Disclaimer: We should all know by now that I do not own these characters…
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From the corner of a dark cell, a figure could be seen taking ragged breaths of salty air, coughing with every intake and shuddering with every out. If not for the pale hand visible in the little light allowed into the room, one could accurately assume that this figure was a dementor hiding in the depths of the darkness, just waiting for one wrong move from a prisoner and the honest excuse for a fatal kiss. The figure shook its head and its limp hair swung from side to side, matted and greasy. The hair cast a shadow on the figure's face, which was covered in grime and heavily scabbed. The despair on the inside was clearly reflected on the outside – the story of somebody who had given up.
Draco Malfoy was his name, and murder was his crime. The murder of a loved one, for the redemption of a lost reputation. But what is lost cannot be redeemed, for it is lost and cannot be found. It can only be returned, and redemption is not return. It is a cure. This is what Draco Malfoy had thought long before he had stopped thinking. How much of it made sense, he was not sure, but he had understood enough to realize that he was not next in line for a second chance. He never would be. Only special people got second chances. Like Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Bloody Special Potter. This was the Harry Potter who would never be next in line for a second chance either, all because of Draco Malfoy. Draco Murder Malfoy.
There had never been a sentence, and there had never been a ceremony. The Dark Lord had not come calling to Draco with his great appreciation and thanks for destroying the one thing he feared in the world, and Draco had wondered why. Draco had expected something special, maybe a permanent vacation to the Bahamas in order to never be found out. Draco's father had never spoken to him after the incident, and he had never tried to bail his only child out of Azkaban. Not once. As far as Draco knew, he had never even contacted the Ministry of Magic with some lame excuse for Draco's crime. And a Malfoy always gets what a Malfoy wants – that's how Draco knew his father had never attempted any arguments for his son's release.
But that was a long, long time ago. It was when Draco was only a teenager, something about 17. Now, 3 years later, sitting alone in a prison cell in Azkaban, in the middle of nowhere, with soul-devouring dementors anticipating your every move, Draco was hopeless. He had not spoken a word since the 6th month of his imprisonment. He had not thought a thought since the 8th month of his imprisonment. If asked where he was, Draco could not comprehend the question. If asked who he was, Draco would not understand. His organs were functioning, his eyes blinked as they were supposed to, his heart still beat, but it may as well have failed him 3 years ago for all he had cared. Life as a prisoner in Azkaban was not for the faint of heart. And neither was a crime like murder.
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It was raining. Pouring, rather, and the wind was picking up outside of the cracked window he was staring out of. Leaves were flying off the trees, branches were being torn off of limbs, and birds were taking shelter under the roofs of sturdy looking houses. The screeching whistle of a tea kettle was heard the loudest amongst all the goings on, and he turned it off as quickly as he could; it was noises like this that annoyed him the most. His friend would be coming home shortly he realized, and would probably like a cup of whatever was available. Grabbing the nearest tea bag, he shoved it into a small cup and poured the steaming liquid from the kettle over the pouch that contained the little flavored leaves. The door slammed open, banged into the adjoining wall, and got stuck.
"DAMMIT!" shouted his friend as he dropped the grocery bags in his arms and tried to wrench the door free of the wall. "So.. TIRED… of this damned WIND… ALL THE TIME, IT IS.." he kicked the bags away as he yanked the door free, slammed it shut with all his strength, and locked it.
"Well," the friend said, dusting off his hands and looking a mixture of disappointed and annoyed, "there we have it. The twelfth hole from the twelfth time the wind has blown open the door and the twelfth time the knob has punched a crater into our wall. I don't know if it's the constant wind from the storms or the way this shitty house was built, but it's really beginning to get old. Especially since we can't use magic to fix anything anymore. That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard. How the hell is HE gonna find us even if we DID use magic? It's not like millions of people don't already DO IT EVERY DAY." Ronald Weasley had started ranting again. These rants were becoming more and more familiar every day thanks to the bad weather.
"And how the HELL are we going to defeat him if we can't use magic?! What are we gonna do, go muggle-style and use machine guns? I don't think so." Ron took a minute to breathe, picked up the 3 grocery bags he had dropped, and brought them into the kitchen.
