Disclaimer: All HP characters belong to JK Rowling. The story is mine, but even that isn't very original.

Notes: The story is AU after book 5. Please don't be alarmed by Draco's apparent OOC-ness. He isn't; it's just been a long fifteen years since he has finished at Hogwarts.

I hope you like it.

Draco

Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and looked at his alarm clock, he tried to will it to turn off, but it wasn't working. He would have to move. Damn. He didn't want to move, he was comfortable; why did he keep it across the room again? Oh yes, so he would have to get up to turn it off.

Idiot.

'OK, Malfoy, you can do this, on three all right? One, two, three.' He didn't move. He started to look around for his wand and spotted it, on his dresser, next to the alarm clock. Grrr. Maybe if he ignored it, it would go away. He rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes.

'Beep, Beep, Beep, Beep'

Damn it, he opened his eyes and looked at the clock again. It was 7:45. He was going to be late. Figures. Reluctantly, he got out of bed, turned off the alarm and headed to the bathroom to get ready. He had to give a lecture this morning to some students; he hated speaking in front of groups. Double Damn. Despite the rush he was in, he lingered in the shower; the hot water felt as good as his bed had. At least, it did until the hot water ran out. Damn it all! He got out of the shower, toweled off and headed back into his bedroom. As he passed his TV, he flicked it on to catch the weather. It was out of habit only, as the weather hadn't changed and it wasn't likely to. He dressed in sullen silence.

"And now we go to Bill with today's forecast. Bill?"

"Thanks, Jim. Put your mittens on if your going out this morning; it's negative twelve degrees Celsius right now. We're looking at a high of about negative one today, but with the wind chill factor it will feel as if it is only negative nine. The good news is there doesn't seem to be anymore snow on our horizon-"

"Thank God for that," Draco mumbled.

"Looking at the ten-day forecast, we will likely return to our normal April weather sometime around next Tuesday. Jim?"

Draco went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth as Jim continued with his news report. "This just in," he said gravely. "The frozen, partially decomposed body, of a young woman was found today, in Scadbury Park. Preliminary reports say that her throat was slit. We go live to Carol on the scene, Carol?"

"Thank you, Jim..."

Draco came back into the room and watched the report; he stood staring at the TV with his toothbrush in his hand.

Shit.

He jumped as his mobile rang, and moved across the room to answer it.

"Malfoy."

"It's Krellor, there's been another one," said his partner.

"I just saw, is it our guy?"

"Looks like. How soon can you get here?"

"I've been scheduled to give a lecture, but I could cancel it-"

"Nice try. It'll be noon before the snow can be cleared away from the scene, I'll see you after you're done."

"Keep me posted."

"Good luck," Krellor said with a slight tone of amusement.

"Yeah," Draco frowned as he closed his phone. This was not going to be a good day.

"Careful attention to the crime scene and particulars about the body are imperative to understanding the mind of the killer." He clicked the mouse attached to the computer, and the screen behind him switched from his lecture outline to a photograph of a dead woman in her bed. She obviously had been murdered, and it was fairly clear that she had been raped. There were a couple of gasps and groans from the students, but they remained attentive. "Now who can tell me what happened here?" No one responded. Draco sighed inwardly. "Anybody?"

An hour and forty minutes later the class gave him polite applause as he left the room. He walked down the hall, rounded a corner and collapsed onto a bench. He placed his head in his hands and concentrated on breathing. Man, that was a lot of people; he silently gave thanks to his parents for teaching him how to school his emotions so carefully. As aberrant as his upbringing had been, sometimes the lessons he had learned had been helpful. His pager went off; the crime scene had been cleared of the snow and Forensics were beginning their investigation. He dialed his partner.

"This is Krellor."

"What've we got?"

"This one is more brutal than the last was," he said gravely. "Young woman, maybe early twenties, he nearly took off her head this time, abandoned car, they're going over it for prints right now. I've sent a car round for you, should be there shortly."

"See you soon," he said as he hung up his phone and walked out into the cold to wait for his ride.

