Prologue: No Rest For The Wicked

The sky that watched over the city of London, already dim and gray, began to rain. Numerous people walking the streets quickly brought out umbrellas, and hurried to get out of the water by walking – or even running, in some cases – hurriedly to wherever their destination may be.

Draco Malfoy glared up at the murky clouds as their tears quickly soaked through his hair and pelted his exposed neck mercilessly. His pale blonde hair – longer than he usually had it, hanging in shaggy layers to his ears – was soon slicked against his head, strands plastered against his cheeks and forehead. Of course, it just had to rain the one time Draco forgot to bring his umbrella. Not that Draco was very surprised. Life in general seemed to be giving him the finger lately, why not add in a bit of lousy weather to top it off?

The young man growled under his breath, and bowed his head against the rain as he briskly walked down the street, away from the bakery he had been planning to go to. His appetite had been ruined by the letters that had been sent to him just minutes before. They had appeared to him briefly, the Disillusionment Charm fading slightly before becoming invisible again. Draco had glanced around, but the street was crowded enough so that everyone was too busy going about their business to notice him reach out briefly. Draco grabbed blindly in the general direction of the letters, and the moment his hand touched the bundle it had become visible.

Draco’s mouth tightened at the memory. He couldn’t believe that he had even bothered to send in five job applications to the Ministry; for the Portkey Office, Broom Regulation, Apparition Test Centre, and (for his own personal amusement and not for any real ambition) the Auror Office.

The only reason he had even bothered to apply to the Minstry was because no one else would even consider hiring him. The Minsitry was his last resort, which was pretty depressing, considering the much lower caliber of all the other magical establishments. Hell, even bloody Honeydukes – the magical candy shop in Hogsmeade – turned him down! Honestly, how much knowledge do you need, or more specifically “lack of academic achievement” as that old bat running the place so eloquently put it when dismissing his application, do you need to work at a candy shop?

Working in a Muggle place was simply out of the question. Nothing short of starvation would make him turn to that, and even then it would be dicey. Not only was there the uncontrollably vivid memory of Voldemort torturing Muggle children and their mother to make an example of them that sprung up at the thought, but also the idea of not being able to use magic frightened him…unnerved him, really.

The letters had been three crisply polite responses, all stating at some point that “although we appreciated your application, we feel that you would have better luck elsewhere”. The other two letters were absent, but Draco didn’t doubt that they said the same thing. Those smug bastards were probably taking their time before turning him down, savoring the feeling of power they had over him.

Draco had been enraged at the swiftness of the rejection. How could they have possibly appreciated it when Draco had sent the applications that very morning? How could they possibly know if he was suitable after just two hours (at the most) to consider him as an employee?

It wasn’t as if Draco had expected everyone to just forget the wrongdoings of both himself and his family, or the loyalty the Malfoy family showed Voldemort through the years in which he gained power once more. But he had at least hoped that they would give him a chance.

Draco wished that everyone would forget, but he knew better than to entertain the idea. Even to entertain the idea was a stretch; these were the good guys being talked about – the devoted followers of Potter and the Weasel – and in ways they were even nastier than the bad guys.

Sure, the bad guys ruled by fear and hate – the memory of living among them made Draco’s stomach churn – but at least they were honest about what their intentions were. Gain power, kill, destroy…it was all black and white. No gray areas. They never trusted anyone, so there was no chance for real betrayal because you always had suspicions.

On the other hand, the good guys were all shades of gray. They strove to be honorable, but what was honor, really? Was killing someone honorable as long as it was for some personal reason? Death is considered a sin, and yet the people on the Light did it too, and yet they’re still considered good people. They trusted without question, and they had more people betray and manipulate them as a result. If you took advantage of their trust, even once, they turned their backs on you. No chance of redemption.

Draco remembered sitting with his family after Potter defeated Voldemort, remembered feeling the sudden realization that they no longer had to be afraid. His mother was too busy hugging Draco and kissing his forehead to notice, but his father did. The two Malfoy men had glanced at each other, and both of them had smiled slightly.

It’s finally over, Lucius Malfoy’s eyes seemed to say, his gaunt face softening in relief, his silvery gray eyes closing as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

For the rest of the castle, that was true.

If only it had been true for Draco, too.

***

“We should leave.” Lucius murmured, his eyes still shining in relief as the family stood in the entrance hall; students, professors, and Aurors alike all bustling about, laughing and cheering. Potter, Weasley, and Granger had just returned from wherever they had been, and Draco spotted that annoying Weasley girl – she was pretty enough, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember her name – as she jumped up and ran towards the three Gryffindors. Draco scowled as the red-head said something angrily, and then leapt into Potter’s arms, throwing her arms around his neck and…ugh…

Draco had kissed plenty of girls in his time at Hogwarts, and as he witnessed the Weasley girl doing the same act with Potter –Draco couldn’t understand what the girl saw in the idiot – he desperately hoped that his kisses didn’t look like that. It was bloody disgusting; they were practically sticking their tongues down each other’s throats. Weasley looked nauseated at the sight, and for the first – and probably the only – time in history, Draco shared his sentiment.

In response to her husband’s suggestion, Narcissa, her long blonde hair uncharacteristically unkempt, nodded slowly. She moved closer to Lucius, and her hand slipped comfortably into the crook of his elbow.

It was in that moment that Draco realized how much his father and mother loved each other. Of course, as a child, he had never really been looking for it. He had just assumed that like most of his relatives, his parents had married in order to preserve the pure blood line. There might have been some respect shared between the two of them, but true love? In an arranged marriage? It was extremely rare, almost non-existent nowadays.

It was true, that his father and mother had married partially for blood reasons. It might even be true that they hadn’t been in love when they said their wedding vows. But whatever may have been the case, now, in that moment, their love shone through even their reserved demeanors and unforgiving personalities.

Draco knew that his family was known for their resentment of muggleborns and blood traitors, and it was plain that his parents were no exception. But did that make them bad people? Did their lack of a normal upbringing make them evil? They had been trying to do what was best for their loved ones; whether it be protection, social standing, or even financial status.

Beneath all of the harsh expectations and arrogance, it was plain his parents loved him. His mother had knowingly lied to Voldemort in order to have a chance to be with her son again, and his father had tried so hard to keep Voldemort from branding Draco with the Dark Mark.

“My Lord, are you sure that he’s ready? He’s been much too…uncompromising lately, such a kind of Death Eater would be–”

Draco glared at his father, angry that he was trying to prevent the ceremony. Hadn’t his father been so smug when others joined Voldemort’s ranks, hadn’t he himself pledged loyalty to those very ranks? Why was he being such a coward now?

