Author's Note: This is an AU. Characters are a little out of character due to the plot. I probably will not be describing what happened to each, but show them through dialogue instead. I also like pizza, and popcorn.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

First things first
I don't wanna be forgotten
Even worse
I don't wanna be alone — No Grey

Chapter Three

"You look like shite, Malfoy. What the hell happened to you?"

That was generally how Weasley would greet him even if he needs anything from him, which was usually the only reason he came to the Investigation Department in the first place. His fingers stop his quill from scratching on the parchment, and he looks up boredly from the paperwork that was Fifty percent more interesting than the Weasel.

Hey, they decided to be civil but not act like best friends.

"Well?" the red head tosser prodded.

"It's nothing and rest assured, it doesn't concern you." He resumed writing, dipping the tip of his quill in black ink before completing the file for the Improper Use of Magic; a case given to him when a twelve-year old had decided to suddenly shoot out a stunner. The muggleborn-kid claimed his original purpose was to halt his mother's fall off a stool when she was putting away heavy objects to a higher cabinet, but had not understood the purpose of the spell so his parent still ended up with a fractured leg.

Weasley placed a folder on the side of his desk, and grinned cockily, "Having trouble in paradise?"

He wanted to tell him: "Oh no, everything's perfectly fine. Just have Granger as a house guest, that's all." But bit back the sarcastic comment. Instead he went with, "No, I'm just in no mood of humoring your idiocy."

Weasley shot him a glare. "Whatever Ferret."

"Ah, your comebacks are improving with each passing day, I see."

"Wanker. You're on our team again."

"So I've heard from Theo earlier this day and honestly, it makes me feel so giddy."

"It's nice to know you're starting to appreciate our efforts, Drake." He looked up again and found the devil this time, sauntering into his office in the usual Slytherin gait. If there was anything Post-War that could surprise him, it was Theodore Nott returning for their last year at Hogwarts and then signing up for Auror training. Although a year late, he was still usually teamed up with Potter and Weasley because of acing the Concealment and Disguise course. It made him a part of the MLE Elites – the unofficial group people claimed once complete, will be able to solve any case.

He, of course, was the Leader and Brain of the said group. Even if it's unofficial.

"Giddy. I feel so nauseated that I think I'm going to vomit. And that," he paused for effects, straightening on his seat, "Is merely at the thought of seeing the lot of you."

"You wound me." Theo said, while Weasley rolled his eyes. When the Slytherin wizard noticed this, he turned to the Gryffindor. "Oh don't worry, Weasel. You know he only says that. He's actually the most lovable loving and caring person in our team, remember?"

Weasley regained his composure in a blink and fixed a pleased smile on his face, "Yeah, what was that again, Malfoy? Somewhere along the lines off—"

"Go fuck yourself."

"Gasp!" Theo exclaimed dramatically, "Why Malfoy, I thought you're too classy for claimed Muggle expressions such as fuck! The horror!"

"Well," he sneered, swiping off the folder from his desk and scanning the contents, "I'm just a good friend and since you have now joined the Muggle-loving Fanclub, I have to use certain words you are surely to understand."

Nott is dating a Muggle-born for three months now so he ignores the jab, knowing he had nothing to reply to this. "Do you understand how much he cares for us now, Weasley?" Theo pats the Weasel's right shoulder instead, mothering a proud look on his face.

On the other hand, Ronald Weasley finds this amusing, when Malfoy and Nott settle into a friendly banter. The other always had something to say to the other and while he didn't like it when he's losing a conversation, he sure does love it when it happens to Malfoy.

But this isn't why they were here though; he knew he had to break the almost-shouting because if the Head Auror suddenly decides to burst in, they'd be in a big —

"Malfoy, kindly shut your traphole before I decide to take your wand and shove it down your throat. Same goes for you Nott. And Weasley, what are Aurors doing in this place in the light of the day? Aren't you one of the current Team head?"

The two Slytherins were still busy glaring at each other; he sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing them. "Nothing Hendrick. I've just came to inform Malfoy that he's going to be in our group for the next several months."

But when he opened his eyes, the Senior Auror had already left, leaving an open door.

"He reminds me of Moody somehow." he commented, turning to the two. "The Gala was just yesterday and he expects everyone to be as normal and tight." And then shrugged, "He probably didn't even lose anyone to begin with."

Malfoy groaned. "Suck it up Weasel."

"You do know you can't just mix personal affairs with your career, right?" Nott added, crossing his arms.

Shit, they're about to team on him—

"Of course I do. But I need to go. Lunch with Harry and Ginny." He hurried to the door, ignoring the unclear string of words bound to be insults to him and his hair colour. "You know the drill, Malfoy!" He called over his shoulder, preferring to continue the argument when Harry is around and it was two-versus-two.

