This is my first story after a long time and I have actually put a lot of thought into this work. There are some points in this fic that I had to tweak in order for my idea to work; however, mostly everything else is the same. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish it before my life becomes hectic once more.
Please R + R and let me know what you think. :-)
Disclaimer: This beautiful world belongs to J.K. I'm just a fan writing fiction.
If you're the type to listen to music while reading, then here's the playlist that inspired many of the scenes in this chapter; my only advice would be to listen to them in order.
The Morning ~ The Weeknd (Draco), Someone New ~ Banks (Hermione), Clair de Lune ~ Claude Debussy (Draco)
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Chapter 1 — Blood
Draco lay on his plush green comforter as he watched the sunrise from the distance through his balcony windows. He would not ever vocally admit it, but the most relaxing period for him was the stillness the morning brought as he watched the sunrise. It was as if, to Draco, the rising of the sun not only signified a new day but, in an essence, seemed to outshine the darkness of his past mistakes making it seem as if he were being cleansed of his sins. Again, in an essence.
For a few mere moments, Draco basked in the soft glowing light as the rays of the morning sun started to creep across his bedrooms' wooden floor and made its way up his chiseled features. Though it was the beginning of July, Draco could barely feel the warmth in the suns light this early in the morning. It would seem that London still had not gotten the memo that summer was upon them.
Suddenly, a groan was heard as a figure began to rotate its body towards a grimacing Draco. A tangle of jet-black hair surfaced from underneath the comforter as a pair of black eyes stared up at him. Quickly, Draco jumped up from his position and rummaged through the clothes on the floor looking for his pants.
"What's the hurry, Draco?" yawned Pansy Parkinson. Her already pug-like face scrunching up into a scowl as she watched the former Slytherin search for his belongings in the rubble of items at the foot of the bed. "It's barely 5 in the morning."
"Work, Pansy," Draco replied as he finally located his trousers which were conveniently hidden in the space between his dresser and bedroom door. "I suggest you get your belongings and leave as I have much to accomplish today. Your services are no longer required." Not bothering to look for his shirt nor wait for her reply, Draco opened the doors leading onto his balcony with a quick swoosh of his hands and proceeded to rest his arms on the railing, his eyes never wavering from the oncoming sunrise. Faintly, he could hear the rustling of clothes in his bedroom and smirked as he heard the familiar roar of the fireplace as Pansy quickly departed without so much as a "goodbye."
Frankly, Draco could care less. For the past 6 months, Pansy and he had developed an understanding — their "relationship" would not extend beyond the physical as both she and he only desired a partner for the purpose of fulfilling their humane needs. With their pasts, neither were ready for any emotional entanglements and were content on remaining simply friends, albeit with benefits.
At least she was a decent shag — much better than the slags at the local pub.
Draco exhaled as he felt the cool London breeze lightly against his face. Unconsciously, he rubbed his hand against the two-day old scruff on his face; he'd need to shave before he saw his mother later that afternoon.
His mother.
A string of memories assaulted their way to the front of his mind.
It had been almost four and a half years since the Battle of Hogwarts, the historical end to the Second Wizarding War, along with the demise of the Dark Lord. Draco shook his head and corrected himself — Voldemort. It had been four and a half years since that half-blood imbecile had perished and Draco could still not bring himself to utter the name of the most dark and powerful wizard the world had ever seen. It wasn't out of fear that Draco could not speak his name, not even close. Though the Dark Lord had instilled fear in Draco, his fear was for no one else but his mother. It was out of disgust that Draco could not voice the Dark Lords name — disgust at Voldemort and disgust at himself. Draco had not realized it then, mostly because he chose to believe every word his father spoke rather than use his brain to formulate his own opinions, but the so-called "pureblood world" he was fighting for was nothing more than a load of rubbish. There was no such thing as "pureblood" in the wizarding world, in his opinion, not after he viewed the massacre that occurred in the Final Battle.
Draco could remember the scene as if it were yesterday; the battle was commencing at a drastic speed and wizards and witches of all ages were falling to the ground in a heap succumbing to their deaths. In an attempt to search for his mother as quickly as possible through the dangerous hallways of his former school, Draco tripped over the body of one of his former classmates, a muggleborn by the name of Collin Creevey. How Draco could even remember the name of the young boy in a time of such distress and peril was a mystery to him, but that was not what stopped Draco from crawling away from the boy. No, it was the thick, red blood oozing from Collin's head wound that stopped Draco in his tracks.
The red murky blood was simply that: blood. There was no filth, not even a speck of dirt in the red liquid trailing along the floor.