"What's this?" asked Ron as he peered into the small cup that now had hot tea sitting in it. Not really waiting for an answer, he picked up the cup and began to drink as he unpacked his purchases and threw the paper grocery bags away. After he had completed this most unpleasant task of putting things away, Ron made his way over to the leather sofa sitting across from the television. He put his feet up on the coffee table that sat between the sofa and the television, and said, "It's a right mess out there. If I were you, I wouldn't even bother going in to work today. I know I'm not." With that, Ron switched on the television and began flipping through channels.
Their apartment, not a house, as Ron called it, was actually rather nice. They had working appliances, functioning and stylish furniture, a den that doubled as a social room and television room, and was connected to the kitchen. If you left the kitchen and walked into the den, you would turn left and go about 15 feet to the bathroom. From there, you would cross the threshold into a small hallway that had a closet with laundry machines and a sink on the right, and if you wished to go into the bedrooms, you would continue going left down that hallway, where you would reach bedroom number one on the right, which was right across from bedroom number two. On the very end of the hall was a room that contained a computer, a large bookcase, and various magical objects. On the walls in the den where Ron was sitting, there were pictures of friends, family, and pets. They were all magical photos, of course, which could be charmed to stand still in the event of a muggle entering the apartment. Actually, muggles entering this particular apartment was quite a common occurance. Usually twice a month, the landlord would beat unforgivingly on the front door and complain about the unsettling noises that came from the pipes. He would blame it on Ron's poor plumbing skills (Ron had told him that he was a professional plumber) only to find out that it was actually the residents across the hall who had the faulty pipes. On these days it sounded as though the door would fly off its hinges as the tiny Asian man angrily awaited its opening, and Ron would wake up grumbling about how and why in Merlin's beard did Mr. Wang have to come at such ungodly hours of the morning. The other resident in the apartment, however, never had to deal with Mr. Wang, because nobody could be quite sure of who anybody really was these days. If Mr. Wang ever did happen to see him, Ron would tell Mr. Wang that this was his deaf cousin, and he was not being rude, he simply could not hear a word the uptight landlord was saying.
In fact, this other resident could understand every word Mr. Wang was saying, and he found him to be quite the character. It was the same with the mailman. The mailman was a retired war veteran, and even though Ron always kindly explained that his "deaf cousin" could not understand him, Mr. Briggs the mailman always went on to explain the hardships of the trenches. Today, however, nothing eventful had happened besides the new hole in the wall, which by now could be considered as common as the sun setting. Looking over at the harassed wall, he noticed all the patches where Ron had fixed the previous holes, but after the third one, had never bothered to repaint.
"Oi, what are you staring at?" inquired Ron to the quiet resident looking past him at the wall of holes. "Come sit down next to me and watch this… Great Britain is losing BAD to Italy today. Beckham isn't nearly up to his usual standards." Walking over to the sofa and plopping down next to Ron, Harry Potter studied David Beckham and said, "Wow, you aren't lying… wonder who drugged him."
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Three hours later, the football game was still on. Several players on both teams had been substituted for due to multiple fouls, and Great Britain had earned only 6 more points, which sat the scores at 13 to 6. Out of nowhere, several loud bangs shook the door of their apartment, and Harry and Ron jumped, spilling the bowl of popcorn they had been eating. "What the hell…" said Ron, somewhat worriedly. "Mr. Wang is really learning to catch people off-guard." He looked out the window at the still-storming weather and then said, "and why would he climb 6 flights of stairs to bother us at this hour?" It was 5 o'clock sharp. Ron got up to answer the door, and almost before he had turned the handle, two red-headed men slammed it open, jumped into the room, and slammed it shut again.
"My god, that was like trekking up a waterfall, that was," said one of them, shaking himself off like a dog.
"No need to describe the rain, that was more like climbing Mt. Kill Yourself what with all those stairs," complained the other. "Whoo! How you two do it I will never know." He threw his wet coat on the floor and it splattered everyone with cold, wet, rain.
"It's snowing now, too." The first man said.
Fred and George Weasley were standing at the entrance of Harry and Ron's apartment, apparently expecting something warm to drink.
"Well?" said Fred.
"Well what?" asked Ron, knowing what the answer would be, but refusing to yield to it.
"Well where's my double espresso mocha frappuccino with cocoa beans? Or whatever these muggles order at the coffee shops.." He looked at Ron and said, "Chop chop, on the double!" and made a motion with his hands to shoo his brother into the kitchen.