He stopped on his tracks when he remembered something and called from the hallway, "Oh, and the team leadership might be passed on you! Might!"

The night of the same date.

"See files attached;
I have been going through the case code GBFE512, case Mister Adrian Stone, the Twelve-year old Muggleborn Wizard that was alerted to have used a spell triggering the Trace. Said person had been brought in for investigation and by Prior Incantato, had been found to have cast a Stunning Spell in which he had claimed the first spell he thought of when he saw his Parent fall off a stool whi—"

"I heard you were working in the MLE Department, but I never thought you're actually taking your job seriously."

His surprise caused his quill to make an improper stroke, and he looked up to glare at the source of the voice before Granger's face even registered in his vision. He pulled his wand from his pocket—

"You're not going to hex me, are you?" almost in a taunting voice, the annoying-suddenly-chatty, is-she-still-a-know-it-all asked.

He tapped the parchment and removed his error, before returning it into his pocket. "You're not worth it, Granger."

She seemed to have thought of something, pausing for 36 ticks of a clock before replying, "Touché."

He remember what she thought of then; it was the line she always said in pertinence to the Younger-him back when all he knew of the brewing war were taunts, jeering and pranks. He continued writing and ignored her as she sat diagonally to him, carefully opening a tattered Grimoire, the one in his Father's collection, if he has not mistaken.

"Why do you work?"

He mentally face palmed at the stupidity of the question, and Granger must have sensed her mistake when she added in a offended voice. "I mean you don't even need it. You should be helping Narcissa running that Multibillion-Galleon Malfoy enterprises instead. Seriously, she's beginning to have—"

"Granger, you're in a library."

She shrugged, "Yeah, so."

Yeah…what? She wasn't the Granger he knew. Albeit he didn't knew Granger to begin with but he does know that the Granger he knew would chastise him for speaking something longer than a single sentence, automatically deemed unnecessary and should be said later if they meet in the halls. He refused to ask what happened to her though, so he cleared his voice and went for a safer topic:

"What do you do for a living?"

"Lots of things." She answered quickly. "Mainly, completing tasks given to me. I retrieve files, deliver them, or look for ancient items. There are times that I am asked to track a person, or catch them. The rest of the times they ask me to dispose of the target."

His eyes snapped at her at the confession, eyes widening. To dispose of…what.

She might have gotten a little self-conscious because she looks up too and their gazes meet.

"You kill people?"

And Granger merely licked her lips and shrugged nonchalantly. "If you want to put it that way."

"You're kidding." the words of disbelief escaped his lips before he could even contemplate it. Because she has to be. For what reason would the goodie-two-shoe Granger suddenly—wait. It that's how… then who is she working… and his mother… his mother.

He placed down his quill gently on the ebony mahogany table. The witch eyes his every move, waiting and observing him. "Why are you here?"

Without blinking she answered, "Because Narcissa invited me."

"Why did my Mother invite you?"

"Because she owes me a Life Debt."

"Why does she owe you a Life Debt?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because I saved her life."

"Why did you save her life?"

"Because I had to."

Her smile was widening, and he was getting impatient real fast. "Why did you 'had to'?"

"Because she was—"

He slammed his right hand on the table, rattling his ink bottle and echoing in the silence of the Malfoy Library. His voice was contrary to this action, for it was quiet, almost a whisper. "Granger, we both know that you're not stupid. You know what I want to hear."

"Narcissa is not a part of this, if that's what you're worried about." She offered, her gaze returning to the book. "And just so you know, I'm not a fugitive. Whatever work I'm doing, the Ministry knows of it. It's within the laws."

His eyes narrowed but chose not to ask anymore. Gathering his items, he left the witch; he didn't want her to think that he was interested in her life or for her to think of trivial things like he cared enough to stay. Merlin forbid, if she starts sharing life-experience like Weasel tends to do randomly or like Potter does when he's drunk, he would probably burn the Manor and apparate faster than she can say 'hey listen'.

Three days later.

"Bloody hell." Were the only words escaping his lips as his eyes scanned the scenery before him.

It was a nightfall when he was called into the scene of crime. It was Weasley's voice who woke him from his slumber, his voice urgent and a little panicky. And now he understood why. Just by looking from the outside, the interior of the house was obviously ransacked. The door was blasted off its hinges, windows broken although some of the second floor was still fixed. As he walked inside, the wall papers were torn, some burnt and there was an area inside the sitting room that was still being put out of fire. Nott was there, together with fellow Magical Investigator Justin Finch-Fletchey, the Muggleborn Hufflepuff they went to school with. They were talking in hush voices and he took in the ruined settees, the overturn table and the shattered china cups.

