Draco lay, panting, on the floor. The cool stone felt good against his sweaty cheek. He moaned and rolled onto his back, clutching his left wrist. It burned…it burned…

*

It had been five years since the defeat of Voldemort by that precious Harry Potter. Draco’s lip curled up into a sneer as he thought of the man who had, unfortunately, saved his life. Twice. Now, as Draco stepped into his morning suit and checked (again) that Blaise had the wedding bands safely in his pocket, he would have to face Potter once more - on the day of his marriage, for heaven’s sake. He was a friend of his wife-to-be and, of course, he could not say no to her. He loved her.

Yes, it had been five years since the death of the Dark Lord. Five years since the wizarding world had been liberated from darkness and oppression - from terror and fear of death. Five years since Draco’s heavy heart had been lightened considerably. Five years since he had been given the opportunity to begin again - to piece together a new life of goodness, of integrity. And Draco had taken the chance with both hands. He had repented; he had commiserated; he had fallen in love with the most unlikely of people. With the most unsuitable of people.

As he stood, watching her walk slowly down the aisle with her father clutching onto her lace-enveloped arm, tears rolling down perfect, ivory skin and a smile as wide as any he had seen before, Draco breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He had done it. He had begun a new life. He was finally happy. Katie Bell looked up into his eyes, and the shadow of his past melted from his eyes, from his arms and shoulders and chest. From his heart.

Lucius had not approved of the match, but his father’s opinion had no standing in Draco’s life anymore. He would marry a half-blood if he wanted. And he did want, more than anything he had wanted in his life. This was his chance to say to all the world that yes, he had changed. Draco Malfoy could be trusted.

Draco’s work at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes as an Obliviator meant he and Katie could not spend too long on their honeymoon in the South Island of New Zealand. Katie was reluctant to return home, as she thoroughly enjoyed exploring the Southern Alps by broomstick, but Malfoy was not one to shirk in his duties and insisted upon returning.

So, they had returned to a now-empty Malfoy Manor. Narcissa and Lucius had moved to the family chateau in the Languedoc region of France, just outside of Carcassonne, a couple of years back to escape the accusatory stares of the wizarding population each time they ventured into the public eye. Draco had stayed. He was not going to live the remainder of his life in shame. He wanted to build a new life. And so he did. He did not tell his wife that Voldemort had once taken up residence in the imposing manor, nor did he reveal his Dark Mark until she had agreed to marry him. Katie was not surprised.

“I was wondering when you were going to show me,� she had admitted, as Draco pulled up the sleeve of his robe. His expression was blank.

“I wasn’t sure if…you would want me…if you had to see this every day, branded on my arm. A permanent reminder of what I once was.�

Katie smiled warmly and touched the mark. “Does it hurt?�

“Not for a very long time.�

But now Draco lay writhing beneath an ancient tapestry in the front parlour, clawing at his wrist. He had not felt this pain for over five years. What was happening to him? Were his parents also experiencing this? Who could he go to?

Only one name came to mind, and he hated himself for it. There was only one man he could trust with this. Only one in whom he could confide this appalling revelation.

Harry Potter.

*
Harry sat at his desk, staring blankly at the doorway through which Kingsley Shacklebolt had just left. His brow was furrowed in thought, and his nervous fingers danced along the edge of the wooden desk. Curious, he thought, mulling over the conversation. Worrying, actually.

After the final battle five years ago, Harry had been sure this was all behind him - Death Eaters and Dark Marks. Even as an Auror, he was convinced that all the fear and insecurity of those times would never touch him again. But, it seemed, he was wrong. A mystery Death Eater whose Dark Mark had begun to burn again, every day at five o’clock? Was this some strange joke? Common sense told Harry this could not be the work of Voldemort, but terror nevertheless pulsed through his body like a tectonic wave, over and over. He felt nauseous.

There was a soft rap on his door, and he looked up.

“Come in!� he commanded.

The door handle turned slowly; finally, the great wooden entranceway swung forward to reveal a most unlikely figure.

“Potter.� Malfoy nodded his head slightly and returned his wand to its place underneath his stately black and royal blue robes. Despite Draco’s desire to fit in, his taste in apparel still remained the same.

“Malfoy,� Harry returned with a tight smile. “What can I do for you?�

Draco gestured to the chair in front of Harry’s desk with raised eyebrows.

“Of course, sit, sit,� Harry continued, flustered. His usual composed expression was twisted with confusion.

“I could not think of anyone else to go to,� Malfoy began. “In spite of our history, Potter, you seem to trust me, and so, I must return that trust.� His lip curled up involuntarily into a sneer. Draco quickly rearranged his expression, but it was too late. Harry’s curious gaze became distorted and icy.

“Go on.�

“My mark, Potter.� Malfoy could not believe he was here, telling his arch rival from Hogwarts about something so personal - something so threatening, something which frightened him. “My mark, it has begun to burn again-�

“Every day, five o’clock,� Harry interrupted.

“Yes.� Draco tried unsuccessfully to hide his shock. How did he know?

“How do you know?� His voice was sharp, betraying the fear coursing through his veins. Fear coursing through a Slytherin’s veins? Draco felt sick.

Harry explained the Minister’s recent departure from his office and the conversation which had taken place.

“I cannot tell you who the other Death Eater is. I don’t know the identity myself.�

Draco sighed and looked away from the Boy Who Lived. Three faces grinned down at him from the wall behind Harry’s head. Granger was in a beautiful, long white dress with gold stars glinting in her hair. On either side were Potter and Weasley, laughing at the camera. Occasionally, the red-head would turn to his wife and gaze into her happy eyes.
Draco stood up.

“Well, Katie’s due home soon. I better get back. I just wanted to let you know.�

*

As Draco threw a handful of Floo powder into a Ministry fireplace and muttered “Malfoy Manor,� his thoughts drifted to his own wife. He could not tell her. He was so ashamed already of the mark, and the past it reminded him of, that he could not even bring himself to think of how he could possibly explain. I’m sorry, honey. I know I told you that this was all over and behind me now, but for some reason my Dark Mark has started to burn again. What would she think? No, he would not, could not, tell her.

Katie was waiting in the dining room when he returned.

“Where were you?� she asked. “I thought it was your day off?�

He walked over to her, bent down behind the chair she was sitting in, and kissed the nape of her soft neck. Katie shivered and turned to face her husband. His face was drawn, and he had dark bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes.

“What is it, Draco? What’s happened?�

Everything.

“Nothing,� he lied seamlessly. After all, he was a Slytherin. He sat down opposite Katie, and she pointed her wand at the large pot on the stove. Steaming hot soup poured in a vast ark over the table and into a bowl. He inhaled the thick creamy scent and slurped his way through dinner. After he had a hot meal in him, some of the worry seemed to abate. He leant over the table and whispered into Katie’s ear, “How about an early night?� A mischievous grin spread across his face. She smiled with relief. Maybe it had been just a hard day at work. Although she had been sure it was his day off.

That night, as Draco and Katie lay in bed entwined, and as he heard his wife’s breathing slow into a steady, deep rhythm, he pressed his left wrist against her smooth back. It felt nice. Calm. Comforting. He let his fingers trickle down her bare shoulders to the small of her back, her scent intoxicating, her hair soft, her breath cool against his hot chest. She was so fragile and small, so delicate like this. Lying complacently in his arms. So trusting. He chuckled as he thought of the time back at Hogwarts when she had deliberately crashed into him during a Quidditch match as they competed against each other. Different houses, different lives. He hadn’t known her then. She hadn’t known him.

Katie’s eyes fluttered open sleepily as his chest vibrated beneath her.

“What’s so funny?� she asked, confused yet smiling.

“Let’s go flying this weekend,� he suggested.

“Hmm, that sounds great.� Katie drifted back off to sleep, the ghost of her smile gently caressing her lips.

Draco’s eyes darkened. How much longer did they have together? How much longer could he suggest harmless one-on-one Quidditch matches each weekend? How much longer until this dangerous enigma caught up with him and the pain in his wrist became too much to bear? Too much for Katie to bear?

******

Cackling masks and flashes of green light haunted Draco’s dreams night after night. It had been two weeks now, and Potter had come up with nothing. They argued relentlessly.

“You’re not doing enough. Do you understand the implications of this, Potter? Or are you happy to shuffle through some papers each day and return home to Weasley in the evenings?�

“I’m doing everything I can, Malfoy. Are you that self-absorbed, or can’t you remember who it was Voldemort was intent on killing the last time around?�

“You don’t have something branded on your skin to remind you of your past though, do you?�

“Actually, Malfoy, I do.�

There was a sudden silence between the two men, each staring intently in the other direction. Draco was suddenly interested in a curious Muggle contraption on Potter’s desk. Harry decided it was time for him to dust the shelves behind Malfoy’s head. They stood there for a while, contemplating what had just passed between them. It seemed now that the two enemies had something in common.

Harry broke Draco’s disturbing reverie.

“We both have scars. And, everyday, they remind us of what happened. You may not know this, but when I was younger, before I defeated Voldemort, my scar would hurt. When he was near me, thinking of me, feeling anger or elation, I felt pain. It felt like…like my head would split in two.� He did not look at Malfoy.

Draco’s mouth hung open, slack. This was embarrassing, this sharing . He was not accustomed to expressing emotions, thoughts. Not with Potter, of all people.

“So, yes, Malfoy,� Harry became more insistent, more forceful. “I am taking this seriously; I am doing all I can. We need something more to go on, though.�

*

So, as Malfoy thrashed around one night, Voldemort’s voice whispering in his ear, “Kill him, Draco. He deserves it,� he woke with a start. Yes. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He and this mystery Death Eater were not the only ones branded with the Dark Mark, after all. If Draco could feel the summons, then others would, too.

Father.

The weathered parchment lay curled in Draco’s lap. His owl, Attila, had returned that afternoon, carrying the same scroll that he had set out with a week before. Nothing. Why was his father ignoring him? Had he forbidden Mother to communicate with her only son? Surely, his marriage to a blood traitor in this day and age, after everything the past had thrown their way...surely, his father would not begrudge him one letter? Draco threw his attempt at civility into the fireplace. But it was Draco who burned - as the excruciating sensation of his Dark Mark returned. It was a summons.

He collapsed, gasping, onto the rug. Katie would be home soon; he had to control this. Dragging himself into a crawling position, he pulled himself slowly across the parlour to the stairs.

“Accio broom!� he called through the open door, and his trusty Firebolt came flying down the staircase. He awkwardly clambered onto the broom and flew back up the stairs into an ornately decorated bathroom. He poured out a cold bath and climbed in. Ahhh… While his body shivered in protest, Malfoy held the burning wrist under the cool surface of the water. He laid his back against the white porcelain and sighed again. Closing his eyes, Draco heard the familiar sound of Katie returning home through a back door which led into the kitchen on the ground floor.

He flicked his wand feebly and the door to the bathroom clicked, locking.