Police cars surrounded the area when Draco pulled up. He stepped onto the field and zipped up his coat, wishing he had renewed the warming spell he had cast on it the previous week; it was cold. His wand was in his briefcase, for emergencies, but he rarely used it. Wind whipped through the field, making his eyes water. He looked around and took in the now familiar scene. There were people taking pictures from all angles, dusting for prints, and even melting the snow with portable hair dryers in the hope of finding some evidence. He spotted his partner walking toward him.

Joseph Krellor was a short, portly fellow of good nature and high intelligence. He had been Draco's partner for the last three years and his friend for the last five. When Joe was off the clock he was known for pulling jokes and downing pints at the pub. However, when it came to his work, he was all business, a quality that Draco also possessed and appreciated in those with whom he worked.

"Hello Draco," he said soberly.

Draco nodded to his partner. "Joe," he said, equally as sober. "Where is she?"

Joe nodded and turned around. "Follow me," he said.

The snow crunched beneath their feet they walked through the maze of people to a clearing. "I left it for you; they haven't touched anything."

"Good." He pulled out his camera and started to take pictures. The girl lay on top of a blanket. She was naked; her skin, which had once been pink, was now blue, grey, and green. Her green eyes stared vacantly at the sky, and her face was marred by fear. Draco continued to take pictures and absorb the scene. He bent down to examine her body more closely. From his vantage point, he could see the bruises on her torso and thighs; and that her hair had been cut. He touched it and felt the faintest residual trace of a cutting charm - this was a new development. His eyes moved to the rose that lay across her arms, it was black and frozen; he picked it up with a gloved hand, and even through the latex, he could sense the transfiguration spell. Draco allowed himself to smile and blessed the freakishly cold weather that had kept the spells intact. Now he knew what he was working with. He stood up, removed his gloves and blew some warm air on his hands. Joe came over and handed him a cup of coffee.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked.

"New information... thanks," Draco added, acknowledging the coffee. He looked back at the girl; "I really hate this guy."

"Don't we all." Joe leaned closer to his partner and looked around as if afraid of being overheard by someone. "Couldn't you just... you know," he waved his arms back and forth.

Draco arched an eyebrow, "Conduct a symphony?"

"No, m-magic," he whispered. "Find him with a, I don't know, locator spell or something?" Rather than Obliviate his best friend after he had been caught Apparating, Draco had decided to bring Joe into his confidence in regards to his wizard status. After the initial shock had worn off, Joe had come to accept the news that magic was real. Although he still had a lot to learn.

Draco shook his head. "You've been watching too much telly. It doesn't work like that." He surveyed the scene again; there was nothing else for him to do out here. "Come on, let's get out of here, I'm freezing my arse off."

They took Joe's car back to the city.

"So, what new information is there? Everything looked the same to me, except for the rose."

"Yep." Draco was staring out the window, resigning himself to what he'd have to do tomorrow.

"Draco? I said what new information is there?" Joe asked more loudly than before.

"Huh? Oh, he's a wizard"

"He is? How can you tell?"

"The cold," he was still only half there.

"What?" Joe snapped his fingers in his partner's face. "Draco!"

"What? Sorry, he cast spells on the whole site; I could feel the residuals. And, don't do that."

"You can do that? Feel the residue or whatever?"

"Residuals, and yes if they're strong enough."

"What about the cold then?"

"The cold slowed the rate of decay on the spells he cast; otherwise this would have been like the others: no evidence at all."

Joe's mobile rang. "This is Krellor," he listened for a few moments then hung up. "They've got some prints off the car."

"They're not his."

"Maybe he messed up."

"He didn't, they're not his," he ran a hand through his hair, and turned back to the window.

"You okay, mate?"

"Yeah, I've just got a headache."

"D'ya want to pop in the shop, for some aspirin or something?"

"Huh? No, I need to get to the office and check on some things."

"You sure? You don't look very good."

"Yes, mum, I'm sure," he snapped.

"All right, it's your head."

