Hey guys, this is a sequal to Dreams and Realities, with a pretty new twist so you don't have to read the prequal. All you need to know is in the prologue. The real story begins after all the italicized stuff. Hope yal like it.
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Prologue
June 6th, 2006
Hermione lay on the barren land, immobile and bleeding to death. She had lost. She, the Order's last hope, had lost her battle against the Dark Lord's forces.
How could I have lost? My plan was perfect. Our plan was perfect.
It was a perfect plan; it was fool-proof. But something had gone horribly wrong: the key to their victory had betrayed her.
Hermione wished she could go back in time to last winter. She regretted everything that had happened. But she gave up on the thought on the realization that it was pointless. She could change nothing. She couldn't fight fate.
A droplet of tear rolled out of her eye as she finally passed out from the loss of blood. She was dying. She had given up. She went to sleep, dreaming of Draco Malfoy.
My name is Draco Malfoy. Because of my past sins, I am destined to live the rest of my life in misery.
You might think me cruel; you might think me evil.I suppose that true.I had the misfortune of being born a pure-blood from a family full of death-eaters. I suppose it is my cruel fate that binds me to commit evil.
I am responsible for the death of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Ronald Weasley, and many others. I have killed no one, but I certainly am the strategist behind their deaths. Despite the fact that I regret what I have done, I can not apologize for what I have done.
I committed evil not because I wanted to commit evil, not because I loved cruelty, but because I had to. I had to contribute to the atrocities of the Dark Lord because I had a family to take care of, a family to keep alive, a mother who never ceased to love me. I made myself the criminal in hopes that my mother wouldn't have to endure the torture I was put through. I trained hard and became the best wizard I could possibly be under the watchful eyes of Lord Voldemort so I could one day protect the ones I love from the evil lord's hands.
But one day, something within me snapped. The day I dueled Ronald Weasley, I saw to a full extent what I had become. And I hated it. Ronald Weasley was on a mission to destroy a horcrux. I was on a mission to find a body for the said horcrux. He stood no chance against me, but he kept going; he didn't give up. He was also fighting for the ones he loved; he was fighting for Hermine Granger. His love overwhelmed me; it overwhelmed the horcrux so much that it killed the horcrux.
I saw his dying body under the cover of my invisibility cloak. I watched Hermione coming after him, but too late. I saw her yelling out his name. I saw her trying to revive him. I saw her tears flooding out of her eyes. I couldn't work for the Dark Lord anymore. I had to run away.
I wanted my mother and my mentor, Severus Snape to come with me. But they told me just as I had to do what I needed to do, they had to do what they needed to do. I left, conscience stabbing into my heart for my inability to protect the ones I love like the Weasley. I had simply tossed the responsibility to my mentor, once again. I left in hopes of a new beginning.
So I came to America, the Land of Dreams, to find the true definition of love. Surprisingly, I found it very quickly.
In the American Suburbia, I encountered Hermione Granger, a face I never thought I'd see again.Failing to see throughmy disguise, she somehow fell in love with my heart.She helped mediscover what love really meant. I had fulfilled my dream. Or so I thought.
My past never ceases to haunt me, it seems. Hermione somehow discovered that I was actually Draco Malfoy. Using the Veritaserum, she squeezed out of me the fact that I had been responsible for Ronald Weasley's death. She left me before I could even say "wait."
To make matters worse,I have been caught by the CIA, delighted to get a hold on me.I was on their Wizard's Most Wanted List after all.
I suppose I am fated to be punished for my past sins for the rest of my life. I am here in America, unable to protect the people I care about. I lost Hermione, the woman who showed me the meaning of love. And I'm sitting here now, in a CIA interrogation room, about to spend the rest of my life in some prison cell.
My destiny, as Americans put it, suck.
I want to find Hermione and make her love me again. I want to redeem myself of my past sins. I want to be stronger so I can finally protect the ones I love. I can't be here forever. I'm not about to wither away the rest of my life in some bloody shit hole.
I can not accept my destiny.
Patriot Talks
Past-midnight, December 17th, 2005
CIA headquarters at Langley was built behind steep hills overlooking the Potomac River. The area had once been covered by lush forest, but most of the forest had been cut down by the regional development. Most of the trees remained around the headquarters, though, hiding the building from a common wonderer. Despite the fact that it was late - it was past midnight - lights were still on through most of the building. When it came down to a matter of national security, someone was always working, full of patriotism and idea that an extra hour at work would somehow, in some way, contribute to making America a safer place from international conspiracy. Agent John Michaels was that sort of a person. He had worked in the agency for thirty years, starting as a lowly field agent and now the second in command of a Special Intelligence division. That meant he was in charge of most of the work. The division heads, despite their merits and capabilities, were more of a bureaucratic politician than a field worker. They dealt with the politics, signing papers and making decisions that would affect millions around the world. He, on the other hand, liked to get his hands dirty and lead missions. That's why he knew he would never get any higher in rank; nobody liked the man in charge to get his head blown off in action.
Damn, he realized upon thinking. I should be happy where I am. One biological trait made Michaels different from the rest of government officials; he was a wizard. Despite all the civil rights reforms and the so called "civil-service system," minorities, especially wizards, unknown to the public, were tremendously underrepresented in the top-department jobs. That made him the highest ranking wizard in the US Government. Appointments after appointments of department heads would shift through the top position, never able to cling on forever. He, on the other hand, would stay in his position as the second in command and the man behind the power of the CIA Department of Magical Relations.