This was not the time to tell his wife; Draco’s pride and shame was too engrained in his Slytherin skin. He groaned, hearing her call out his name. Katie would not bother to call out if she knew what was happening, Draco thought with despair. She would want nothing to do with him. He would be alone. Again.

All his life, Draco had been alone. A lonely childhood at the Manor - a lonely life at Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle were never his friends. They were his minions, and later his enemies after Lucius’ fall from favour. And when Draco finally joined the Death Eaters and had the misfortune to accept a task from the Dark Lord himself, Draco had never been more alone. Not until he met Katie - and she took notice of the pathetic man he was - did he finally have someone to talk to, to turn to, to trust. He knew it was too good to be true. He knew it would not last. How could love last forever? How could one forget the past and be content with living for the future? How could Katie touch his Mark and continue to love him? And when it burned…

Katie was hammering on the door to the bathroom.

“Draco, are you in there? Why is the door locked?� Her voice was worried. “Draco, what’s wrong?�

He tried to suppress a moan as his prickling wrist gave another jolt of searing pain. He submerged it back into the water. His breath came in deep rasping sobs. She cannot know.

“Draco, I can hear you moaning. What is it? Can I come in?� He imagined her pulling out her wand, preparing to mutter the charm.

“NO!� he bellowed. There was silence on the other side of the door. He did not hear Katie leave but, after five minutes, assumed she had headed back downstairs. As the pain subsided, he stood unsteadily and squelched onto the tiles. It is so cold. Draco grabbed his wand from the floor and waved it over his blue-tinged skin. Warmth flowed back into his veins and he groaned again, this time with pleasure. His drenched clothing slowly crisped back into a dry state. A shadow of pain throbbed dully on his wrist, but he ignored it and unlocked the bathroom door.

Katie was sitting on the cold stone landing. It matched her cold stony glare.

“What is happening to you?� she asked. “I’m your wife, Draco. You should be able to tell me, whatever it is. I’m your wife.� He bent down to grasp her hand, but she flinched away, stood, and walked back down the stairs.

“There’s supper for you in the kitchen,� she said, without turning back to look at her husband. The dark bruises beneath his eyes scared her. There was something familiar about that look; she had seen it on his face before. But she could not remember when.

That night, in bed, Draco reached over to his wife’s still body and found she was silently crying. He pulled himself closer to her and, this time, Katie did not flinch. He kissed the back of her neck, and his hands wound around her in a tight embrace.

“I love you,� he whispered, frightened by the way his own voice shook.

Katie did not reply.

*

After a time, Draco realised he was dreaming. There was a soft carpet beneath his feet. It was green. The cool, verdant grass soothed Draco. He felt he could breathe; he felt he could smile again. So, he smiled. As his lips began to curve upward, a bright light appeared off to the left; it was too bright, too white. He staggered away blindly and turned. Ahead, all Draco could see was a deep darkness; it swirled towards him and he tried to turn around, but found he could not. The bright light was pushing him away into the black void.

“No, no!�

“Yes, Draco, yes. Do it, Draco. Kill him. Do it, or feel my wrath yourself.�

“No, no, please, no. You’re gone, you’re dead.�

Lord Voldemort’s voice grew louder, into a steady hiss.

“Yessssssssssssss…�

The grass no longer spread out before him. It was brown, sandy, hot - it burnt his feet. Draco staggered to the ground, and flung his left arm out to break the fall. As his skin made contact with the sand, the Dark Mark began to burn - so intensely that Draco begged for death. The barren dark wasteland which lay ahead started to move - closer, closer, closer…

“KILL ME!�

“Noooooooo…� the sibilant voice hissed in Draco’s ear.

His arm gave a gut-wrenching pang, and suddenly Draco found himself back on the grass, back in the blinding light. He began to walk, the Dark Mark continuing to throb. Draco felt his right hand fall off. He looked down at the stump of his arm. It was strange - there was no pain, just an inexplicable feeling of emptiness, of loneliness. Fingers from his left hand, a toe, a leg, all thudded onto the grass. A leg? I’m standing on one leg! He looked back to the right and his entire arm had gone. Pieces of hair floated around him. Blonde. It was his own hair. He began to panic. Something thudded against his left shoulder, and Draco watched an ear fall to the ground. It bounced along the grass, bloodless.

“Draco.�

He turned at the sound of Katie’s voice and fell to the ground. She was beaming at him warmly.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,� he breathed. “Help me.�

“Draco!� It seemed she had not heard him. “I’ve been looking for you…� Her smile faded into a sneer worthy of Severus Snape. “Give it back to me, Draco. I want it back.�

“What? What?�

Katie moved slowly toward her husband. He noticed the distinct lack of gold on her ring finger.

“You don’t deserve it, Draco.� A cackle rose up through her throat and echoed away into the distance. Draco…Draco…Draco…You don’t deserve it, Draco. Eyes wide open in fear, his mouth fell open as he struggled to grasp the malediction.

The scream never reached his lips. Katie thrust her hand into Draco’s chest and pulled out his still-beating heart. Red, sinewy, the flesh of life - his blood burst forth in a torrent of death.

“NO!�

*

Draco woke sweaty and alone. Alone. There was a note on Katie’s pillow, sitting in the indentation from her slumber.

Dad fallen ill. At St Mungo’s. Will be staying with mum for the next few weeks. You don’t need to come. Katie x

Just one kiss.

Draco spent the day wallowing around the house.

He ate ice cream.

He wrote another letter to his mother.

He burned the letter to his mother and wrote another one to Blaise.

He burned the letter to Blaise.

He did not write another letter.

At five to five, he poured another ice bath and climbed in.

At five o’clock, he did not cry out as usual, his wrist already submerged in the water.

He wept, instead.

*

The following day, Draco decided to visit his parents in person. Even if his father had forbidden communication between himself and Narcissa, Draco’s mother would have found some way to get word to her only son. Something must be wrong.

Draco paid no attention to the beautiful countryside or mountains in the distance as he wandered up the trail to Chateau Malfoy. Carcassonne was renowned for its ghostly phenomena, thanks to the many dissatisfied spirits of generations of Malfoys. But the Muggles did not know this - the abandoned fortress in the surrounding hills had been empty for decades, or so they thought.

An imposing wrought-iron gate emerged from the suffocating mist which shrouded the chateau. La Cathédrale Engloutie. Malfoy thought wistfully of Katie’s favourite Debussy composition. Draco knew something was wrong as he spotted a great, albino peacock resting perfectly still - perfectly lifeless beneath the shrubbery. The shrubbery. It, too, was off. Wild and untamed, the weeds strangled unsuspecting flowers like snakes.

Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under’t. Where was that from? Katie? Katie. She was obsessed with Muggle music and literature. And flying. That was how they had met. Flying. After he had been acquitted of charges of Death Eater activity (thanks to Potter - Malfoy sneered at the thought) Draco had taken to exploring the hills around the Manor by broom. Flying was the one time he could be free to think - free to think without the stifling oppression from Lucius and his ideals. He had spotted Katie (although she hadn’t) and had turned to leave in the other direction. But then she had seen him.

“Oi!� she had yelled. “What are you doing on my father’s land?�

Draco had drifted over hesitantly.

“I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.�

Katie was taken aback by his polite and short reply. He didn’t sound like the usual rude, superior Draco she had known at Hogwarts. She vaguely remembered ramming him into the Commentators Box during a Quidditch match.

“It’s okay,� she said slowly. “Just…well…see you around.�

Day after day, they had met in those hills, and day after day Katie had begun to trust him a little more. He was quiet and lost and alone. She felt pity, sadness and…was it love?…for Draco. The transition from friends to lovers had been seamless. The transition from a relationship to marriage, however, had been met with stares of contempt and confusion. Perhaps they were right.

Draco shook his head; he could not be worrying about the state of his marriage at the moment. Not in front of his father, anyway. He knew what Lucius would say.

“I warned you, Draco. But you did not listen; you did not obey.�

Well, I’m sorry, Father. I’m sorry I tried to build a new life - a new life to be proud of. A new life in which I could be trusted. A new life in which I could be loved.

But he wasn’t loved anymore, was he? Katie had left him. Her father was ill? She could not fool Draco. King of excuses, he thought he had left that behind. He should have known that a son of Salazar with a daughter of Godric could never work. His marriage had been all that he had wanted. Life. Hope. Trust. Love. Five years of hard work, of enduring the mumbled comments, five years of tears. It was all falling apart around him. He was falling apart.

Somewhere, a bird twittered in a tree. Draco continued up the drive. The front door lay open at an awkward angle. He drew his wand from beneath a set of dark bottle-green robes (with gold trim) and called out, “Mother! Father! It’s me.� There was no reply. Rustling leaves and the faint chirping behind him were all that disturbed the silence. And his deep, rasping breaths…Draco…Draco…Can you hear me, Draco…

Ignoring the never-used front parlour, Draco searched through room after room. He finally reached the modest yet comfortable back living area adjacent to the first kitchen. Draco took one look, and knew straight away his parents were gone. Probably dead. It wasn’t as if one could tell there had been a struggle. Not one cushion was out of place - the settee was sitting complacently in the corner, the archaic harpsichord remained in one piece. Draco walked over and pressed down on middle C. The note rang out and faded into a slight hiss. He hurried away from the instrument, reminded of his recent dreams, and walked slowly toward the armchair his mother must have been sitting in. A soft floral scent hung in the air, and he inhaled deeply. Oh, how he missed her. And she was gone.

Yes, something terrible had taken place at Chateau Malfoy. And quite a while ago. His fingers were grey from the thin sheen of dust covering the harpsichord. But the incriminating evidence lay smashed and dry on the luxurious alabaster wool carpets. A single glass of pure Goblin crystal was shattered on the floor. The glass was red and cracked, and the remnants of its contents were dry. Narcissa would never have tolerated a smashed glass or a stained carpet.

Draco flew through the door which led into the first kitchen, found the small door which led down into the house-elf quarters, and waved his wand over the tiny entranceway twice, muttering incantations. The small, wooden rectangle grew slowly until it was enlarged enough for Draco to squeeze through. He ran down the stairs, not knowing what to expect. Maybe they were too frightened to come out?

But all that met him were four pairs of oversized, hairy, unwashed and sockless feet. They were attached to small, hairy, unwashed and unclothed legs, which were in turn attached to small, hairy bodies covered in various torn sheets and tea-towels. One merely had small flannel attached to a string which was wound tightly around his waist. Even now, his father refused to be humane. But they aren’t human, Lucius would complain.

“No, but you are, Father,� Draco whispered into the deathly silence.

The lifeless eyes of the tiny elves were all wide open in a state of serene panic. It was quite strange. As time passed, Draco assumed, the fear would vanish completely until they were just four pairs of dead eyes.

Dead.

Whoever was calling Draco had gotten to his parents. Was this someone bent on revenge? Someone whose family or friends had suffered under the reign of the Dark Lord and his minions? There were a lot of those people and, to be honest, Draco did not blame them.

