Dictionary

Haunting adj. (of a memory, melody, etc.) tending to linger in the mind; poignant, evocative

Chapter Four

Blaise reclined in his chair and regarded the other participants of the room. There was defiantly something off about the way they were acting. For one, they were all sat in deadly silence actually working. That in itself pointed to something being wrong with the usually sparkly relationship.

Looking down at his newspaper, he scanned the headlines. He was defiantly not going to get involved. Blaise knew all too well what involvement meant. It would mean having to take a side, which would then lead to hostility. A hostile office atmosphere was not exactly appealing – especially if you actually intended on getting some work done.

Silence would have to do.

House prices were down, the stock exchange was on course and no one had been killed. The banks were contemplating a strike and House Elves were demanding the right to be left alone by activists. All in all nothing exciting was happening in the world. Blaise glanced over the top of his paper. They were still working. Silently.

It would have been okay if he was also working, but he'd decided against going to Azkaban with them. The place brought back bad memories. They were the kind of thoughts that made you want to jump off a tall building so they would stop. He'd sworn the last time he was there that he would never grace its shadow again. So he'd told them he was going to work on the accounts. It was a lie. He knew it and so did Draco, but neither of them would mention it.

Curiosity was beginning to make the palms of his hands itch with anticipation.

'What's happening?' Blaise finally relented to asking.

'Nothing,' Draco said stonily, not looking up from the parchment he was scribbling on. Everything about him was denying that statement, from the tension in his right hand, to the opaque gloom in his eyes. There was defiantly something amiss.

'You could have fooled me,' Blaise muttered, looking between Ginny and Draco wearily. 'You could cut the atmosphere with a knife in here.'

'Don't you have some work you should be doing?' Draco sneered, finally looking up. 'I'm not in the mood for your juvenile banter when I'm trying to concentrate. What happened to the accounts? Finish them all by yourself?'

Ginny gave a growl of frustration, and stood up abruptly, drawing the attention of the two men in the room. Gracing them both with a cool glare, she scooped up a bundle of papers. 'I'm going home!' she declared before apparating away.

Draco gave a small sigh, 'Women.'

Blaise looked back down at his paper, and shifted slightly so he could rest his feet on his table. Well at least he could relax now without the bother of wondering what was wrong between his companions. It was probably the same thing as it always was – sexual frustration mixed with angst.

Ever since Weasley had joined their office as an apprentice to the trade, Blaise had known that she had feelings for Draco. It was clear from the way she teased him, always wanting to better him. Blaise hadn't minded too much. In fact it had been quite entertaining to watch their interactions as he contemplated working. They amused him like a small boy frying ants under a microscope.

Their games had grown old quickly though. Ginny wasn't aware of the attraction, or the attentions of Draco. She wasn't used to his cold manner with her, translating it to old family hatred and not what it really was – attention seeking. So instead of forming a close relationship with him, she'd turned to Blaise. They fought like school children, working and having fun at the same time, which he loved. It was nice to have a free spirit in the office.

Unfortunately though, Draco had become the outsider. Now he spent more time away from the office then in it.  He resented the fact that he was uncomfortable in his own work place. Then when he'd started living with Ginny, things had seemed tenser. There was that old tune playing again on the harp of yesterday. Sexual fear, temptation and lust all muddled up.

'What did you do this time?' Blaise asked conversationally.

'She threw up on my cloak,' Draco remarked dryly. 'Having found the witch dead, she felt ill and decided that the best time to let it all out was whilst we were leaving. It's all in the report if you can be bothered to read it.'

'Open and shut case then,' Blaise replied. 'It's always easier when they commit suicide. That way they can't fight back.'

'Indeed.'

'I was looking over the report of the murder. Can you be certain it was her? Looking at it now, it could have been possible to implement the girl. All you'd have to do is turn up when he's abusing the girl, use her wand to cast a few curses and leave her there. She wouldn't have been in a fit state to help her step-father. Then again if there was another killer, they would know that she wouldn't want to.' Blaise turned over a page in the newspaper, turning it so he could look at the half naked, gyrating woman. 'According to the report she never uttered a word. It was just assumed she'd committed the act.'

'Nice theory. Full of holes,' Draco said with a raised eyebrow. 'The girl didn't speak because she was, and I quote, "mentally scarred" by the experience. You have no evidence of a third party, and the witch signed a confession.'

'What if I'm right?'

'What if you're wrong?'

Blaise folded the newspaper in half and placed it across his knees. 'You shouldn't have taken Weasley to Azkaban. Even if this hadn't happened, it would have affected her badly.'