A death eater's body lay directly across from Collin and Draco watched in curiosity as the same thick redness flowed out of his chest and onto the stony rubble mixing with Collin's blood. In that moment, Draco could not fathom where the start of the muggleborn's blood began and where the so-called "pureblood" blood ended. It was in that moment that Draco realized there was no difference between the two; blood was blood and they were both pure, red, and spilt.
Of course, such a realization couldn't have occurred at the most awful time. Once he found his parents, Draco convinced them to defect towards the Light side and after the war had ended, for the first time in months, the Malfoys could breathe. Unfortunately, their silent celebration was short-lived as the following week, rogue death eaters entered the Malfoy Manor and murdered his father for abandoning the Dark Lord.
Draco should have felt some emotion towards the death of his father, however, to his surprise, he was immune.
Maybe it was because of the hatred he felt towards the former wizard for pressing such ridiculous ideals in his youth or maybe it was because Lucius chose the ramblings of a mad man over the safety of his family. For whatever reason, on the day he was informed of the death of his father, the only emotion Draco could feel was relief.
A week after the death of Lucius Malfoy, Draco and his mother stood before the entire Wizengamot with Kingsley Shacklebolt as the newly appointed Minister of Magic to appeal for the crimes they were forced to commit. With the testimonies of the "famous" Harry Potter along with bushy-haired Hermione Granger, Draco was given a full-pardon for his crimes as they were committed under duress while his mother was given a two-year probation.
Even Draco had to admit that he had not expected such leniency from the Ministry. Though he would never admit it out loud, he was grateful. He could care less of what happened with me, but his mother had only done what was necessary to protect her son.
Suddenly, the fireplace gave a loud roar as a tall, dark figure dressed in purple robes stepped onto the marble flooring in Draco's drawing room. The dark and watchful eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt surveyed the surrounding area in front of him searching for the platinum-haired wizard.
"'Morning Shacklebolt," Draco let out a drawl as his piercing blue eyes returned once again to the upcoming sunrise. He watched as Kingsley yawned and joined him on the terrace, setting his wand down on the side-table as he too rested his arms against the railing and turned his head towards the soft daylight. "Long night?"
"You have no idea." Kingsley said, his thick accent enunciating each word. "The ministry is in a panic because of the murders of those muggleborns. The people are out for my head." Kingsley paused. "There is talk they want to remove me and host a new election."
Draco scoffed, "They'd be fucking idiots to remove you. You're the reason the wizarding world hasn't decimated into chaos right after the war and, don't forget, you've got the 'glorious' Golden Trio on your side. No way would anyone dare to even try and sack you, much less touch you."
Kingsley slightly turned his head and watched Draco from the corner of his eye. The latter wizard showed no sign of emotion on his face, however, the hands grabbing the railing were incredibly tight to the point where Draco's already alabaster skin looked even more ghost-like than normal.
Kingsley could remember the first day he was truly able to meet the fair-headed wizard — the day of the Malfoys' infamous trial. Throughout the chaos in the room, the once highly-esteemed family in all the Wizarding World sat right in the middle, silently, as they awaited for a no-doubt unforgiving punishment. He remembered the stoic mask the youngest Malfoy had worn, carefully crafted and unwavering, as his recently widowed mother clung on to his hand for dear life, though her face gave no emotion of being in distress. The side of his mouth lifted slightly as he had realized that no matter what had occurred nor will occur, the Malfoys' will walk out of that same room with their head held high, still managing to sustain their dignity, yet uttering not even a single word to their defense.
It was for this reason solely for which Kingsley had deemed leniency on the Malfoys' rather than incur a death sentence as many in the surveilling crowd had hoped for. And it was for this reason alone that Draco Malfoy, to this day, was the sole advisor and confidanté for Kingsley Shacklebolt. To the surprise of Kingsley as well as Draco himself, the feelings were mutual.
Kingsley sighed, "It's not that simple anymore, Draco; it's been four years since the first murder and there isn't a shred of evidence to find the culprit." For the past four years, though reparations to the Wizarding world were taking place, a thousand years of harsh pureblood ideals did not simply vanish into thin air. Even in the magical world.
Once every year after the Battle of Hogwarts, a muggleborn was murdered — all with different means, at different locations, during different times. The first murder was that of Justin Finch-Fletchly; compared to the later murders, Justin was given a more merciful death by the Killing Curse and his body found in a deserted alleyway in Paris, France. The second murder, unfortunately, was Collin Creevey's younger brother, Dennis Creevey, who was found stabbed to death at his home in Chudleigh. Donaghan Tremlett, the muggleborn wizard apart of the popular wizarding band, "The Weird Sisters," was found strangled to the death while on tour in Venice, Italy. However, after examination of his body, it was later deduced that Tremlett was given a series of Cruciatus curses prior to his death, indicating an acceleration in the Killer's profile.
