Chapter 6
"Are you lost or incomplete?
Do you feel like a puzzle you can't find your missing piece?"
Coldplay – Talk

"Draco!" Gregory Goyle's gravelly voice was full of warmth. He almost skipped up to his old classmate as he saw the blond approaching his house. "It's great to see you. Thought you were still in France, though. What're ya doing in Germany?"

"I came for a visit. How are you, Greg?" Draco offered a small, nicely wrapped gift to the larger man. "Oh, and Happy Christmas."

Greg took the present, looking at it with some remorse. "I don't got nuthin' for you."

"Well, since I didn't tell you I was coming, I can understand why. May I come in?"

"Oh. Sure," he said with a grin.

Greg led Draco into a modest home that resided in a small town along the Rhine River near the Mosel River Valley. They had been in touch through the years, so Draco knew how to find Greg, but this was his first visit. After the fall of Voldemort, Greg ran to Germany and Draco kept that secret caged behind occluded walls. Greg wasn't a bad guy, he just got caught up in the same maelstrom that Draco did, following in their fathers' footsteps.

As the men walked through the house, they came upon a short woman busying herself in the kitchen; mixing bowl in one hand, wooden spoon in the other. "'Peia, this is my old friend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is my wife, Cassiopeia."

The woman scrutinized Draco. "Are you that man Gregory got into trouble with at school?" She had a thick German accent that seemed to heighten her displeasure at whatever 'trouble' she might be aware of.

"Greg and I went to school together." He glanced over at Greg, who looked a little sad. "We did get into a fair amount of mischief, as boys do," he offered with a warm grin.

"You better not be here to get him into trouble. Gregory doesn't mess with any dark wizards." She brandished her heavy, wooden spoon, waving it threateningly at Draco. "You will not get my Gregory into trouble."

Not used to being scolded by vicious young women, let alone one who obviously held a lower social standing than himself, Draco's immediate response was to scoff at the fraulein and let loose some scathing remark that would remind her of her place. But then Greg was his friend, one of the few ties he had left to his childhood and he didn't want to alienate him. So he did the next best thing. He charmed her.

"Of course I have no intention to get Greg into trouble. Please, don't worry yourself, Cassiopeia. I merely missed an old schoolmate and wanted to catch up. The holidays always remind me of the value of old friends. Perhaps we can all go out to dinner and talk about how the last few years have unfolded."

Gregory looked sublimely relieved.

They ate dinner at a homey little restaurant sitting below the residence of the establishment's owners. It offered a mix of local cuisine and Chinese. Draco had thought it a rather laughable combination, but eventually admitted a glass of good Riesling went surprisingly well with Kung Pao chicken.

Draco won over Cassiopeia during dinner and as the meal came to a close, she left the boys alone to walk the snow covered, darkened streets. She did so without any apparent unease that Draco might lead her sweet Gregory into any misadventures.

"So, how's your club going? The wizards 'round this small burg even talk 'bout it sometimes."

"Rain has out performed itself. I am quite happy with its growing popularity."

"Always knew you would make it."

"Thanks, Greg. It's good to see you made it, too." He smiled at his old friend without any condescension or superiority. "Cassiopeia is perfect for you."

Greg grinned, "She is, isn't she. How 'bout you? Any ladies waiting for ya back in England?"

"Ah, no." He looked at Greg, amused.

"So, it ain't just a phase?"

Draco laughed. It came out pure and honest. Greg soon joined in. "Definitely not a phase. But no lover out there either. Too busy with the club… and other things. Which is one of the reasons I came to visit."

"I doubted this was just a social call."

"Yes, well…" he shrugged apologetically. "I need to know if there is any new activity."

Visibly stiffening, Greg glanced around the empty street, apparently aghast that Draco would ask such a question out there in the open for the apparently hidden masses to overhear and immediate draw specific conclusions from. "Draco, I don't think..." He stopped speaking and pulled his wool cloak closer around him.

"Gregory, please," Draco quietly interrupted. "Something is happening and I need to know if our old organization might be rallying for any reason."

