The Stained Glass Idyll – Chapter 1a
By Ellipsis and Shiva.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't ours. Some of it is. We are making no money. Steal and die!
Warnings: Angst, violence, torture, drug abuse, coarse language, adult themes and situations.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Summary: Ginny Weasley has watched Harry Potter save the world time and time again and wondered what it would be like. Draco Malfoy has watched the same and wished he could be the one to end Potter's winning streak. Ginny wants to make her mark on the world, Draco looses himself in the last place anyone would ever look for him.
Then Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the most dangerous Death Eater at large and when circumstances intervene she begins to realise that it may not be a world she needs to save.
Additional Notes: Chapter 1 is coming to you in two parts because it's long. The more you review this half, the sooner we post next half. Is deal? :D
~~~~~
Date and time of arrest: 3rd February, 13:21
Location of Arrest: Knockturn Alley
Details of arrest:
Ginny Weasley tapped her quill on her desk and attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to stifle a large yawn.
"Not falling asleep on the job I hope, Gin?" an amused voice said, startling her.
She looked up to see the green eyes of Harry Potter, the Ministry's numero uno Auror, smiling down at her.
" 'Course not," she drawled, smoothing the thick wad of parchment that lay ominously in front of her. "How could I fall asleep when I have all these thrilling forms to fill out?"
Harry chuckled. "We all have to start somewhere," he reasoned, "And besides, the paperwork is very important."
Ginny looked at him skeptically. She doubted that he had ever had to fill out an arrest form in his life. Such mundane tasks were not given to the likes of Harry Potter. "I guess you're right," she said with a sigh, "Still, it'd be nice to get some real action for once."
Harry leant against her desk casually, arms folded. "Well, I guess this is your lucky day. You see, the Ministry has dumped another missing war-criminal case on us, one that they've had lying around for almost two years already. Anyway to cut a long story short, I thought, and Kingsley agrees, that this would be a good first solo assignment for you. It should be interesting, and quite a coup, should you manage to carry it out."
Ginny looked up at him, eyes wide. "Are you serious? My own case? That's brilliant!" she squealed, jumping up to embrace him in an awkward hug.
Harry laughed again. "Woah, settle down. You haven't even heard what it is yet!"
Ginny grinned impishly up at him. "Oh, I don't care what it is. My very own assignment! I've been wanting this for ages. It's so exciting, I wouldn't care if I had to haul in a homicidal rapist," she paused, "I don't have to haul in a homicidal rapist do I?" she asked, only half-joking.
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, a strange glint in his eyes. "Uh, no, not exactly. Your Mum would have me tarred and feathered is she thought I'd sent you after a mentally unhinged rapist. No, I'm almost certain he hasn't raped anyone." Harry's eyes unfocused, as if his mind had suddenly taken leave of his body.
"Harry?" Ginny asked nervously.
"Wha-, oh sorry Gin, what was I saying? Your assignment, right. Well, I'll let Kingsley brief you, you're expected in his office in about ten minutes." He straightened up. "I think you'll enjoy this assignment Gin. Congratulations," he said warmly, before turning to leave.
Ginny stared blankly after him. "Uh, thanks," she said, to no one in particular. She shook her head in wonder, and set out for the office of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Director and Chief of the Department of Aurors. Impressive title for an equally impressive man, Ginny thought with a wry smile.
Ginny wound her way through the department's many corridors (which often changed and were peril to anyone not familiar with them) until she arrived at the thick mahogany door of Kingsley's office. She raised her hand to knock on the door but before she had the chance, it swung magically open to reveal the man himself, leaning back in his leather chair, a smug smile on his dark, handsome face.
"Ginny, nice to see you. Come in, take a seat."
Ginny stepped into his large office. It was a spacious room, with a crowded book case on one side of the room, an enormous desk in the middle and every inch of every surface covered with stacks of parchment, quills, folders and various other items. She wondered how he could bear to work in such a chaotic environment, but Kingsley looked like he was in his element.
"So," he said after she had sat, "You've been doing well Ginny. I've been quite impressed with your progress. Starting out as an Auror, particularly for women, is a difficult thing, but you've handled yourself well. I was especially impressed by your work in the illegal breeding of Chimeras case. You did some exceptional work there."
Ginny couldn't help herself, she beamed.
"So in light of your outstanding record, I have decided that you are ready for your first individual project." Kingsley paused, gave her an appraising look, then sighed. "You already know don't you?"
