June 2nd,

They've sent me to work for the Malfoys. I'm very excited to be able to do this, but I'm also a little afraid. There were always those stories of the Malfoys being Death Eaters. The hospital assures me that there's an Auror keeping track of the family and that I'm in good hands, so I'm not too worried. They sent me the little casework there is on Narcissa Malfoy. It looks like I'll have to do my own evaluation once I get there. Draco Malfoy Doesn't seem to trust the hospital to take care of his mother. I'll show him how good we are, though.

Ana closed the book carefully, pressed her hands into it and drew in a deep breath, letting it linger before she blew it out. Melissa had trusted her to keep her safe. "Bloody hell," she murmured before flipping open the book and turning to the next page.

June 4th,

Narcissa is a wonderful woman. She's always quite confused and needs leading around a lot of the time. I worked with someone who had been administered the Dementor's Kiss, once. Narcissa reminds me of that, only a lot less lost. She keeps talking about her son, how good he's doing in school and how busy her husband has been at the Ministry. I'm afraid she's locked herself away in time. I've seen too many people do that, and it gets pretty painful after a while. She seems happy enough, though. She delights in talking to me and has been saying how we should make afternoon tea a daily event.

"Too bad little Draco's too busy with his schoolwork to join us," she said today, and it made me sad. The way he looks at his mother is so... it makes him look like the little boy she still thinks he is. I don't see how they could be Death Eaters. He really loves his mother.

June 7th,

Draco has been very helpful. At first I thought he would just leave me alone to do my work since he was very unhappy about my coming, but he's joined us for tea once already and has stopped by to read a book to Narcissa. It seems that he comes and reads part of that book to her every day. I haven't caught the title of it yet, because he brings it with him and leaves with it. Perhaps I'll ask Narcissa what it is that he reads to her.

Jun 11th,

Narcissa woke up screaming last night. She was wailing something about her husband, crying out and asking where he was. It took both me and Draco to subdue her. He appeared only a moment after I got to Narcissa's bedside and whispered to her and held her hand while I prepared some tea with some herbs that would help her sleep.

Afterward, I sat down with Draco and he told me a little bit about his mother. She married Lucius when she was eighteen, straight out of school. He had been a lot older. She had loved him, though, and he did love her. He seemed to find himself a little surprised to say that, but insisted that she was a wonderful woman and a very kind mother. I believe him. The way she keeps talking about him, she loved him very much. I think she still does. I think she knows it's him, sometimes.

June 15th,

Narcissa had a bad day today. She had nightmares again last night, but Draco wasn't home. It took me an hour to get her calmed down, and she only did then because she'd exhausted herself. It's very distressing. She was screaming again, screaming about Dementors and You Know Who. He apparently killed a cousin of hers who she liked very much. That was what I understood from her crying. Poor woman. She must have had a tough life. She kept asking where Draco was, and I ended up telling her he was away at school. Trying to explain anything else just confused her.

I told Draco when he got home what happened. He seemed very worried, but when I said she was asleep again, he went to bed. When she woke up this morning, I think she remembered some of her nightmares because she didn't eat breakfast. She didn't even take tea this morning, so I ended up having to force some down in the early afternoon.

Draco took the two of us on a walk through the mansion and the grounds today. The flowers were blooming, and they were all very pretty. Narcissa stopped at a small patch, which Draco told me were the flowers she was named for. They're a very peculiar plant. He seems to know a lot about them.

"That he does," she muttered, turning the page.

June 21st,

I've been busy with Narcissa. We seem to be becoming good friends. She smiles now when I come in the morning and knows my name. She likes to chat with me about when she was a girl. Apparently, she lived in a house in London with her two sisters. She didn't get along with one of them, Draco says. She Doesn't talk about her except to tattle on her or tell her off when she's lost in her memories. She married a Muggle, apparently, and the Malfoys and Narcissa's family had all been pure bloods. I don't like that subject, so I didn't talk to Draco about it further. He Doesn't seem to keen on his mother's side of the family either.

June 22nd,

Narcissa and I took another walk through the garden and she pointed out all the different flower beds and told me about them. It seemed to relax her greatly. I think if the nice weather keeps up, we'll try and spend most of the day outside. She really enjoyed the teat in the gazebo today, just her and I. She was quite lucid, too. She asked me how I liked my job and said that she must be quite a bother to take care of. I told her of course not, that she's a very nice woman. She smiled and offered me a tart.