“You dare question my decision, Lucius? You, who is most likely being sentenced to a considerable sentence in Azkaban because of your stupidity?”

The voice curled and hissed like a powerful snake, and Draco couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation, breathing in deep as if to intake the intoxicating power of the magic swirling around them. Voldemort’s chilling gaze locked on Draco, and his bone-pale lips twitched upwards.

“Your son seems to think differently, Lucius.” The wizard moved silently across the black marble floor of the Malfoy Manor, his robes whispering on the pristinely polished surface. Lucius’s face paled, and it seemed as if it physically pained him to bow before rejoining his wife at the edges of the circle. Narcissa stared soundlessly at her son, her eyes dark and impenetrable, but her hands clenched into anquished fists. Draco disregarded their reactions, turning to where Voldemort was approaching him.

“I hope that you will serve me better than your father, boy.”

Draco held his head as high as he dared in Voldemort’s presence, and nodded curtly. Voldemort’s eyes gleamed, and with a hiss his wand came down onto the skin of Draco’s left inner arm, sealing his fate and his soul into the Dark Lord’s service.

Draco sighed, and ran a hand through his singed hair. He cringed to think of what their family would have to go through in returning to the world once more, but pushed it aside at the sight of his parents walking slowly ahead of him.

If it was one thing that he had learned from Harry Potter (and it was indeed one thing), it was that in the end, money didn’t matter. In the end, it wasn’t how many people you could bribe, it was how many people stood behind you and accepted you for who you were. Draco had seen it, in Potter’s face, when he had looked at his friends when discussing the battle. Potter wasn’t rich in gold or jewels, but he was rich in friendship.

It was a foreign concept to Draco, and he didn’t particularly want to think about it at the moment. So he settled for taking a deep breath, and sending one last cool glance around at the entrance hall, his mind swimming back to the day of his Sorting. This was where he and Potter had become enemies.

Instead of feeling smug or even indifferent, Draco felt a strange sinking in his chest. The reluctant question filled his mind: What would have happened if Potter had accepted his invitation to become friends? Would Draco’s fate have been any different? Would anything have changed?

Draco shook his head fiercely.

Why was he asking himself this? Potter was an idiot, plain and simple, and there hadn’t been even a chance of a chance for friendship because Potter was a true Gryffindor: stupidly honorable, foolish, and weak.

Draco squared his shoulders, and was about to speed up to join his parents when a low voice suddenly hissed from his right.

“You miserable scum!”

Draco flinched, and looked to his right to see a Death Eater – Draco couldn’t recognize him under the blood and cuts marring his face – leering at him, an Auror holding him by his arm and glaring darkly at the man for speaking. Some of the celebrators hesitated, but most moved along with their business, confident that the Death Eater was in no position to pose a threat.

Lucius was striding towards Draco in an instant, Narcissa right behind him, and it was then that everything shattered. If only Draco hadn’t been dragging behind, if only he hadn’t been foolishly reminiscing on events of the past. He should have, would have, could have done something different. But he didn’t.

Suddenly, somehow, the Death Eater got loose from his bonds, and, quick as a snake, punched the Auror square in the nose. He then grabbed the dropped wand and pointed it at Narcissa.

“You traitors! How come you aint in chains, huh? I’ll kill you!” There was only time for a glance at those insane bloodshot eyes before a flash of green light sped at the family.

It was too fast, so fast, and Draco felt as though his chest was freezing up from the inside as he watched his father push his mother out of the way. The light was inches away from Lucius’s chest, and the man seemed to know what was coming in the brief seconds before it hit. Gray eyes met those of his son, and a burning emotion flared in them before he was blown backward by the spell.

“NO!” Draco screamed, uncaring that everyone in the hall was watching, uncaring that his voice cracked and screeched unpleasantly. Narcissa screamed even more shrilly than Draco, and ran blindly over to where her husband was limp and unmoving on the ground, blood trickling from where his head had collided with the stone walls of the entrance hallway. She cradled his broken form in her trembling arms, and stared down at him, her tears creating pearls on his ashen forehead. She began rocking back and forth, her mouth moving as she mouthed words, but no sound ever being emitted.

Aurors were already restraining the Death Eater, but the deed was done. Narcissa sobbed uncontrollably, and Draco found that he couldn’t move from the spot he had been standing in just moments before that green light hit. His feet were frozen, his heart was frozen…his eyes stared at the body of his father, and he wanted to scream to the heavens.

It was supposed to be over! How could you let this happen?

But no one answered. Draco knew that no one would, but even so, the lack of a response made his heart sink even lower into the icy numbness.

Draco felt someone’s hand on his shoulder, and looked to see Potter standing there, his eyes strangely old as they stared at Draco’s stricken face. Those bright green eyes were bereft of hate as they gazed into Draco’s gray ones, and the empathy in their emerald depths made Draco instantly recoil.

The boy shoved Potter away, his breath leaving him in a gust, and felt his feet taking him out of the castle, away from those terrifying green eyes…away from the body of…of…

His father.

Dead.

Like so many countless innocents Voldemort had slaughtered with Draco present, like that poor and innocent Muggle Studies teacher who had been devoured by Nagini. The memory of that incident still haunted his dreams, and every time he saw a snake he would remember the sight of the woman’s head disappearing down the scaly throat of Voldemort’s snake, the jeers and coos Bellatrix voiced when the woman hit the table, and the cold, merciless crimson gaze of Voldemort as he watched his creature consume the woman.

Draco felt bile rising in his throat, but swallowed it back as he almost slipped in the damp grass, awkwardly staggering to regain his balance. After righting himself, he resumed his running, ignoring the looks the centaurs gave him from their position just outside the destroyed eastern wall and arrangement of windows of the Great Hall.

What was he running from?

Draco was too stricken to consider the answer to that question, and so he pushed it away, and kept running until the cramp in his side was too painful to continue, and by that time he was so deep inside the Forbidden Forest that everything looked the same. The trees were larger; their dark trunks ominous and cracked with age as they stood, silent sentinels. Draco couldn’t help but shudder at the feeling that swept through him at the sight, and briskly began walking, weaving between the trees, trying to hold back the wetness in his eyes.

Walking to where, Draco was not certain. His pain wrenched deeper and deeper each time his foot touched the earth, as did the knowledge that his father would never walk again. His feet would never press against the earth, defying gravity…moving forward.

Lucius Malfoy was frozen in time.

Dead.

Twigs snapped to Draco’s right, and his hand leapt into his robe to pull out his…oh yes, he had lost his wand in the battle. Draco’s hand closed on air, and he stared widely at the creature standing before him.