Ginny nodded, grinning sheepishly.
"That bloody Potter," Kingsley said jokingly, "Can't keep his mouth shut. Well, I'll spare you the rest of my speech; let's just get straight into it." He waved his wand, which had been resting on the table beside him, and a folder containing a several sheets of parchment appeared in front of him.
"As you probably know, after the war, the Ministry of Magic formed a special branch of wizards to deal with the remaining Death Eaters. They were quite successful, though many of the Death Eaters were so broken by this point that they came with us willingly. The branch has all but disbanded now, despite several wanted Death Eaters still being at large, and that's where we come in. The Ministry feels obligated to still make some effort to find these wizards, some of whom have been missing for two years now, and you have the job of locating one of them." He opened the dog-eared file. "This Death Eater disappeared right after Voldemort fell. There hasn't been a single sighting of him since then, and the Ministry would have presumed him dead and given up the investigation had he not been such a influential member of the Dark Force."
Ginny felt a strange numbing sensation form in the bottom of her stomach. She had a bad feeling she might know the wizard Kingsley was talking about.
"This Death Eater was believed to be a part of Voldemort's very inner circle, and the Ministry are nervous about letting his disappearance go unchecked." He pushed the file in Ginny's direction. "The wizard in question is, of course, Draco Malfoy."
Ginny's heart skipped a beat as she stared down at the fierce, scowling and impossibly handsome face in the picture in front of her. "Draco Malfoy?" she said weakly.
"Yes. I believe you were at school with him. He was in Harry's year wasn't he?"
Ginny nodded silently, her voice seemingly stuck in the back of her throat.
Kingsley gave her a hard look. "You will be able to deal with this case won't you Ginny? I gave it to you especially since you have prior knowledge of Malfoy. There aren't any problems are there?"
Ginny looked down, catching another glance of the dangerous face of Malfoy glaring up at her, and feeling more than a bit light-headed, she took a deep breath. She forced her eyes to meet Kingsley's. "No, there are no problems," she said, struggling to keep her voice from shaking, "I'll take this assignment."
Kingsley's face broke into a relived grin. "Excellent. Well, take that folder, it contains some basic information on Malfoy." Ginny took the folder and rose to leave. "Make sure you check in with the office every few days by owl, floo or in person."
Ginny nodded and she turned to walk out the door.
"Oh and Ginny?" She turned to face him. "Good luck."
She smiled. "Thanks." I'll need it.
* * * * * * * * *
In spite of himself, Draco liked St Petersburg in the winter. As he huddled down in his expensive fur-lined overcoat, and felt the snowflakes melt gently on his cheeks, he almost felt lighter.
Frowning, he brushed them irritably off. He didn't want to feel light.
Draco was sitting on the edge of the Anichkov Bridge, staring at the Palace. He did this often now—the Palace with its sartorial decadence fascinated him. Every day he woke up, showered and had a cup or three of coffee. Then he went for a rambling walk which from time to time ended here. Sometimes he smoked his first or second cigarette of the day.
He sat here and he brooded. He replayed his father's death, but the memory had grown vague, like a video gone snowy with overuse. The Draco Malfoy his father had known would never have been aware of what a video was, but when one lived among muggles and immersed oneself in their culture, one had to cling to the small compensations. One was TV. The other was hard drugs.
Wizards had no use for drugs. Spells and potions did the job adequately. However, for Draco, nothing could match the embrace of the little white pill as it settled in his stomach and began its work. Then the hallucinations and the euphoria carried him away.
Draco knew that every day he ingested a lethal cocktail of substances, what with the caffeine, nicotine, alcohol and the others. Somewhere in his mind, he justified it as part of 'The Plan'—Draco's ultimate plot to have revenge on the Boy Who Lived While Others Died. One day soon, Draco would come up with the key to penetrating Potter's security, then he would break through and the last thing Harry Potter would see would be Draco's face and a green flash of light.
Of course, Draco was not fool enough to think he could escape after this. Within seconds, alerted by Draco's magic, the Ministry would swarm the site like flies to dung. This was where the drugs featured. Draco knew that he was slowly killing his body. Soon it would be too late to reverse the damage. When he killed Harry Potter, he would be thrown into Azkaban, but little would the Dementors know that soon he'd be dead, released by his own body. Then he could join his father in the afterlife with pride.
