NOTE: This is NOT, I repeat NOT a sequel. It is in no way related to my other fan fic, Memories of Clouds (earlier titled "Pharaoh Dreams".) They-Ron, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Draco, etc- are out of school, newly graduated. Dumbledore is dead, as is Sirius, and Voldemort is vanquished. I'm not going to tell you anymore than that, so read it to find out:)

Gilgaer

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Draco Malfoy wandered the halls of the house dejectedly. He didn't like it in the House of Blacks. It was slightly creepy, in an old-fashioned barbaric way. He would like to know who would hang the heads of deceased house-elves on their walls. It was just…frightening.

He let out a sigh. For all the great gods in the world, he had no reason to feel so utterly dejected and lost. Hell, he was 18, nearly 19, and someone of that age, and caliber shouldn't be wandering the halls of dusty old house like a little kid trying to find a teddy bear to play with, and failing in his search.Of course, that was just where he was, and the last place he wanted to be. Candles flickered in bronze candlestick holders, illuminating the house-elf heads with ghostly shadows. Draco sunk once more into thinking. His face, usually holding a sneer, was eerily vacant of all expression. The silence didn't help his mood, either. He hadn't heard from his mother in days. Not that he should be worried. His father wouldn't do anything to her; he was a social outcast now hunted down to be humiliated. The Malfoy family, extending beyond him, was still well off (what Malfoy hadn't been well off?) and nearly honored in the wizarding world.

He let out a sigh. Ever since Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort, he felt as though his life wasn't meaningful. He had no bad guy to piss off, his father wasn't bugging him and life felt almost…normal. His life had never been normal, and it was beginning to scare him.

Foot steps sounded behind him; high heels clicking against the old creaky floors. He turned to see Ginevra Weasley, his girlfriend, walking toward him. She was dressed in a long, tight-fitting black dress that shimmered as she walked. Perfectly shaped legs slipped into four-inch, diamond-laced heels. Crimson waves cascaded down her back, glistening slightly in the candlelight. She was beautiful. How the bloody hell anyone could look so good in a black dress outdistanced his thinking by a mile.

Ginevra frowned as she approached.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, my Weaselette, nothing."

Her eyebrows knotted. "I don't believe you, and you know it. Tell me now or I will leave this house and never come back. Seriously."

His eyes widened in mock fear. "Oh, Ginevra, don't leave me!" he cried, running to her. He reached her, hands straddled her waist; kisses were placed delicately along her jaw bone.

"Stop it," she said half heartedly. Then his lips traveled to hers, and she was sucked into the mind-numbing pleasure of kissing a Malfoy. Especially Draco Malfoy.

Several extremely long minutes later, they had broken apart, and Draco was contentedly stroking her hair as they sat, side by side, at a long onyx table. They had moved from the old hallway in the Black House to the Parlor Room, or what was left of it, anyway. Black curtains hung down from every wall, gnawed by doxies and other sorts of infestations little disgusting creatures. Nervously Draco straightened his tie. Why the bloody hell had he agreed to do this? Now, sitting here, in the thread-bare chair covered in what appeared to be blood stains, he was beginning to regret his decision. While being here with Ginny was just great (actually, better than great, it was fantastic) he did not completely know the reason for his coming here. She had insisted, though, on his presence, and had filled in some slight details. including the fact that they were meeting someone very important to discuss their...decision.

"Draco, stop it," Ginny said, noticing his fidgeting and bringing an end to it.

Sulking, he sunk is his chair. "Yes, Ginny dearest."

"Now, Draco don't you dare start--" their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Draco straightened up, face serious, his eyes filled with a slight fear. He didn't like not knowing what was coming. Ginerva cleared her throat, once, twice. The knock came again, more insistent, urgent.

"Come in!" She said sharply. The door opened. A shadow filled the door, along and slender, flickering with the candle light.

"Well?" Ginny asked. "Are you entering, or not, because if you're not, I'll have the house-elf escort you out, so you can be on your way." The shape laughed, a woman's laugh, delicate and high. Draco looked alert. He knew that laugh but it couldn't be…

"Why, hello, Draco, honey. I didn't know you were going to be here."

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Cornelius Fudge looked around his office. After the Death Eater attack last month, nothing was the same. Of course, that had all changed after Voldemort had been vanquished by Harry Potter. That had been a close call, though. He sighed. Poor Potter. First he had saved the world, and then he had had to do it again. Too bad history didn't repeat itself, because if it did Harry currently wouldn't be locked up in St. Mungos lying comatose, as he had been for the past month. Nothing would revive him, and the hysterical Mrs. Weasley and Hermione Granger had had to be drug away from the bed side on more than one occasion as the boy had started screaming in his sleep.

Ah, well, such things happened. Back to his beloved office. The damn thing was torn to pieces, papers everywhere, pottery smashed, and the Ministry, while trying to patch itself back together, had rebelled against his pleadings for a whole new office. To his dismay, he learned that there were none available. So he had slunk back to his office after petitioning for the fifth time, remorsely deciding to try cleaning things up a bit. That may take a while though, because first he had some other things to think about. Like the man pounding on his door, yelling his lungs out. Now that just wouldn't do.

Fudge straightened up. "Come in!" He shouted, in an effort to be heard over the racket. The man banged open the door. Fudges' face drooped. Just the man he wanted to see. Not.

