Dark Whisperer Chapter 1: Out Of Hiding, a harry potter fanfic

A/N.: Hello all! I know I said that I wasn't going to start any more stories like that, but you know how distracted authors get, don't you? Especially if you're one too. Anyways, this fictional piece of work is solely dedicated to the sixth Harry Potter movie: The Half-Blood Prince, which has just been released this week. I hope you'll enjoy this fic. I'm sorry if Draco Malfoy is a bit out of character, but he has changed. He's no longer who he was in school. I hope this clarifies a lot for you. Oh, and I'm not from England, but I added a few british terms and phrases. The rating of this story will slowly go up, thanks to my vivid british mind. It's a definite bonus for me as an author when you're stuck with british sitcoms all day long.

Have a good summer, mates!

Dark Whisperer

Chapter 1

Out of Hiding

Life can be very cruel sometimes.

It can also be very unexpected. If a Seer told me two years ago that I'd be filling out a job application for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I'd tell them that they drank too much Firewhisky.

Never in a thousand years have I acknowledged the fact that since the war, the name Malfoy means nothing. But before I knew it, Mother and I had to put an incredible amount of wards on Wiltshire Manor due to vandals. Intruders were a fact of life for us now. I knew it was only a matter of time before we had to abandon the mansion. Mother opened an ice cream shop in Diagon Alley, where she now lives. To be frank I'm happy that she's moved on from the life we had before the war.

As for me, as soon as the manor was gone and I finished my NEWTS, I took a job as a freelance private detective. It was the perfect time for me to disappear from England. Mother didn't mind. After all I'm twenty-five and single, in fact the only people who kept me tied down to London was my childhood friend Blaise Zabini and my mother.

More importantly, I wanted to get away from it all; the memories, the insane laughter, the flashes of green, Dumbledore...

...I've changed a lot since the Battle of Hogwarts, and sometimes I wonder if it's for the best. I'm no longer the witty, brash, insolent little kid that everyone looked at with disgust. I'm no longer the bully of the playground, and I no longer sneer as much.

Throughout my time as a detective, I had successfully completed over a hundred cases from all over the world. Pretty soon, I became dangerously well-known in the crime-busting business, so I put disguises and made aliases to avoid detection from the wizarding world.

It was so easy to blend in muggle society, all thanks to Mothers' well-rounded sense of style and Blaises' narcissistic streak. I bought a small condo in Paris, France, overlooking the Seine. It wasn't a real fancy one, mind you. Just a nice, cosy little one bedroom with a fantastic view of the Eiffel Tower.

The french have, and always will amaze me. It's so ambitious and powerful, and yet they are content with eating croissants and pot-pourri all day. The parisians are nice people, who are always content with driving recklessly around national structures and buildings. In fact, I'm amazed that the statistics of car accidents in that city are incredibly low. It must be their adaptivity to the road conditions or something, because the twist and turns in Paris are quite frequent. I got a couple of jobs there which gave me enough money to last me a long time. So I decided to stay in Paris, because to tell you the truth, I've fallen in love with the place.

But as they say, things didn't last too long. Unfortunately Mother accidentally let slip about where I was hiding to a customer, Hannah Abbott-Longbottom. She was a gossiper from school who happened to be friends with journalist Parvati Patil, who happens to work in the Daily Prophet. I had no choice but to come back to England.

Which brings me back to square one: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

I was currently in my Parisian condo completing the application form on my desk, pausing at every ricidulous question they came up with. I mean, why would they want to know what your favourite color is? Do they want to infuriate the people who are answering the questions? Scowling at a particular stupid question, I gave a startled cry as Zabini suddenly appeared in my fireplace.

"What the bloody hell is your problem?" I grumbled, while he brushed the soot off of his robes.

He ignored me, and stared at the ruddy form. "So you're moving back in town, huh." he said smoothly, ignoring the shut-the-hell-up-or-I'll-kill-you look that I shot at him.

"Don't you have something to do, like say, take Pansy on a date?" Nice one, Draco.

Tip #1: When confronting your best friend, always wound them with the subject of something/someone they love.

Immediately Blaise's eyes started to glisten with lust. I snorted, and continued with my work. "I actually had a brilliant date with her last night in Greece," he confessed hoarsely, still reminiscing. "We went to a fancy restaurant

"Better you than me, mate. You're turning into a man of the world with Pans." I snickered, my eyes glued to the paper. "Tell me about your new job. Did you get reassigned?" Blaise Zabini is an Auror, much to the chagrin of many who are strong anti-Slytherin fans. He's a darn good one too. On his last assignment, he captured Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback simultaneously, knocking famous Harry Potter to the punch. Potter boy is also an Auror, and he and Blaise were assigned the same job at that time. Now, it seemed more than likely that Blaise Zabini would become the next Head of the Auror office.