Draco stood up, extinguishing his cigarette and flicking the butt into the Fontanka River. He stood up and ambled off, ignoring the annoyed looks he got from passers-by. His mind was lingering on an encounter he had had earlier in the week. He would have to move on soon, if he didn't want to get found.
He had realised this because someone had found him. A couple of people he had known at school, in fact. They had been a grade above him—Ellivia Gray and Aidan Blackstone.
He had been wandering around the Nevsky Prospekt when someone had yelled his name from the other side of the street. He swung around, dropping into a crouch, ready to run.
"Draco!"
His eyes had eventually located the person yelling his name. He hadn't immediately recognised the two figures hurrying towards him, as both were swathed from head to toe in warm clothing. Then Ellivia had pulled off her muffler and he had recognised the coppery brown hair and black-green eyes.
"Ellivia," it had almost been a hiss.
Of course, knowing that it was Ellivia Gray he spoke to, he realised who the other figure must be. Ellivia was never seen without her best friend and protector, Aidan Blackstone. This knowledge was verified when Aidan removed his beanie revealing sandy blonde hair which complimented his midnight blue eyes. Draco and Aidan were actually second cousins, but very little love was lost between the two branches of the family, and they didn't hold any filial respect for each other at all.
Draco had never fully trusted these two, for all they had both been Slytherins. Ellivia had been known as the White Sheep, for although she was in Slytherin, she was nice to everyone no matter their house or the stigma attached to them. Draco was a firm believer in the old adage: Everyone craves power—it's those who hide it that you need to fear. Of course, as a Malfoy, he feared no one, but he mistrusted Ellivia. There had to be a reason she had been put in Slytherin. As for Aidan, he was the Hogwarts Whore, and everyone knew he danced to Ellivia's tune.
Now she was hugging him, exclaiming that they had all been so worried and why hadn't he contacted them? Calmly he explained that he was in hiding because he didn't want the Ministry to know he was alive.
Ellivia nodded solemnly.
"We wont tell, Draco," she said seriously. "Will we, Aidan?"
Aidan shook his head.
"Anyway," Ellivia continued. "Will you come and have coffee with us, Draco? Delightful stuff, coffee. Nothing in else the world quite equals it."
Draco conceded that this was very true. Although he didn't really want to talk to Ellivia and Aidan for any longer, he had found himself bustled into the nearest coffee shop before he knew it.
"So, cuz," said Aidan, leaning over. "What have you been doing with yourself?"
Draco shrugged and looked at his mug.
"Oooh…" Aidan rolled his eyes. "You've been flogging yourself for failing Lucius, castigating yourself for failing You-Know-Who, and blaming yourself for the fact that Potter still lives, breathes and has all his fingers."
"Shut-up, Aidan, don't antagonise him," Ellivia was reproachful.
Draco scowled at Aidan. "And what are you doing here, cuz?" he sneered.
Aidan shrugged. "Shopping. I owe Ellivia a present from her birthday."
"Which was over a month ago," Ellivia added, rolling her eyes. "I was thinking about making him buy me a nice apartment around here somewhere."
Aidan winced, causing Draco to smirk. "That sounds lovely, Ellivia."
Out of curiosity, which he intended to firmly suppress later, Draco asked, "What is happening in England?"
Ellivia frowned. "Well, Death Eaters are still being hunted outrageously. They've brought just about all the ones with Dark Marks in—because they were pretty widely known, even after the marks vanished— and some of the underlings who were uninitiated. They're harder to find, of course.
"They haven't brought you in though, I see."
"I never had a Dark Mark, did I?"
"Yet while I was there you were Lord Voldemort's left-hand."
"I don't know where you got that idea," Ellivia said primly. "Aidan and I stayed out of the War. It was none of our business." Ellivia made a little face then smiled.
"Pumpkin, we should be going," Aidan said warningly.
Ellivia sighed. "You're right," she said. "Well, Draco, it's nice to know you're still alive. Take care. No doubt we'll meet again eventually."
Draco stood, kissed Ellivia politely on the cheek, then shook Aidan's hand. Outside the coffee shop they went in different directions.
Recalling himself to the present, Draco brushed more snowflakes off his face. He was still troubled by his meeting with those remnants of his former life, and more so by the thought that other, less benevolent characters might find him here too.