Draco joined us for dinner tonight. The House Elf had prepared roast mutton for us. It was very good, and we chatted over dinner about the garden again. Draco said that he has a small patch in the garden that he likes to tend. He said he'd show it to me tomorrow. He's a very handsome man when he's not looking so smug over things. I did hear all the stories about how he and Harry Potter were enemies in school, though. My mom and dad we great supporters of Dumbledore, so I better keep this job strictly business. They'd be very upset with me if I associated with an enemy of Harry Potter. I put Narcissa to bed about an hour ago and am about to go off to bed as soon as I read the paper.

As Ana closed the book on the last entry, she shook her head slowly. She now doubted interviewing Narcissa would garner anything but a traumatic experience for the woman, but she still had to. Draco Malfoy tended a garden. How many murderers had she known that loved their mothers so much that they took the time to care for them, read to them, and who loved to tend a garden?

Drawing up a new notepad with her wand, she dipped a quill in an inkpot and scribbled down a note:

Find out about: The book Draco reads his mother. Cousin and sisters. What flowers are in Malfoy's garden? Where was he on the evenings of June 4th and 15th. Was he planning on having a relationship with Melissa?

Peering at her watch, she noted the time was just after ten, so she supposed she could get a bit of a nap in. The man would be able to tell if she hadn't slept, and she wanted him agreeable if she was going to ask him personal questions. Apparating home to catch some sleep was pointless, so she pushed her things to the side of her desk and layed her head down. She did not close her eyes, however. After a moment, she stood and peered over the cubicle wall at the Auror beside her. "Gallagher?"

He lifted his head from jotting down notes. "Something I can do for you, love?"

She ignored his smirk and tapped her fingers along the top of the wall. "I'll be taking a quick nap. If Whitney leaves his office, could you poke me awake?"

"Do I get to poke you wherever I want?" He was grinning now, a wide smirk that had her own lips tugging in an attempt to widen. Gallagher was a good man, handsome, brave, and smart, but also married with two children.

She nodded. "Wherever you want. But I'm not responsible for jamming my wand down your throat if I don't like where you put your fingers."

"Gotcha," he chuckled and returned to his notes.

She returned to leaning over her desk, head cradled in her arms and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly enough, drawing her into more dreams.

She was running down the corridor in the basement, Whitney behind her, wielding a sword with the Dark Mark seared into the blade. Arthur Weasley was running beside her, and he kept shouting "You're dead! You're dead!" Infront of her, Draco Malfoy sat in his garden, tending the small patch covered entirely in the Narcissa flower. A gravestone stood in the middle of the flowerbed and proclaimed that Narcissa Malfoy had been a very good woman and a loving mother. He turned around and held up a cup of tea. "Mint!" he called. "Come and drink with me!" It was when she realised she was naked that she woke up.

Her watch stated that it was ten minutes to noon, and she shook the last of sleep away. It had been a very short dream to her, that should have only lasted mere moments. She felt more tired then before when she made her way to the elevators and back down to the tenth level.

He was waiting for her, still lounging on the bed, both teacups empty and sitting by the door, little handles pointing in exactly the same angle as the other. She frowned at them as the door closed behind her.

"You didn't eat, did you?" he said right away, sitting up.

"I was busy trying to clear you of murder," she answered sharply. He tilted his head as he looked at her, then once again folded his hands and waited. "I read Melissa's journal. It seems that you took good care of her."

"I do take good care of her. Which is why she should be sent home once I am."

This made her sigh, rubbing a knee through her robes. "I'm afraid that we can't, Mister Malfoy. Your mother will have to stay in St Mungo's until we find out who the killer is. She may well have been the intended target. Or perhaps you were. Your mother is in no condition to take care of herself."

"You haven't even seen her yet." It was quiet, spiteful.

And she understood. And said so. "I really do understand, Mister Malfoy. I haven't met with her, but Melissa's journal talked a great deal about both of you. From what she's said, I doubt your mother was capable of this. There was no trauma to Melissa's body, and Narcissa had no access to a wand."

She stopped, blinked. Draco took the two of us on a walk through the mansion and the grounds today. The flowers were blooming, and they were all very pretty. Narcissa stopped at a small patch, which Draco told me were the flowers she was named for. They're a very peculiar plant. He seems to know a lot about them. "What are the properties of the flower your mother was named after?"

He peered at her a moment before he leaned back against the cool stone wall and considered her. "Why?"

"What are they?" she insisted.

"They can cause headaches. The name Narcissus means 'to numb' in Greek. It also signifies that summer is leaving and winter is coming."

She thought for a moment. "So it could also be a symbol for death?"