It was…something large – much larger than a horse – with shiny black skin and a eerie, seemingly emaciated frame that was sheer muscle. A thick mane of black hair stuck up messily, and its tail swished slowly behind its awkwardly angled hind legs. Thick leathery wings were folded loosely at its sides, and Draco grimaced at the sight of the creatures milky white eyes that were so startling against the darkness of its skin. The creature didn’t make a move towards him, and Draco saw that it had a dead deer hanging from its jaws.

After a moment of staring, the animal moved to begin feeding off to the side, and the sound of teeth ripping into flesh brought a flash of recognition to Draco’s mind. It had been in his fifth year, when that oaf Hagrid had brought them out into the forest for a class. There had been creatures that ate flesh, and while Draco hadn’t been able to see them, Potter and some others could. They were…thestrals, and only those who had witnessed death could see them.

Only those who had witnessed death…

Draco watched silently as the thestral ate, and suddenly his composure shattered. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he abandoned all sense of control as he sobbed into the night, burying his head into his knees and screaming his grief.

The thestral's ears perked up at the sound of Draco’s sobs, and after a moment it picked up its prey and disappeared into the brush, probably to find a quieter place to enjoy its meal.

***

Draco hunched his shoulders against the rain, his scowl becoming more pronounced as he pushed away those painful memories. What was it about the rain that made those parts of his past so vivid?

Instead of answering that question, Draco focused on the sound of his shoes scraping against the sidewalk in a wet gravelly sound, and the sound of the rain plinking gently against the windows of stores lining the busy streets. His flat was only a block away from where he was now…it shouldn’t take more than five minutes or so if he hurried.

Draco had moved to London only a few months ago, and was beginning to wonder if it had been such a good idea after all. What was there for him but bitter resentment and disappointment?

But part of him couldn’t think of returning to the Malfoy Manor in Wilshire. As much as he loved his mother, he didn’t want to live in that place, where so many people had been tortured or worse. Painful flashes of his father hanging up his coat and sitting down to eat dinner repeated themselves before Draco’s eyes whenever he walked through the doorway. He wanted to start anew, so to speak. He wanted to try actually working for a change – it was a foreign concept, and Draco was aware enough to be slightly embarrassed at the thought – and in what better way to do it than getting a job?

His mother had, after a year of coping with Lucius’s death, gotten a job in a popular witch’s tea shop, where she worked as the receptionist. It was slow work, and didn’t pay much but it helped Narcissa move on from her depression, and it gave her a sense of purpose, having something important to do.

She had been reluctant to let Draco leave the Manor, and it had taken Draco nearly six months to convince her to let him go. Draco’s face twisted at the memory of her crying face as he packed his bags, and her sobs as she reluctantly handed him the hefty bag of coins that held his inheritance.

Draco wrote to her every two weeks, and fervently hoped that she was doing alright without him. It made Draco incredibly guilty to leave her all alone, but part of him knew that he couldn’t stay with her forever. He loved her, but she needed to let him live his life.

The rain continued to fall as Draco reached his apartment building, and he punched in the code with cold fingers, shaking the water from his hair as the clicker buzzed, and the door opened to admit him into the narrow hallway. The shivering young man turned to ascend the stairs, his hand tracing along the metal railing. When he reached the second floor, he stepped away from the stairs that continued upward and trudged down the hall to room 206. It was on the right side, and Draco rummaged around for his key, growling when he had to empty his pockets for it. Finally, a few moments later, Draco found it at the very bottom of his jacket pocket, and jammed it into the lock, twisting it firmly and pushing the door open.

The flat was spacious and comfortable, but most of that was a result of the magic. Pale oak floorboards were clean and clear, with a dark green couch was situated to the right of the living room, a bookshelf to the side as well as a fireplace. It was a building owned by a family of wizards, and as a result a fireplace was possible, seeing as the owner did a simple spell in order for the smoke to exit through the top of the building, even though there were several floors above the room.

There was a small marble-topped counter that stretched in a semicircle, like an island of sorts, and a small fridge and stove were settled on the far wall opposite the counter. Cooking was something that Draco had been forced to learn over the years since the war, because of their lack of a substantial income; they hadn’t been able to keep any servants.

Draco draped his jacket over the couch as he slipped off his shoes, and sighed as he slumped on the couch, staring blankly at the shelf of books that was settled against the wall. The clock on the small table near his elbow read, in dim green shapes that flickered slightly: 7:30 AM.

He barely had any time to formulate a thought when suddenly, two letters appeared before him, both addressed to Draco. The young man’s already sour mood only worsened at the sight, but he dutifully picked the two letters up, recognizing them to be from the Ministry of Magic.

Draco was tempted to burn both of them, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he opened one with a quick tearing of the seal. It was from the Auror Office, and he raised an eyebrow, shocked that they – they being Potter, since he was the head of the department – hadn’t just rejected him at the same time as the others.

Mr. Malfoy,

We appreciated your application, but unfortunately you do not qualify–

Draco crumpled that one up in his hands, dismissively tossing it over his shoulder. Not much of a surprise there. He moved on to the next one, and stared at it for a moment. Did he really want to read yet another rejection? The wizard huffed, and quickly opened it, this time it was from Broom Regulation.

Mr. Malfoy,

We have reviewed your application, and formally extend a position in our department. Please report to–

Draco, so blinded, almost threw the letter away, but after a moment gaped at the letter. Was he dreaming? Had the Ministry really just given him a job?

If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was a Malfoy – who were raised to be level-headed in all situations, not blindly displaying their feelings for everyone to see – Draco would given a shout of triumph. But since he was indeed a Malfoy – the name may have been mud to the rest of the wizarding world, but it still held value to the Malfoy’s themselves – Draco settled for a smug smirk instead as he carefully read the rest of the letter.

Broom Regulation, huh? Draco didn’t know the first thing about brooms – he only cared about how fast they could go.

But no one needed to know that.

Chapter 1: Drawn to the Fire


There was a crash as a young witch fell backwards over the edge of the cream-colored sofa, and it was with obvious lack of concern that her companion continued washing dishes in the kitchen. It had been demonstrated in Evelyn Longstone's first year at Hogwarts – Lauren Rosenberg had been in her fourth year at the time – that she was a clumsy sort of character, and so Lauren saw no reason to worry about every little trip or fall her best friend accidentally engaged in.