Blaise Aaron Zabini, as you already know, is one of my oldest friends from way back. He is also the most sought-out person in all of London. Honestly, girls swoon at the sight of him. He is really just that bloody handsome to them all. He's almost like a male Veela on mild "steroids", whatever those muggles call it. He's also really different. Who in the world has crimson irises? I secretly think he's half-vampire, half-veela sometimes. To make matters worse, he's not afraid to flaunt his godliness to the world.

He literally has the entire witch population in the palm of his hands.

Bellatrix had no chance against him.

Zabini snapped out of his trance. "I'm reassigned with Weasel King," he sneered. I grinned appreciatively. A lot of things have changed since the war, first off, Blaise and Ron had this tense sort of friendship now that Zabini's an Auror. They actually had a lot in common, all except for the narcissism that Blaise has acquired from his dear mother. Still, the way Blaise holds grudges, Ron Weasley is a dead man...

Tip #2: No small talk when you're not in the mood. Get to the point.

"So why're you in my house?" I said dispassionately, throwing a dried out pen into the garbage behind me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Blaise's wounded expression. "Come on, Draco, we're friends," he whined, "can't I visit you every now and then?"

I know Blaise Zabini better than that. "You want something, don't you?"

"Well," he said uncomfortably, wringing his hands in apprehension, "Pans wants to have an interview with you." Pansy Parkinson was the exclusive editor of Witch Weekly, all thanks to Mother. I groaned inwardly, and sent a scowl his way.

"I knew it. Pans has got you whipped." I sniggered.

Tip #3: Wound them with a sarcastic remark.

Pansy had also published a new section for Witch Weekly, mainly involving most of the famous male population. Last week, Dean Thomas was picked no.1 hottest healer in St. Mungo's Hospital. It was hilarious once you read it.

Come to think of it, all the classmates in my year had very interesting jobs. Longbottom, the world's biggest loser, was now a professor at Hogwarts, Loony Lovegood was a magical naturalist, Gregory Goyle was an Unspeakable, Ernie Macmillan, the pompous prat, was a member of the Wizengamot, and Theodore Nott was a galleonaire in the spell-inventing business. It seemed that everyone except me had a really adventurous job.

I glared at my now finished job application. It was now or never. "Heron!" I yelled, and a pearly-white barn owl swooped into the dining room. I quickly sealed the paper into an envelope and tied it to his claws. "It's for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry, got it?" He blinked twice to show his understanding. Then he disappeared from the room and headed out my bedroom window.

"Nice owl you got there. Straight from LaPierre Boulevard, I take it?" LaPierre Boulevard was filled with magical shops, just like Diagon Alley in England. It's much less busy than the dratted English-style stores. There's no Knockturn Alley in Paris, due to the fact that they were neutral in the war. I never really knew that until Blaise had told me. Never have I loved Paris more.

"Yes. He's more reliable than my old owl." who died due to your inferior lack of knowledge on animals, Blaise... I flashed a fake smile at him, and he looked really guilty at that moment.

"So, how's your mom doing?" he said sweetly, changing the subject. I looked at him angrily as he threw up his hands in defense. "Just tell me what to expect from Pansy's interview." I sighed. He's lucky I'm in a reasonably happy state, otherwise I'd blast his arse out of my condo.

Tip #4: Don't get in a good mood.

Flashes of thunder and lightning rain down on a terrified eight-year old's head. Her eyes were golden, her odd navy blue hair fell in damp ringlets around her windswept face which was petrifyingly pale, and she looked like she had never been more horrified in her entire life. She screamed and ran, as if the gods of rain and thunder were chasing her. To a muggle's eye, she was just freaking out at the big storm.

But to a wizard's eye, she was being chased by a pack of werewolves and Dementors.

Apparently she knew what was following her, because she had a permanent expression of terror. On pure human instinct, she knew that she was in deep trouble.

(flashback)

"Mummy, Daddy!" an excited eight-year old bounded towards the massive dining room. Then she saw them.

Her parents were huddled on the floor, clutching and clawing at a dense mist. "Mum?"

She unwisely took a step closer.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of rotten, clammy, invisible hands grab her neck, forcing her to move her head upwards. The hands materialised in front of her, as she stared into the unwelcome intruder.

It had no face.

She shrieked and thrashed, her hand hit the faceless creature and it staggered back, clutching at the spot where its eye should've been.

That's when she fled from her house.

(end flashback)

They were slowly gaining on her, around a hundred Dementors and werewolves. It was really an army of Dark creatures that were chasing a lone eight-year old. She felt so confused, so scared, so vulnerable.