He frowned. "If you think about it that way, it could."

"Could it possibly cause the brain to bleed if one smells it too much?"

He seemed to understand, then. "Oh. Oh, no. The Narcissus flower didn't kill her. We don't keep any in the house. They only cause headaches if you're in a small space with them. Outside, she wouldn't have gotten more then a bit of a headache. There are no flowers in our garden that would have done that to her. I pulled up all the poisonous plants years ago when my mother... I didn't want her getting her hands on anything that could hurt her."

She nodded. She would press the situation again later, but she added that to her list. Perhaps Narcissa did do something. She would have to know about flowers too, and perhaps a mixture of some different kinds would cause the symptoms that killed Melissa. Whatever symptoms there were. There was still no word on how she died, besides a probable swelling of the brain to the point of haemorrhaging. Still, perhaps Draco did do something.

"You really should eat, you know."

She started, lifting her glasses to rub at her eyes. "What book do you read your mother before she goes to sleep?"

The question seemed to take him aback, and she gave a mental nod, and waited. "Book? A, ah, collection of plays by the french playwright Malecrit."

"Mm," she replied. "He wrote that play about transfiguring feet, right?"

"That is one of his more popular, yes. They amuse my mother."

"You're a very dutiful son, Draco Malfoy. Does the same stand with your relationship to your father?" He frowned at her, then stretched lazily. "What about my father? Perhaps you should go get something to eat before you pay a visit? I assume you've been there before, so I doubt you need to go on am empty stomach. You do look a bit peaked, though."

She sniffed. "That's very kind of you, Mister Malfoy, but I believe I am the one conducting the interview..."

"You are," he interjected, raising a finger, "but as I don't have a representative, I get to choose when you will see me. I believe I'd like some rest, so we're done for now."

It was raining outside, hard, fat droplets that soaked her through in moments. The water was warm, seeping through her robes and sliding down her back, so she ignored it and continued to walk down Diagon Alley. The street itself had not changed much in ten years, though here and there different shops lined the street, and always different people wandered. She stopped infront of the Daily Prophet building, stared up at the sign as it swung in the wind, allowing the water to run along her glasses. They had rebuilt the building soon after, calling it an unlucky accident caused by a misfired spell.

She clucked her tongue, but no one noticed in the rain. She had been spot- on with her spells. Unfortunately, so had the others. Absently rubbing her shoulder, she turned away from the building and checked her watch. One thirty. She was expected at Azkaban in half an hour. With a sniff she stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and ordered a bowl of soup. She had no appetite, but if she did go into the prison with no food in her and little energy, she might find herself in a spot of trouble. The Dementors had returned to guarding the prison, though their numbers were greatly decreased. Only two guarded each entrance and exit, and none wandered the inside of Azkaban. Those people who worked inside the prison were paid quite well, though they usually left it all to their families to spend. Chocolate was eaten at fifteen minute intervals by the guards, and was given to the prisoners with each meal.

The most feared prison in all the world had been degraded to a building which served its captives chocolate. She norted into her soup when it was served, but finished it with fiteen minutes to spare.

Until she had become an Auror, she, like everyone else, had not known where Azkaban was. She thought that if she had known before the Dementors sided with Voldemort, that she would have trip to live as far away from it as possible. She had stopped caring about Dementors swooping down on her in the night when she died. She had stopped caring about a lot of things, then.

She managed nothing more then a frown and a stiffening when she passed the Dementors at the door. Her first time seeing one, she had collapsed into a crumpled heap on the ground and wailed for three hours, dispite the chocolate others fed to her. She would have nightmares tonight. Such nightmares that she had already begun considering the little vial of purple liquid she kept in her nightstand for times she met with Dementors. She rbushed the thought off as she approached the first of many barred passages, eyed the guard on the other side of the door. "Sahra Nigels to interview Lucius Malfoy at two o'clock."

The guard, a greying man, licked his upper lip as he scanned a clipboard in his hands. "Yes yes. There we are. I do hate seeing all you people come and go so often. Must be a tough life, doing what you do."

She had nothing to say to the man in response when he opened the door. Working in Azkaban with Dementors would be her own personal hell. And the man thought her life was difficult? She shook her head in wry amusement as she continued through barred doors and past guards.

There was a stool sitting for her at the end of one hallway, straight across from one of the cells. She settled herself comfortably on it before she peered at the man inside. His cell was slightly decorated, a few pictures hanging haphazardly on the walls, good cotton sheets on his bed, and a small desk placed inside the cramped room. Quills, ink, and papers sat meticulously placed ontop. He had been waiting for her, sitting on a chair and facing the bars, one knee crossed over the other and hands folded neatly ontop. He even had a ribbon tying his hair back. "Early. I like that."