Of course, Evelyn wasn't clumsy at all on a broomstick. On the contrary, she had a sort of grace, a harmonious flow that was not witnessed when she was on her own two feet. She was one of the best Beaters the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team has ever seen, and she aimed to become a professional Quidditch player once she reached the minimum age of twenty-one. It must seem strange, having the word grace and Beater in the same context, but if there was such a person that could be named a 'graceful Beater', it would be Evelyn.

The flat was small, but it managed to fit both young women in quite nicely, especially since they had expanded it slightly with magic. The living room was small and cozy, with the cream colored couch along with two others forming a semi-circle around some cushions and facing the TV. The dining room had a single wooden table in the center of the tiled floor, and connected to it by a single doorway was the spacious kitchen. Lauren had charmed a large square of the wall above the sink so that it reflected the weather outside, and at that moment it overlooked London, dim gray light lighting the kitchen and thick raindrops pounding against the glass.

Evelyn rubbed her head tenderly, her blue-gray eyes closing in a grimace as she sat up, pushing her mess of dark brown waves – Lauren had had the pleasure of cutting it not a month ago, and so instead of tumbling down her back, her hair was neatly cut just below her ears – out of her face.

"Oh, I'm fine Lolo…don't worry, nothing's broken. No really, I'm fine, don't strain yourself. God forbid your being concerned for my welfare…I can get up on my own..."

The girl rolled her eyes, flicking her glossy, reddish-golden hair over one shoulder to get it out of the way as she continued to place dried dishes in the cupboard. "If anything was broken, you would be in too much pain to be sarcastic. Trust me; I've dealt with plenty of broken bones."

Of course she had. As a Healer, and all.

Lauren worked at St. Mungo's, on the 1st floor, also known as the floor for Creature Induced Injuries. She loved magical creatures, and whenever Evelyn's father or mother came to visit, the two would sit and chat for hours about magizoology – Evelyn's parents were magizoologists themselves, and owned a small shop in Diagon Alley called Longstone's Magizoology – and how it could be used to further knowledge on how to treat creature-induced injuries.

Evelyn sighed. "Yeah, yeah…whatever." She got up, and straightened the couch before moving to the dining table, where her shoulder bag was packed and ready. In it was her plastic folder with all of her paper work for that day, along with a notepad that had several complicated spells written down on the top page. She had looked up those spells in case of an emergency at the office.

Of course, emergencies happened all the time where Evelyn worked, which was the Ministry of Magic. The only problem was that none of those emergencies had anything whatsoever to do with her job, which was in the Department of Broom Regulation. The most excitement Evelyn ever got was when a broom malfunctioned. The most unusual case so far was a broom that decided that it was not a broomstick, but instead a horse, and went around bucking and galloping around the office until Evelyn subdued it – not as easy as it sounds – and removed the malfunction with a well-chosen spell.

It was an important job, if not lacking in adventure and thrill. All broomsticks made in England went through Broom Regulation – not literally in and out of the office, but instead every day she and her co-workers traveled to various establishments where broomsticks were produced and checked over the current stock. The stock checks were scheduled at once every two weeks, for that was about the average time it took for makers to create a stock, or five thousand brooms. Brooms couldn't be put on the market unless approved by a Broom Regulation official, and so it was essential that there be enough people in the Department to effectively cover all the broom makers of England.

Evelyn yanked her small brush through her hair, wincing as the some hairs were torn roughly from her scalp and tangled in the bristles of her brush. After glancing in the mirror and making sure her robes hung neatly around herself, she tucked the brush in her bag and took out her wand. A stolen look at the clock on her wrist told her it was 7:15 AM…she had fifteen minutes to get to work. Plenty of time.

Lauren poked her head out of the kitchen, and jabbed her wand at Evelyn sternly, and Evelyn sighed as Lauren's magic pressed the wrinkles from her robes instantly, and cleaned a small stain on the visible part of her white button-up shirt. A small shiver went through her entire robes, and after a moment Lauren removed her wand, smiling widely.

"There! Now you look presentable. Oh, and can you pick up some milk after work? We're almost out."

"Sure." Lauren was such a milk-addict. Evelyn didn't care much for the stuff, but Lauren drank two full glasses every day at the minimum.

Evelyn fingered the ironed robe, and smelled it. Sure enough, it smelled like honeysuckle, a little spell that Lauren always added whenever she did laundry.

Lauren was, to say it mildly, a neat-freak. And in comparison, Evelyn was…well…not a neat-freak. She wasn't a complete slob, but instead was reasonably cluttered. She liked the way she knew where everything was in her room, even if it was under clothes and behind cabinets. It was familiar to her, and although she didn't mind if Lauren nit-picked on the rest of the house, her room was off limits.

But everything else was Lauren's domain, and Evelyn knew better than to fight her on it. So she just smiled, and said her goodbyes before grabbing her Nimbus 2001 from its position in the closet – she had received it as a Christmas gift nearly eight years ago, when she had been made the first girl on the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team to earn the position of Beater – and slinging her bag over her shoulder. She could have Apparated, but flying was something she loved…and if she wanted to eventually try out for a professional Quidditch team, she would need to keep her skills up.

Evelyn cast a quick Impervious charm over herself to prevent the rain from soaking through her robes and hair, followed by a strong Disillusionment charm, and stepped out onto the small balcony that overlooked London in its dreary, rainy glory.

The young woman smiled, hardly noticing the familiar feeling of the rain hitting the small shield around her, and mounted her broomstick, kicking off into the rain. Evelyn loved flying, it made her feel more like a witch than any spell ever did, and she savored it as she soared effortlessly over the town, low enough to see the people walking to their destinations. Most had umbrellas, and so when Evelyn saw one man without one it naturally drew her attention.

The young man was hunched over himself, hands shoved angrily into his pockets, and so the woman couldn't see much of his face. His hair was a silvery blonde, and it was vaguely familiar, but Evelyn couldn't put her finger on it. It didn't matter much anyway, because she was soon past that particular sidewalk, and so she pushed it out of her mind.

Her hair was blown backwards as she mentally urged the broomstick to go faster, and leaned over the wood as she completed a sharp spiral. She righted herself, giggling at the exuberant feeling that filled her at the action.

All too soon, her flight came to an end as she angled downwards towards the small, run-down pub that was situated in a respectable neighborhood, wedged between a Muggle grocery store and clothing shop. The owner's husband was a Muggle, so they served both Muggles and wizards, as long as the wizards didn't use magic on the premises. It was also an obscure Floo Network to the Ministry. Most didn't know about it, seeing as it wasn't publicly advertized, and Evelyn wouldn't have heard about it at all had she not stopped to help the owner's wife one day – nearly two years ago, now that Evelyn stopped to think about it – where she was struggling to carry in boxes of butterbeer into the cellar. Evelyn stopped to help, and was shocked to have the muggle woman ask that she use a charm to lift the boxes.

