Disc Hp belongs to Jkr. storyline, new character development, new developments are my intellectual property.

Greg

All his mother's friends found it so endearing, how this tall, very handsome wizard, who had inspired the fear of many, still called Irina, Mommy, walked with her holding hands, and always kissed her goodbye.

"Oh, if I were only sixty years younger,"one of the ladies that brought him welcoming presents, had said that the day before. And the other Ladies sighed when he had flushed bright red.

Yeah, like he had witches flocking to him. Life was nothing but a big disappointment, even Millicent had forsaken him. She came twice to see him, and wrote the allotted twelve owls per year for the first two, then zippo, nada, nicht, nothing.

After six months of not hearing from Millicent, Draco told him that she had married a rich American Wizard, some twenty years her senior. So much for, "I will wait for you forever," he would often think about her betrayal.

This day, he wore winter woolen-navy robes that hung too big on him since they were from his former years. Under the robes he wore very loose yoga bottoms, a wool jumper, and dragon hide boots. Today, he had not braided his hair, just tied it with a leather strip wrapped in metal wire, his own craft.

Kimmy, his house elf, was livid the moment she saw him, "Master Greg, you is bad, I says the left-wardrobe had the robes I have not fixed, takes it off, now, and yus nasties pyjamas, they is rubbish."

She jumped up and down; it reminded him of Draco's temper tantrums, or little Ephraim. He smirked.

Greg just shrugged his shoulders, and went straight into their kitchen. This in turn created an early house- elves' melodrama, complete with screams, cries, head bangs, the works.

"Yous is bad, out the elves workplace, you tells us, we bring." They started to bang their little bodies against the walls, the stasis cooling room, wherever they found.

He grabbed four of the small beings at the same time, "No more of this nonsense, I order you to stop at this moment, if you keep hurting your heads, I will give you all new clothes." He smirked evilly and left them to do whatever they did.

Greg pulled two beers out the cold room, went by the liquor cabinet, filled out a glass with amber liquid and left. After he was out of their sight, away from the kitchen, he let out a big guffaw. He had missed the little pain-in-the-bum bossy creatures.

Best part about been home was the alcohol, it brought him peace, it quieted his inner demons. Nothing like a liquid breakfast, a Muggle German crystal wizen beer, a slice or two of lemon, one shot of vodka, enhanced with a healthy dose of firewhisky. Yeah, the beverage was needed to help him burn away the loneliness and the tears of those long, very long years.

Greg Goyle sat outside of his parent's manor. The day was coolish but nice. It was his third day out of Azkaban. So was this it? He wasn't sure what to do with his life; after all, seven and a half years of his young life were gone. He was nearly 26, and had spent eighty four months, 2556 sunrises, and 2555 sunsets behind closed doors, gone in the time it took to wave a wand. He no longer knew how to behave in normal society.

He couldn't stop thinking about the 'injustices' of how sentences had been passed, one that always irked him was Draco's, and as usual his mind dwelled upon what couldn't be changed.

And what about Draco, why only one year for him? Wasn't Draco the one who had jumped started Greg Goyle towards the darkness? 'Yes, he pushed me on that path right when he made me the Slytherin Prince's goon. At least I am alive, how about poor Vincent? He just was a slow foolish boy.

Well, to be fair, the time of confinement had not been all wasted. Greg had a good education at Azkaban, and spent his time behind bars sans dementors. "So why was I in prison for so long?" He would often wonder, and he had yet to control that anxiety, the one to be locked for life.

The answer was simple, because he was one of the sacrificial lambs. Moreover, he wasn't a Malfoy, who had squeaked his way out of prison; face it, none other than Harry Potter and Hermione had spoken for the Malfoys. Lucius was let out at the same time with Greg, after all the crimes he had committed. Although, it had made Greg bitter, it had made him glad for Draco's and for Narcissa's sake. Even Lestrange brothers had been out before him on counts the demented Bellatrix had them under a nasty old curse; everyone had an excuse but him.

As Greg sat enjoying the sunny morning and thinking about his life, he got into one of his favourite theories about the way things are. Karma, maybe it was all about Karma, look at his grandmother's cousins and how they died; and, now, thank to everyone's deaths there had been enough money for his defense and to finish paying all the reparations. Oh well, they were still very rich, not that he cared.

Something about comeuppances or karma, later that week, he would ask Draco. Draco was into metaphysical studies. Perhaps an undertaking while he mourned after Granger. She had given him a swift goodbye kick, according to Draco when he had come to see him a little over two years before, or was it three?

"Draco, so, did you propose to Granger?" Greg loved punishment. Lucius would never talk about family. He was relieved when Draco told him that he had waited to propose to the golden girl, because he wanted to play the field.

Weasley had done the same thing to Hermione, and had also lost his chance with her. Apparently, to Narcissa's chagrin, Draco had taken a two-week cruise with Blaise, Pansy and some other witch, or was it a wizard. Pictures of them sunbathing naked, and in other compromising positions had made front-page for several days.