With a strained look upon his face, Greg grabbed Draco's elbow and lead him up through the streets, eventually climbing a snowy hillside of barren grapevines with the little town laid along the river at their feet.

"Okay, now we can talk."

Draco looked out at the view, amused at how far they had to climb up the hill. Then he turned to Greg. "You remember how I was passing messages to the Order?" Draco asked. Greg nodded. During their time with the Death Eaters, Gregory didn't know that Draco had turned traitor. It all came to light after Greg ran and Draco stayed, covering his friend's tracks for him. Vincent had fallen in a skirmish before the final battle and losing him had left Greg with less loyalty towards the Death Eaters and more interest in living. Through the past few years little pieces of information had finally fallen into place and Greg had figured out more of Draco's involvement. "Well," he continued, "someone recently contacted me through the same means. It was my old contact from the war and I was asked about some dark curse that seems to be spreading. Another of my contacts has told me that some ex-Death Eaters, either those who renounced the Dark Lord or those who didn't get caught, have been moving in concert again. Forces are gathering. And I finally learned that there have been planned attacks throughout England and Wales, though the public is kept blind to the fact. The Ministry is keeping a tight lid on this one. I only guess that all of these things are connected. Do you know anything?"

Greg swallowed and finally nodded, his deep set eyes making him seem even more regretful. "Don't tell 'Peia. But yea, I have been contacted. I turned them away, told 'em I wasn't joining no new society. But you're right. Something is happening. I don't have any more info for ya though."

"Any idea who lies behind all of it?"

Greg quickly shook his head.

"Can you find out who?"

"Draco," Greg whinged, the tone sounding alien in his deep voice, "I can't do that."

"It's important Greg. We didn't want to follow one Dark Lord to his end; I certainly don't want to follow another. We need more information. Perhaps it is nothing, but I just don't think it is. Too much activity.

"What do you know?"

"Only what I told you, really. I would know more if I didn't have a hot headed ex-Auror to deal with." He huffed. "I might have to play nice to get more information." Gregory looked at him quizzically. "Harry Potter." Draco informed him.

"Ew, I'm sorry 'bout that." Greg said.

"Yes, well, he has more information but it's all in that code I used during the war. He can't read it and I can't get to it without him letting me have it."

"What's it doing in the code from the war and why's he have it?"

"My contact, the one Severus and I were talking with in the Order; that was Hermione Granger."

Greg's jaw dropped. "Merlin's balls! You're pulling my leg, Draco."

"I didn't find out until recently, myself. That was quite the little introduction. Someone approached her about the curse--apparently they turned down a certain request to meet a few of our old pals too--and Granger had been studying it. She asked to meet with me to see if I had any information or knew of any new organization rising. But then she got herself cursed—in my back alley—and all of her notes concerning her research are in that code under protection by Potter. So, as you can see, I need your help. Anything else that you can find would be invaluable. If it turns out to be nothing, then we only wasted time. But the signs are there, Greg. I fear a new power has started its machinations."

"'Peia's going to kill me," he groaned.

Draco laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She won't find out."

"Oh yes. She will," he said with complete sureness, "But I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Greg. I owe you."

"Consider this payback," Greg said.

"No such thing amongst friends."

Harry stood before the full-length mirror, recently transfigured out of a smaller one that usually hung from his wall. He pulled at a cuff and straightened the collar of his dress robes, deep burgundy with silver threading.

Hermione had picked them out for him. It wasn't that he was clueless about fashion or didn't know how to look good; he just knew she had a knack for finding just the right colour and cut to really suit him and for any of these formal galas, he always wore something of her choosing.

She usually went with him and Ron, but this year they would both be going stag. Well, they were going together, but it wasn't that sort of a date. Still, the trio, the unbreakable three, was now only two and Harry didn't know quite how to deal with that.

He really didn't want to go.

You would think that after four years they would quit requesting his appearance at these Ministry events. Kingsley, of course, would be there. He usually saved Harry from any speeches other than a quick toast to Dumbledore and all of those who had fallen. At least the Christmas Gala always had a reasonable band and strong drinks and it developed into one of the social events he could tolerate.