The wife was so grateful that she introduced Evelyn to her husband, who was busy working inside. They were kind enough to inform Evelyn of a secret Floo fireplace just upstairs, and when Evelyn told them of her job at the Ministry, they immediately insisted that she use it instead of traveling by broom, which would take an extra twenty minutes. Evelyn offered to pay, but they wouldn't have any of it.

And so, every day, Evelyn traveled to the pub and took the Floo to the Ministry. It was shocking, how open and warm the elderly couple had been – and still was – and Evelyn made sure to sneak a few Sickles under the floor mat behind the bar whenever she could.

The young woman quickly ducked behind a large metal garbage disposal situated at the corner of the street, alongside the alleyway, and removed the Disillusionment and Impervious charm, as well as shrinking her broom so that it fit inside her bag. Evelyn shuddered involuntarily as the rain suddenly crashed down on her in icy sheets, and she quickly ducked into the pub.

Evelyn straightened, and found that the pub was empty save for the husband and wife – Humphrey and Delilah Trosburn – softly conversing near the muggle box Lauren called a 'television'.

"Hello, Evelyn! How is it that a young lass like you can get out of bed dis early in da mornin'?" Humphrey greeted her in his lilting Irish accent, scratchy with age, and Evelyn grinned as she moved over to the married couple. Delilah smiled warmly, and patted the girl's shoulder when she drew nearer.

"She's not like us yet, darling. We're old and decrepit, remember?"

Evelyn made to protest, but Humphrey surprised her by nodding sagely. "Aye, love, dat we are. But lucky for us, Evelyn'll be here ta sweep up our ashes when we go!"

The couple cackled at Evelyn's horrified expression, and Delilah glanced at the clock that hung above the polished bar.

"Oh dear, you're nearly late! So sorry to have kept you, dear, hurry along now."

Evelyn smiled. "It's really nothing, Mrs. Trosburn. I'll see you two tomorrow." she assured the elderly woman as she hurried upstairs, and the last glimpse she had of the couple before she ascended to the second level was their wrinkled faces smiling back at her.

The upper level was clean and kept, and Evelyn could see the kitchen as well as a living room and bedroom down another hall – she assumed that was where the Trosburns lived when not tending the bar. The witch sighed as she reached the familiar fireplace situated just inside the living room, and reached into her pocket for the small pouch of Floo powder she had in her robe pocket. The Trosburns had a small pot of Floo powder up on the mantel, but Evelyn refused to inconvenience the couple more than she already was.

The young woman took a small pinch of the silvery powder, and purposefully threw it into the crackling flames. It immediately turned a vivid shade of green, and Evelyn quickly stepped into the fireplace, ducking to avoid hitting her head. The space was so cramped that the witch was practically crouching, and so she wasted no time in firmly stating her destination, quickly closing her eyes as she did so.

"Department of Magical Transportation, Broom Regulatory Control, Ministry of Magic."

Then, with a sudden and uncontrollable spinning, Evelyn was on her way. The urge to open her eyes was strong, but she knew from experience that that would only make her unbearably dizzy and/or sick to her stomach. And so she remained as still as possibly, keeping her arms tight against her sides, and clutching her bag tightly.

Finally, the spinning stopped, and Evelyn ungracefully fell out of the fireplace, her face colliding with the cool wood that made up the floor of the sixth level of the Ministry. Evelyn moaned in pain as she awkwardly sat up, rubbing her nose tenderly, and froze at the sound of a giggle to her right. She looked over to see Ginny Weasley standing there, and the smirk of amusement made Evelyn's cheeks burn as vividly as Ginny's hair.

"He-Hey Ginny…I was just…"

"Tasting the floor? I've heard of chocolate floorboards, but somehow I doubt that the Ministry would see it as very productive." Ginny smirked even more widely, and reached over to help Evelyn to her feet. The dark haired witch brushed off her robes, and looked at the freckled witch across from her. Ginny's hair was impossibly long, currently in a high ponytail, the ends of which still reached her waist.

"Anyway, Ginny, what are you doing here?"

Ginny was – and had been, for the past year and half – the Flying Instructor and Quidditch Referee for Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Madam Hooch had retired after many faithful years, and since Ginny needed a job to earn enough money for a Firebolt – for she shared Evelyn's goal in becoming a professional Quidditch player – and so Minerva McGonagall had offered her the position. It had lead to Evelyn and Ginny meeting, and eventually becoming close friends.

Ginny smiled sheepishly. "Actually, Evelyn, I was here to ask a huge favor of you."

"Hm?" Evelyn made her way towards her department's area, Ginny walking close beside her. Ginny nodded, and tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, watching as Evelyn fished her files out of her bag.

"My brother's wife is having her second child any day now, and my mum and I were going to go and visit for the next few days in order to help her out. It would only be until Friday, and" Evelyn mentally noted that today was Tuesday; she remembered seeing it on the calendar she and Lauren kept above the sofa. "so I was coming to ask you if, starting tomorrow, you'd be willing to teach the first years for a few days."

Evelyn frowned. "I'd love to, but my work–"

Ginny brightened. "Already taken care of!"

"Taken care of as in you've killed my boss? I somehow doubt that that would be seen as legal or moral for several reasons…"

Ginny rolled her eyes, and went on. "No, silly, I just talked to your boss like…five minutes ago, and he agreed to give you a few days off starting tomorrow."

Evelyn did not like that innocent look on Ginny's face. It rang every single suspicious bell she possessed.

"What did you tell him, Ginny?"

Ginny smiled sweetly, and hugged Evelyn. "Okay, so tomorrow, just meet McGonagall at the school gates at seven in the morning, and she'll give you the rundown. Thanks so much, Eve! See you later!"

And with that, Ginny was darting off, and Evelyn turned to furiously bellow.

"What did you tell him? If it's something embarrassing again, I swear to whatever you hold holy that I'll–"

"Miss Longstone!"

Evelyn's shoulders sunk at the sound of the department head's voice, and she slowly turned around to see Earnest Pille standing just a few feet away, his bushy eyebrow raised in incredulity.

"Now, while I understand that you're going through a particularly trying time at present, that is no excuse for you yelling and disrupting the workplace."

Evelyn frowned, trying to think of why now was possibly a trying time for her, and then remembered Ginny's sweet – and undoubtedly evil – smile.

"Yes sir…I understand." Evelyn ground out, thinking of numerous ways to painfully mutilate a particular Weasley, and the man nodded curtly before patting her arm.