"Mr. Cronsby. Hello. Please, do come in. You must pardon the arrangements right now. It's a little… messy, after the, er, accident."

Mr. Cronsby was a stout man, short and fat, with a large gray moustache and balding head. Dick Cronsby was the president of Internal Affairs, and, as usual, he was not happy with the Minister, for any reasons.

"Accident? Humph, I'll show you an accident: you getting elected in the first place! Ever since you were appointed as Minister, the Ministry's gone round the bend. First you make such a big display over the attack at the World Cup four years ago, and you do Nothing! Then Harry Potter, who has never lied to us, says that He's back, and you just brush him off and make jokes about him in his face! Then He-who-must-not-be-named breaks into the ministry and you say it never happened! Finally you decide to agree with Harry after he saves your ass! NOW the poor boy is lying comatose in St. Mungos and you could have kept him alive and well with us!" Mr. Cronsby took a breath to continue when Fudge interrupted. He was quiet sick of the man yelling at him.It happened a bit too often, and he should have sacked him months ago. But he couldn't, becaue Dick Cronsby was just too damn important right now.

"Mr. Cronsby, do you have anything beneficial to say?" The man didn't falter.

"Yes, I do." Fudge was slightly surprised. All this man had ever done was yell at him.

"Well, what is it?"

"Why don't you do something useful for once and round up all the Death Eaters? Get them out of our hair, keep them from revolting. It's the least you could do for the society that you've ruined. Make a statement before they kick you to mars and leave you for the wolves."

Fudge brightened, if only a little. But Mr. Cronsby was not done.

"I speak for everyone here when I propose that you gain back the acceptance of the giants. Have you seen the news? Giants, roaming through London! It's a catastrophe! And you're going to need to tell the public exactly what happened here. It's not going to stay hidden for long, and it's better if it comes out of your mouth than others. Details will be needed."

Fudge sneered. "Read the story. It was just released into the news, but you obviously haven't read it." He threw a copy of the Daily Prophet at him, which he caught nimbly.

CATASTROPHE IN THE MINISTRY

By Marshal Harris. Written July 3, 2007

"Last month, on the 25th of June, the ministry was caught, quiet unexpectedly, in crossfire between Death Eater troops and a band of students from Hogwarts known as Dumbledore's Army. The Death Eaters somehow—it is believed that He-who-must-not-be-named was involved--broke through the security walls with advanced black magic. They came with Dementors, and all quailed. The D.A., as they called themselves, managed to defeat many of the Death Eaters. All would have perished if the legendary Order of the Pheoniz hadn't arrived on scene.

"The battle was bloody. Conjured swords were hissing through the air, and curses were flying; bright bolts of energy causing disaster in their wake. The famed Harry Potter saved Luna Lovegood, blocking the Killing Curse aimed at her. Then he whirled on He-who-must-not-be-named, who tried to kill him, again. Then, without speaking—where did he learn that?—A curse hit He-who-must-not-be-named. But he wasn't dead. Curses flew, time stopped, a ring formed around the two fighters.

"A net of red hung suspended in midair as the two levitated, swirling in a mass of green. Death Eaters were chanting, and the fighting around them had stopped. Everyone watched. Then, the orb blew up, the fire that exploded out of it in such a force that it killed all who were not shielded—sadly, that included several fine young students. All the dementors were wiped away into mists that hung about the demolished room for days after. Out of the orb there stepped a figure. He was walking on air. All else was charred bones. Those who were there don't know what happened in that orb, but something mighty powerful did, for it to blow like that. Then Harry crumpled to the floor, and he has been unconscious since. Later the bones of he-who-must-not-be-named were found, charred to a blood-red dust, except for the heart, a shriveled thing that had by then decayed, ripped asunder from his chest. The boy was covered in blood when he fell from the sky. This is a continuing story. Please check back later. There will be a memorial mass for the deceased students on Saturday, July 4th."

Mr. Cronsby sighed and placed the newspaper back on the demolished desk. "And that is that."

"Well," Frudge urged him. "What was it you were going to say before you implored me for the story?"

"I was going to say that teams will be needed to clean up the surrounding area. Have fun with that. Thank the gods that no muggles were around to witness this, or else terribly frightening, sadly true stories would be circulating the globe for months.

"Another topic is Azkaban. There are, as you tell me, no more dementors left. You are wrong. Several dementors, left to guard Azkaban, were left behind. You must at all do cost return them to your service! Damn, man, but you haven't done a single thing to make any of them like you! And that will only lead to strife in the end. Bring them around—I know you can do it. Just don't wet yourself. They won't be amused."

"You bring me great hope," Fudge said sarcastically. "Do you really expect me to listen to you? I am the Minister, not you. You have yelled at my for the past four years. So you really think I will suddenly start listening to you? No. I do not need your help." All earlier, kind demeanor had left his face, and he was now cold. Mr. Cronsby looked slightly amused by his sudden turn around.

"Mr. Fudge, I beg you: listen to me! This world's a mess! What are you going to do about it? Put a healing-spell on its bruises and say nothing happened?"

Fudge stood up and motioned to the door. "You may leave, now, Mr. Cronsby. I am utterly sick of you telling me what to do. I do not take orders. I give them. Now I am telling you to get the hell out of my office." He said venomously. Mr. Cronsby stood up, and without another word, left the Ministry. If the man wasn't going to listen, he would have no more to do with him.