As if his image was conjured by the thought, Draco saw a very familiar head in the crowd coming towards him. At first he tried to deny it, but the sombre auburn hair, the burning chestnut brown eyes, the pallid skin and the overly luscious red lips made it impossible. Tybalt Mephisto, a low-level flunky of Lord Voldemort's with a serious case of biggest-kid-in-the-playground syndrome was coming towards him. Heart pounding, Draco swung into the nearest doorway and ducked out of sight. He had no doubt that if Tybalt had seen him, he would take it straight to the Ministry of Magic, especially if the information could buy him lenience and a pardon to return to England.
Either way, he had to leave St Petersburg. Three old acquaintances in two weeks presented dangerous odds.
After about five minutes, he snuck out of the door and made is way to the hotel. He called the airport and booked a seat on the next available flight out of Russia. He only hoped it would be soon enough.
Hailing a taxi, he looked for the last time with slight regret at inner-city St Petersburg.
It is just as well, he thought, feeling melancholy. I was getting too attached to this city anyway.
* * * * * * * * *
Ginny dragged herself up the stairs to the entrance of her townhouse and pushed the door open. She walked through the living room, ignoring the small stack of post that was lying on the coffee table and, dropping her leather bag to the floor, collapsed in her favourite chair. Pushing her shoes off her long-suffering feet, she sank into the comfortably worn fabric.
Ginny loved this time of day, late afternoon, just before twilight. It was one of the few times during the day when she got a moment to herself. Her flat mates, Colin Creevey and Orla Quirke, got home at varying times during the evening, due to their chosen careers. Orla was the manager of a small nightclub in one of the few Wizarding districts of London, while Colin was a photographer/journalist for the Daily Prophet.
Ginny's moment of relaxation was interrupted when she heard the door slam and the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor of the entranceway. It wasn't the stiletto-heeled shoes of Orla she heard, which meant it could only be one person. Sure enough, in the doorway of the living room appeared a pair of expensive leather loafers, the preferred footwear of her best friend Colin.
"Ginny honey," he said, surveying her exhausted form, "You look buggered."
Ginny smiled at the very sight of him, dressed impeccably as always in well-fitting black slacks and a deep blue shirt, a similar shade to his eyes. His brown hair was styled so that a thin wisp of it fell invitingly over his face. He pushed said strand back from his forehead before walking over and seating himself in the chair next to hers.
"Rough day?"
Ginny sighed, more deeply than she had intended to. "Rough isn't really the right word. I had a…challenging day."
Colin raised an eyebrow. "Challenging? In what way?"
"Well, I got a new assignment today," she said, smoothing her hair behind her ear. "My first unaccompanied case."
Colin's face lit up. "Why Ginny, that's fabulous!"
She nodded. "Yes, yes," she said, cutting short his celebrations, "That was my initial reaction as well. Then I found out what my task actually is." She reached down to her bag beside her, pulled out the beige folder and handed it to Colin. She watched him as he flipped through it, surprise and then realisation dawning on his face. He took his time, flipping through all the pages, and when he was done, he looked up at Ginny, his face full of concern. "Oh Gin, what are you going to do?"
Ginny took the folder back and carefully placed it on the table next to her. "There's nothing much I can do, Colin. This is what it's like to be an Auror, I guess. You get cases that you don't want to deal with, that touch on a nerve, but you have to go through with them or else you'll never improve. I have to at least try to do this."
"But, Malfoy, he's such a terrible person, he's done such awful things it's very dangerous isn't it?"
Ginny looked away briefly, attempting to ignore that now-familiar sinking feeling that appeared in the bottom of her stomach every time Malfoy was mentioned. "Well, my job is not to apprehend him, rather just to track him down, so in theory I may not even come into contact with him." Theory is often very different from practice.
Colin nodded. "That's true, and I suppose there is one good thing about all of this," he said, his eyes resting on the picture of Malfoy that lay open on the table.
Ginny followed his eyes. "Oh? And what's that?"
"Well, Malfoy, he's dead gorgeous isn't he?"
Ginny let out a shocked laugh. "Colin!" she cried, hurling a throw pillow at him, "He's a murderer, a torturer of furry animals and small children."
"Who has a really good arse," Colin added.
Ginny snorted. "You can't even see his arse in that picture."
Colin leant back in his chair, a knowing look on his face. "Trust me Gin, Draco Malfoy has a great arse."