'Ginny can think for herself. If she hadn't wanted to go then she would have said. Anyway, she has to learn that everything isn't as rosy as Mummy and Daddy told her. Potter isn't going to be there to rescue her all the time,' Draco said with a hint of disgust and sarcasm.

'She's not like us,' Blaise said quietly.

'I'm fully aware of that Zabini.'

It was true that Blaise was attracted to the youngest Weasley. He would have loved for her to be his conquest, but it was so obvious where her affections lay. Ginny stayed even though she claimed to detest Draco most of the time, allowed him to live with her and accompanied him to Azkaban. It went beyond the call of duty.

'I reckon she only went to Azkaban because she remembers what happened to you last time.'

'Shut up Zabini, I'm not in the mood for this conversation,' Draco snapped, using his authority with an unspoken power. 'It was Weasley's choice and I don't care about her reasoning. What I care about now is getting this report finished.'

'Then what?' Blaise questioned with a certain degree of arrogance. 'You're going to go home? Ginny's probably already putting curses on the door as we speak. By the look on her face I'd say you pushed too hard Malfoy.'

'What happens between me and Weasley has nothing to do with you,' Draco said, rising from his chair. 'You seem to be forgetting your place.'

'I'm not the only one then.'

Draco's fists curled and whitened. 'You would take her side without knowing the story wouldn't you? Typical Zabini behaviour.'

'I would,' he smiled slightly.

With a final glare Draco swept out of the office, rage coming off him in waves.

Blaise leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. Why did things have to suddenly get so confusing? It wasn't that he hated Malfoy, or favoured him beneath Weasley. The fact of the matter was that it all came down to past experience. Malfoy had a nasty tendency of playing mind games. He would get under people's skin, forcing them to react. That's why he was the boss – no one could force an interrogation like he could. Maybe it ran in the family.

When they'd been at school together, Zabini had traded insults with Malfoy like people greeted one another. It had been a relationship which had meant nothing to them. To him Malfoy had simply been another snake in the grass, waiting for the kill. You could have almost called their relationship a competitive one. Each one wanted to get the prey first.

In their last year though, things began to tumble down around them. Everyone was panicking. The fear of death, destruction and doom lingered overhead, like a spider waiting for the fly. It had been then that people had become stripped bare of their defences. They had all been as vulnerable as new born babes.

Malfoy had hardened. Lucius was in Azkaban and Narcissa was dying of cancer. It had been too much, too soon. No one had been there to hold him up. So he'd taken to hating everything and everyone. The Ministry were calling up all able bodied men to fight against the darkness. It had been too easy to escape what was real and become meshed up in war.

Everyone heard the rumours. They'd echoed round the entire school, bouncing off the walls like an uncontrollable ball of fire. No one had been too shocked though. A Malfoy was a Malfoy, no strings attached. It was a miracle Draco had been able to get a job in the Ministry after the war. Then again, it was better have him with them then against them.

Blaise opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Sometimes it was difficult to live in the present when the past seemed to be just over your shoulder.

If anyone were to look at Blaise's file, they would be able to see the inconsistencies. The fact that he appeared to have disappeared for three years before joining the Ministry's Investigating Department was just one of them. It was in that period of time that he had suffered the worst. There were some things more painful then anything physical.

Three years working in Azkaban for the Ministry had ways of breaking you down.

xXx

It was safe to say that Colin Creevey was not happy.

There had been a time when it would have taken a lot to remove the cheer from such a happy soul. In some ways it still did. It was the little, nagging things that really got under his skin - like wet socks, the smell of body odour and people keeping secrets. Right now it was the combination of all three, which was really beginning to bake his noodle.

Glamour and glitz, Colin had thought as he'd written out his application form for the Prophet's photography placement. He'd thought of rubbing shoulders with the stars, with people looking up to him in amazement at the beauty he captured with a lens. People would beg for him to take photos of them – young actresses pleading for him to look at their naked form. It would be a job that demanded respect and offered a form of easy living that anyone could love. That was how he had envisioned his new life ahead of him; wealthy, rewarding and respectful, with a twist of recognition.

How wrong could he have been? Instead of meeting celebrities, he was forced to trail through their rubbish, dig up dirty stories about their personal life and generally be hated by them. The offers of nude photography he did get where from ladies of a certain age who wanted to prove to their husbands that they still had it in them. Publicly he was seen as a sneak and treated almost like a thief – grabbing a couple of cheap shots. Overall he felt like a stalker; the shadow they never expected, haunting their every step.

In summer it was alright. Colin could live with the warm weather, tanning his pale skin as he walked the streets for days on end. The winter was an entirely different thing altogether. He hated the fact he was being paid to stand in the pouring rain, waiting for someone to walk out of their house. The worse of it was that he depended on this job. If he refused to go out for on a daily stalk, then they would find someone who was just as naïve as he had been when he'd applied.