Draco sat at his desk as he read the autopsy report. There was nothing unexpected; she had been raped then killed. Severe blood loss due to a severed carotid artery, it said. The date of death was some six weeks previous. He closed his eyes and tried to see the crime: he wanted to know what this 'man', and he used the term loosely, was thinking and feeling. He looked at the photographs and got... nothing new. Damn it. He was angry. There was a soft rapping on his door. "What?" he snapped. The door opened and the cleaning lady walked in.

"I need to empty your bin," she said

"Go ahead." He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. It was 8:30. He sighed, stood up, and started gathering his things. He had to get the hell out of there, before he went mad. He grabbed his bag and headed down to the pool. The Yard was equipped with an extensive exercise facility, and while Draco's job as a profiler, rarely required him to chase down bad guys (he left that to the people with death wishes), he still liked to avail himself of it. It saved him the gym fee, anyway. Tonight he was swimming laps; he found this to be the best way to clear his mind.

Afterwards, while he was finishing in the shower, he had an epiphany; he shut off the water and dried himself with his towel as he ran to his locker where the files were. He sat on the bench and lined up the photos he had taken of the five known victims. He had a feeling that there were women who hadn't yet been discovered. The photographs all showed basically the same scene: naked women with their throats cut, with varying degrees of force, splayed out in discreet sections of public parks, their bodies in various stages of decomposition. It was the rose that made things different for this last one; there was a strange beauty in the scene. The killer probably found it erotic, artful. "He thinks he's an artist," he mumbled to himself. He pulled out the notes he had made on the Jane Doe from today, under wizard, and Muggle-born; he added one more word: Art. He closed up the file, got dressed and Apparated home.

The next morning, after another losing battle with his alarm clock, Draco Malfoy stood in front of his closet at a loss. Ever since the discovery of his serial killer's wizard status, Draco had been mentally schooling himself for the fact that he'd have to go to the Ministry of Magic and alert them of the situation; something he desperately did not want to do. And to make matters worse, his robes were horribly out of style... probably, he didn't really know. It had been about five years since he had been in proper wizard London. Sure, he visited Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted, but they didn't exactly have a dress code, and since the Malfoy name was about as taboo as Voldemort's, (not that people feared to say it or anything), Madam Malkin's shop was not one he frequented. He sighed and pulled out his black robes; they were classically cut and unlikely to be too out of place. He laid them out on his bed and went into the bathroom to attend to his grooming regimen - taking extra time to style his hair. He was determined that if his robes were going to be out of place than at least his hair wouldn't be. He dressed quickly and took one last semi-satisfied look at himself in the mirror, before heading to the kitchen.

He poured himself some coffee and sat down at the table and collected his notes from his case. What he knew about this guy was 1) he is a Muggle-born wizard; 2) he has serious women issues, all women, not just prostitutes. Even though the only victims they'd found thus far had been streetwalkers, he had a feeling this wouldn't always be the case, prostitutes were easy to get alone; 3) he fancies he's an artist; 4) he has a hair fetish; 5) he suspected the son of a bitch was a necrophiliac; 6) this was definitely one sick bastard, and 7) he had no clue where to find him.

He gathered up his things, placed his empty mug in the sink, took a few more deep breaths to steady his nerves, and then Apparated to the Ministry.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and purpose for your visit." The speaker was a short witch with blonde hair. She was wearing sky blue robes and carried a clipboard. She looked like she still belonged in Hogwarts, although he supposed she had probably finished.

"Draco Malfoy. I have an appointment with Auror Tonks," he answered.

The girl's eyes widened as he stated his name. She stared at him with her mouth slightly open for a moment, before recovering enough to hand him his visitor's badge and pointing to the wand station for his to be weighed and registered. "You'll be on level 4, Mister Malfoy."

"Thanks," he said, almost hiding the sarcasm that surfaced at her reaction to his name. Really, it was ridiculous. He surrendered his wand to be weighed and shifted uncomfortably as the Ministry employee gaped at him.

The lift doors opened and Draco, plus several paper airplanes, exited. He approached the large reception desk that faced the lifts and was greeted by another small young witch, who had yet to look up from the magazine she was reading.