With one last quick look at himself in the mirror, an unsuccessful attempt to pat down his hair and a booster jolt of magic to his Eyesight Charm, he left his flat for the party.

He slipped in quietly, trying to avoid the attention of any reporters or general admirers who hadn't quite accepted that Harry Potter, Boy Savior of the World, was now a man who didn't want people to harass him for autographs or hear just how amazing they thought he really was. It took little time to find Ron, who has hanging out at his favourite spot. The bar.

But this time his friend wasn't holding his usual glass of firewhiskey. He had a mug of hot butterbeer instead.

"Technically," Ron explained, "I am still 'on duty'." With an apologetic look, he continued, "I tried to get out of coming after I found out they weren't actually giving me leave, but they insisted I show up. And I know Dad would have wanted me to."

Harry ordered his own butterbeer, not feeling like drowning in drink alone and lifted it into the air. "To Arthur."

"Yea, to dad," Ron replied dully and took a sip from his mug. "And Seamus, and Tonks and all the rest."

Harry swallowed down the drink, abnormally bitter through the ball of guilt in his chest as Ron listed off the names.

The two men found a table crammed into one corner behind a decorated tree and sat there, eyes scanning the ever-growing crowd mingling under the bright Christmas decorations of the Ministry ballroom.

"So, how was Hogwarts?" Ron asked after an apparently unsatisfactory sip of his drink. He started poking his wand at an elf-shaped ornament that dangled in front of his nose and the ornament wriggled in delight, kicking its little glass feet into the air.

"You know—it just isn't the same without all of the old professors. Hooch isn't even there, did you know that? She retired last year. Off to Acapulco or some other tropical getaway. Imagine, Hooch in a bikini!" Ron shivered and grimaced, giving Harry the impression that Ron would rather eat slugs again than focus on that imagery. "McGonagall is looking to retire and is searching for a replacement, too. But Pince, she's still there and still as crotchety as ever. It was a relief actually. When she threatened to throw me out, I knew it really was Hogwarts and not an empty ghost." He drank down the rest of his butterbeer.

"But I didn't find anything. Even after three days. That library doesn't have anything on such a curse. Nothing that fit what happened to Hermione anyway. Plenty on other dark curses though," he said with a cold chill. "I'm just no good at this research stuff." He set his mug down a little too hard on the table. "I guess I should find out about this Arbormore at Cairo or who Hexine might be. Do you know a Hexine?" Harry asked and Ron shook his head.

They continued to sit in silence as more and more people filled up the grand room, all dressed up in their finery, excited to be a part of the celebration of the year. Some wore the newest fashions from the continent and others were dressed in tried and true British wizarding outfits that were good enough for their parents so they must be good enough for them. Harry especially liked Madame Edgecombe's huge hat covered in oak leaves and acorns, complete with festive tinsel and stuffed robin. They recognized many faces and were saddened more by those who were missing from the crowd.

"Oh look," Ron said. "There's Pansy Parkinson and who's that guy she's with?" Harry shrugged. It had become a game of theirs in the past to try to piece together everyone else's lives just by what they could glean from these regular events. Harry never really cared for it and honestly it was Hermione who knew anything about these people. But both he and Ron needed some sense of normality so he decided to join in.

"I bet he's that emissary from the Lebanese Wizard's Guild."

Ron gave him a quizzical look, but soon played along. "Oh, you mean the one that breeds more dark wizards than even Slytherin House? Or maybe he was shipped here by Parkinson's dad, just trying to marry her off to someone who could stand the extra pounds she packed on." He laughed, but it soon died without any real amusement to it.

"I can't do it."

"Me either." Harry went to take a long swig until he realised his glass was empty.

"I'll get it." Ron stood and strode towards the bar, his long legs taking him easily through the crowd. A few heads followed him as he emerged from the poorly lit corner tucked behind the tree. The stares followed Ron's path back to its origin and found Harry.

A small sigh broke free as people started bee lining towards him, following Ron returning with two tumblers of whiskey.