Ergo, Colin Creevey was not happy. Not one little bit.

Today had been one of the rotten apples in his basket of rancid ones. He'd spent the morning chasing after Luna Lovegood, trying to find out about when the photo shoot with Dwayne Oarlocks was. Well that had been a pointless exercise! Not only was Luna busy in a yoga and meditation class, but there was no photo shoot. Then to make matters worse his boss had ordered an update on the Oliver Wood story, to which Colin had had to lie only to be sent out "bird watching" again.

It had been a mistake to try get a bonus. Oliver Wood was the hottest Quidditch player around, and the idea of getting an exclusive on his affair had been too tempting. Colin had aspired to find out who this mystery woman was. He'd climbed trees, called up Oliver's manager pretending to be a concerned relative and stolen the stars timetable. Colin had made it so that he knew Oliver better then he knew himself – it had been his job to do so. Then having hunted the story for months he had got the perfect shot whilst lurking in the stadium toilets.

Perfect! He had nailed Oliver Wood and the story was scandalous. The only problem was the guilt. Colin had never been a malicious boy and it went against the grain to upset people when he could help it. The way they had begged him not to release a name, or the shot of her face, had melted his heart. How could he refuse when these people were so in love? Surely it would end their careers. So Colin had dropped his large bonus and complied to their wishes.

The only problem with that was that now he was "THE" photographer. This would have been a good thing, were his boss not demanding that he got the scoop on Oliver again.

That lead him to the here and now, stood behind a bony looking bush outside Oliver Wood's house, in the pouring rain. He gritted his teeth and suppressed a shiver that was building up at the base of his spine. It was times like these where he wished he hadn't grown out his hair, as it now stuck to his forehead with the rain, making his skin itch. His face was flushed with the chill of the wind and his clothes soaked. Nothing could possibly make his day any better.

After an hour of this hellish torment, Colin gave up. Wiping his forehead with a gloved hand, he stretched his aching limbs and walked up the steps leading to Oliver's house. Then with a growl of frustration, he rapped his fist hard against the wooden panelling.

The door swung open. 'I wondered how long you were going to just stand out there. We were beginning to worry about your health.'

'Ha ha, Wood,' Colin muttered bitterly. 'I have to at least look like I'm trying. You could have at least come outside and pretended to fly off on your broom!'

'That would have been too easy,' Oliver grinned, 'Come in and make yourself at home.'

'Thanks.'

Colin stepped inside to the luxurious hallway, which danced with heat, and smiled contentedly. Slowly he shrugged off his thick jacket, and toed off his boots. Charming them dry he put them in their place, and then walked into the large sitting room. Here was the best part of the house. It was cosy and cool, not demanding anything of its guests but comfort. He looked round to get a feel of the place and settled himself on the seat near the fire. This was how reporting should be.

'So what brings you to this neck of the woods?' Oliver inquired, settling down opposite him. 'Isn't this a little far from the pub?'

'Stop, you're making my sides split at your wit,' Colin said dryly. 'If you must know I was ordered to come here and watch you for any interesting movement. Just in case your girlfriend were stupid enough to use the front door. The boss does like to take these unnecessary precautions.'

'Hmm,' Oliver mused. 'The only reason you're not casing the back door is because last time Barry nearly robbed you of your manhood.'

'That dog should be sectioned. Anyone would think you were trying to keep people out of your property!'

Oliver grinned a little and relaxed into his chair. To Colin he seemed settled wherever he was. There was never a moment when the great Oliver Wood didn't look stunning on camera. He had a natural relaxed spark that made him photogenic.

'You wouldn't by any chance have an exclusive photo shoot would you?' Colin asked as casually as a beg for help could sound. 'It's just that the rent needs paying and I'm running low on funds.'

'Again?!' Oliver stuttered with a shocked face.

'You are, after all, the man of the moment. I'd get big bucks for a couple of shots of you. It doesn't even have to be anything special. Just something I can use as evidence that I've been working…' Colin said leaning forward, about to lay down the thrust of his argument. 'You do owe me.'

Oliver was silent for a moment. 'Are you threatening to blackmail me?'

'I'm just saying that you owe me a favour. I have helped you so far…' Colin said, in what he hoped was a threatening tone. It wasn't that he wanted to force Oliver into anything, but he was getting desperate. His tired limbs ached with cold and Colin would quite happily never have to take a photo of Oliver ever again. 'If you promise me a photo, I'll promise you my silence.'

'How many shots are we talking here?' Oliver enquired in a voice that was weary. 'What would I be doing in them?'