He turned to leave, but something caught his eye. There was a small piece of parchment trapped beneath the foot of a dead elf. Tipsy? Wilbo? He couldn’t remember the name. Draco lifted the cold foot, his lip twisting with disdain. No matter how much he tried, in some aspects of life he was truly his father’s son.

The note came easily. Draco was careful not to tear the crumpled parchment further. Stooped beneath the low ceiling, he smoothed the paper out onto his palm and read the scrawled writing. It was a list. Several addresses were blacked out, unidentifiable. He was sure one said Azkaban. Chateau Malfoy, Carcassonne, was crossed out, but still legible. Only two were remaining.

Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

Malfoy Manor.

Draco swore. What the hell was this? Malfoy Manor? And what was Purge and Dowse, Ltd.? It sounded vaguely familiar, but…he would have to show this to Potter; maybe he could shed some light on the situation.

Because, to whomever this list belonged, someone was coming for Draco. And soon.

Harry held the note away from his body, careful not to tear the fragile parchment but wary of the dark wizard whose fingers had crossed the page - quill in hand - and written the addresses for several prominent (and, most importantly, recently deceased) Death Eaters.

“Yes.� He turned to Malfoy. “Yes, Rookwood and Macnair were found dead in their cells at Azkaban over a week ago. No one knows how it happened - one minute they were alive and screaming, next thing you know…� It was unnecessary to elaborate.

“And my parents…�

“I’m sorry.� The two men quickly glanced at each other. Silence gripped the room tightly with long, skeletal fingers.

“We haven’t managed to match the handwriting to anything here at the Ministry, unfortunately,� Harry continued, averting his eyes from Draco’s. They were like a deep, endless pit. The eyes of a tortured man, the eyes of someone with a price on his head. “Of course, most of the documents from before the War are lost.�

Draco slumped into the chair in front of Harry’s desk. It was comfortable and squishy, with a well-worn air. He could imagine Ginny Weasley curled up in it, waiting for her husband to finish his paperwork and return home. He wished Katie would do that - they hadn’t spoken since the night she had left with only one kiss. Since she pulled his pumping heart from his chest and laughed and laughed and laughed…

Harry cleared his throat.

“Are you alri-�

“Yes,� Draco snapped.

Harry let out an irritated sigh.

“Well, the only thing I can think of is to send this off to the Muggle police for testing. Maybe our mystery man has had a run in or two with them?�

Malfoy looked sceptical. “Oh, please. This is the work of someone skilled and dangerous. I doubt very much that they would have allowed themselves to be caught by some Muggles!�

Harry gave him a sharp look.

“You’d be surprised at how many magical folk we have to rescue from Muggle custody.�

Draco looked down at his hands. They were dry and cracked, a remarkable change from his normal groomed appearance. He wished Katie were home, waiting for him, ready with her soft hands and her soothing ointments and lathers.

“I think,� he began, and he heard Potter lift his head. “This person, this wizard, is probably someone whose family or friends were killed - maimed, you know, by Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord himself.� He looked up into Potter’s scrutinising gaze.

Harry thought this through. It was the first conclusion he had jumped to as well. But it was too clean - too precise. Surely, someone seeking passionate revenge would want to leave a mess? They would want the people responsible for their grief and loss to feel the pain they feel. Harry felt the pieces were there, right in front of him, but they did not fit together. It was like the frustration of being stuck in a small cupboard under the stairs with a stolen jigsaw puzzle from Dudley’s second bedroom, and finding that the game was a mixture of two different puzzles.

“I don’t agree with you-�

“Oh, well, isn’t that a surprise,� Malfoy drawled. Harry glared at him venomously.

“I am doing all I can to help you, Malfoy!�

“You’re only helping me because you’re afraid there is another dangerous wizard out there running around and killing willy-nilly! You don’t give a rat’s arse about me! You have no idea what it’s like!�

Another awkward silence descended between the two men.

“That’s not true,� Harry whispered, so softly it was nearly inaudible. “That’s not true at all.�

Malfoy bit back a curse and turned away. He could not bear to look at that scar on that forehead. They shared too much now.

“May I continue?� Harry asked tentatively. “I realise how hard this is, and with Katie…�

“I don’t need your sympathy, Potter,� Malfoy sneered. “I need your help.�

“Well, as I was saying, I don’t agree that this is a victim seeking revenge.� There was a pregnant pause as Draco digested this. “It seems too planned out. Using the Dark Mark as well…and the killings aren’t random. We have this list as proof. Someone had access to Azkaban. Rookwood and Macnair were on completely opposite sides of the prison. They can obviously move around easily – either entirely concealed, or even in plain sight.�

It made sense, Draco had to admit. But what about…

“Purge and Dowse, Ltd. Do you know where that is?�

Harry eyed Draco over his desk and thought carefully.

“Malfoy, I think it’s time you went and saw your wife and her father. He’s very ill; it would mean a lot to Katie.� He replied, seemingly not having heard Draco’s question.

“But what does that have to do with-�

“Just do it.�

Harry rose. Malfoy recognised the dismissal and shook hands with the Chosen One. He would leave, but one thing was for sure - there was no way that Draco would take orders from Potter. Even after all the help, the trust, and the job at the Ministry, things would remain frosty between the two men no matter how much time passed.

Past is present, and present is future. All Malfoy could see ahead was more darkness and pain. His life was falling apart, after all his effort, and so he hung onto the things that could not change - mutual dislike of his old school rival, a tendency to see the worst in people, pride... He had begun to recognise something of his old self during the meeting with Potter, and that scared him.

Draco had lost track of time. As he cautiously made his way up the long drive of Malfoy Manor, he felt the unsettlingly familiar prickle on his arm. Soon, the pain was searing up his arm, further and further, spreading throughout his entire body. It had never before hurt like this; he staggered to the ground.

When he was near me, thinking of me, feeling anger or elation, I felt pain. It felt like…like my head would split in two.

Everything burned; it felt as if someone was holding a branding iron against his wrist. Perhaps they were? There was something so intense this time round that it took Draco more than an hour to recover. It was dark before he finally dragged himself up into a sitting position. His legs ached from writhing around, curled in a foetal position on the damp gravelly drive, and the incessant throbbing, pulsating, pounding mark on his left wrist smouldered.

The dark shadows of trees towered above Draco’s crouched form - waiting, biding their time - and he felt they were watching him. Spying, whispering. What were they saying?
Draco…Draco…Do it, Draco…

A piercing sob escaped his throat and echoed off towards the Manor. He looked up at the imposing Malfoy family establishment. His eyes darkened; the house represented everything from whence he had tried to remove himself. It was frustrating, being stuck here without Katie. Without love.
The windows were black, little triangles of licorice, little beetle eyes, staring out at him, daring him to enter. Then, something caught his eye. A window on the third floor of the north wing was slightly ajar. He would not have noticed the anomaly, except for the fact that a piece of blood red curtain was billowing from the gap. A red flag flying from the battlement.
Do not enter, it flapped. Danger.
He drew his wand, and stood, stumbling a little, his limbs still numb.

Draco…

No, stop it, he was imagining things.

Do it, Draco…

The memory of Voldemort’s hiss resonated in his ears.

Do it, Draco…or feel my wrath yourself…

His wrist throbbing faintly, Draco reached the entrance hall and crept up the staircase, pausing after each step, listening intently for any noise and disturbances. At the first landing, he peered up into the looming darkness and whispered, “Homenum Revelio.�

Nothing.

Reassured, Draco sprinted further up the stairs. Reaching the third floor, he stopped, panting. His chest heaved, and wetness streaked down his cheeks from the biting cold of the unused floor. He knew which room to go to. Ahead, the door was shut, as always. Draco never entered the chamber within, never. Katie had often enquired after it, wondered why this particular floor was left well alone, and why that particular room, whenever either Draco or herself actually ventured up there, remained locked.

Deep, rasping breaths sliced through the dusty air like knives. He reached for the handle, fingers outstretched. But his hand began to shake violently as he moved closer, closer…His hands, His wand, the wand who had tortured, destroyed, murdered so many, had once opened this very handle. He had once resided within this very room into which Draco was about to enter. He took a deep breath and smoothed his distorted face into an expression devoid of any emotion, gripped the silver handle, and turned.

A faint whistling reverberated around the room. The carpet was encrusted with dust, crunching beneath his feet. He walked further into the room. The breeze from the open window kissed his cheeks, shrouded his aching body, whispered…

Draco…

Suddenly, the wind ripped up around him and the door slammed shut with booming finality. Draco clamped his eyes shut as the waves of icy air thrashed about him, cutting his skin, scratching his chest, searching for his heart…

Just as abruptly as it had begun, the wild wind stopped. Slowly unclenching his eyes, Draco saw the sullen room come into view. To his left, against a navy blue wall, stood an imposing four-poster bed. The swaths of fabric draped over the ornate piece of furniture were frayed and full of holes. Moths. To his right, a heavy tapestry dominated the opposing wall. A tall, domineering warlock sat on a blackened throne upon a clifftop, overlooking a churning ocean. Draco stepped closer; he recognised the stitched image from when the tapestry had lived on a second floor corridor. The Dark Lord must have taken a liking to the artwork and requested it for his humble abode. Draco peered closer, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Curiosity killed the cat. Something else altogether had killed the Muggles who thrashed and drowned within the sea of hell as their emperor, their warden, watched. Their faces were twisted into shrieks of pain, and a furtive smile played upon the lips of their oppressor.

No one had penetrated the darkness - the cold, the evil - of this room in five years. It had been locked away, ignored but not forgotten. Who had been in here? Draco searched the room for a sign of the trespasser. He knew it was the person responsible for his daily torture and the disappearance of his parents. He also knew that whoever it was had been in here while Draco lay burning on the drive that same evening.
There was nothing. No evidence, no clues, nothing to go on, as Potter had so plainly put. And all the while, the sibilant breeze murmured his name…Draco…

*

Harry listened intently as Draco retold the evening events. He had returned to the Ministry immediately, knowing he must inform Potter.

“You cannot go back there, at least not tonight. Stay here at the Ministry,�

“I will not be terrorised out of my own home,� he snapped, although the thought of the empty, penetrable Manor made Draco nauseous.

“Well, at least let me come back with you. Show me the room. There are certain things we can do to ascertain if magic has been performed there recently, even who did it, although people can always cover their tracks.�

*

“Lumos,� whispered Harry, as he followed the loping form of Draco Malfoy toward the Manor. He remembered the last time he, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Griphook had struggled up this very drive, Fenrir Greyback breathing his stinking bloodied breath down their necks. His face had been blown up into a red, pustuled mess at the time, and he had barely caught a glimpse of the mansion. Now, however, he could take in every detail - well, every detail visible through the blackened gloom.

“There.� Draco pointed up to a rather large window four floors above. Was it just Harry, or did the pane of glass seem darker than the rest? Harry shook off that thought. He had been in many life-threatening situations with the Aurors, not to mention his numerous encounters with one of the darkest wizards of all time. This was nothing.