"Breaking out the hard stuff?" Harry asked, standing to prepare himself for the onslaught of questions and handshakes.

"Can't do this without it, screw 'on duty'," and Ron downed the glass in three gulps. "I should be in Mexico anyway." Harry decided to nurse his, but almost rethought that plan as Rita Skeeter's heady perfume assailed his nose followed by her ingratiating whinge.

"Harry Potter, so nice to see you here today." Harry turned towards the reporter gripping her green Quick-Quotes Quill. She smiled brightly at him, but he did not return the favour.

"So, Harry, can you tell the people why you quit the Auror Division and what exactly is your next step? Rumors are flying and isn't it better to get it all out in the open? Hmm? Are you planning on going into private investigation? Perhaps following through with that Seeker opportunity you so brutally threw away when you were young and impulsive? And with young Hermione Granger laid out, are you lonely, looking for someone new to grace your arm? And Mr. Weasley, isn't it true that you're still on duty?" Her eyebrows rose disapprovingly at the empty glass in his hands.

Ron's own expression of where the hell does this woman find this shite out was so striking that Harry almost lost it, spewing liquor out of his nose, if it wasn't for the anger the woman always knew how to brew within him.

"Get away from me, Skeeter. Come on, Ron." Harry left the corner and entered the milling crowd.

"Harry, are you just going to take that from her?" Ron's face was red with fury.

"Harry," Rita Skeeter called out. "Remember, our readers have the right to know the truth. They want to know about you, Harry."

Ron brusquely pushed past the nosy reporter to catch up with Harry, who was quickly accosted by a throng of well wishers.

"Harry, so good to see you." "Will you be speaking tonight, Mr. Potter?" "Sir, sir, can I have your autograph?" "Mr. Potter, one moment if you please." And then Harry was gripped by the arm and pulled to one side by Kingsley.

"Oh Merlin, thank you Kingsley." Harry let out a breath, relieved to have Kingsley on one side of him and Ron on the other like a protective vanguard.

"Gotta save you from those vicious lions out there. Merlin knows you appear to be quite helpless on your own." Kingsley laughed. "Listen, Harry, I know you hate this, but could you…" he inclined his head towards the podium at the front of the room, "give your toast?"

"Yea, sure, but then I'm getting outta here. Okay?" Kingsley nodded and Harry walked up towards the front of the ballroom as a silent anticipation descended upon the crowd.

As he took his place behind the speaker's stand and lifted up his mostly empty glass, he scanned the mass of people. Wizards and witches from all over, from all generations, looked up at him, most with awe, some with a less enthusiastic response, only a few with disdain, or at least only a few who would openly show their disdain. All had eyes on him.

Harry tapped his throat with his wand so the whole assembly of revellers could hear his every word, as uninspired as Harry felt they were.

"To Albus Dumbledore. And to all those who had fallen and sacrificed for this time of peace we now live in. We honour you." And as he lifted his glass, the entire room mirrored his words, praising those who died, those who had given of themselves. It was a robotic event, full of habit and little meaning. After everyone drank the gathering cheered "Harry Potter, Harry Potter" until Harry turned and stepped down from the podium, only to be stopped short by Minister Scrimgeour.

"Mr. Potter. Thank you for the toast," Rufus Scrimgeour said pleasantly, but Harry stiffened anyway. The Minister always put him on edge, ever since he cornered him at the Weasley's during Christmas of his sixth year at Hogwarts.

"So, I've heard you quit the Aurors. Decided on something new, have you?" he asked, peering at Harry. "What could have dragged you away from being an Auror?" he wondered.

Harry stared out over the crowd, noticing a few glances from Ron and Kingsley as they talked quietly amongst themselves, giving Harry some privacy with the Minister. "Well, you left the Aurors at one time too, sir."

The Minister laughed. "Going into politics?"

"Oh, no." Harry shook his head quickly. "I have no desire for politics. I have no desire to be a figurehead for anything." He gave Scrimgeour a look he hoped the older man would understand. They had had this conversation before, and Harry really didn't want to be a rallying point for any politician.