She just wanted it to stop. She didn't know what the creatures were, and she didn't know why they were chasing her.

She wanted them to go away from her life, away from her family, away from her.

"STOP!" she screamed, facing the oncoming horde. "STOP!" She closed her eyes, unable to look at the grotesque monsters.

They kept on advancing.

"STOP!"

They were getting nearer, she could smell the sickly stench.

"STOP!"

An odd wailing sound was ringing in her ears.

"STOP IT!" she roared, and her golden eyes turned cat-like, feral. Her irises were a murky, bloody red, piercing through the dark night and she felt power burst from her arms like she never felt before.

It was coursing through her veins, warming her up, dancing like pixies in her eyes. A deep vibrating sound was all around her, cleansing her and refreshing her. The power was running through her whole system, giving her a sense of relief and safety. It was a part of her, as though she had used it for quite a while, and knew its quirks and problems.

She felt secure.

Her body eased into a fighting stance as her body let go, and she spun around eerily. The drone of her untapped power flew out of her in waves. It hit the pack of werewolves, turning them into human and knocking them out. The Dementors scattered away from her. It was as if she was in the core of an earthquake, only the earthquake was inside of her, coming out from her. Slowly, the dark clouds moved on, as she collapsed onto the dry earth.

All of her senses were high-tuned, on alert mode. She heard, saw, felt, tasted like never before. The oxygen in the air was so fresh and invigorating. She took a deep, shaky breath, as her senses started to dull. She saw vivid outlines of people who were crowding around her.

It was all too much. That was what her eight-year old body said to her, and she let go of all consciousness willingly, sagging into the ground.

One thing was certain about her: she would never be the same.

"This is a disaster! Who is this child anyways?" The crowd of people made way for a witch from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She knelt next to an eight-year old girl who looked like she was sleeping.

"Finnigan! Tell me exactly what happened here!" she barked. Beside her, a tired Seamus Finnigan began recounting the events that happened before she had gotten there. "She was running from a massive number of Dementors and werewolves. For some reason, they turned back to human form, and the Dementors fled from the crime scene. It was only a matter of time, though," he muttered under his breath.

"Matter of time?" the witch asked coldly, waiting for clarification. Seamus quickly explained. "Her name is Ruth Yvonne."

The witch stared thoughtfully at the peaceful form in front of her. "Does it have anything to do with the case?" she snapped waspishly.

Seamus gave a shuddering sigh and raked his hand through his hair. "Do you remember Sybill Trelawney, from school?"

"Don't remind me." The witch rolled her eyes. It was apparent that Sybill Trelawney, whoever that was, had caused the woman enough grief to last a lifetime.

"She's a teacher at Hogwarts, you know."

"The career she chose doesn't make her into a real Seer. She's a batty old wanker, like always." she said, with a note of finality.

Seamus went on unrelentlessly. "She made a prophecy about this little girl." He gestured to the girl.

The witch looked at the sleeping girl, and her stern mask softened.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" the witch, Hermione, looked at Seamus expectantly. The girl near Hermione stirred slightly, but did not wake up.

"Be nice to this girl, Ruth here. For all our sakes." Seamus said softly.

For once, Hermione Granger was speechless. "I'm nice." she said defensively.

Seamus imitated her and rolled his eyes. "You haven't been nice all week, you know." Hermione gave him a glare, and looked back at the girl. In many ways, this girl Ruth reminded her painfully of herself as a child.

"Fine, Seamus. But I am not going to turn mellow just for the whole Department just so you know. Everyone'll take advantage of my good mood."

Seamus barked a booming laugh, even making Hermione cracked a smile.

In Seamus Finnigan's eyes, his job was easier whenever his superior Hermione Granger was in a good mood. Seamus knew her from school, and knew that she could be ambitious, bossy and annoying at her peak.

However, things had changed. They were no longer in school. Hermione Granger, as far as anyone was concerned, disappeared like a gecko in the background of the wizarding world. She was just another Ministry employee, intent on finishing the job and getting a good draught of Firewhisky when the day was done. Her old friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had a bit of a falling out a few years back. If Seamus had heard it correctly, a healer at St. Mungo's had advised her to take Happiness Potions to relieve the stress. Only truly depressed people had to be prescribed that type of potion. It wasn't Seamus's position to ask Hermione very personal questions, no matter how close they were in school. She was a boss, and he was merely an employee.

That still didn't stop him from being very observant, which is an unusual trait for him to have.

So if Hermione Granger had just cracked a smile in over a year, things were definitely changing for the better.

Life is full of surprises.

Do not use this plot without my permission.