"I can't imagine what it must be like…my wife never had the misfortune of having it, but from what Miss Weasley said, it sounds rather revolting and painful. You're so brave to suffer through today, just to prove that you're dedicated to your position. Perhaps it's a good that you're taking some time outside of the office…it'll give you time to gain your bearings."

And with a small smile, the head of Evelyn's department walked off, his pudgy form soon disappearing around the corner. Evelyn stood, her lips in a tight line as she dismissed the idea of mutilation or even torture. Mr. Pille would probably tell the entire Ministry – he was a gossiper, worse than the mothers in Diagon Alley – and Evelyn would have to face numerous people asking if she was alright and making embarrassing assumptions.

No…only killing Ginny would do. That devil child had it coming for the humiliation she was putting Evelyn through.

***

Evelyn leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head with a small sigh. The office was made up of several large work areas; meaning that all of the Broom Regulatory Control members were separated into groups of four, and each had their own little area in which each member had their own desk and space. It was a calm, peaceful area…mostly because of the lack of people. Ten people had quit recently, meaning that more work was expected of the remaining people. Evelyn's room lost two of its workers, so it was only Evelyn and her co-worker Jeremy Thompson – he was a three years older than her, and had been in Gryffindor during their Hogwarts years – left.

Evelyn felt someone's hand gently karate chop her neck, and she turned to see – speak (or think) of the devil and he (or she, in Ginny's case) shall appear – Jeremy standing behind her, his hands innocently tucked into his pockets. He wore a rich purple shirt under his robes, and it contrasted nicely with his mocha-colored skin and dark eyes. Evelyn smiled at him, and he tugged on her hair before plopping himself in the chair next to hers.

"So, I hear you're taking a few days off…because of some obscure disease in an unmentionable area. Is this true?" He seemed to be trying to suppress a smile, and Evelyn groaned, resting her head on her desk in frustration.

"I'm actually helping out a friend, but it doesn't really matter what I say, because people will just think I'm too embarrassed to tell the truth. It's all Ginny's fault…" Evelyn grumbled, and Jeremy laughed.

"Ginny's a Weasley, Eve, they've got mischief in their blood. Trust me, I was in the same year as those twins…it was hell if you got on their bad side. Luckily, we Gryffindor roommates were smart enough to keep them happy."

"No, that can't possibly be true. You, smart? That's impossible!"

Jeremy winced. "You sure know how to stoke a guy's ego, Evelyn…"

Evelyn leaned over to bump shoulders. "You know I'm just kidding..."

Jeremy grinned. "Yeah, I know. But don't worry about the whole disease thing," Evelyn's shoulders sunk at the thought. "it'll blow over by the time you get back. And if I hear people talking about it, I'll put in a few words for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But in return…"

"I should have known there'd be a catch. Dammit…" Evelyn scowled, and Jeremy smirked.

"I'm a business man…I don't just hand out my services."

"Are you trying to make some obscure sexual reference, Jeremy?"

Jeremy's eyes widened. "No!" Evelyn couldn't help feeling a little miffed at the obvious disgust that crossed Jeremy's face at the thought. "I'm just saying that I need you to take care of the new guy, Mr. Pille said that he's coming in tomorrow morning, and that one of us has to show him the works."

"Oh? Do you know who it is?" Evelyn sipped at her bottled water, frowning at the pure loathing that crossed her co-worker's usually cheerful face.

"It's that little shit Draco Malfoy." Jeremy spat the name forcefully, as if trying to also remove any remnants of it from inside his mouth.

"Are you serious? After what he did, the Ministry gave him a job?"

Jeremy nodded. "I hear that he's been hiding out in Wilshire for the past few years…that little bastard."

"Wait…and you want me to look after him?"

Jeremy sighed; leaning forward to his chin was resting on his folded hands, his hazel eyes staring into Evelyn's face for a moment before retuning to the smooth wooden back of the desk.

"I just…don't think I can do it. It's different for you; you didn't have that little asshole's House stabbing you in the back everywhere you turned. I'd end up probably beating the crap out of him before he even walked through that door."

Evelyn glared at the young man, who sighed, fixing his features into an expression that Evelyn dreaded, and yet at the same time could never seem to resist. Evelyn fondly – well, hatefully was more accurate description when face-to-face with it as she was now – called it the I'm-really-serious-about-this-so-feel-sorry-for-me face.

"Please, Evelyn?"

Evelyn groaned. "But I'm leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow, and I'm gone till Friday! I have to teach some little first year squirts how to fly."

"Take him along." Jeremy offered quietly, and Evelyn's tone soured, her mouth quirking downward into a disbelieving scowl.

"Please tell me you're joking. They'll flay him alive if he goes back there!"

Jeremy pursed his lips. "Well, that's an option, but it's only for a few days, right? What could possibly happen?"

"You know, I'm tempted to endure the embarrassment…this deal isn't really fair. I hate Malfoy, you hate Malfoy…and yet you're the one who's getting off scott-free."

Jeremy leaned backwards in his chair, his back popping several times as he did so. "I'll give you ten galleons."

"Nope."

"Twenty?"

"Nah."

"I'll do all of your paperwork for a week."

"…I'm just not feeling it."

"Two weeks?"

"Nope."

Jeremy scowled, but there was a sudden spark in his eyes. "I'll buy you dinner."

Evelyn's eyes snapped to his face, which was perfectly smooth, not betraying any sort of mockery or sarcasm. "What?"

"I'll treat you to lunch, anywhere you want."

Evelyn couldn't help the blush that crept up into her face, and struggled to stay casual as she turned back to her paperwork. "Be careful. It might sound like you're asking me out on a date."

Jeremy leaned over her, resting his head on his bent arm. "If it'd get me out of dealing with Malfoy, I'd knowingly eat an Acid Pop. So do we have a deal?

Evelyn blinked slowly, and stole a glance at Jeremy. His face was too close, and yet instead of feeling excitement, she only felt sadness leaking into her mind as his words sunk in. So he wasn't interested in her at all. She forced a laugh, and shrugged. Jeremy was just trying to get Malfoy off his hands; it wasn't anything to do with her feelings. It hurt, but it was the truth.

Evelyn responded curtly, not willing to let her hurt show on her face. "Fine. But it better be the best damn lunch I ever have, to make up for me looking after Malfoy for who knows how long. Can you send him an owl telling him to meet me here at six-thirty tomorrow morning?"

Jeremy nodded amiably, and Evelyn felt a sudden need to leave the room. She had never had a huge crush on Jeremy, but when he had compared dating her to eating an Acid Pop, it had stung. What was worse was that Jeremy didn't even seem to know how biting his words were.