"Welcome to the Auror department, how may I help you?" she asked in a very bored sounding monotone, as she kept reading her magazine.

"I have an appointment with Nymphadora Tonks."

"Auror Tonks was called away on urgent business. Try again tomorrow, yeah?"

"Is there anyone else I could talk to? It doesn't really matter who." Anyone, so long as I don't have to come back here, he thought.

The woman looked at him for a moment, then sighed and pointed her wand at the door. It clicked open. "To your left, yeah? Just about everyone else has gone on assignment."

Draco walked through the door and turned left when a thought occurred to him. He turned back to the young witch who had already gone back to her magazine. "Excuse me, who am I-?"

"Auror Weasley." she said without looking up, missing the slight look of panic that crossed his face as the door slammed shut and locked. Weasley. He took a few more deep breaths; 'Right, you can do this, just like at Hogwarts. Even if you have abandoned everything that your family once stood for, you are still a Malfoy and can handle yourself in the face of anything Weasley.' He wished once more that his robes were newer as he started down the hall looking for red hair. On his right were huge windows and cubicles, and to his left were frosted glass doors to larger offices. The whole place looked like the fancy law offices from the telly: big space, and mahogany siding. He passed an office door with the name Weasley written on it. A quick look through the frosted glass showed a blurry red blob. This must be the place; he knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He opened the door and caught sight of one Ronald Weasley hunched over his desk doing paper work.

"Just a second," he said without looking up.

The years had been kind to him, mostly. He wasn't as ugly as Draco remembered him being at Hogwarts, having lost much of the gangly-ness that had marred his appearance all through school, but that really wasn't saying much. From his vantage point, he could see that Ron had a long scar down his cheek, and his left hand had a bandage on it, which is probably why he was here and not out on whatever assignment that everyone else was on. All in all, he looked older and also scarier. 'Oh good,' he thought, 'Weasel King can pummel my arse now.' He looked around the office and saw hoards of children staring back at him and waiving from portraits on the wall. By this point, Ron had looked up from his paper work, and was staring at his visitor with unabashed shock.

"I thought you were dead."

"You thought wrong, Weasley. I see you're as good a detective now as you were wealthy at Hogwarts." He smirked, falling back into his old patterns.

Ron narrowed his eyes, leaned over and spoke into the intercom. "Jenny?"

"Yes, Auror Weasley?" came the reply from the reception witch.

"In future, when a person who was my mortal enemy for seven years before his disappearance - leading me to hope that rumors of his death were true - drops in for a visit, I could do with some warning."

"Oh" she paused. "Draco Malfoy to see you."

"Thanks," he said sarcastically, while shaking his head.

Draco heard all of this and, with much difficulty, was able to turn his smile into a smirk.

Ron turned back to him. "Why are you here?"

Draco could see his hand move closer to his wand, which was on his desk. He cleared his throat. "I've come to alert the Ministry to a situation involving a wizard serial murderer."

A slight look of disappointment flashed across Ron's face, as if he'd been expecting Draco to cackle evilly and declare his intentions for resurrecting Voldemort. He looked blankly for a second before wittily replying, "Huh?"

Draco's eyes flicked to a chair opposite the desk. Ron must have noticed, because he gestured to the chair and said, "Sit down."

He sat and pulled files from his briefcase. "So far, we have found five women who were all killed in the same manner." He placed the first photograph in front of Ron. "Isabella Hinkley, twenty-three, was our first victim. She was found approximately two months after her death." He placed the next photo on top of the first, "Georgia Brown, nineteen, was found about ten weeks after her death." He continued through the other photos, "And finally Jane Doe, we found her yesterday, she's been dead for about six weeks." He could see Weasley pale at the last picture. He supposed she resembled family of his, what with the hair and all.

Ron looked up at him, "Why is this Ministry business?"

"Because he's a wizard." He paused for a moment, "I've also come to get permission to access the Ministry's records in the hopes of finding a suspect."

Ron looked at him incredulously, "You want me to give you permission to view the Ministry's records?"

"Truthfully I'd prefer it from someone higher up, but I suppose you'll do."