He wondered what had happened to her. He was sure he would hear about his favourite witch, after his mother who was number one.

The star solicitor

He was getting tired of waiting for the visit of the solicitor responsible for getting him out of jail. The one his mother had befriended, a young widow who was Narcissa's good friend.

He wasn't sure whose widow she was; in reality, he was not yet quite sure who was who. His solicitor wanted to discuss his plans for the next five or so years. Particularly, since he continued to have to report to the Ministry thru her.

Greg's mommy told him, "Gregory, dushka, I met this widow witch at one of those after-war-functions, she is going to take your case."

He had not even bothered asking who the person was, as if cared. Damn solicitors, he had gone to prison because of them in the first place.

Greg was totally immersed in his thoughts. Gods, he missed Crabbe every day, a small abused boy in the body of a man. He had forgiven himself for his part on it, and he would make sure his death would not have been in vain.

The solicitor in the Garden

But, going back to the karma issue, that was a Good Question, he thought. He wanted to talk about Karma. He thought about his time in prison; he knew he had paid some karmic debt; therefore, things were going to start to look up for him, one could only hope.

"Wool gathering, Goyle, or it is now Greg? Just tell me," an amused soft feminine voice broke him out his revelry.

He turned around toward the voice's source but the sun was blinding, and all he could see were two female figures clad in woolen robes coming towards him.

A running white furry tornado came out of nowhere, and unceremoniously jumped and catapulted onto his lap. A laudable groan escaped his lips as a fur-ball landed right on top of his unprotected groin.

She was a weird looking small dog with a pink bow on her head. She reminded him, in a tiny scale, of that monster dog kept by the dirty half-giant. Ah, yes, Fluffy was the name, but at least this one had only one head, was quite small and mostly white, with long hair maybe a little curly, yet, there was something was 'fluffyish' about it. Maybe, hmm, was it the square head? He could also sense the part demon inside.

A crystalline, feminine, joyful laughter filled the air, and broke right through his sombre mood; and a brilliant smile broke through the surface of his constant grimace, his mother was amazed. Gods he had her old love's smile, he sure did.

Hermione's breath stopped. That tall handsome wizard with the radiant smile, brown or was it some kind of dark blond reddish hair? He couldn't be Goyle; the wizard she was looking at, was Witches' Weekly center-fold material. Maybe, hmm, he was a cousin.

She was the best solicitor; the number one legal counsel at the wizarding world, for certain in all the United Kingdom. He had read about her, but didn't heed to her firm's name. She had earned a law degree, in a record 1 1/2 years, from a renowned muggle university. Followed by another certificate in some psyc-ol-gee, or something like that. Its purpose was to heal magical people from diseases of the soul, same than his mental- healer, but less Magic's and more science.

Then she took two more years of Magical Law, and worked as a solicitor for the Wizengamot. In order to work at the Ministry, she had turned down offers world-wide; someone told him that she had been offered one million galleons by a shady multi-national. In a short two years she had made a name and amassed a large fortune, not only for her, but for her associates.

Her company shared offices with 'EyE' in a brand new office building, at an un-plotted muggle London posh area. EyE, an in3vestigations bureau, was owned by Harry Potter, Bill, Ron, and Charlie Weasley; they were something akin to Aurors, he had read. Mrs. Weasley, the mother was the assistant for both offices.

He had also read about Mr. Weasley who worked with the Muggle authorities, their Aurors, called the poli-something or other. They all were in the news quite often, and matter of fact assisted the Ministry in tough cases. Draco had gone to work for them.

The firm had won case after case. In two years they obtained the pardons for Narcissa, cut down Lucius' sentence from life to seven; Rabastan's to six, Rodolphus just got out with him. It was made possible when Bellatrix's Imperius on the two brothers was uncovered; and the same or similar results for many others who had served the Dark Lord under duress. The Dark-Eaters' crusader, the witch of the golden trio, now fighting for the rights of the same she fought when she was so young. She was one strange witch, always defending those who needed her the most.

The list of her accomplishments was humbling. It was Rabastan, trying to obtain his mother's and forgiveness who had offered Irina the proverbial olive branch, Hermione. She had rescue Greg from Azkaban. He had even offered to pay for his defense. Greg thought the wizard was in love with his mother. Greg liked him, and maybe it would be not bad. They had all suffered a lot.

Lestrange had changed a lot, and he knew in good faith that he kept his mother's picture with Greg and his little brother, by his cot side. It had been taken during Ephraim's naming ceremony. And one photo that he had wanted to pinch more than once; it was a photo of a teenaged Irina dressed like a princess dancing with a very young and dashing Rabastan, going around and around in circles, so young and beautiful. Yes, Rabastan loved Irina Goyle a lot.

Hermione

The Goyle she remembered was a burly-giant, a nasty-goon, or that was her recall. It had been eight years since she last saw him. Could that hunk be him? The eyes were that deep green-blue, and the mouth, and those full lips. And that earring, damn, he was smoking hot, with his sleeves rolled up and the cuff bracelets. He had a faded mark, the dark mark?