“Are you coming?� Draco called petulantly from the front entranceway. Harry returned Malfoy’s rudeness with a piercing glare, but the swirling mist intervened and he had to make his way up the front steps blindly. Harry could not imagine Katie living in a place like this. But perhaps it was different with a woman around? Grimmauld Place had certainly become a lot warmer since Ginny’s arrival. And that had hardly been an amusement park.

He followed Malfoy up several staircases and finally came to a halt outside a solid, black doorway. Malfoy muttered something, and the door creaked open. Harry walked past the blonde man and entered the chamber, the tapestry on the wall reminding him of the carved statue which had replaced the golden fountain in the Ministry six years before. The Muggles in their rightful place.

He drew his own wand and began muttering numerous incantations as Malfoy slouched against the doorframe, staring at his feet. He had no desire to re-enter the room.

“What are you doing, Potter? Malfoy drawled.

“Magic always leaves traces,� Harry replied, repeating the words of Albus Dumbledore six years previously.

Slowly, a dark spectral-like shadow began to emanate from the tip of Harry’s wand.

“It’s too faint,� he mumbled, frustrated.

“What?�

“I don’t know, whoever it was has tried to clean up after themselves.�

Harry heard Malfoy cuss softly under his breath.

“Are you going to stay here?� he asked. “You’re sure you’ll be okay-�

“Oh, will you stop treating me like a child!� Draco snapped, turning from the chamber. “I’m a grown man. I can look after myself.�

“Fine.�

Draco watched as Harry walked down the drive and was finally enveloped by the velveteen night. Potter had told Malfoy that he would send the list off to the Muggles first thing in the morning for something called “phorenzik� testing. It sounded like a ridiculous waste of time.

When Draco woke the next day, Attila was waiting patiently outside his bedroom window. The owl nipped at his ear as Draco untied the scroll of parchment from its foot. Was this from Potter? Had he discovered the identity of his persecutor? But, as the scroll unfurled before him, Draco recognised the curly scrawl as Katie’s handwriting. He stood, transfixed, drinking in the words without reading them. Her hand had passed along this very page, her breath had danced over the parchment, soft, delicate… Heart beating with a new life, a new hope, Draco began to read. As the message sunk in, however, Draco’s face dropped, his mouth sagged, and his eyelids wilted under their heavy burden.

Dad passed away last night. I thought you might have come. But I guess whatever is going on in your life is more important than me now. I just wanted you to know, Draco, that I do love you - that you should feel like you can talk to me about anything. I thought I could talk to you that way, I thought you felt you could talk to me, I thought you trusted me, Draco; obviously, I was wrong. I want to understand, but you just won’t let me. It’s like you have locked yourself in some dark room and you refuse to allow me to enter. I cannot live like that, Draco, so I’m staying at my mother’s for now. Sorry.

Draco bit his lip. But she had told him to not come! He shook his head frantically as if attempting to flick away his confusion. Yet, there it was, before him, the answer. Comprehension peeked over a distant horizon as Draco realised his mistakes. Oh, he was stupid! He had been so caught up with himself, with self-pity, that he had not thought about how Katie would interpret his silence. She would not have seen a desperate husband trying to protect his wife. She would have seen an agitated man, surreptitiously disappearing to the Ministry after work hours, refusing her help, shrouding their lives in mystery and confusion. He must go to her now. It wasn’t too late, was it?

Malfoy hurriedly pulled on some robes, grabbed his wand from the bedside table, and wrenched open the bedroom door. He stole a glance back at the half-unmade bed, his side a mess of sheets, Katie’s side neat, untouched. Not for long, he thought. He would tell her everything. He would talk.
The Bell household was only a few miles away, but Malfoy chose to Apparate. The matter was too urgent, too important. But when he was greeted by a solemn Mrs Bell, he found that Katie was still at St. Mungo’s sorting out her father’s belongings. Draco swore and Apparated to the busy London street on which the magical hospital resided, concealed.

The morning was still young, and few people were out. Draco walked toward the old department store with the dishevelled and unfashionably dressed mannequins. He took a deep breath and leaned in to request entry, when the dilapidated sign above the glass display windows suddenly caught his eye.

Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

Purge and Dowse, Ltd.?

“Why didn’t you tell me?� Draco thundered. Harry flinched away as flecks of spittle flew towards him and took a deep breath.

“It wasn’t necessary. First of all, I didn’t know whether I was authorised to say… the Minister had not yet informed me that we had a Death Eater at St. Mungo’s, and I figured it would click eventually when you went to see Katie.�

A deep vein protruded from Malfoy’s temple as he struggled to steady his breathing. Each exhalation came in a shallow huff. He licked his lips.

“Well, who is it, then? Are you authorised to tell me now?� he asked scathingly. “Or am I too much of a liability? Not trustworthy enough?�

“I am not going to justify that with an answer. But, in response to your previous question - yes, I can tell you.� Harry looked down at his hands. “This turn of events has confused me, I must admit. You know my theory that whoever is responsible for your Dark Mark burning and the death of your parents is seeking more than revenge for dead loved ones-�

“Yes, yes, Potter,� breathed Malfoy, sitting forward in his seat. “Get on with it.�

Harry cleared his throat and continued. “Well, this Death Eater has been in St. Mungo’s since before the war. He’s been there for eight years! Eight years! I just don’t understand…� Harry shook his head, exasperated.

“This little soliloquy is all well and good, Potter, but I would appreciate it if you could tell me who you are rambling on about!�

Harry’s head lifted, his eyes squinting through the dim light of the office in frustration.

“Barty Crouch, Junior.�

Malfoy’s lips opened with a wet pop. Barty Crouch, Junior? Who would want to kill him? He was as good as dead anyway.

“Barty Crouch, Junior. As in, the same Barty Crouch, Junior who impersonated Mad-Eye Moody and –�

“Suffered the Dementor’s Kiss? Yes, the one and the same.�

Malfoy slumped into a chair, his anger rapidly dissipating. He could feel it leeching from his skin into a thin sheen of sweat, replacing itself with a feeling of utter trepidation. He let out a whoosh of air and massaged his temples with trembling fingertips.

“Why?� he exhaled. “Why would someone bother killing Crouch? Is he really much of a threat?�

Harry’s palms were lying flat on top of his mahogany desk. It was cool and smooth, calming. “It does confirm one thing,� he replied. He paused, tentatively waiting for Malfoy’s reaction.

“And what’s that?�

Harry sighed. He had expected some kind of outburst; the tension in the room was thick, almost tangible.

“Well, whoever it is must have access to files in the Ministry. Otherwise, how would they know that Crouch was in St. Mungo’s? And,� he continued, “as you said, why would someone bother to kill him? This person is definitely not in it to avenge the deaths of a loved one. This is something else all together.�

Draco let out a low groan and buried his face in shaking hands. His facade was cracking, cracking right in front of Potter, of all people, and he didn’t even care. This is it, he thought. This is where it ends.

“We need to go through every, and I mean every, ex-Death Eater who is no longer imprisoned. Someone must have some motive.�

“It could be someone within Azkaban working with someone on the outside,� Draco reasoned, lifting his head to face Harry. “It could be anyone.�

“No,� Harry said abruptly. “No, I don’t believe it is possible for anyone to work from the inside. No one is allowed an audience with visitors at Azkaban.� Harry chewed his lip. Ginny was beginning to get worried about the complete lack of skin on his lower lip. “No, this is someone outside Azkaban. Someone else.�

He reached into a filing cabinet behind his desk and pulled out a long piece of parchment. Smoothing his palm across the yellowed page, Harry gestured for Draco to look.

“This is a complete list of all surviving known Death Eaters, Azkaban or not. We need to go through this and look for motives. You know these men and women implicitly. You grew up surrounded by many of them; some of them even stayed with your family at the Manor during the war.�

Draco looked down at the parchment. He blanched, noticing his name halfway down the page. Not that it should have surprised him, but it was nevertheless a reminder of a time when the lines were blurred between courage and cowardice, loyalty and betrayal, life and death…

“Is there somewhere I can take this, alone?� he asked.

Harry studied Draco’s face. “Yes, of course.�

So Draco found himself tucked away in a small, cramped and evidently disused office at the end of a dark corridor in the Auror Department of the Ministry. The slight odour of bleach hanging in the air indicated the room had once been used as a cleaning cupboard. Draco snickered cynically as he imagined the perverted pleasure Harry must have felt in bringing him here.

He sat at a tiny wooden desk, his elbows wedged against the opposing walls, knees drawn up either side of his chest as they were unable to fit beneath the table. The chair creaked ominously, and Draco waved his wand around the spindly legs to reinforce them. Glancing down at the paper, he caught sight of the left sleeve of his robes. Knowing what was beneath the midnight blue fabric, he set to work immediately. The afternoon was wearing on into night, and soon five o’clock would come searching for Draco. And his Dark Mark would burn again.

The familiar list of names bored into Draco’s eyes.

Jugson, Astrid – Azkaban

Lestrange, Rabastan – Azkaban

Mulciber, Tarquin – Azkaban

Selwyn, Wilbur – Nurmengard

Yaxley, Hadrian – Azkaban

He scanned through the names; there weren’t many left, and most were locked up in Azkaban, with the exception of Selwyn. Why he was in Nurmengard, Draco had no idea. His heart thumped dully in his chest as he spotted the names Malfoy, Lucius and Malfoy, Narcissa crossed out lightly, with ‘Presumed Dead’ written beside them. Draco recognised Harry’s messy scrawl.

The only names without an addendum were his own, Goyle, Gregory Snr., and Nott, Pyrus. Draco knew Nott was out of the question. Blaise Zabini had once told him of an unfortunate incident between Nott and a Devil’s Snare which had left the man in dire need of two spare hands. No, Pyrus Nott wasn’t the one going around and murdering Death Eaters left right and centre. Goyle? Draco resumed rubbing his temples.

Why would Goyle want me dead? Why would he want a reunification of all the Death Eaters with himself as the new Dark Lord? Goyle Senior, whilst a sight more intelligent than his gormless son Goyle Junior, had never struck Draco as the scheming type. He had been a follower, happy with other people telling him what to do and whom to torture. But he was free from Azkaban for a reason Malfoy could not fathom, and there was no other explanation.

He was about to commence trying to extricate himself from the cramped study, when the door suddenly burst open to reveal a panting Harry holding an odd-looking piece of parchment.

“Fax just came through from the Muggle police.� Harry grinned, a look of exhilaration spreading across his face. “Come on, didn’t want to read it without you.�

Malfoy sneered at this little outburst of kinship, but the pure excitement emanating from the man in the doorway was hard to ignore. What is a fax, anyway?

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Just give a minute to de-wedge myself from this ridiculous cupboard.� He followed Harry back down the dark hallway where the cupboard was situated and into the much brighter hallway which accommodated Potter’s office. Slumped in the squishy armchair he had become rather fond of, Draco spoke.

“So, what does this Muggle report say? Anything useful?�

He watched as Harry examined the report carefully. Potter’s eyebrows crinkled into a frown, lips pinched in confusion.

“Well, what is it?� Draco demanded anxiously.