"You're going to have to do some explaining first."

"Like?"

"Like how you know so much about this guy." He was looking at Draco's notes on the killer. "How do you even know he's a wizard, much less a Muggle-born?"

Draco sighed mentally, "I could feel the residuals, left over from some of the spells he cast. The cold preserved them on the Jane Doe."

"What sort of spells?"

"A cutting charm on her hair," he pointed to the woman's short hair. "A Transfiguration spell on the rose, and just about every cleaning charm you could think of and then some."

"These women are Muggles, though. Why would a Muggle-born go 'round killing Muggles?"

"You do know Voldemort was a Muggle, right?" Ron blushed; he had, apparently, forgotten. Draco would never forget the shock of hearing that the man he would have died for at one point, and whom his father followed to his own death, was nothing better than a half-blood - back when he cared about that sort of thing. "And besides these murders aren't about race, they're about gender and hatred."

"That still doesn't explain why you think this guy is a Muggle-born."

"He kills them with a knife, the only magic he uses is to clear away his physical evidence and to take his trophies. Anyone who had grown up as a wizard wouldn't care what evidence the Muggle police found. I certainly wouldn't; just a quick 'Avada Kadavra' then Apparate away..." He trailed off when he saw Ron reaching for his wand again. He cleared his throat before pointing out, "I was kidding about that last bit."

Ron stopped his reach, but didn't retract his hand; it remained loosely clasped around his wand. "What is it you do, exactly?"

"I'm a profiler."

Ron gave him a blank look.

"It's my job to figure out what the criminal is thinking and to anticipate his next move."

"So you get paid to think like a psychopath?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, seeing where this was going. "Basically."

"So you must be employee of the month, eh?" He chuckled at his own joke, but stopped when he saw Draco's face. For Draco's part, he was using the same energies he used on his alarm clock every morning to will Ron to burst into flames. It wasn't working on him either.

Ron cleared his throat. "What exactly are you looking for us to do, here?"

"First of all, I would like you to give me access to the Ministry's records so I can do my job."

"I'm still not sure about that."

"Why?"

"Honestly, you've been off the map for quite some time, and some of your old mates are starting to get released from Azkaban." He babbled on like this for a while, never actually getting to his, blindingly obvious, point.

Draco rolled his eyes. The stress of the past couple of days, and the fact that he was actually having to suck up to Weasley, of all people, was making his temper wear thin. "Weasley!" he snapped. "Will you just get to your bloody point?"

Ron stopped and looked Draco in the eye. "I don't trust you. I think giving you access to Ministry records would be the same as inviting a Death Eater reunion into my home. How do I know you're not going to look up your old mates and, and, and…"

"And?"

"And try to bring back You-Know-Who or something?"

Draco's jaw tightened before he replied, "Well, I guess you don't."

"Exactly I-" He stopped when he heard a commotion in the hallway. The other Aurors had returned and they sounded happy. "Wait here," he said to Draco as he left to speak with his colleagues.

Draco mimed beating his head against a wall, and did his best to eavesdrop on the conversation outside. He couldn't make out everything, but he gathered that the operation had gone well. The commotion died down and he could hear someone murmuring, quietly. It must have been Weasley telling Potter about him, because, while he couldn't hear what Weasley was saying, he could hear Potter's reaction.

"What!"

"Oh good, I was hoping he'd stick around, I'm busy all next week." This statement was from a voice that was distinctly one Nymphadora Tonks'. Draco felt relieved; at least she wouldn't make him jump through hoops.

"You knew he was coming? And you didn't tell me?" Weasley, again.

"We had an appointment, I didn't plan for Jennings to surface today or for you to be injured, requiring me to pick up the slack."

"What's he even doing here, I thought he was dead." That voice was definitely Potter's; he always tended to whinge when he got upset.

"That's what I said. He says he needs access to the Ministry records, to catch some killer."

"He wants to 'catch a killer'? Right. He probably wants to organize some sort of Death Eater Reunion."