Meanwhile, George made himself comfortable next to Harry.
"So who's playin' who today? Glad I'm only a few hours late this time… didn't feel like going into work today though. Nobody did. That's the perk to owning your own shop, you choose the hours."
"Yeah, well I didn't exactly want to make the dangerous journey down Die-For-Sure Road today in this weather either," Harry said.
"Don't blame you," answered George, "These muggles drive like there's no tomorrow."
"WHERE IS MY STEAMING HOT BEVERAGE? I DEMAND A REFUND," shouted Fred loudly to Ron, who was in the kitchen dropping a teabag into a cup of hot water.
"So, mate, how you been?" Inquired George to Harry, who was watching Fred slowly unravel a Mrs. Weasley-knitted coaster.
"I've been okay," said Harry, "the back hurts these days from the cold, but I take pain relievers for it." The injury 3 years ago from when Draco had stabbed Harry as an attempted murder had never quite healed properly. It still became aggravated in extreme weather.
"Other than that though, I've been great. I called Hermione, and her dog had puppies 5 weeks ago – she's been looking for homes for them so I told her I'd take one. Ron wants one too, so we're going to get the two males."
"Very cool, very cool," said George, "I expect they'll be named after Fred and I?" he raised an eyebrow at Harry, who said, "But of course fine sir, whom else would they be named after?" From the kitchen, Harry heard Ron say, "We are not naming the dogs after my brothers. End of story." Fred and George both guffawed and said, "You're just mad because Hermione named her dog after mum." Ron scowled and went back to stirring Fred's tea.
"So, when's dinner?" asked George, blinking expectantly at Harry.
"Oh no…" said Harry, "No way. Absolutely not. Don't you remember what happened last time?" The twins shook their heads. "And to this day, no one can quite remember how that poor old peach ended up on the ceiling."
"I'm telling you Harry, it –" George was cut off by somebody ringing the doorbell over and over, and he jumped up and opened the door. Four people entered the room, and before anybody could stop it, the wind blew the door into the wall and the second hole was made.
"CAN'T ANYBODY EVER SHUT THE GODDAMNED DOOR?!" shouted Ron, storming over to it, yanking it from the wall and slamming it himself.
"Well then, where's my tea?" asked Ginny Weasley to her brother. Ron turned red.
"GO MAKE YOUR OWN BLEEDING TEA." He yelled, and slammed himself down onto the sofa.
"Well good golly gosh, somebody's climbed up the crab tree," said Fred matter-of-factly. George followed suit with, "Now don't be a Negative Nancy."
Harry had gotten up to hug his friends. Ginny looked the same, long auburn hair free down her back. Hermione was still Hermione of course, he thought. He shook hands with and then embraced Neville Longbottom, who wore a green shirt that said "I Have Venomous Tentacula and I'm Not Afraid To Use It." He then hugged Luna Lovegood, who was wearing her trademark radish earrings, but a new necklace. This time however, it was a rather normal looking necklace, save for a gigantic tooth as a charm.
"What's that on your necklace, Luna?" asked Harry. He genuinely wanted to know.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, "It's an Egyptian Vampire tooth, I got it when I was studying ancient runes in Egypt a few weeks ago." Luna was always known to have eccentric things, but how exactly she got this necklace Harry was not sure that he wanted to know.
"Well, since apparently everybody thinks that they're staying for dinner," Harry announced, "and neither Ron or I want to cook," Harry caught Ron shoot a hopeful glance at Hermione and Ginny, "I think now would be a good time to call in for pizza delivery."
"What's pizza?" asked Neville excitedly.
"Oh yes, do tell!" exclaimed Luna. Ron looked amazed. "Pizza, dear uneducated students, is a muggle delicacy that evolved in the most ancient land of Italy…" he went on to explain the concept of Pizza as though it were a great treasure worth obscene amounts of money, and sooner than later, Harry was calling in orders to the nearest pizza delivery restaurant.
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Author's Note: And so here you have it, the beginning chapter to the largely-requested sequel of KWNMTH. This is going to be a much more complicated story, and eventually, just as dark as the last one. Maybe not as twisted. But I'm sure MOST of you will be happy with the ending. And don't worry, the explanation for why they cannot use magic is in the next chapter. I'm not too sure how the muggle elements of the story are going over with you guys, but I hope you're not TOO enraged by them… also, I am looking for a beta!