Potter’s messy black hair swung low over his forehead, covering the scar Draco hated to see. An expression of complete and utter focus on his face, Harry continued to study the paper.

“Potter, what is it?�

Licking his lips, Harry began to tap out a slow rhythm on the desk. Tap tap tap-tap. Tap tap tap-tap. TAP TAP TAP-TAP.

“POTTER!�

“Hm?�

Harry looked up. Seeing the furious expression on Malfoy’s face, he quickly apologised.

“Oh, er, sorry. Just lost in thought.�

“Yes, well, I don’t expect anything else from Saint Potter, the Chosen One, who always has to think about saving the world by himself because Merlin forbid he just tell me what’s going on.�

“Er, excuse me, dear Draco. You came to Saint Potter for help if I remember correctly?�

Draco scowled. “What do these Muggle please-men say?�

“They say,� Harry began ominously, “There is a match.�

“Really?� Draco’s voice was soaked in incredulity. There was no way…

“Yes, there is a match. It’s no wizard I’ve ever heard of, but perhaps you…�

“Spit it out, Potter! Who is it?�

“Paul Trent.�

“Paul Trent?�

“Paul Trent.�

Draco put his head in his hands. “Oh, Merlin! Not Paul Trent! I can’t believe I’m still alive with Paul Trent after me!�

Harry looked shocked. “You know who Paul Trent is, then?�

Draco looked up, smiling a little. “Of course not. Who the hell is Paul Trent?�

Harry looked annoyed. “Well, I was hoping you could enlighten me.�

“Well, I’ve never heard of him.�

“Obviously. So,� Harry continued, “We must assume it is an alias. How’re you getting on with that Death Eater list, anyway?�

“The only other two who are not in Azkaban are Gregory Goyle, Senior, and Pyrus Nott. Now, I know Nott cannot be responsible since he’s missing both hands-�

“Yes, I heard about that,� Harry interrupted. Draco threw him a dirty look.

“-but I’m at a loss as to why Goyle would want to do this. He was never very ambitious before, let alone his son. The only thing going for him is that he was probably stupid enough to get caught by the Muggle law enforcement officers while terrorising a Muggle, before having the chance to Apparate-�

Yet again, Draco was interrupted. He let an irritated sigh and turned to the door, from where a curious tapping noise issued. He soon recognised the sound as the standard Ministry memo system. As an Obliviator, Draco sent numerous memos each day. Harry flicked his wand toward the door, which flew open, letting in a small paper airplane. With the unflinching skill of a Seeker, Harry snatched the memo from the air and proceeded to read it. He scratched his chin and looked up at Malfoy.

“An owl came a short while ago from Cyril Grisham. He’s working undercover at the police station where our Paul Trent was once held in custody before managing to escape. He says he was not on duty at the time, but remembers the Muggle officers telling him about a strange case they had. Around six years ago, an odd man was taken into custody after he had been caught brandishing a stick at an elderly woman in her back yard. They thought he was insane, from some kind of asylum, because he kept on screaming about mud. But when they had finally taken his fingerprints and showed him the stick to confirm that it had been his, he attacked his restraining officer, grabbed the stick, and disappeared.

Of course, Cyril immediately knew that this had been the work of a wizard and went about Obliviating the memories of the fellow police officers. He didn’t dare say anything about these events then, since the Ministry was under the control of Death Eaters at that time.�

“So, we definitely know this Paul Trent character is the one behind all this,� Malfoy said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, looks like it,� replied Harry. “And I think we need to have a little chat with Goyle, if you ask me.�

Draco did not answer. A sense of despair had begun to creep back over him, and he felt scared and more alone than ever before. Katie remained out of reach, lost to him. How could she ever forgive what he had done to her? Abandoned her when she needed him just as much as he had always needed her. His selfish ways, once thought to be lost and locked away in a dark and distant part of his past, had once again reared their ugly heads and continued to torment him, torture him, control him.

Whoever Paul Trent was, and for whatever purpose he was trying to destroy Draco, he had succeeded.

*

Katie made her way through the enchanted glass of St. Mungo’s and into the busy London street. Muggles bustled around, trying to finish their post-work shopping. She sighed. Draco had, yet again, failed to show. She sat down onto a bench beside the pavement and wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. Tears threatened to let loose down her cheeks as she thought about her father and wayward husband. As if dealing with the death of a parent is not enough. She thought her letter to Draco this morning would have meant something to him, stirred something deep inside, reminded him of her love and need for him to be truthful and open. How could she trust someone who was so secretive?

It had taken a lot of effort for her to write those last few words.

It’s like you have locked yourself in some dark room and you refuse to allow me to enter. I cannot live like that…

She wasn’t even sure what she meant by them herself.

Was she leaving him? No. I love him too much.

The crowded street had begun to thin with the fading light. Katie glanced down at her watch with a pang of grief. The gold watch had been a graduation present from her father after she had left Hogwarts with seven N.E.W.Ts. He had been so proud. The tears which had lain threateningly behind her eyelids before suddenly burst forth in a torrent of salty anguish. She sat there on the bench, shoulders shaking silently, as great waves of pain throbbed in her chest. He was gone. And all she wanted was to have Draco’s arms wound tightly about her, his lips at her ear whispering words of comfort, his breath on her neck…

Five thirty. Clouds swirled above her, churning in the dusky sky. Katie turned, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Someone was watching her. She squinted through the dim light into a decrepit alleyway further down the street. There were only a couple of Muggles about now, both hurriedly making their way toward the Underground at the corner. Her breathing was loud and rough, and tears continued to fall down her cheeks, but she ignored them. Someone was watching her. For the first time in many years, Katie felt unsafe. She thought about going back into St. Mungo’s, but realised she would have to come back out to Apparate to her mother’s house anyway.

“Who’s there?� she called feebly, her voice shaking.

Slowly, a tall and dark figure stepped from the shadows and out into the street. He was draped in a black cloak, and she could not make out his face. A car drove by, and the flash of the headlights briefly illuminated him. Katie gasped. There was something terribly familiar about him, something wrong… He smiled, a menacing and treacherous smile, baring a set of yellowed teeth. Raising a long, thin finger to his lips, he melted back into the shadows as a pair of loud, young wizards stepped through the display windows of Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

Katie shivered, stood up, and walked back toward St. Mungo’s, from where she Apparated back to her mother’s house. In the distance, she could see the hills which hid Malfoy Manor from view. Is Draco there? she wondered. Is he safe? There had been something about the mysterious figure which had unsettled Katie. It wasn’t his haunting demeanour, nor was it his disconcerting appearance from the shadows, which worried her. No, it was the look he had given her, as if he knew who she was, which truly troubled Katie. He knew who I was. But who was he? And why was he so familiar?

Draco grasped his left wrist as the familiar burning sensation rippled up his arm and pulsated throughout his entire body. He struggled to remain composed; Harry had not yet noticed Draco’s discomfort. It was too much. He let out a small yelp of pain, and Harry looked up from the papers he had been sifting through. Draco averted his eyes, embarrassed.

“Oh,� Potter said, glancing at the gold watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett. “I didn’t realise how late it was. I’ll leave you alone for a bit, eh?� He stood to leave, and Draco nodded in appreciation. How strange. Potter and Malfoy, behaving amicably, considering the other’s feelings.

But Draco had little time to think about this odd turn of events as the pain consumed him. He slumped against the dark-stained mahogany desk, sending papers sprawling. He and Harry had been discussing the motive behind Goyle’s attacks, and Harry had pulled out all the files he could manage on the Death Eater. The lamp on the desk sent shadows dancing on the ceiling above; they laughed and jeered at Draco, making him dizzy.

Why would Goyle want to kill me, though? Even if he wants to reunite the Death Eaters, why me and my parents? Why Rookwood and Macnair? Why Crouch? He had not seen Goyle since his acquittal. Goyle’s hearing had been after Draco’s, and he remembered his son, once his friend, glaring at him outside in the corridor as he passed. Goyle had been convicted of Death Eater activity and sent to Azkaban. But why had he been released? And when? There had been no news of the release in the Prophet, nor had Lucius or Narcissa mentioned it. Goyle had always been an old family friend, even before…

Another jolt of pain shot up his arm, and Draco lay panting against the cool wood. His breathing was short and sharp, and it echoed around the cavernous office. Ginny Weasley smiled down at him from the wall. There was a glittering mischief in her eyes which reminded him of the first time he and Katie had snuck out…Katie. He did not deserve her. After everything, after everything, she had trusted him; him, a branded Death Eater, a man who had tortured and maimed the innocent. She had trusted him even when most of the wizarding world decided to turn their backs. He had nearly killed her in sixth year! The pain suddenly erupting in Draco’s chest had no relation to the burning Dark Mark. It was guilt. It was grief. It was loneliness. It was the realisation that he had had it all - he had love, he had trust, he had everything he wanted, and now he had lost it all.

Goyle. This time, he thought the name with a menace. Gone was the incredulity, the doubt. Goyle. They were going to find him; he and Harry were going to find Goyle, and they were going to demand answers.

No, Draco thought. Harry may demand answers, but he, Draco, would demand revenge. He burned for it.

Slowly, the pain subsided, as it always did, and Draco pulled himself back into a more composed position. His breathing steadied, deepened, and he waited for Potter to return.

“May I come in?� he heard Harry call tentatively.

“Yes,� he replied tersely, admonishing himself for allowing Potter to see him vulnerable and in pain. He did not turn as the door opened, nor did he look up as the other man re-entered the office. Draco did not want to see the pity, or the fear, that Potter tried to smother. He did not want to see Ginny smiling down from the wall, either - did not want to see the glint of excitement in her eyes.

Harry sat upright, mirroring Draco’s poised demeanour. He was incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassed. He did not know what to say.

“So, can you pull Goyle in for questioning?� asked Draco, breaking the tension.

“Oh, er, yeah, but we need something more to go on,� spluttered Harry. Obviously, we’re going to ignore what just happened…

“Fine,� snapped Draco, grabbing a handful of papers from Harry’s desk. “Let’s get on with it, then, shall we?� His voice was clipped and irritable. Harry decided not to answer - it would only inflame the situation - and grabbed some papers himself.

It was tedious work, and Draco felt dreadfully inadequate sitting in an office, rifling through Ministry files, while Goyle was out there somewhere, planning his next move, his next murder. Draco…

“So,� Harry began, jerking Draco from silent torture. “We know Goyle has been working in Magical Maintenance at the Ministry for three months…why was he released from Azkaban, though? I don’t remember Kingsley mentioning…� He trailed off and scanned the papers in his hand. Draco sighed. Typical Potter, lost in his own thoughts, forgetting Draco could not read his mind. Bellatrix had failed to teach him the art of Legilimency during their brief lessons. He had not desired to enter the Dark Lord’s mind, or Snape’s - merely prevent them from entering his.

