now!"

She said something and he shook his head.

"'ow could you sure? Is he forcin' himself upon you in any way?"

This guy was really going to get a beating. He had pulled out his wand but Hermione stopped the raving lunatic. Draco wondered stupidly why he didn't have his own wand on him, he glanced back, it was on the bathroom's sink countertop.

Hermione talked to him some more and seemed to half-convince him Draco wasn't going to rape his non-girlfriend anytime soon.

After he moved into the dining room Hermione turned to climb up the stairs and the children scuttled off in the other direction. Draco was stuck but Aeron covered for him instantly by running into his mum on the way up. She stopped and picked him up.

"What's wrong darling?" She cooed. She carried him up the stairs; Draco thought she might fall back down at the sight of her small body sagging under the weight. He hid in the shadows and went to his room down the hallway. Matilda's service was tomorrow and it would be a perfect opportunity to search the houses and question the townsfolk. He set his plan in motion.

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A/N: Hope you liked the first chapter! Review and you get a star! :D

A/N: UPDATE: I've updated this chapter, fixed some spelling errors and some words like 'he' should have been 'her' or some tense problems where I changed my mind and forgot to change the words :P 'hapening' 'happened' etc. and some minor and major plot inconsistencies, so hopefully it's easier to understand. And I'm sorry to all those who find they can't read the centering/are annoyed by it, fanfiction only lets authors upload one format to publish, the 'story' format where it's either all to the left with no indentation or centered, and I think centered is better. If you hate it that much please inform not me because there's nothing I can do :(

R&R
-k-