"Well, I suppose I'll find out first hand, should I manage to find him. I'll take a picture for you if you like," she joked.
Colin grinned. "Excellent."
* * * * * * * * *
Draco rested his head against the window of the plane. It had just landed and all the passengers were eagerly competing to get out of the plane and into the airport terminal. The old lady next to him, who had chattered in that oblivious, careless way that some old ladies will do, to Draco all the way from St. Petersburg leaned over and patted his arm.
"Dearie, we're at the terminal."
Draco gritted his teeth and nodded, trying to ignore her.
The poor deluded woman seemed to think they were kindred spirits after he had spoken, making a token effort at politeness, to tell her that he just wanted to be left alone. She had recognised his accent and exulted for a full half-hour over the joy of hearing an English accent after so many years of speaking Russian or hearing Russian-accented English. Draco was deriving no such enjoyment from her Cockney waffling and was actually insulted, in a disinterested sort of way, that she dared to assume that she, a common class woman and he, an aristocrat of the highest order, even disregarding the wizarding blood, could have anything in common.
He had been amazed that she could even afford to fly first-class until she had revealed that the trip had been a gift from her daughter and son-in-law to honour her seventieth birthday. He had smiled politely.
After that he had tuned his headphones into the jazz station on the aeroplane radio. Draco liked jazz music, that and classical. He liked the raw emotion, especially when it was dark, that flowed through the pieces without their being so contrived and marketed as the popular music.
The plane cleared, taking the irritating old woman with it, and when it was at last completely empty, he pulled his carry-on back from the overhead compartment and exited.
He didn't even know what airport he was at. All he knew was that it was somewhere to the south or east of St. Petersburg. He went up to the desk and asked the lady what the next flight he could book one first-class ticket on was.
Draco pretty swiftly identified his location from the desk clerk, who was Asian and had a cute slightly sailor-girl uniform on. She spoke with in heavily accented English, and he identified the accent fairly easily. A quick glance at the flight monitors confirmed his guess. He was in Japan. Tokyo, to be more precise, in the foyer of Narita International Airport.
He picked the first flight the clerk offered him, with some vague curiosity.
Brisbane, Australia. He had never heard of it, which was encouraging, because it meant it was likely that nobody else had either. His British passport would probably do him more good than his Russian one in Australia, so he produced it when the woman prompted him.
Soon he was on a plane again. It was a long flight, but he was comforted by the hope that this would be the last.
However, on reaching Brisbane Airport, he decided it would be unsuitable. It was a pretty preemptory decision, mainly spurred by the fact that a place in a pamphlet on the plane had taken his fancy. He went up to the desk.
"If I wanted to go to… Vanuatu, how would I go about it?" he demanded of the attendant.
* * * * * * * * *
Ginny awoke the next morning to the soft pitter-patter of rain on her tiled roof. Rolling over onto her side, she watched as droplets of water splashed gently onto the windowpane and slid smoothly down the glass at varying speeds. Ginny always felt sorry for the droplets of water that got left behind, the ones that were stuck laboring along the surface while the others sped down with impressive speed. She sighed and snuggled under her thick blanket. The rain was oddly unseasonable for January, although it sometimes seemed to rain endlessly in London at other times of the year.
As she lay in bed, letting herself sink into the mattress, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into her room, delighting her senses and igniting an internal battle; coffee versus bed. In the end the temptation of the aromatic coffee won out and Ginny pushed back her covers, slipped into her blue slippers and her old flannelette dressing gown and padded down the stairs to the kitchen. On one of the stools that rested by the breakfast bar sat Orla Quirke, coffee in hand, reading the paper. Ginny yawned loudly causing Orla to look up from her paper and smile, eyes clouded with weariness.
"Morning Gin. How ya going?" she said, voice hoarse and strained.
"I'm fine," she replied, taking in Orla's rumpled black mini dress and disheveled blonde hair, "But you look wrecked. When did you get home last night?"
Orla drained the last of her coffee and looked at the clock that hung above the oven. "Oh, about half an hour ago. The club was crazy last night; I mean it always is this time of year, what with the tourists and all, but last night was ridiculous."
Ginny nodded sympathetically while edging towards the pot of coffee that sat alluringly near the sink. "But if you only got home a half hour ago, why are you having coffee? Don't you need to get some sleep? Because you look like you could sleep for a week."
"It's decaf," she said, buttering herself some toast.