'I was thinking that maybe we could have one of you sitting right where you are….staring into the fire,' Colin improvised. 'Then another of you with no shirt on – for the ladies – and one of you in the kitchen.'

'I'll compromise to two photos.'

'Only two…?'

'Don't push your luck Colin.'

xXx

'…C, D, E, F…'

Marietta found that the interview had gone quite well. Then again, she couldn't remember why she'd doubted it would. These things were always the same. If the job required no real usage of brain then looks could be judged, and in her opinion it had been her breasts that had won her this victory.

Having left Cho, Marietta had made her way to the inquiries desk and asked if there were any placements available. She had specified that she wanted simple work – something that wouldn't take too much of her energy up, but pay enough money for her to live on. The receptionist had seemed quite taken aback by her confidence and demands, but put them aside to search for something suitable.

Personal assistant in Defence had sounded a pleasing title. It was a job title where people would assume you did more then filing. Marietta had translated it instantly to secretary, which was a job she could quite easily satisfy. It wasn't strenuous; she could list the alphabet and dress however she pleased. Perfect.

All that she needed to do was win over the people interviewing. That left her two days to perfect her answers, buy some new clothes and make sure she looked stunning. And that was all it took her. When she turned up for the interview dressed in a low v-neck top, a short, but reasonable skirt and with her hair in loose strawberry ringlets, she knew she had them in the palm of her hand. The female interviewers could see her as headstrong, confident and independent, with the curls adding a sense of vulnerability. The men could see right down her top. It was as simple as that.

Manipulation had always been one of Marietta's favourite sports. It was fun to tease the weaker species, flaunting what they could never have. If it got her what she wanted then what was the harm? Of course Plain Jane Doh sat in the corner, dressed prim and proper with her degree from a Muggle University, would be better qualified, she knew that, but that wasn't what it was all about. It was all about image. Someone who was pretty to look at and reliable at getting the job done to an average standard would attract far more people.

The one problem with the perfect job though had arrived just half an hour after Marietta had started filing case reports.

'Erm, excuse me, but what are you doing?'

Marietta turned her head and looked up from the place she was crouched on the floor. At the door way stood an attractive man, tall and dark with a hard, solid figure. His face was quizzical as he glanced at her over the top of his glasses, one eyebrow raised higher then the other. Piercing green eyes met her own and she wanted to give a little shiver of glee, but something about his face was beginning to nag at her memory. It was something small, but the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead in such an appealing manner reminded her of something. She was pretty sure that whatever it was she didn't like.

 'Exploring the moon,' she remarked edgily. 'What does it look like I'm doing?'

'It's just that this is my office, and I don't remember you being here when I left this morning,' the good looking man said with the hint of a smile. 'Unless you were hiding in the cabinet – I must confess to hardly looking it there at all.'

'Oh…' Marietta said with a frown, and rose up from her position near the floor. Absently she pushed the creases from her short skirt, straightening it out between her fingers. If this was to be her boss then she'd better make a good impression. 'I'm your new personal assistant.'

It was his turn to look a little taken aback. 'Personal Assistant?'

'Yes. I applied for the position yesterday and they told me to start today. Is that alright?' she questioned, eyeing his odd look with discomfort. She didn't want to lose this job before it even started.

'I wasn't expecting a new P.A. today, or any other day to be honest,' a smile tilted his lips in a charming manner. 'Now you're here though I guess I can use you.'

'Feel free to use and abuse me in any way you like,' Marietta said with a saucy smile and turned back to the filing cabinet, opening yet another drawer full to the brim with files.

The man seemed hesitant to respond to such an obvious display of flirtation, and Marietta found herself quite disappointed that he decided to ignore it. At least it made a change to her usual banter of sexual innuendo. Maybe a nice, moral boss was what she needed to pin down a job. After all it had been Jeremy that had got her fired last time.

Jeremy had been the centre of her universe for three months. He was the best looking man she had ever clapped eyes on, and when she did she couldn't help but smile dreamily. Not only was he powerful, in that he was her boss, but he had eyes that could melt the stones of St. Paul's Cathedral. It drove her mad the way he used to toy with her affections, flirting one minute and treating her mean the next. Eventually she'd managed to get him de-robed and that had been an experience she'd never forget. The way he made her feel was like flying free of aid.

The fall had been inevitable. Jeremy, though being perfect in looks, management and bed, was married to a powerful sorceress who looked upon his flings with anger. Jeremy hadn't even considered leaving her for Marietta, and that had hurt. She had tried to keep him tied to her by using sex, but it became boring. There were only so many people she could dress up as that used handcuffs and dirty language. So Jeremy had fired her on grounds of laziness.