“Right,� said Harry. “Right, here it is. Gregory Goyle Senior was released on probation from Azkaban three months ago after his wife, Hecate Goyle, fell terminally ill from an unfortunate incident involving a cursed jam jar.�

Draco felt a brief pang of sorrow for Goyle’s son, his old friend. Goyle’s mother was dying…


“His wife’s wish to spend the last few months of her life with her husband and only son, Gregory Junior,� Harry continued, “was granted by the Wizengamot on condition that he remain in full employment of the Ministry so as to be kept an eye on.�

“Well, Goyle was a cleaner, right?� Draco sneered at the thought. At least he had a proper job. He ignored the glare from Potter, and continued. “So, he had access to Ministry files. I mean, those Maintenance people are allowed everywhere. They clean all the offices, all the departments. It wouldn’t be hard to pick up a stray piece of parchment here and there. And if he’s visiting St. Mungo’s regularly, then he could have seen Crouch or…�

The two men looked at each other. They both knew this was pure speculation and if they were to bring Goyle in for questioning they would require more concrete evidence. Draco lifted his hand to his mouth and looked away, anger bubbling to the surface. He wanted Goyle so much - to see him suffer as Draco had suffered, as Katie had suffered, to watch him burn. This scared Draco. He had not felt such animosity since… he did not want to remember those times.

Biting his lip, he turned back to the file he had been reading. It was useless, really, just an old Goyle family tree. He separated the parchment from the file sitting beneath it, preparing to throw it onto the ‘Read and Useless’ pile at the foot of the desk, but a name caught his eye.

Trent.

“Potter,� he whispered, forgetting to hide emotion, the excitement too much for him - the possiblities, the revenge… “Potter, Hecate Goyle, her maiden name was Trent.�

Harry looked up, his eyes wild. “Yes,� he breathed. “Yes, this is exactly what we needed. Come on, we can bring him in!�

*

Katie spent the day sitting outside on her mother’s veranda. The funeral was not for another week, and they were waiting for extended family to arrive from New Zealand. She could see the hills which hid Malfoy Manor - the hills in which she and Draco had met, flying. Katie remembered the exhilaration she had felt those first few days. The war had ended. Harry had won. So many were lost, but the hope and jubilation of victory kept her going - and flying. It had been a shock to see someone else in the hills.

It had been even more of a shock when she had recognised the blonde figure as Draco Malfoy. She knew the Malfoy residence was near, although she had never seen the place, never wanted to.

“Oi� she had yelled. “What are you doing on my father’s land?�

Katie could not forget that this was the boy responsible for the cursed necklace which had nearly killed her. She had shuddered as the boy drifted over to her. He had been hesitant, nervous, unsure of how she would react.

“I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.� His voice was quiet, refined. He seemed careful to keep his emotions secret.

“It’s okay. Just…well…see you around.� And she had flown away. But she returned the next day and the next, and so had Draco. Slowly she had begun to trust him; slowly, she began to love him. He was reformed, he wanted to rebuild his life, he wanted to forget the past, he said. She had believed him.

Now, as Katie thought back to those days, she was not so sure. Draco had wanted to be trusted, but it was impossible if he did not trust her, his own wife. Katie turned her thoughts to the man in the alley by St. Mungo’s. She shivered. Last night, her dreams had been haunted by him, by his lecherous smile, his yellowed teeth, his long, pale finger, raised in a malediction. She had thought he would appear any moment, hand on her shoulder, wand at her throat.

And he was so familiar… His identity sat on the tip of her tongue, taunting her. Was it from before the war? She thought he might have worked for the Ministry, seen him in the Prophet long ago. This seemed unlikely, though, and she shook the thought of him from her head. He was probably harmless, hiding down an inconspicuous alley from an irritating colleague. It was more likely that she recognised him from St. Mungo’s, perhaps he had been visiting a sick loved one. Yes, that’s all, she thought, laughing nervously. She had seen him at St. Mungo’s.

*

Goyle was nowhere to be found. His colleagues at Magical Maintenance claimed they had not heard from him all day. The last anyone had seen him had been the night before, at St. Mungo’s, when he had visited his wife for the evening, Hecate’s healer confirming Goyle’s presence.

Draco could feel the despair mixing with his anger, with his desire for revenge. He needed to find Goyle. It was just so frustrating. Time was running out, and all he and Harry had to go on was the fact that Goyle was the only other free Death Eater and his wife’s maiden name was Trent. A coincidence? No, it had to be Goyle. There was no one else.

Draco was sitting in Harry’s office, alone. Potter was out questioning Gregory Goyle, Junior, a task Malfoy had passed on. But he had become rather fond of the large, squishy armchair in Potter’s office, and had decided to stay there instead of returning to the empty and cold Manor. He did not wish to see the hills which hid Katie’s mother’s home. He did not wish to remind himself of everything he had lost - because he knew he had lost Katie. It was too late. All he could do to redeem himself now was to find Goyle and bring him to…justice. Or something like it.

Ginny smiled down at him, and Hermione, and Ron. Friends. Potter was a lucky bastard. Draco sighed. Friends. If only he had friends to get through this with. If only he had people who loved him.

But he did have people who loved him. Draco sat up straight. He did have friends. He had Blaise. He even had Potter. And there was Katie, there was always Katie. But he had lost her…

Draco…you don’t deserve it, Draco.

But Draco stood. He did deserve her. He did deserve her love and trust. And she deserved his love, too. Katie had sacrificed a lot to be with him. She had lost some friends because of it - people who didn’t approve of her marriage to an ex-Death Eater. They needed each other. Without Katie, there was no Draco, and without Draco, there was no Katie.

Thoughts of revenge disappeared. Draco ran from the dim office and out into the bright corridor. He cringed away from the light, but continued down the hall. Finally, he burst into the Atrium. Around him, people turned to look at the wild-eyed man sprinting across the cavernous foyer, but he continued on, ignoring their exclamations of disapproval until he reached a fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, he threw it into the flames and yelled “Malfoy Manor!�

*

Gregory Goyle Senior was silent. He could not believe this. Half-blood Potter, barging into his son’s home unannounced and demanding to know where he had been - it was absurd! It was outrageous! Goyle had abided by his probation conditions. He had not approached any other Dark Lord sympathiser; he had remained in Ministry employment, albeit Maintenance work. He had done everything required of him, and now he was accused of Death Eater activity? As if his wife needed this, as if his son needed this.

All he had wanted was a day off, when he could focus on himself for once. He had sought refuge at his son’s home for a day of drinking and reminiscing about the good old days, to escape the Ministry and the hospital and the dreary probationer accommodation...to get what? This? This suspicion and lies? Ha!

And no, he had not heard of any Paul Trent. Common Muggle name, wasn’t it? Hecate Trent, yes. Vindicita Trent, yes. Brutus Trent, yes. Paul Trent? Not likely! Was that all?

*

Katie went to bed late that night. She felt different, as if Draco was closer. She watched the spring sky fade to black through an open window; the night was unusually warm, and her curtains remained drawn. She wanted to watch the stars. Her mother’s sobbing could not penetrate the closed doors, so she could think about her father without tearing up. It was better that way. No blocked nose or wet pillows - just thoughts and memories. But her mind drifted to Draco and to the man at St. Mungo’s. They seemed inexplicably linked. She could not rid herself from his menacing smile, from his yellowed teeth. He was there, all the time, his name at the back of her throat, struggling to escape.

Who was he?

And then Katie remembered. She remembered his face, his leer. She remembered him. Leaping from her bed, sheets twisted, hair messy, she pulled on some robes, grabbed her wand, and ran from the room. She left a note for her mother in the kitchen, and rushed into the garden. But where to, first? He had been watching her. She knew it, and she knew it had something to do with Draco. He had been a Death Eater, after all. Is this what all his secrecy had been about? Was Draco trying to protect her?

But where to, first?

The Ministry, or the Manor? Harry, or Draco?

Harry. He had been working on something with Draco, after all. He would know what to do. He was Harry Potter.

She Apparated to the Ministry and streaked through the Atrium, praying Harry was still there, still in his office. Katie did not wish to Apparate to his house, did not feel like gossiping and drinking tea with Ginny. Now was not the time.

Harry heard Katie before he saw her. Expecting to see Draco rushing down the corridor with another worrying revelation, Harry looked up hesitantly. His heart leaped into his throat seeing Katie, however, and he quickly grabbed his wand.

“Katie? What is it? What’s happened?�

“I saw…I saw…� Katie doubled over, clutching the stitch in her side, panting. A dark mahogany desk and a rather squishy-looking armchair swirled before her. Her lungs cried for air, and she struggled to speak another word. Harry stepped around his desk swiftly and deposited Katie into the armchair.

“Come now, what is it? Is Draco all right?�

“I don’t know.� Her breathing began to steady, and she was at last able to articulate words. “All I know is that I saw someone. Someone who shouldn’t be alive.�

*

There was something wrong.

“Katie?� Draco called. His voice echoed about the room. Katie…Katie…Katie… Someone was here, but the ashen footprints leading from the fireplace were too large to belong to Katie. They were too large to belong to Draco, too…

No, there was something very wrong. He was here. A small smile spread across Malfoy’s face. It was not a sneer or a smirk. Rather, it was a smile of relief. This was it. This was where it would end.

His only regret was that he had not been able to see Katie before. If anything happened, if he did not come out of this, she would have no answers. No apologies. Not one kiss.

“Goyle!� he called imperiously. “Goyle!�

He could hear the heavy footsteps make their way down the stairwell, across the stone entrance hall, and toward the front room where Draco waited, wand aloft. Ready.

But the cloaked figure was too tall for Goyle. Too thin. Long, white fingered-hands reached upward and pulled back the hood. Draco let out an involuntary gasp as the man grinned, baring a set of menacing, yellowed teeth.

“You?� he breathed in confusion. “You?�

Harry stared at the woman now slumped against his desk, watching her back heave up and down in silent sobs. He could not bear to disturb her, yet what she had just said was impossible to ignore.

“You’re sure it was him?�

“Yes.�

His heart pounded in his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Impossible.

“You’re absolutely sure-�

“Harry, please do not treat me like a child,� said Katie, sitting up in the armchair opposite. “I know what I saw. It was him. I saw him. I know it was him.� She choked on the last word. Harry winced.

Impossible.

The lamp on his desk flickered with a fading light, and shadows danced around the walls, stretching their fingers, calling him, laughing.

But, Percy said…

Harry shivered and turned his back on Katie. Ginny’s glowing face caught his eye; he smiled. Why am I smiling? Suppressing the grin, he turned back around.

“Katie,� Harry began, hesitating. “Katie, I know you and Draco haven’t talked for a while, but I think it’s time we paid him a visit.� The room had fallen silent. Katie’s sobs ceased, her attention focused solely on Harry. He noticed how drawn her face was, and realised with a jolt that it was barely days since her father had passed away. All this grief and pain for one person in such a short time just wasn’t fair. But Harry knew that life itself was not fair. Despite his amazing marriage and wonderful friends, Harry’s first seventeen years had been defined by death and loss. “I need to go home first - then, I’ll join you.�

“Is my husband in danger, Harry?� Katie’s voice was barely a whisper; it was a breath, so thin, so insubstantial. She was desperate.