"What are you two on about? Draco's not a Death Eater, he works with the Muggle police." She poked her head in the door. "Wotcher, Draco, come on over to my office"

Draco stood up, gathered up his files and followed her to her office, making sure he didn't burst out laughing at the sight of Potter and Weasley's twin shocked expressions. He schooled his face into his classic Malfoy smirk, as he passed by - though a careful observer could see it didn't reach his eyes. They entered Tonks' office, which was considerably bigger then Ron's had been. She had a sofa and coffee table. He sat down on the couch and put his feet on the table, feeling more relaxed then he had been all day. "How are you, Nym?"

"Oh you know, tip top."

Tonks had changed somewhat, in the last fifteen years. She was still clumsy and had that goofy humor that Draco found irritating, more often then not, but that kids seemed to enjoy. However, after the war she had been promoted quickly and with each promotion, her appearance and become more and more professional. Now, instead of spiky pink hair and blue jeans, she wore carefully tailored work robes and her long blonde hair was pulled back in a bun.

"I'm sorry about missing dinner the other night, I got busy."

"Why are you here, Draco?"

He sighed and spread out his files, again. He handed her the photographs. "The guy who's been doing this is a wizard. I've just found out yesterday. I need access to Ministry records in order to help find him."

She looked up from the photos. "Sure."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, why?"

"The way Weasley made it sound, you'd need me to give you my first born son or something."

Tonks frowned, slightly "I don't know what you've heard, but the Ministry frowns on baby farming now." She smiled as she handed him some forms. "Fill these out and you can view whatever you want, up to Level Three. That will get you names and histories."

"Thanks, Nym."

"I'll see what I can do about getting you a temporary commission, too."

"What, be an Auror?"

"For this case."

He started to protest, but then he thought better of it. "That's the only way I'll be able to continue the investigation, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Normal procedure dictates that all Muggle participants be Obliviated and the case turned over to us, but seeing as how you're family…"

"Thanks, Nym." he hesitated a few seconds before asking, "What about my colleagues?"

"For now, I will leave that to your discretion, but I want to be kept in the loop every step of the way. Understand?"

Draco nodded and stood up. "If you need me, I'll be in the Hall of Records," he said as he opened the door. "Thanks again for your help."

"Be sure to owl me, and let me know what you find out. Are you coming to dinner on Sunday?"

"Depends on who dies between now and then," he replied, only half joking. "See you, Nym, say hi to your Mum and Dad for me, yeah?"

"Bye, Draco, take care of yourself, okay? Three square meals and all of that."

Draco navigated his way through the maze of cubicles, making sure to give one last smirk to Potter and Weasley as he passed them on his way to the lifts.

He spent the rest of the day going through Ministry records (a task that, unbelievably, is actually more boring than it sounds). Because of his Level Three access, he was allowed to take the records home with him. The librarian eyed him carefully as she handed him a book that would show him whatever information he wanted, to which he had been allowed access. All he had to do was speak the parameters of his search into the book and it would show those records to him. Draco tried to hide the surge of frustration that welled up inside him. Having had this book in the first place would have helped him greatly. He took the book, practically ran to the Apparition point, and went home.

Seconds after he arrived in his living room, there was a knock at his door. He threw the book on his couch and went to answer it.

Joe stood on his doorstep looking furious. "Why'd you turn off your phone," he walked past Draco into the flat. "I've been trying to reach you all day, don't you know - are you wearing a dress?" He was looking at Draco's robes with a slightly worried expression on his face.

"Yeah I've been trying to lure our killer to come after me," Draco replied sarcastically. He laughed at the look Joe gave him. "These are robes, I had to go to the Ministry of Magic and alert them of the situation. It'd have been pointless to keep my mobile on, there's too much interference, down there."

"So wizards wear that?"

"Yes Joe, we wear robes."

"Oh," he looked away, trying not to laugh.

Draco ignored him. "Make yourself at home; I'm going to go change."

"Maybe a short sequined number, you know, something to show off those legs," he laughed.

Draco gave Joe the V-sign as he walked into his bedroom, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. He came back into his living room. "So what's up?" he asked pulling two beers out of his refrigerator. He tossed one to Joe, who placed it on the table.