He had to be a cousin, hot damn. Nobody could change that much, on the other hand, she remembered her looks at thirteen, not the hottest beauty of them all.

She was held prisoner at the Malfoys the last time she had contact with him. It was because his act of kindness that she took his case. She remembered.

At first, he had been a nasty wizard who had aided that brute Crabbe during his attempt to rape her. Later, when he came back with water, food, blankets, pain-potion, and salve for all of them, she saw a different Goyle.

He had been very kind, he had cleaned her face gently, his very large hands surprisingly agile and soft, "I am sorry you are here, I wish I could help you, I will ask Draco." He appeared to be embarrassed.

"I am sorry about what I did earlier. I am afraid that sometimes I feel as if I was under an Imperious, but I'm not. However, even that isn't a reason to behave like animal. My mother would be ashamed of what I have become." He had looked contrite and very sad.

The ex-convict and his solicitor

I know that voice. Greg knew the voice, unable to trust his own memory, tried to think fast. His heart was beating madly. How could she be here? His entire body was reacting in not so surprising ways.

Greg wanted to make sure he had figured out whose voice before turning around. It was her, it must be.

"Granger, is that you, and what are you doing here?" Asked as he tried to pull the wild-fur-force away from his face, by now covered with dog cuddies, "I, err, thought my solicitor's name was Granp-"

She interrupted him, "So right, you are correct, I see how you could have been easily confused; it was a silly idea but it caught on, 'Granpucnot', the Gran is for Granger."

She offered her hand, which he took with alacrity and forgot to let it go.

"First time you see me, no wonder. Before today, you'd always refused to meet with either one of us. Never mind, just forget it, that is water under the bridge, let's get started at the beginning shall we?" sh leaned towards him with another dazzling smile; she knew he still had her hand, but who was noticing.

Greg's mind was wondering. He had wanted to find her and ask her for a job. He didn't need to get paid, just to work. He had also studied law to help all those idiots at Azkaban who were less guilty than him, and with less financial resources to pay for competent defense.

In truth, it was his calling to help all the Vince-children out there, who were abound in his wizarding world.

He was not sure, but read somewhere that they had over 50 employees besides their associates, an army of witches and wizards, who were hired for their qualities not for their pasts.

Damn that must be where both Lestrange were now working, of course, it made sense. It must be the same place that employed centaurs, werewolves, half-trolls and all other kind of strange magical folk, it all fit.

Ah, he got it, an association with some of her former enemies, Pucey and Nott; there were also junior assistants, Astoria, Daphne Greengrass, who were in charge of research, both brilliant, had studied magic forensics, of course he had not bother to find out the name of their bureau, he assumed it was named after her, Hermione Granger.

He was such an idiot, just what she thought about him. What a great re-meet, the baboon meets the genius princess.

"Earth to Goyle, am I boring you, or?" She pulled out her hand, and he let it go absently.

She leaned towards him and poked his arm. As she leaned, the wind carried a whiff of her fragrance; he would forever swear that she had scent of freedom, pristine flowing streams, wild flowers, old books, and, yes, it was an intoxicating aroma that invaded his mind and permeated his senses.

"Gregory Ivanovich Goyle;" cringe, he knew better; when his mother started with the "ovich" business, she meant, soldier stand at attention, and disobey at risk of great peril. It made him feel five years old.

"Love, could you please answer Hermione's question?" He heard his mother's lightly accented voice coming from a distance, as if waking up from a dream. He shook his head hoping to clear it up.

"Pardon me, could you repeat it, Granger?"

"And stop right there, Gregory Ivanovich Goyle, who is Granger, what kind of manners are we having? At home you behave like the gentleman wizard whom I hope you are."

"Irina, darling, let it go." Hermione told her.

Greg was amazed and his eyebrows knotted, "Did you just call my mommy, Irina and darling?" What is up? Is someone taking over my MOMMY? It would be a while before he would let a stupid witch, or for that matter anyone, take over his mom

Those were the feelings of insecurity that he had been battling for so long. Irina had been the only constant since all fell apart. Suddenly Hermione was not longer so attractive.

At this, the women stood next to each other, linked arms, laughing with mirth. He looks so adorable, both witches thought looking at him.

"As Irina and-" started Hermione, in an attempt to answer his question, but Greg abruptly interrupted her. He had never allowed Crabbe, to ever call his mommy other than Lady Goyle. Only Ephraim, had the right to be close to her, ok, and his half brother and sister, they also did, had, whatever.

That knowing look between them; the way that Irina linked arms with Granger; it was exactly as she used to behave with him; had Irina found a daughter to replace her good-for-nothing-criminal son, the Azkaban-Death-Eater-son? Now, he had also lost his mommy, life was unfair. He must be behaving being infantile and ridiculous like a child, but so what, he didn't care.

A/n poor Greg. :) So it begins...