And so, faking a smile, she excused her self to the ladies room, and hurried out of the room, leaving an oblivious Jeremy behind her.

***

At 3:30 PM, Evelyn's work day came to an end. Evelyn couldn't remember a day that she had been more excited to finally go home. The young woman quickly packed her bag and practically ran away from her office, forgetting, in her haste, to say goodbye to Jeremy. She was briskly walking towards the fireplaces situated in her department when she suddenly caught sight of two familiar people kissing rather passionately in the middle of the hallway, blocking her path.

It was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and Evelyn grimaced as they gripped each other more tightly as the seconds ticked back, showing no signs of stopping any time soon.

If Evelyn had been in a better mood, she would just press herself against the wall, easing past them while being as quiet as possible. She liked Ron and Hermione enough to where she didn't want to bother them, and she felt that they were cute enough to put on an adorable display to all the romance-lovers out there.

But unfortunately for them, Evelyn was in a foul mood, and so instead she cleared her throat loudly. She vaguely registered footsteps behind her, but she ignored them as Hermione and Ron sprang apart.

"Really? C'mon guys, get a room…just because you're hopelessly in love doesn't mean that the rest of us get a kick out of watching you two exchange spit. There are plenty of less public places to snog, I'll even show you some if you like. But for now…can you get out of my way? Trying to walk here."

"Y-Yeah…sorry…" Ron's ears were in flames, and Hermione's cheeks were crimson. The two quickly walked off, Hermione embarrassedly hiding her face in Ron's arm as they disappeared. Evelyn rubbed her face with her hand, knowing that her moment of bitchiness would come back to bite her in the ass later, and jumped at the sound of a low voice behind her.

"I was about to tell them off, but you beat me to it."

Evelyn whipped around to see Harry Potter – hero of the wizarding world and Head of the Auror Office – standing there, a smirk on his face. His scar was partially hidden by his unruly hair, and her eyes automatically glanced at it before focusing on his bright green eyes.

Harry was a year above her, and they hadn't socialized at all in school. So if he was approaching her now, it was probably because he needed something.

Why was today turning out to be such a crappy day? Everyone just using her to get what they wanted…

"What do you want, Harry? I've got a pretty hefty list of things I've got to do for people, let me just add yours to it–"

Evelyn didn't mean to sound so bitter, and was shocked into silence when Harry quietly interjected, his hands sliding into his pockets.

"I don't need anything. I was actually asking you if you would come to Ginny's surprise birthday party. She talks about you all the time, and so I know she'd want you there."

Evelyn flushed, and hung her head. "Oh. I'm…I'm sorry. My day pretty much went to hell the moment I stepped into my office this morning. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that…I feel like an idiot."

"It's okay. I've had those days too, don't worry."

He smiled, and Evelyn couldn't help but smile back. "Yeah. So, when is the party?"

"Next Friday, at Ginny's flat. I'll owl the address and the time to you by tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, definitely." Evelyn smiled, and frowned. "Hey, can I bring my roommate too? Her name's Lauren, she was in the same year as George back at Hogwarts."

Harry frowned, thinking hard before nodding. "Yeah…I'm sure that'd be fine. So…I'll see you then, I guess."

The silence turned awkward as the two stood with nothing more to say, and Evelyn quickly responded. "Yeah…thanks again, Harry."

"No problem."

The two quickly went their separate ways, and Evelyn glanced back at the retreating figure, shaking her head. For all of his bravado in saving the world, Harry Potter was not much of a chatterbox. It was good to know, Evelyn mused.

The young woman reached the fireplaces lined up against the wall, and took out a pinch of Floo powder, watching as the flames flare emerald green, stepping into the stone structure. Evelyn clearly stated her destination, savoring the gentle warmth of the flames licking at her knees – it was large enough to stand in, unlike the Trosburns' fireplace.

When she felt the tug of the magic, she closed her eyes.

Chapter 2: There and Back Again

Draco shifted impatiently on his heels, sighing as he lifted his wrist and tilted it so the numbers of the clock were legible. It was 6:40 AM…the owl sent to him last night had said to arrive here at 6:25 AM. The wizard unfolded the letter briefly, his gray eyes scanning the words written there for a moment before he slipped the paper back into his robe pocket.

He was scheduled to meet a member of the Department of Broom Regulation, someone by the name of Evelyn Longstone – Draco could only assume that it was a witch. Draco had woken up late, and he had blindly dressed and packed, hurrying to get to the Ministry on time –as he stood there, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to put on socks – and now this Evelyn witch was late. What a pain in the arse she was already turning out to be. She was probably like those awful witches Draco’s mother used to entertain before Draco attended Hogwarts; those loud, prim witches who would always arrive at the Manor an hour later than they had arranged, whose main purpose in life was to pinch Draco’s cheeks and cackle about how handsome he was, not even paying heed to the fact that their nails were painfully digging into his flesh. His mother, luckily, noticed before blood was shed, and distracted the witches, but refused to let him escape to his bedroom. It’s unseemly, Draco. What would your father say?, Narcissa would scold, and, not wanting to disappoint his father, Draco would reluctantly stay and let the women manhandle his poor face.

Draco shuddered at the memory, and quickly distracted himself by observing his new work space. It was a medium sized room, with four clean desks situated around the room. It was clear that only two of the desks were being used, from the lack of papers or files on the two farthest from the door. The other two, however, were clearly occupied. One of them – the one closest to him, on the far right side – was reasonably clean, with only a few stray papers littering the smooth surface of the wood. There was a faint, lingering smell of honeysuckle surrounding the desk, and Draco wrinkled his nose as he moved closer. The papers gave no indication of who sat there, and so he quickly moved them aside. Then, movement caught his eye, and he looked up.

There was two picture frames tacked to the wall in front of the desk, and Draco peered at them, his fingers bracing himself on the desk as he examined them.

It was taken by a magical camera, that much was certain, and the one on the right – and the slightly larger one – was of two girls, both beaming warmly at the camera. One of them, she looked to be a few years older than the other, was slightly taller – she had long, straight reddish-gold hair, and bright green eyes – and she was waving her wand in a ridiculous manner, and the other – she had equally long, wavy brown hair and clear blue-gray eyes – was laughing at her companion while secretly giving her bunny ears.