"I know, I know my boy." And with that, Scrimgeour patted Harry's shoulder and shook his right hand.

Then Harry's world went dull. It seemed time slowed and his vision faded, all colour draining out of the once bright reds, golds and greens decorating the great hall. Sound was dampened to nothing but a faint murmur, easily ignored and forgotten. The sensation seemed endless. Finally, Harry floated out of the trance.

"…you for giving your speech. I know we haven't always been on best terms, but hopefully we can move past that." Minister Scrimgeour dropped his hand and went to address the gathering people. Harry stood there dumb, watching after the retreating man.

"Harry, you okay?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, mind racing at what just happened, needing to get away from the crowd and the noise. "Ron, I gotta go. Going to go through more of Hermione's papers." He offered as an excuse, running his fingers through his hair, maddening his already wild style.

"I'll go with you."

"No you won't, Mr. Weasley. You're on duty," interjected Kingsley.

"Mr. Weasley?" Ron questioned, looking betrayed.

"And no more drinking!" the Chief Auror said as he took the glass from Ron's hand and went to stand by the Minister's side at the podium. Harry heard Kingsley chuckle and would have laughed too if he wasn't already apprehensive about the Minister's handshake.

"Man, where'd that come from?" Ron whimpered.

"I bet he just doesn't want to be stuck here by himself," Harry guessed, mind still a million miles away. "Sorry mate, meet me at Hermione's when you can, okay."

"Yea, sure," and Ron sulked back to his little corner, alone.

The moment Harry Apparated into Hermione's flat he knew something was off, wrong. Someone was there. Sure as Ron had freckles someone had broken into Hermione's quarters, past her wards, past Hermione's wards, and this sent chills up his spine. He quickly drew his wand, casting a few wordless shielding and detection spells and finally sent his consciousness out and he sensed it. Somebody laid in wait in the kitchen.

Silently, Cat-footed Charm in place, Harry took slow step after step towards the kitchen, easily walking through the familiar, yet darkened apartment. His feelers, as Hermione dubbed them soon after the destruction of the sixth Horcrux, kept aware of the intruder, knowing every action made and what active spells sheathed the trespasser.

However, he could sense no spells active. Nothing.

The hidden individual took a step, as silent as Harry's own but without aid from any spell.

Ready to throw a disarming hex at the trespasser, Harry was caught off guard by an aristocratic voice calling from the dark.

"Before you accidentally shoot your wand off and do me ill, Potter, how about we just come out and discuss matters." The darkness immediately lifted and Harry's eyes squinted at the sudden light. As his sight cleared, Draco Malfoy walked out of Hermione's kitchen.

"How the hell did you get in here, Malfoy?" he demanded, angry at the man that came sharply into sight. With his wand pointed at the centre of Malfoy's chest, he made a sterling attempt to make sense of it all. "Why are you here?"

It called to him again. It always called to him and the further he was away from it, the stronger its pull, its demand.

Wizard.

It was like a caress, the softest touch from an eternal lover.

Yes, he would think outward as though he were speaking directly to the pale orb, his lovely jewel, like his mind was connected to it. Yes, he thought with yearning.

He struggled to keep his mind focused, on task, and he believed he did an admirable job. But all he really wanted to do was retreat to his safe place, the quiet haven where he could embrace his orb.

Wizard.

It pulled at him again, but he couldn't leave the celebration. He needed to wait a little longer. The crowd mingled and danced to the music while he watched them, cataloging and assessing. More people must be brought over. Influential and powerful people. The strong.

He continued to observe from a corner, pushing away the niggling impulse to leave and run to his jewel. So many people on this festive night, celebrating Christmas, celebrating being alive. The survivors always were good at relishing what others didn't have. The people came and went, smiling at him in his resplendent robes, offering nods and cordial greetings. He would smile back, recognizing a multitude of faces, society's prominent. But the true power wasn't here. And he sensed it through the orb, his jewel, and he thirsted for that power and was eager for the promise it held for him.

Yours wizard.

The time for testing was at an end. Time for action had begun