"There's been another one."

Draco, who had been about to take a sip of his beer, stopped. "So soon?"

"Yeah, Welling wants to see you, tonight if possible."

Draco grabbed his camera from the table. "Tell him to meet us at the scene, I want to get out there right away."

"We can't, she's in Virginia."

Draco stopped mid-stride and turned around. "As in America?"

Joe nodded, "As in America."

Four hours later, Draco sat at his desk in his flat writing letters. First to Tonks, informing her of the situation, then to his Aunt and Uncle, telling them of his temporary relocation to America and apologizing because he was going to miss Sunday dinner again. He transfigured both letters into paper airplanes, and sent them to their respective destinations. His Eagle owl had died several years ago and he had never bothered to replace her. The only wizards he ever communicated with were his aunt and uncle and they had a telephone. It was easier to just use that, although tonight he didn't feel like talking to them. He looked at his watch: it was 10:15; Jude should be home by now. He picked up his mobile and dialed the international call.

Judicarra was his favorite cousin… more like a sister, really. It was she, more than anyone else, who was responsible for his transformation into a 'decent human being,' as she put it. He never knew how she had been able to pull that off. It certainly wasn't magic, as she was a Squib, yet it often seemed magical. Although, in reality, it had taken much, much longer, when he looked back, it felt like one day he was sitting alone in his room, wishing he were anywhere else (even Azkaban); the next day he was accepting her pity invitation to the cinema with her Muggle friends where she was somehow able to make him feel like a complete loser for ever thinking he was in any way better than they were; and the day after that he was inviting them out because he genuinely wanted to spend time with them. That was the one silver lining about his indefinite trip to America: she lived there with her Muggle husband, Tom, their daughter Samantha, and their son Kevin, whom he had yet to meet. He was quite looking forward to seeing them again; the only problem was that they didn't know he was coming.

The phone rang several times before someone picked up. "Hello?" said a young voice with a mixture of English and American accents.

"Hello?" said Draco. "May I please speak to your Mum?"

"Yes" was her reply. Draco pulled the receiver from his ear as the little girl screamed into it, "MUM!"

There was a click as Jude picked up the phone. "Thanks, Sam. Go wash up for supper." He heard the sound of running footsteps as she said, "Hello?"

"Jude! How are you?"

"Draco? How are you? It's so good to hear from you. Leave Kevin alone Sam, I've just bathed him. How's London? And shame on you for missing dinner. Is that any way to treat Mum and Dad, I ask you?"

Draco smiled, "You heard about that, then?"

"Yes, Mum was very upset. She had a date all set to meet you, too."

"Oh, well now I'm extra sorry for missing it," he said sarcastically.

She laughed, "I can tell." She chatted on about her family and work for a while, before Draco had a chance to tell her the reason for his call.

"Look, I'm sorry for the short notice, but I'll be in the DC area for a while, starting tomorrow, actually."

"Is everything all right?"

"The bastard I've been after has moved on to DC. I was hoping I could stay with you for a couple of nights, until I get situated with a flat."

"Sure, Draco, whatever you need."

"Thanks, Jude. You're fantastic." He gave her his flight information and hung up.

He had just finished packing when there was a tapping at the window. He opened it and three owls flew in. The first was a letter from Tonks, giving him the name of the head of Aurors in the US Department of Magic, Michael Fletcher, and his shiny new Aurors badge. The other two carried a package between them. It was from his Aunt, and it contained presents for her grandchildren, which he now had to find a way to fit into his already over-stuffed suitcase. He yawned as he went around his apartment, preparing for his long trip the following morning. It was 1:30 in the morning before he actually got to bed. Seven hours later, he was on a plane, bound for America.

The searchable book was blatantly stolen from season 5 of Angel. I'm not sorry and I'd do it again.

The Celsius temps translate to Fahrenheit as approximately 10 degrees, 30 degrees, and 15 degrees.

A big thank you to Kazfeist for betaing this monster of a fic. And thanks to you for reading.