“Yes, I think so.�

*

Draco stared at the figure standing before him, flinching away from the menace in the other man’s leer. It was impossible, he was dead…wasn’t he? But Draco could not remember ever learning of the fate of the man in the long, black cloak. The fire behind him erupted into flames, and Draco jumped.

“Hello, Draco. I’ve been looking for you.�

“You know where I’ve been. Why not come sooner?�

“I think you know I have already.� The man’s smile widened; he was obviously relishing the memory of Draco’s pain, crouched on the driveway outside, clutching a burning wrist…

Draco…Draco…Do it, Draco…

“Stop it!� Draco shouted. “Stop it!�

Confusion flashed across the other man’s face, but Draco did not notice.

“Stop what?� His voice was cold and slow, his lips curling around each articulation, savouring every breath.

“The voice…his voice…�

The man’s eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth twisted upwards into a Snape-worthy sneer. Draco felt his breath become shallow; strange lights danced before his eyes. He felt he was going to…

“I have conjured no voice, Draco. That is all in your-�

“Do not lie to me!� Draco bellowed, the anger and frustration breaking through his inexplicable fear. “Don’t you dare lie to me! You have made my life hell for the past few months. You have taken everything from me. Everything!� Draco could not stop - the darkness of his life came pouring out in a torrent of grief and loss. “You have destroyed my marriage. You have destroyed me; you have destroyed what I have become. I rebuilt everything; I wanted to forget, and you have just brought it all back. I have become the person I once was - the boy I now despise - and it’s all because of you!�

Draco paused; his breaths came heavy and hard, one after the other, thumping. His heart banged in his chest - it was a clenched fist thundering to be let out.

You don’t deserve it, Draco…

He could feel Katie’s hands at his chest, her nails sharp, fists clenched and tearing at his skin, fingers gripping his red, life-filled flesh, ripping out his beating heart…

“Why have you done this to me? Why you?�

The man tilted his head slightly and continued to study Draco. His eyes were a murky green - so dark they were almost black. His nostrils flared.

“Why do you think?� He made a small movement, and Draco swiftly drew his own wand. The man smiled, but the amusement had left his eyes now. There was only hatred - only disgust. Stepping backwards against the tapestry draped across the wall behind, Draco stood, stunned. He did not like this; he did not like his own question being turned back onto him.

“I asked you first.� He flushed, realising how childish this sounded, and a sharp memory flooded into his mind, drowning out the here and now, drowning out the man before him. He remembered standing atop the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, wand aloft, discussing his options with Dumbledore. He remembered the fear; he remembered the panic; he remembered the desire to take up the Headmaster’s offer then and there.

“So you did.� The man’s voice broke through the waves of a regretted past and brought Draco back to the front room of Malfoy Manor. He could feel the woven fabric behind him caressing the midnight-blue robes he was wearing. The tapestry had been his mother’s favourite. Mother…

“Where are my parents?� Draco demanded. “What have you done to them?�

“Questions, questions,� the man sneered. “You always were a spoiled child, weren’t you? Whatever you wanted, you received - Mummy and Daddy always protected their precious little boy, even to their last breaths.�

And now, Draco’s chest was being torn open again. Mother, Father… He could not believe it; he did not want to believe it, but it was true. They were gone. His parents were dead. It was such a harsh word - such a harsh realisation. Draco would never feel the cool fingers of Narcissa Malfoy stroking his head, never feel the strong grip of Lucius’ hand on his shoulder, guiding him, leading him into the dark…No, that was wrong, I don’t want to think that…

Draco’s lips curled up with hatred.

“You killed them?� he spat, turning his head to the side. He did not wish to look at the abomination before him - the man who should be dead, the man who was never a true Death Eater in the first place. Yet the danger in the room was apparent. The malice and spite radiating from the other man’s body was almost tangible; Draco thought he could feel the heat on his skin, on his lips, burning into his eyes, into his heart…

Working slowly to steady his breaths, Draco turned back to the man.

“You want to kill me,� he said. It was not a question - merely a confirmation, an understanding. The man opposite him smiled. Draco continued. “You want to kill me, I understand that - but before you try, I want to know everything.�

“Not a chance, little boy-� The man’s sneer had barely begun to stretch across his waxy face when he was hit by a Stunning Spell more powerful than any Draco had ever conjured before.

“Actually, you were right,� Draco said, his voice calm and even. “I always get what I want. Expelliarmus!�

The wand flew from the other man’s hand, and Draco caught it without effort.

“Tell me everything.�

*

Harry burst through into the cottage he shared with Ginny. His wife looked up, startled.

“Where have you been? It’s so late-�

“Ginny,� Harry began. “I can’t talk now. Malfoy’s in trouble, I just wanted to see you before-�

“Hold on,� Ginny interrupted, placing a soft, cool finger on her husband’s lips. “Malfoy’s in danger, and you’re running off to help him without any aid yourself? I’m coming with you.�

“No! Ginny, no! You don’t know what’s going on. I don’t want you to know what’s going on. I promised.� He placed a quick kiss on her forehead, took a deep breath of the most amazing floral scent, and turned to leave, but Ginny’s firm grasp continued to hold him in the kitchen. He did not have the willpower to shrug her off.

“Cut the crap, Harry. You don’t need to be the saviour of the wizarding world anymore. At least take Ron with you.� Ginny loosened her grip as she leant into him for a kiss, and Harry took advantage of the momentary release.

“Sorry, Ginny, it’s got to be me. I love you.� With that, he was gone.

*


Draco stood above his would-be predator and smiled.

“Now you know how it feels to be the victim. Crucio!�

The man’s howls of pain echoed throughout the parlour, bouncing of the walls, thundering in Draco’s head.

“Tell me why!�

“Why?� the man rasped. “You’re going to kill me either way, Draco. Just do it.�

Draco exploded. “Do not say that to me! Do not say that to me!� Green sparks flew from his wand, and he flinched back, surprised. Was he really ready to kill?

Yes.

Do it, Draco…Do it, or feel my wrath yourself…

center*

Katie felt the hard, cold gravel beneath her feet before she saw it. Her eyes opened slowly, fearing the face, fearing the leer… but he was not there outside. Her breaths came short and sharp, like knives, each one slicing through her chest. Feet still, glued to the ground, Katie felt she was unable to move any closer to the imposing Manor she and her husband called home. But she had to; there was no other option. It was life. Life. There was no other option.

A flash of light caught her eye; it had come from the front parlour. Suddenly, Katie found herself running, running through the stabbing knives, running toward her husband, running toward the unknown… She had never felt this scared for her own life since… but there was no point dwelling on that night anymore.

The front door seemed further away than when she arrived; her legs pumped, but no distance was gained. She cried out in frustration and ran harder. It was no use; there was some sort of enchantment around the Manor, and she could not get through. But Draco was in there, and he... She pulled out her wand and began to mutter numerous spells and charms - everything she could think of. Draco, Draco, Draco… He was in there, with him, in danger…and suddenly Katie burst through the protective enchantment; there was the door, and there was the front hall, and there was the entrance to the front room…

And there was Draco.

And there was the man from St. Mungo’s.

There was the man whose menacing smile had haunted her through the night.

The man who should be dead.

The man who was never found after the final battle.

The man who wanted to kill her husband.

There was Pius Thicknesse.

Draco saw Katie first, and his mouth popped open in surprise - then came the fear…

“Katie, don’t-� Draco had not noticed as Thicknesse lunged for the wand in his hand; Katie opened her mouth to utter ‘Protego,’ but it was too late. There was a flash of purple light; Katie felt something strange slash across her chest. Her eyes closed, and her mind closed, and then there was just nothing.

*

Draco’s shriek of frustration and pain reverberated throughout the entire Manor. It was the cry of a dying man; it was the cry of a man watching the woman he loved, the woman he had hurt beyond any point of forgiveness, fall.

“Expelliarmus!� he screamed, but Thicknesse blocked the spell. A spark of green flew past Draco’s ear, and he retaliated with full force. Yes, he was ready to kill.

“You won’t get the better of me, little boy!� cackled the former Minister of Magic. “I have been waiting for this moment for five years!�

Draco ducked behind a glass cabinet and sent curse after curse hurtling through the parlour, but the man kept leaping out of reach. Katie’s lifeless form lay by the door, like a fragile, porcelain doll, and Draco felt a surge of pain in his stomach. Had he been hit? No, it was the sight of her lying there, because of him, because of his past, because of his family, and because of the choices he had made as a naïve sixteen year old school boy. Had he always known something like this would happen? There was always that seed of doubt - the possibility that, no matter how hard he tried, there was never an escape from the Death Eaters, from the Dark Lord. It was branded on his wrist; it was branded on his heart.

The room fell silent. Draco continued to crouch behind the cabinet and tentatively peered out from behind and into the parlour. He could not see Thicknesse. Where was he?

“Where are you hiding, little boy?� came a voice from across the room. By the front window?

“Sonorus,� whispered Draco, wand at his throat. He did not want Thicknesse to know his position. “As if I’m going to tell you.� His voice echoed throughout the parlour from every direction. Good.

“Clever!� called the Death Eater. “You are inept at suppressing your emotions, I’ll admit, but you are clever. That is why I must kill you. That is why you are a threat - you and your parents both.�

Draco could not breathe; this was it; he had to know.

“Tell me why, Thicknesse. Tell me everything.� He thought he could hear movement from by the window, and fear coursed through his veins. Had the man figured out where he was hiding? Draco looked around, but there were no other places to hide without revealing where he was first.

“How could I reunite the Death Eaters? How could I have the power of the Dark Lord when there were others, others with more influence, such as your father, and you, and Rookwood, to take the leadership from me? No, I had to get rid of you all if I wanted the glory. And I do.�

He was mad, he was insane. Draco did not want to reunite the Death Eaters; he did not want to become the next Dark Lord. He wanted life; he wanted love; he wanted Katie and a future.

“You’re mad,� he called out into the room. “I don’t want any of that; in fact, I would have done my best to stop you from any sort of uprising. Not for personal gain, but for good. I’m not the boy I was, and my parents weren’t the same, either. You wasted your time; you wasted their lives!�

“The promise of power is much more enticing than you think, little boy. I could not be sure that the lure of such things would not tempt you back. And with you in the picture, with the Malfoy name, I would have no hope at all.�

Katie moaned. Draco’s heart leapt in his chest, but he did not dare move.

“You’re not even a Death Eater,� said Draco. “You were under the Imperius Curse. Why would you want to reunite the Dark Lord’s followers?�

Thicknesse sighed in irritation. “I was under the Imperius Curse at first, yes, but after a while I learned to fight it; after a while, I was acting of my own accord. I liked the fear I held over others; whenever I walked into a room, it was as if a Silencing Charm had been conjured. I could do what I wanted; I could make people hurt; I could control them. And the pure-blood prejudice I had grown up with was no longer a taboo at the Ministry…�

Draco flinched inwardly; he understood, but he did not want to understand. Pure-blood supremacy, an ideal he was raised with, was an internal war he had fought for so long after the final battle, before he had met Katie, before love.