Lastly, in January, only six months prior, Draco's former classmate, Gregory Goyle, was found strangled to death in an abandoned area in Knockturn Alley. He too, had been given a series of Cruciatus curses as well as a good beating leaving his body bruised, battered, and very grotesque. However, the most chilling detail was the intricately created Dark Mark tattooed once again onto Goyle's left inner forearm.
Goyle's murder elicited an uproar throughout the Wizarding world — and rightly so. The witches and wizards of this time and age were justified in their fear; they had finally rid themselves of such a powerful yet terrible wizard only to be thrown back into a spiral of fear again. All this, simply caused by a tattoo.
After Goyle's murder, Kingsley had felt that something was amiss in the Ministry itself and knew he could only entrust such a high-priority case in the hands of the one he trusted the most — Draco Malfoy. For the past three months, Draco had solely been investigated the deaths, canvasing the scenes where all three crimes took place thoroughly, and heavily researching just exactly how a Voldemort sympathizer was able to slip right under the Ministry's nose for the past four years.
"Have you had any luck?"
Draco shook his head softly as he replied, "I have many theories but all have flaws. I need more resources. Perhaps if I could entrust Blaise in the matter?" After Kingsley, Blaise Zabini, Draco's former Slytherin roommate, was the only other person Draco deemed worthy enough to trust with his life.
Kingsley instantly shook his head, the gold hoop earring in his left ear shaking as well. "No, it would be too careless; the Killer is going after not only muggleborns, but purebloods as well. I won't endanger another life to this crazy maniac."
"It seems you have no qualms of endangering mine as well, Shacklebolt." Draco smirked, then grew serious. "I have to talk this through with at least one other person. I realize that your circle of trust is shrinking by the minute and the Ministry itself feels as if it has been infiltrated by this lunatic, but Blaise is the only one in my circle that I trust and have full faith in. For fucks sake, let me use the bloody bastard."
Kingsley cringed at Draco's crass tone always having hated the young man's profane language, however, he hesitated. Draco was right, but Kingsley's fear of endangering Blaise was too great.
Suddenly, a named flashed across Kingsley's mind. "I will not allow for Blaise to assist you. However, since this task requires stealth as well as intellect, I might just know the one person who might be able to challenge you appropriately."
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Hermione awoke suddenly as a crash resonated throughout her flat. Quickly grabbing her wand and bolting out her bedroom, she came across a tall figure in the kitchen picking up a frying pan off the floor.
"Sorry, sorry! I was just trying to cook some breakfast but I couldn't find my wand so I attempted to try the muggle way and well . . ." The young man standing in her kitchen in nothing but drawstring trousers shyly smiled as he held up the utensil. Still not fully awake but having resigned to the fact that there was no danger, Hermione tried to rub the sleep out of her chocolate brown eyes as she lowered her wand. It was then that she noticed she was in nothing but an over-sized dress shirt. Feeling her face flush, she looked up at the man who seemed like he couldn't take his eyes off her, asked, "Who are you again?"
The smirk fell of his face as he took in her question, looking aghast. "I'm Evan — Evan Ramsey? We met in the pub three blocks over and came back here. Don't you remember?"
Hermione could faintly recall having gone to the pub the previous night after a long and harrowing day at the Ministry, but it wasn't for at least another few moments did the realization of what exactly transpired the previous night occurred to her.
"Oh! Well, Mr. Ramsey, was it?" She struggled to finagle her way out of this awkward situation. Quickly glancing at the her watch, she thanked Merlin as she was, for the first time, late to the office.
"It would seem we would have to forego breakfast as I have an urgent meeting at the Ministry. I suggest you quickly recover your belongings and trust that you know your way out," Hermione stated and she headed back into her bedroom to collect her towel and headed for the washroom. Without a moments hesitation, Hermione shut the washroom door in Eric's (or was it Evan's?) face as she let out a long breath to collect herself. Quietly, she listened to the footsteps that trailed across her wooden floors as the wizard consented to Hermione's wishes and a few moments later, she heard the rumbling of the fireplace announcing the exit of Mr. Ramsey.
Opening the bathroom door once again, she went back out into her drawing room to make sure he was truly gone before sealing the fireplace shut once more. There was no need for a repeat of the last wizard she had brought home who decided he would come back and hex her for dismissing him so crassly.
In Hermione's opinion, he was a stubborn oaf. There really was no need for such theatricalities when she had profusely told any of the men she brought home with her that what they would have would end by the time daybreak broke.
