AN:I know it's short, but the chapters to come are much longer. I promise. Please continue to read and review.
Thanks!
Oh by the way: I in no way shape or form own Harry Potter. That all belongs to JK Rowling and her brilliant mind. Do I really even need to say this?
Chapter 8
Piece of the Puzzle
Late Christmas night and the day after 1998
Michael woke up in an alley in wizarding DC around midnight. He looked around and had no recollection of how he got wherever he was. He walked up the alley to the street and then he realized where he was. He decided he was too weak to apparate back home, so he decided he would just rent a room. He found a motel not far from the alley and booked a room for the night. What a way to spend Christmas in some crappy motel room in wizarding DC. Not really Michael's idea of fun. He showered and then passed out. When he woke in the morning he went to see if he could find something to eat. He found a small diner around the corner and went in to get a coffee and some waffles. For a small place there sure was a lot of people around.
"There was another murder last night, the Perry family. Both of the kids, the grandmother and the parents were killed by that strange curse they say comes from England." Michael over heard a woman tell her friend.
"It was in Washington's Wizard Times this morning. Killing a whole wizarding family is to big to be able to keep quiet." Another man said to his wife.
At this Michael felt sick. He needed to keep listening though. He ordered a coffee and sat down at the bar. He listened to everyone around him talk about the murders from the unnamed curse. He logged to memory all the places he heard them say the murders took place. They were all sounding vaguely familiar. He finished his coffee, ordered one to go, and walked out of the diner. He saw a newspaper stand down the street and bought one of every paper that mentioned the murders. He then apparated back to his home in Washington State.
He went through the papers and wrote down all the places they said the murders had taken place in the last three months and the dates. He then went and grabbed his receipts from the motels he'd stayed at over the last three months.
"Shit!
Shit!
Shit!
Shit!
Shit!"
Every profane word Michael could think of was coming out of his mouth. He probably made up some too.
They matched. This was not possible.
Michael felt sick. He rushed to the bathroom and vomited.
What the hell was going on? What the hell had he done? What was the curse that had been used? The papers said there was blood, a lot of blood. The answer came rushing to him.
Sectumsempra.
Bloody hell.
He vomited again. He didn't even know he still knew that curse. He was in the bathroom when Harry used it on Draco in their 6th year, but he didn't know that he remembered it. What was he doing? What the hell? He vomited for the third time.
He did remember that he knew that curse. It all came rushing back to him again. That's the curse he used on Lestrange in the war. He watched that bastard bleed out in the courtyard of Hogwarts in the middle of the final battle. He dry heaved. There was nothing left to come up, but if there was he would have vomited again.
Why was he using it now? Why couldn't he remember what the hell he was doing? Why was he killing random people? They'd never done anything to him. How is he getting to all these strange places and finding these poor people? He had not idea what was going on in his own life. He wasn't a blood thirsty person. The war had seriously messed with his mentality.
He needed to get himself under control. He was not going to kill again. He had to get himself some help. He thought about checking into St. Alfred's, a wizarding hospital in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. He decided against it. He didn't want anyone to know what he had done. He couldn't.
Since he had been living like a muggle for a few months, he had invested in some muggle things. Some of these things were very handy. There were telephones, and computers, and t.v.s. There was something new, called the internet that used a computer and this allowed him to look up information. He had bought a computer when he first decided to live like a muggle. He also had the internet. It was expensive and not a lot of people had it, but he wanted it. So he got it. He looked up lots of information on the internet. He did lots of research. He decided that the best thing for him to do was keep a written record of everything he did, and everything he could remember since the war ended.
He felt like a third year Hufflepuff girl keeping a diary, but he didn't want to kill anyone again and he didn't want to go to a hospital, so keeping his diary would just have to do. He decided not to call it a diary but a journal. Yeah. A journal, that sounded less Hufflepuff.
Roddy, Johnny Ray, and a few other members of their team were at the Perry's townhouse in Washington, DC. Five murders at once. All by the same spell. Roddy and Johnny Ray felt sick. This was terrible. It was that spell from over in England. Damn. They were taking pictures of everything; literally everything since they entered into the Perry's property. They had a small backyard and a patch of grass in the front of the house that the team was taking pictures of too. Every corner, door knob, everything. They were collecting dust and samples of everything. They did spells that tested for anything and everything they could think of. Whoever was doing this was good. There was no trace of anything or anyone ever being there besides the fact that there was 5 dead bodies killed at the supper table and blood all over the floor. There was no way that the murder of a pure blood family in Washington, DC was going to stay out of the papers. Damn. This was going to make a long night for Johnny Ray who would talk to the media. Damn that media for being so blasted nosey.
After everything was done they could do Johnny Ray sent everyone home and contacted the media. He would hold a small conference to answer most of the questions at once. He asked Roddy to stay and do the interviews with him. Roddy agreed. Once the media frieze was finally over they went and grabbed a drink at a bar. They needed to relax after that scene. It was the worst think either one of them had ever seen. Roddy got to thinkin' that what they just came from was nothing compared to what Draco had seen. He felt terrible for his friend. Draco deserved some normalcy in his life.
Draco sat in his flat writing and rewriting his note to Hermione. He just wanted to go to lunch. He didn't know if he should send it while she was at The Burrow or not. She probably had more time while she was still on holiday, but there was a chance that Harry or Ron would see the message. What to do? What to do? He was going to drive himself nuts. He was just going to owl her now. Get it over with. He wasn't scared of Harry or Ron. He was probably more scared of Hermione than either of them.
His note was simple. It read:
Hermione,
Would you care to go to lunch with me sometime this week?
-Draco
He felt like he should add so much more, but he couldn't. He'd just wait and see if she responded. He give his owl the note and told the owl to wait for a response. He paced in the house for a while. Then decided to grab his carton of ice cream and find a book. He was reclining on couch reading and eating cookie dough ice cream when his owl came in the house and dropped a note on his lap.
Draco,
Does the day after tomorrow at noon work? Meet me George's shop.
-Hermione.
Yes! She would have lunch with him. He felt a huge weight life off his shoulders.
Hermione,
That will work. I will see you then.
-Draco
Draco gave the note to Speedo and fell asleep on the couch with his empty ice cream carton on the floor. He slept sounding for the first time since he could remember.