Katie…

There was a crunching of glass to Draco’s left, and he ducked back around behind the cabinet, wand at the ready.

“Crucio!�

Draco suddenly felt the pain of a thousand burning wrists.

Draco…

Harry stood still outside the gate of Malfoy Manor. He knew he should not be standing here, unmoving. But, the memory of this house, the smell of Greyback’s hot and bloody breath on his neck, the pain from the hex Hermione had performed on his face, the heavy trembling reverberating through the rope which held the five captives together - it was all too much for him.

Come on, Harry. You can’t just stand here. Draco and Katie are in danger.

He flicked his wand and watched as the gate opened, silent. As he began to walk forwards, a flash of green light caught his eye. It came from a large window at the front of the house. And, just like that, Harry was running. He did not care that it was here where Hermione had nearly died from Bellatrix’s torture; he did not care that it was here where Dobby received the fatal wound which saved Harry’s life. He ran and ran and ran…

*

Draco…Draco…Do it, Draco…

Or feel my wrath yourself!

My wrath…

Do it…

Draco did not remember Harry entering the room. He did not remember Apparating to St Mungo’s. He did not remember the cool hands of Healers poking and prodding him, tipping foul potions down his throat.

Draco awoke in a far-too-bright room with a far-too-bright face smiling down at him.

“Who are you?� he croaked.

“Dennis Creevey,� the young man answered, grinning down at his patient. “Trainee Healer. Wait here, Mr Malfoy. There’s someone who wished to talk to you as soon as you awakened.�

Draco did not have time to reply. Creevey had already swept from the room, leaving even more light from where his head had once been. Draco groaned.

As if I would be going anywhere in this state, anyway.

He tried to remember why he was here, but it felt as if his head was stuffed full of cotton-wool. He could only comprehend the here and now; it was as if the past few days were completely erased; he was in a void of inaccessible knowledge.

But then, there was something. A flash of purple light lit up within Draco’s mind, and he remembered Katie falling to the ground, unmoving.

Katie.

Draco struggled to sit upright, but found himself too weak. A strangled cry of frustration filled the room.

“Katie!� he called. “I want to see Katie!�

Draco did not notice the door to his room open. He did not hear the quiet footsteps across the vinyl floor. But, suddenly, Potter’s face was staring down at him with concerned eyes. Draco did not like that face. It was not the face he wanted to see.

Saved yet again by that bloody hero, Potter. He wanted to spit the name from his mouth, wanted to feel the anger the hatred he knew he should, wanted to jeer and mock as if he were no longer an adult but a cruel, self-centered eleven year old boy…

Yet he was not eleven. He was a man and now he felt an incomprehensible yearning for someone else, someone who was worth more than life itself.

“Malfoy, calm down. Katie is…Katie is fine; she’ll be here shortly.� Harry pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. His hands curled into tight fists. Draco watched as the skin puckered and whitened, nails pressed sharp against flesh.

“What happened? Where is Thicknesse?� asked Draco, annoyed at Potter’s agitated demeanor.

Harry grimaced.

“You don’t remember, then?�

“Evidently not,� Draco sneered. “Cut the crap, Potter, and just tell me. I can handle the truth.�

“You cursed him, Malfoy. You used Sectumsempra.�

Draco exhaled slowly, trying to remember. How could he forget that? No wonder Potter was uncomfortable.

“Is he dead?�

“No.�

“Where is he?�

Silence.

“Potter, where is he?�

“I’m not authorised to say at this present time, actually.�

Draco glared at Harry, his eyes burning black with loathing. But Draco did not have the strength to argue; he did not have the energy to start another fight. He ached all over, and only one person consumed his thoughts.

“I want to see my wife now, Potter.�

Harry nodded and stood up, brushing down the front of his robes absent-mindedly, trying to work out how to tell Malfoy.

“Malfoy-� he began, and faltered. Draco stared at the window, his eyes now adjusted to the harsh yellow light. Harry sighed again. “Draco,� he said softly, ignoring the flinch of annoyance at the first-name term. “Don’t blame yourself, please.�

And then he was gone. Draco stared after the dark cloak as it flashed round the corner of the door.

Potter’s just being his irritating, enigmatic self yet again, he thought.

He lay there, eyes closed waiting for Katie. How could he apologise to her? How could he make up for everything he had done? Everything he had not done? The past few months, he and Katie had grown apart so much, seen so little of each other that it seemed like some invisible canyon had wrenched apart the love between them. Draco took a deep breath. The coarse woollen blanket on his bed prickled against the bare skin of his arms.

How he longed for her touch once more; how he waited to hear her voice whispering in his ear each night, as they lay sweaty and entangled in each other; how he missed her scent, the feel of her hot against him, the soft, lilting flavour of her tongue...

Was it all gone?

His breaths became shallow and quick in anticipation.

Are we over? Is that what Potter had meant? Don’t blame yourself, Draco. You and Katie were never going to work anyway. I’m surprised it lasted this long.

He shuddered.

Then, the muted sound of slippers padding across the hard floor reached Draco’s ears.

What am I going to say?

He opened his eyes as the familiar scent of his wife pricked at his nose. Draco turned his head to the side and struggled to sit more upright. He looked up into Katie’s face and gasped.

She smiled as his hands reached for her cheek, as his fingers gently stroked the long scar which split her face in two. She closed her eyes. She waited.

“Katie, I’m so sorry,� he began, the words gushing out, unstoppable.

“Draco, wait, it’s not your-�

“But it is! It is my fault, Katie! If only I’d told you in the first place. If only I had not kept you in the dark, alone and without any explanation. If only I had trusted you. No,� he paused. “That’s not what I mean. If only I had trusted myself, my new self. And now look what I’ve done to you…�

Katie’s tears dripped onto his face, onto his lips.

“It’s not your fault, Draco. It never was. It was Thicknesse, and Voldemort, and every dark witch and wizard that ever existed; it was all their fault,� she murmured wetly against his cheek.

“Katie-� Draco tried to begin, but Katie was too busy kissing him to care.

*

Harry Potter sat behind an expansive mahogany desk, looking up at Ginny. She smiled down at him and waved, oblivious to whom he was about to speak with. He wondered whether he should tell her about it later, when he arrived home. Harry hadn’t returned to the cottage last night, choosing to remain at St. Mungo’s while the Healer’s worked on Katie and Draco. Then, Minister Shacklebolt had approached him with a more immediate problem.

So, now, here he was. Sitting behind the same desk over which he had spoken to Katie fewer than sixteen hours before. He was waiting; waiting to question the now healed Pius Thicknesse.

Will I tell Ginny? Harry pondered. Yes, I will; I’m not going to make the same mistake as Draco.

There was a sharp rap on the door and Susan Bones peeked round the door.

“Harry, I think they’re ready for you now. I’m to be present for legal advice.�

Harry nodded his head.

“I’ll be there shortly.�

*

The holding cells at the Ministry were rather bleak and depressing. Harry could not help but shiver at how much worse they must have been when there were all those blasted Dementors floating about the place.

“Through here, Mr Potter,� said a man, his voice dripping with boredom. He motioned Harry into a room even more bleak and dull than the corridor.

�Harry Potter,� hissed a voice. Harry grimaced at the serpentine tone and turned to look at the man trussed up within a black metal cage. Red hot flames wound themselves around the cage, further enhancing the prison.

“Thicknesse,� replied Harry, firmly. “Let’s not have any games, now. I want the truth, and that is all.�

“And why should I give you that pleasure?�

Harry bit down hard on his tongue, trying to remain calm in front of the abomination sitting mere feet away. This man, this man who was a trusted citizen, a respected member of the Ministry before the war, had turned into an evil, power-hungry murderer. It scared Harry. How many more like Thicknesse were out there? Waiting, biding their time…

“Because,� Harry began. “Because you want to tell me. You need to tell me. Isn’t that what you wanted all along? The glory? The power?�

Thicknesse let out an amused huff, his lips curling upwards into a sneer. He clicked his tongue.

“Well, Potter. You are perceptive, I’ll give you that. Or is it because you yourself have desired these things? You think that you’re a better man than I, just because you did not act upon these feelings? Do you? We are the same, Potter. You just cannot admit it.�

Harry balled his fists together but his voice was even and calm. “We are not the same.�

Thicknesse sniffed loudly. “Oh, I know. You are much weaker than I.�

Here we go, thought Harry. This is it.

“Why am I weaker than you?�

“Because I chose to act. I did not deny my will, my chance that I was given. No one knew I was alive. I had been forgotten. A sea-urchin, left discarded in the ruins of Hogwarts.� He relished the taste of truth.

Harry smiled inwardly. It was working.

“I missed the power I had as Minister for Magic. People thought I was dead; they thought I had perished within the walls of Hogwarts. I could not just walk into the Ministry a few years later and resume my position as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, could I?�

Susan turned to Harry, her mouth open, but he held up his hand to stop her. He did not want Thicknesse interrupted. It was all or nothing from now on.

“I wanted my power back, all of it, and I knew that, under the Death Eaters, under the cause of the Dark Lord,, I could have that power again. But there were others, others who might take the power from me if they could. The Malfoys, Rookwood and Macnair,� he paused. “And, of course, Barty Crouch Junior.�

“Why Crouch?� asked Harry. The others made sense. They had been proper Death Eaters, whereas Thicknesse was merely a pawn.

“Don’t you see, Potter? Don’t you see?� the sibilant voice hissed. “Crouch has no soul. Don’t you see how much more dangerous he is? How much more powerful he would have been compared to me? Really, I thought it was rather obvious.� Thicknesse gave an odd giggle, rather as if he were a young boy caught stealing some sweets from the corner shop.

“And the Dark Mark? How did you come to get one?�

The giggle continued to bubble out of Thicknesse, rising to a crescendo of loud barks. His face cracked with jubilation, the sound erupting from his mouth, billowing out into the room. Susan opened her mouth again, but Harry shook his head.

“The Dark Lord somehow knew I was no longer under the Imperius Curse, but that I was willing to do his bidding all the same. He brought me to see him, just days before the Battle, and branded me. No one else knew. Now, Potter, I think that is enough.� He closed his mouth, and he closed his eyes, and he refused to say another word.

“You have all you need, then?� Susan asked Harry.

“I certainly do,� he replied with a sigh. I certainly do.

*

Katie gripped the familiar broom tightly and pushed up from the ground. She looked down at the ground below.

“Come on, Draco! What’s taking you so long?� She watched as he smirked up at her, mounted his broom and flew up into the air. He came to bob silently beside her; leaning over, he reached forwards and slowly traced the scar on her face. His fingers were warm, his touch soft. She smiled.

“Draco,� she whispered.

“Katie,� he replied.

His fingers came to stop at the corner of her lips. She closed her eyes.

“Katie,� he repeated; it barely a whisper; it could have the wind.

But it wasn’t; she knew that. It was Draco. And he was here, with her, and they were finally happy.