Never again would she mix business and pleasure. Well, when she said never she meant just for now. After all, this new boss wasn't exactly ugly and there was something about his stance that demanded she take note.

'So how come you've decided to work in Defence then?'

'It was a job that was available, that paid well and wouldn't mean I had to use too many brain cells,' Marietta said frankly. 'Even I can use the alphabet.'

'Right…' he replied hesitantly. 'They did tell you that it would be a little bit more then secretary work didn't they?'

Marietta spun round, her eyes flaring slightly. 'I was lead to understand that these would be the terms of my employment. Are you trying to tell me that there's more?'

'I will expect my P.A. to accompany me on apprehensions, have an extensive knowledge of charms and potions, as well as self defence. On top of all of this I would expect you to have all case information at your fingertips. Then of course there's dealing with the other departments involved in apprehensions… That would probably mean meetings with the D.O.I. and leaders of Azkaban. Of course I will also expect secretarial duties to be carried out whilst we're based at the office,' his face was straight laced, with no taint of humour.

Marietta's face fell slightly, her jaw agape at the mere thought at the amount of qualifications. 'Basically you mean I have to partake in the capture of dangerous criminals, who are likely to try and kill me…?'

'That sounds about right.'

'I'm expected to know all of this off by heart?' she gestured towards the filing cabinet.

'Yeah, though I pretty much have it all stored away.'

'And I have to know how to defend myself…from these dangerous killers?'

The man moved his hand up to his hair and pushed his fingers through it slowly. 'To be honest most of them never kill directly. It's the followers you have to be careful of. They're more likely to throw themselves at you like a human bomb.'

'Okay…' Marietta stepped back and leant against the cabinet uneasily. Crossing her arms over her chest, she took a deep breath. 'I defiantly don't remember any of that being mentioned.'

'I realise that at first you may be overwhelmed, but don't worry. Normally nothing ever happens. Well… gets a chance to happen anyway. What I'm trying to say is that you'll get used to it.'

This was defiantly not what she'd expected. Never had she thought that a Personal Assistant would have to be so active. She'd dreamt of afternoons basking in the sun, her feet up on the table as she flicked through a magazine. Instead she had images of lying on the ground – dead as a door nail.

'My last P.A. really got into it. He decided to move up the ranks and become an Auror. In fact he claimed it was an easier like! You'll have to see what you think,' he said with a jaunty smile, as he moved about the room opening drawers.

'How many…erm…apprehensions do you undertake?' she asked cautiously, scared of the answer.

'Not too many. Twelve at the most I'd have to say, but you tend to lose track.'

'Is that an annual figure?'

A deep laugh curled the air to its will in a deep, honeysuckle tone. 'I can see we're going to get on. You have a great sense of humour.'

That was the exact moment that Marietta began to feel the panic building up at the back of her throat. 'I wasn't aware that I had said anything amusing?' she managed to bite out bitterly.

'That's my weekly number… I'm sorry I didn't catch your name?'

'Marietta Edgecombe,' she replied automatically.

'Harry Potter.'

The room seemed to freeze at that moment. It was the last name she'd expected to hear. Harry Potter – the boy who'd damaged her mentally and stolen some of her memories. Of course he'd argued that it hadn't been his doing, but only when she'd realised that some time was missing. Cho had explained it to her, telling her that it had had to be done in order to save the school. Marietta had been beyond angry. Her actions had been completely justified and, just because this little brat of a boy hadn't had his own way, she'd been made to suffer.

It didn't matter that time had passed, or that she found him deeply sexy in an annoying way. Marietta hated Harry Potter to the very core of his existence. She didn't care about the number of lives he'd saved. What did those deeds matter when you're an angry teenage girl?

'I didn't recognise you,' Harry said with an apprehensive smile. 'It's been a long time.'

She didn't know why it surprised her that he was an Auror – he'd always been seeking justice at school. It had been irritating the way he's wander about like a super hero, sucking up all the fame and glory then spitting it out. Once she'd heard him complaining about the taste of fame and how he wished he wasn't The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was arrogant alright, thinking himself to be ordinary like everyone else. No one else seemed to attract trouble like he had. Then again no one else had saved the world. To Marietta he would always be the one to blame for bringing all the trouble to her safe world.

'Yes,' she muttered absently.

'How have you been?' he asked more out of politeness then genuine concern she assumed.

'Fine.'

'Oh, well that's good to hear.' Harry paused and watched her calmly. 'Have I put you off the job then? I realise that you may not find it… attractive.'

Marietta met his look with a winter cool. 'I wouldn't quit for the world.'