Merlin, it was so difficult to get a decent shag.
Though it was more than four years since the end of the war, forget the pub, Hermione was still unable to walk into the market without being assaulted by on-lookers. Any of the men who were able to look past her fame for at least the night would wake up the next morning realizing they had slept with the "Golden Girl" and, in the short span of a minute, envisioned their future full of "fame," "glory," etc.
It was pathetic.
As a result, Hermione never made it a habit to bring men to her home; only during desperate times were desperate measures called for.
Taking a quick shower and drying her hair with her wand, Hermione pulled out a simple black pencil skirt, paired with a frilly blue top, and grabbed her wizarding robes to wear atop her muggle attire. Shuffling into her heels and picking up her briefcase from the dining table, Hermione opened her fireplace once more with the wave of her hand and flooed to the Ministry.
Instantly, she was flung into a crowd of witches and wizards all headed towards various destinations as she clung to her briefcase and made her way to the lift.
"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, please," she stated once she entered the already full cabin. Hermione took a shallow breath to compose herself. She hated using the lifts mainly because of how claustrophobic they made her; she had always hated tight and confined spaces — that, and thunderstorms. The rain didn't bother her as much as the shrieking of the wind did. Hermione reminisced a time whenever a thunderstorm would hail over London, her father would take her in his arms and hold her as he read to her from books that spoke of a faraway magical land with talking cats and mad hatters.
Her father.
Before she could go too far down memory lane, the bellhop announced her department and she quickly made off down the dark tiled hallway towards her office.
Since Hermione offered her services to many of the departments throughout the Ministry, her main, and private office thankfully, was located in a secluded alcove in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione's interests after her graduation from Hogwarts (she had gone back to Hogwarts for her last year after the war had ended) had varied immensely but in the end, she had chosen to become a sort of "lawyer" per-say, an occupation that rivaled between being a full-time Auror and investigator as well as being in charge of prosecuting known criminals.
The irony wasn't lost on her as she remembered a time when she had scoffed at the idea. The then Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, had brought it up during his visit to the Weasleys' home right before Bill and Fleurs' wedding to read Dumbledore's will to Harry, Ron, and her.
Two years after arriving at the Ministry, Hermione had become one of the leading prosecutors the Ministry had seen in more than a hundred years. As a result, she had ascended her way up through the Ministry's rankings to a very high and respected position. As the head of several main departments, it was Hermione's duty to overlook and lead all the Auror missions, on-going cases, trials, and investigations, many of which played an important role in the Ministry's daily life.
Upon entering her office, Hermione waved her hand to open the curtains to allow some of the morning sunshine to seep through and make its way across her rather spacious surroundings.
Not even a moment had passed when a knock was heard followed by the opening of her door revealing a very smug looking Lily Winston, her secretary, carrying the daily news in one hand and Hermione's tea in the other.
"Rough night?" asked Lily knowingly gazing at Hermione's neck where that idiot Ramsey had made some rather harsh-looking love bites. Hermione tried not to meet her eyes as she grabbed both the paper and her tea. She'd have to go to the loo quickly and place a glamour charm on her neck lest she want any more rude remarks from her fellow co-workers.
"Sort of." Hermione replied as she grabbed the items from Lily. "Any news?"
"Kingsley sent an owl earlier saying he would like to meet you first thing tomorrow morning in his office," Lily replied as she took a seat in the front of her desk. "Something to do with the murders that had occurred."
Hermione nodded sadly as she recalled Kingsley asking her to urgently look into the matter. The ongoing case was on the top of her list, however, with all the other work she had to accomplish plus there being no more new leads to follow, Hermione had no choice but to stop her research during official Ministry hours and chose to focus her energy during after office hours. "Maybe a new development has occurred in the case that could help the team and I to finally capture this bastard."
"If only Christmas would come sooner. Harry sent a memo too; he wanted to know if you were available for lunch today since it had been a good week you last saw each other. Shall I make the arrangements?"
Hermione sighed. She felt bad for not seeing her best friend but there was simply just so much work to be done and not enough time during the day but she knew she had to; after all, she did miss Harry. "Yes, make a reservation at his favorite restaurant. My treat. I've been so horrible to him but there is so much that needs to be done."
Lily silently nodded her head, feeling sorry for the curly-haired witch sitting in front of her as she perused the list of tasks she needed to complete before the end of the day. Though she covered it well, glamour charms and makeup could only do so much to cover the purple bags underneath Hermione's beautiful brown eyes. She must not have been sleeping very well as of late. Lily mentally calculated the date; ah, the anniversary was approaching. Life was sometimes so unfair to those who deserve happiness the most. Lily shook her head in an effort to control her emotions and force herself to not succumb to her need to cry.