"Draco.", "Drake." The two greeted when they noticed him. He nodded curtly in return.

"What happened here? Where are the others? Why are there only two of you?"

Theo found it within him to smirk, "Chasing the supposed criminal. Someone needs to baby sit Justin though."

Finch-fletchey glared at him though it didn't reach his eyes, "I can take care of myself Theodore."

He clicked his tongue, trying to take the attention of the two before they went on to another round of banter. Whoever Theo was talking to, he was bound to have an argument with the person. "Did someone get hurt?"

The Hufflepuff turned to him completely, "Yes, it was Mordechai Mason. From what I've gathered he was a childless, spouseless, middle-aged man that was a Potioneer at this village's potion shop."

"Where is he now?"

"Sent to St. Mungos." Theo was the one who answered in a teasing manner, "Justin almost declared him dead."

Draco narrowed his eyes, "Almost declared him dead?"

"I panicked, okay? It was a moment of—"

"Apparently, he was given the Draught of Living Death. And this is the reason why," the other Slytherin Wizard boasted, "You should thank me and treat me your master."

"I will thank you but you are not my master." the Hufflepuff muttered angrily, and then turning to Draco, he said. "Must be force fed, it would explain the struggle."

He re-examined the room, more thoroughly this time. Crouching over the burnt part, he used his wand to poke around the ashes. "Have you seen what this was before it was set on fire?"

Finch-Fletchey shrugged, "It was blank. Probably charmed. We couldn't save the parchment though and little remained when we got here and tried to put it out. The newspaper that I assume fell off the end table was the one burning when you walked in."

"Alright." He finished and straightened himself, then began casting diagnostic spells.

What left him unsettled was that there was only a small amount of magic in the area and because of the aura it left, it wasn't even a curse. He moved to the hallway and redid the spell a few times until he covered the whole ground floor of the house. No grim aura. If it wasn't for the potion, he'd say a Muggle must have broken in…but then again the house was inside a Wizarding Village. So what must have happened?

He could hear the footsteps of his two team-mates joining them as they set to the second floor. "Have you checked the rooms upstairs?"

"Not yet.", "Wanted to though, Justin said to wait for you."

Another exchange of glares…but once they reached it—

Finch-Fletchey gagged, Theo murmured a soft, "Shit."

Even he stopped dead on his tracks, for the cream themed hallway to their right were two unmoving bodies several spaces from each other. The one nearer to them had a broken vase probably smacked on him and the other body had blood splashed on the wall. On the end of the path was a broken human-sized window.

His two team mates had rushed over each person, checking them for vital signs. Draco performed spells though...now this floor reeked of heavy curses.

"Fuck!" cried one of his team mates. His eyes darted to where Theo was, he jumped a space backward after trying to turn the— oh fuck indeed. The other man had its upper body torn from the rest, and his face was so broken and bruised it was barely recognizable. He heard the Hufflepuff suppress his vomit again, and say,

"This one is dead too." He turned to the nearer person then, and he tossed Finch-Fletchey a portkey and two to Theo.

"Wait, wait…Drake, are you serious?!" the Slytherin cocked his head sideward with a half-annoyed and half-bewildered look on his face, pointing the corpse. "This is your job! I'm the Auror!"

"You should've stick with the others then. But while you're there, can you check that man's cloak if he has anything?" While saying this, Draco was already searching the nearer man's pockets for anything but found none, not even his wand. Theo spat his own findings…it was the same as him.

So the three of them stood backward and watch the two bodies being portkey away to St. Mungo's Morgue, where it was said to be only respectful that they were at least tried to be identified and had their families informed before organizing burial.

They searched the four rooms on the second floor; all were clean and untouched, not even Potion ingredients or instructions doodles that were usually found randomly in a Potioneer's house.

There was nothing.

And it was really unnerving.

While they were heading downstairs to report back to the Ministry, Finch-Fletchey said in a quiet voice, "I've never seen anything like this. Usually, the criminal leaves something behind, or at least something of the victims. But it seems like everything important was taken away or vanished."

None of them spoke again, until they reached the front porch and Theo was looking up the sky, "This bastard isn't one of our everyday criminals."

"Whoever it is, he's a genius."

For some odd reason he thought of a certain witch he hasn't seen in three days since their meeting in the library, and he brought his palm up to rub his face.

Oh bloody hell Granger, you better not be a part of this.

one word. popcorn! everyone loves popcorn! and reviews of course!