Ginny's hand, which had been reaching for the pot, froze. "It's what?"
Orla looked up and laughed at the absolute horror on Ginny's face. "The good decaf, you know in the silver packet?"
Ginny looked at her skeptically. "The Moroccan stuff? Freshly ground?"
Orla nodded, her mouth full of toast. "Of course," she said after swallowing, "I wouldn't dare brew anything else, I know what you and Colin are like."
Ginny sniffed the coffee suspiciously.
"Oh for Christ's sake Ginny, just drink it! There's nothing wrong with it."
Ginny gave her roommate a quick grin, poured herself a large mug and shuffled over to join her.
Once settled in her chair, she took a sip of her drink, taking longer than necessary to swallow and consider the taste.
Orla was watching her, half amused, half frustrated. "Well?"
Ginny placed her mug on the bench with great care. "Not bad," she said, "As far as decaf goes."
Orla threw the crust of her toast at her. "You are such a pain in the arse," she said with a laugh.
Ginny picked up the crust and threw it right back at her. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."
"Mmm, though you do give me cause to wonder sometimes," she mused.
Ginny smiled into her coffee; it was actually pretty good, despite the lack of caffeine. "Are you working tonight?" she asked.
Orla nodded. "I start at four this afternoon."
"Four? But you'll barely get any sleep. They can't make you do that can they?"
"No they can't. But tonight is different, there's a function at the club, one that I've helped organize, so I want to be there for it."
"A function eh?" Ginny said, raising an eyebrow, "What type of function?"
"A twenty-first." Orla stood up and took her mug to the sink.
"Anyone I know?"
Orla leaned against the sink, facing Ginny. She looked to Ginny like she was going to fall asleep right there and then. "Grace McDonald. You may have known her sister Natalie. She was in my year, but in Gryffindor."
The name sounded familiar, but then her time at Hogwarts often seemed like eons ago. "Uh, was she really short? With long brown hair?"
Orla nodded. "Yep that's the one. Only about five foot. Her sister Grace is two years younger than her, looks almost exactly the same, but was in Hufflepuff. I always used to get them confused, even though Natalie was in my year."
"Yeah, I'm not sure I remember Grace, but then I may have seen her around and just assumed she was Natalie."
Orla yawned. "I think that's what a lot of people did."
Ginny looked at her friend closely. "Go to bed Orla, you need to get some sleep," she said maternally.
"I won't argue with you there," she said, rubbing her eyes and turning towards the stairs. "Night."
"You mean Morning," Ginny said with a smile.
"Ah, yeah, whatever," she mumbled sleepily before disappearing up the stairs.
After her friend's departure, Ginny ate a leisurely breakfast before carefully perusing the Daily Prophet. She read a piece on the upcoming Quidditch final between Puddlemere United and the Chudley Cannons, which her brother Ron would not stop talking about, and a cute little story by Colin on the new Wizarding Bachelor of the Year, Justin Finch-Fletchley. Justin had edged out the obvious reigning champion, Harry Potter, by a nose. I thought he was gay, Ginny mused, glancing down at the beaming face of the young politician. In fact, I'm sure he and Colin…oh well, I suppose what the public doesn't know can't hurt them.
She put her dishes in the sink and decided it was high time that she got dressed. One of the definite plusses of having her own case was the flexible working hours, but if she wasn't careful Ginny knew she could waste a whole day pottering around the house, which is not something she could afford to do, especially since she had an appointment to see the special-tasks Auror who was previously in charge of the Malfoy case. She tiptoed up the stairs to her bedroom, mindful of her sleeping housemates, and pulled out of her cupboard her favourite pair of jeans and a knitted, blue jumper. She pulled her unruly red hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck and grabbed her leather bag and her matching blue scarf and gloves that her mother had knitted for her two Christmases ago. After giving her room a once over, making sure everything was relatively tidy, she made her way back down the stairs, trying unsuccessfully to muffle the sound of her four-inch heeled boots on the wooden floor. She walked to the entrance hall window and peaked out the curtains to take in the stormy sky. She looked from the ominous grey clouds and rain, which had gotten steadily worse since she had woken up, to her trusty old Firebolt that sat in the corner, begging to be ridden. It would be ludicrous to go flying in this weather, suicidal even. She gave her broom one last longing look before closing her eyes and Apparating to the Auror office in Oxford.