So very unfair.
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"Draco, dear, so glad to see that you have decided to grace me with your presence," Narcissa Malfoy exclaimed as her only son stepped out of the fireplace and into her drawing room.
The older matriarch gracefully came up to the fair-headed wizard as he dusted off any visible specks of lasting Floo powder.
"How are you mother?" Draco asked as he gave her a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. A quick glance of the surrounding area showed that his mother had still not given up on her new project of the month; the drawing room had been completely torn apart as his mother drawled on about the ideas she had for her latest renovation of the Malfoy Manor.
"Everything seems to be going according to plan, Draco, I've got a few of the ladies coming over for some tea later on this afternoon; they are all very excited to see the latest upgrades in the Malfoy Manor. Amelia, however, will be joining me for dinner after her work at the Ministry."
Draco nodded and said, "Amelia Bones? I thought she had retired earlier this year."
"No she chose to stick as an around-the-clock advisor to the latest head of the Magical Law Enforcement — I believe Hermione Granger as taken her place."
Draco scoffed. Of course, the famous witch would be promoted to head less than two years after joining the Ministry and be under the gaze of Amelia Bones, who was said to be the most brightest witch of her time. Draco would have been fairly surprised if she hadn't been.
"Anyways, how have you been faring? Should I be aware of any developments that have occurred in your daily life, possibly to do with a young girl from the Parkinson family? Polly, I believe?"
"Pansy, mother, why do you ask?"
"Only because her mother was owling me earlier stating how 'lovely it was that our two children have found a soulmate in the others arms.' It was utterly pathetic." Narcissa stated matter-of-factly.
Draco frowned as he said, "The Parkinson lot was never known for their staggering intellect, mother. Pansy and I are simply acquaintances. The only stimulating conversation I've ever had with her was in the bedroom."
Narcissa grimaced as they climbed the terrace and sat down on the lawn chairs overlooking open expanse of land and grass surrounding the manor.
"Have you talked to Blaise as of late?"
"No, I haven't. I've been a little busy; Kingsley has asked me to look into something for him."
Narcissa slyly glanced at her son. "Has it to do with the muggleborn murders?"
Draco snapped and narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you know?"
Narcissa chuckled softly as she muttered. "A mother's intuition — that and if I were Minister of Magic and acquainted with a rather wealthy and intelligent young wizard with an ample amount of free time on his hands, I would use him as well."
Smirking, Draco returned his gaze back to the scenery in front of him. "You know, mother you have some free time now too, you could follow your teenage dreams of joining the political world and reek havoc across the Ministry simply with the name of a Malfoy."
"No, Draco, I am perfectly happy where I am. Besides, I've dealt with enough political drama to last me a life-time." Narcissa smiled. The elegant witch took another sly look at her son as she took in his striking features once more.
He resembled his father so much.
Draco had the signature Malfoy platinum-blonde hair, however unlike his late father who chose to keep his locks shoulder length, Draco chose a more sophisticated crew cut accentuated his aristocratic nose and sharp cheekbones. His build was more muscular than his teenage years however veering more towards the leaner more toned look. Narcissa felt that her son had also grown taller in the last few years, standing at least a head taller than her; of course the added height only added to his egotistical personality. Though Narcissa knew Draco had forsaken the old pureblood prejudices, it did not mean that he wasn't still the arrogant and prideful prick who loved to quarrel with any witch or wizard that could keep up with his speedy retorts.
"Have you updated your wards recently?"
Narcissa blinked twice to clear the mist from her eyes as she composed herself once more. "Yes, Amelia updated them just last week."
Draco hummed in approval but then muttered, "I'll still have a look at them before I go. Just in case." He paused. "I have a feeling somethings going to occur in the near distant future. Whether or not I approve is yet to be seen, but I want to make sure your safe and secure when it does happen."
The fair-headed dame once again felt her insides softening towards her son who seemed to have grown immensely in the past few years. The stress running across her only heir's face made him look as if he had lived a hundred lifetimes rather than his mere twenty-two years. She knew his statement was the closest they would come to sharing any sentiments towards each other. Keeping her gaze strictly on the horizon, Narcissa moved her hand to rest upon that of her son's, giving it a slight squeeze — her only show of affection.
A few moments later, still looking straight ahead, Draco squeezed back.
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Please R + R and let me know what you guys think and whether or not you like the plot so far!
It'll be easier for me to continue writing knowing there's people out there who actually want to read more :-).
~Z