"And I like my murder suspects ready to answer questions, Mister Malfoy. I hope to skip the formalities and jump straight into the reason I'm here."

He looked unconcerned as a finger roamed along his knee to flick off a speck of lint. "And what would that reason be? Does the Ministry have you people wasting your time on people like me?"

Her voice was low and almost as dark as her narrowed eyes. "The Ministry always has time for people like you, Mister Malfoy. You really can't waste time on monsters such as yourself."

He raised his eyebrows, though nothing else changed on his lined face. The years here had been hard on him, she knew, but he would never admit it. A Malfoy would always be a king, wether he was perched on a throne or locked away in a cell. "Really? I haven't been called a monster in years. May I inquire as to the reason?"

She enjoyed telling him. Her lips split in a grim smile when she spoke. "The woman who was caring for your wife - the woman St Mungos appointed to take care of your incompetent wife - was killed. Your son is sitting in a cell at the Ministry while we conduct our investigation."

She heard his hiss even before she was finished. He was half out of his seat before he regained his composure, and carefully sat down, making sure to arrange himself in the same position he had been in moments before. His face was slightly flushed when he spoke in a reedy voice. "My wife is not incompetent. My son, sitting in a cell. By Merlin, you people know no bounds."

She chortled, a loud, abrupt sound that made him jerk. "We know no bounds? My dear, dear Mister Malfoy. I could tell you stories about you and your Death Eaters that would make you cringe. Yes, even you. The things you did in the shadows, in the night... You people crossed a line the moment that mark was seared into your arm. You stepped over a boundary and you can never go back. You're all still marked, and the mark still signifies death. It is my job to hunt each and every one of you down like animals and kill you like one. No, I know no bounds. None but the laws I must follow. But believe me, Mister Malfoy, I have done my research and I know exactly what I can and cannot do in any given situation. It may surprise you the reasons we Aurors are allowed to kill - or even use an Unforgivable curse, still." She paused, tilted her head forward and sent him as dark a look as she could muster. "Why, if you were to finish uttering that comment, I would be legally inclined to use the Cruciatus Curse."

His mouth stopped moving that instant and his head shot up, dark eyes flaring as he started at her. He was literally shaking with rage, and she suppressed a smile. "Tell me, Mister Malfoy, who it is you have been sending letters to and visiting with over the past month. I want the dates and times, and names. And if they do not coincide with the records at the front desk, I'm afraid I will have to inform the guards that you are becoming somewhat plump and that I do not think you should be receiving chocolate with your meals any more."

By the end of their meeting, the man had given her the proper information that matched exactly with what the front desk had compiled. She was not feeling particularly cruel so she did not remove chocolate from his menu, but she left the threat standing between them when she left, with a promise that she would be back. And soon.

It was just before four o'clock when she returned to the Ministry, and she really had no desire to pay a visit to the hospital. The moment she stepped inside, one of those magical alerts would go off and the doctor that knew of her previous condition would descend upon her and demand a checkup. She was counting the days until that old man retired, and she could be left alone when she entered the hospital. At her desk, she wrote out a note saying she would reschedule her meeting until the next afternoon, sent it flapping away towards the elevators with a few others and leaned back in her chair.

Idly, she slipped open a desk drawer and took out a chocolate bar. As she unwrapped it, she nibbled and peered out the window around the wall of her cubicle. The skies were still dark and grey through the windows and it made her sigh. A night of storms ontop of nightmares would garner her no sleep unless she took a potion. Without a doubt, she would need to be home early tonight if she were going to take some and still be in early.

As she stood again and gathered her notes, the journal, and various things into a bag, she peered over the wall at Gallagher. "What's Whitney been up to today, then?"

In the middle of his afternoon snack, the man made a garbled noise through a biscuit. Swallowing roughly and pounding his chest, he shook his head. "Not much. Went out for lunch around one, hasn't really left his office otherwise. Why? Something the matter?"

"No," she said. "No. Just, if you see him meeting with anyone, could you take note of who it is and tell me?"

The man, who had been an Auror as long as her, looked perplexed, but agreed. Sahra Nigels always knew what she was doing, and he had relied on her as a partner more then once. If she wanted something as simple as keeping tabs on a man, he would do it, even if it was the Head of the Department. However, he expected he would need to do some investigating of his own...