Knowing this, Michaels walked down the executive row of the CIA, passing the statue-like guards that stood in front of every door. He quietly walked passed the offices of division heads, the cowardly political bureaucrats who depended too much on the men under them - not that it was a bad thing. Like he had done on countless occasions, he flashed his ID badge to the guard at the end of the hall and opened the door, going inside like he owned the building. The lax security for this room was unsurprising, because the next room posed the greatest challenge for intruders.
There was another door, unguarded this time. Instead of a guard, there was a hole yes, a hole big enough to fit a finger, any finger. The CIA had decided to fix their security problem prevalent in many other security agencies. When one used a hand or iris scanner, an intruder could simply cut off a guard's hand or gauge out a guard's eye. This "hole-scanner" as he called it forced the person to insert a finger, a correct finger in just the right way, or a massive electric shock would paralyze the person immediately. Additionally, a scan on the finger print confirmed the person's ID. He inserted his right pinkie, palm faced right; the door unlocked and he let himself in.
The office was owned by Gary Mason, the man behind the enormous hidden powers of the CIA. He, not the CIA director known to the public, was the true head of the CIA. Arguably the most powerful man in the United States, he knew everything from everything about American intelligence; he knew more about intelligence than the President himself. A loyal, lifetime devotee to his position, the ex-Marine who rarely went home leaned back against the stereotypical black, leathered swivel chair, reading the stereotypical file about some stereotypical intelligence, sipping the stereotypical coffee, heavy with caffeine. Certainly deserving of his position unlike many others, Mason was one of the sharpest men, and certainly the best interrogator, in the world. If Michaels respected anyone, it was Gary Mason.
"John," Mason kept reading the file papers without lifting an eye. "What can I do for you today?"
"I have some issued to discuss with you," Michaels stood straight and firm, giving respect to his superior. "It has to do with Draco Malfoy, the death-eater defector we caught in Texas."
"Oh?" Mason lifted one eye - it had been one of the things that made even Michaels shiver - and scanned Michael's composure like a magic eye. Michaels knew Mason already had an idea of what this was about. "He wants to cop a deal." He chuckled.
"Yes, sir" Michaels agreed, not surprised by Mason's discerning mind.
"Shouldn't you refer that to the head of Magical Relations Department and not me?" Mason referred to Michael's Special Intelligence Division,beginning to read his files again.
There was a considerable length of silence as Michaels just stood there, knowing the fact that Mason knew the reason for his action.
"You know," Mason sighed. "One of these days, you will have to learn how to trust others." Michaels twitched by this comment. "The primary reason for why you were never appointed as the Secretary of Magic by the president was your lack of faith in people, even in your superiors."
"I trust you, sir."
"I'm afraid that's not enough for the President, son. You need to have more trust than that."
"The last time I trusted one of them, my godson was killed."
"That was years ago, John." Mason looked at him in the eye. "It's a different time now, with a new director and a new president. Your director is a good, trustworthy man. Please understand that he is trying his best."
"His best may not be enough for me, sir."
"I'm afraid you'll be stuck in your position then."
"Career advancement is not my priority, sir." Michaels snapped for a minute moment - Mason definitely noticed this. "I don't want to deal with the entire magical population anyways. Most of them are isolationist bastards who don't give a shit about this country." Mason nodded in agreement -that was the cold heart truth and if they weren't, United States would already be helping the Ministry of Magic in the War Against Voldemort. "What I care about is the few patriotic witches and wizards in my department, working hard, risking their lives everyday to make this country a better place. As long as I can watch over them and keep them safe, I'll be happy."
With that comment, Gary Mason smiled. "I've always liked your ideology Mr. Wizard. I shall help you. What does he offer?"
"He's offering all the resources he has to help us take action against Voldemort. He has fallen out of the Dark Lord's ranks, but he does have the expertise in the field. Additionally, hes offered to train our agents and black ops to battle death-eaters."
"Interesting proposal," Mason began reading his files again. "What does he want in return?"
"He wants immunity."
"That's it?" Mason looked up, surprised.
"He also wants information regarding Voldemort's activity here."
"He killed your god-son," Mason mentioned casually. "That's up to you." Michaels managed not to react -Mason was testing his stability again.
"He also wants unlimited access to our magical technology for some plan he won't tell me about."
"Who does he think he is? Dumbledore?"
"No," Michael explained. "But he was overdosed in Veritaserum when we caught him. Because of the overdose he's now immune to the drug."
"I see"
"So should we let him have it?"
"Well," Mason smiled slyly. "We do have the upper-hand on him. Tell him that our answer depends on the quality of his offer."
"Good point, sir" Michaels allowed a smile.
"Does he want anything else?"
"Yeh. . . yes," Michaels stumbled in answering this question. "There's one more demand, a quite interesting one by that."
"What is it?"
"He wants to track down a witch's activities here and then find her," Michaels elaborated. "He wants. . . Hermione Granger."
Now I did now see that one coming. That was one of Gary Mason's best kept secrets.
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