The other picture held three girls, two of them on broomsticks. One of the flying ones he immediately recognized as the Weasley girl – Ginny – and the other was the brown haired girl again, this time with shorter hair, going to just above her shoulders. The girl with reddish-gold hair was on the ground between them, her hands on the broomstick handles to keep her friends from flying off. Ginny was wearing the Gryffindor Quidditch uniform and holding a burgundy colored Quaffle, and the brunette was wearing the Ravenclaw uniform and holding a Beater bat. All of them were grinning, and once in a while the broomsticks would rise for a few seconds before lowering back to their original positions, and the girl between them would scold and shriek as she was lifted in the air.

Draco scowled. Neither of those pictures gave any inclination of who sat here. Was it the older girl with reddish-gold hair, or was it the brunette? Or was the occupant neither, instead just a sister or a cousin or even just a friend of those two girls as well as Ginny?

The young man sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.

Why had he taken this job again? Oh yes, it was to create a new name for himself. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

He just had to go against every impulse that had been ingrained in him from birth. He only had to bite his lip and accept the abuse he knew was coming from his co-workers. He had to be...apologetic. The very word grated against his skin unpleasantly.

Three simple things.

Right.

Draco tried to retain his confidence, but then he caught sight of a disgustingly familiar banner hanging across the other occupied desk on the other side of the room. It was red and gold, and Draco – for the first time in many years – had the strongest urge to kick and scream. It was immature, he knew that, but it would satisfy the self-pitying rage that pulsed through him now.

A Gryffindor.

They expected him to work with a bloody Gryffindor of all people?

No. That just wouldn’t do. Screw the job, screw everything! It would be like stepping into a swarm of bees; he could ignore the first few stings, but after a while he would snap and start screaming uncontrollably.

Draco wheeled around, and yanked the door open, and came face to face with a breathless, flushed young woman who had obviously been running just moments before. Her short, wavy brown hair was in disarray, and her blue-gray eyes were frantic.

He barely had time to register who she was before he felt her small – and surprisingly strong – hand gripping his collar, and dragging him out of the room. He sputtered, and the girl ignored him as she dragged him out the door. So much for a formal introduction.

“If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late. I hope I brought enough, three days is–”

Draco jerked in surprise, pulling out of her grasp and rubbing his neck tenderly. “Where the hell are we going? And why are you late? I’ve been waiting–”

But the girl went on walking – and talking – as if she didn’t even hear him. “–a pretty long time, but I suppose the school will have anything I forgot…”

Draco scowled, but quickly jogged after her, attempting to get her attention until he was finally forced to step in front of her. Her mouth turned downward in a fierce scowl, and he took an automatic step back at the intensity of her expression.

“Are you already aiming to get under my skin, Malfoy?”

Draco frowned. “What–”

“I sent you an owl this morning, telling you that I was running late and double-checking that you knew where we were going.” Her blue-gray eyes snapped at him almost more sharply than her voice.

“A…letter?” He cringed at the memory of dismissing an owl that morning, too busy taking a shower and getting dressed to see the letter on his table.

“Yes, a letter. It’s a piece of paper, with an ingenious thing called writing on it, which is–.”

Draco snarled. “I know what a letter is! And for your information, the letter I received last night from your co-worker said nothing about a three day trip. It said that I’d be meeting Evelyn Longstone – I assume that’s you – here at 6:25, nothing more.”

The young woman’s face – Evelyn’s face – paled, and Draco rose a single eyebrow at the violent expletive that suddenly left the witch’s lips, and watched as she huffed angrily, rubbing her forehead with tired fingers.

“Great. Wonderful. Bloody fantastic. Well, we’re going to Hogwarts for the next three days, where I will be teaching first years how to fly on broomsticks. I don’t know what you’ll be doing yet, but I’m sure I can think of something.”

Hogwarts? Oh hell…

But before he could protest, he felt Evelyn’s arm hook itself in his – a very alien feeling, and an action that Pansy was very fond of back in their Hogwarts years – and in a flash he felt the tug of Apparation. The boy could do nothing more than hang on for dear life as the two travelled to the one place that Draco dreaded returning to, more than any other wizarding establishment, more than even the Malfoy Manor.

This was where his father had been murdered, this was where Crabbe had met his demise at the hands of a fire he had created, this was the place where Draco had been forced to stand, wand pointed at a defenseless Dumbledore…this was where he had watched, so close to accepting Dumbledore’s offer of protecting Draco and his family, Dumbledore’s lifeless body fall out of the tower, the peaceful expression still frozen on his face. Where he had spent many a night in the second floor bathroom, crying and hating himself as Myrtle comforted him, her watery voice soothing him as best it could. Where Potter had used that excruciating spell on him, that day in the bathroom, where Draco had felt so helpless the moment those hate-filled eyes locked on him. Everyone’s eyes would be hate-filled now, no loyal supporters, no faithful bullies to stand beside him.

Draco would stand alone.

In the end, that was all that Draco was good for. Standing alone, taking the brunt of the wizarding world’s hatred, waiting for a day that that hatred would diminish.

Draco felt his feet hit solid ground, and opened his eyes. They were at the large gates that were the entrance into the school grounds, and Evelyn let go of him, striding confidently towards the large metal structure. There was a carriage there, with a single thestral pawing the ground before it. It was an adult, obviously, large and intimidating. There was a small green band that hung around the creature’s front left leg, and Draco quickly looked back up as it stomped its feet impatiently. Its breath was a cloud of smoke in the chilly autumn air, and Draco shuddered as its milky white eyes followed him as they walked towards the carriage, and quickly turned away.

He saw that Evelyn wasn’t getting into the carriage, and his eyes widened as she moved towards the thestral, reaching into her bag and bringing out a raw steak. The creature ate it lazily, and allowed the girl to gently rub its neck.

“Hello, Alida…it’s been so long. You’re all grown up now…”

Draco blanched. “You…know that thing? How? I thought that the oaf took care of them.”

He expected her to get angry at him for calling Hagrid an oaf – the name had slipped out, it had been so long since he’d said it – but was surprised when she merely sighed, reluctantly explaining.

“My parents specialize in magical creatures. After the war, my father helped Hagrid in breeding what was left of the thestrals. I was with him, and I watched this one’s birth. I named her Alida, because she was always so small.”

Draco didn’t know what the name meant, and watched as the creature – obviously remembering this particular witch – nuzzled her hair and snorted,. Evelyn was facing away from him, so he couldn’t see her reaction to this.

Draco shook his head, and quickly stepped into the carriage, and sat down, placing his bag between his knees and leaning his head against the wall, a position that he had adopted every time he entered the carriages back when he attended Hogwarts.

A few minutes later, Evelyn hopped into the carriage as well, her face neutral as she settled into her seat, reaching into her bag and pulling out a file. Draco accepted the offered papers, and when he asked what they were for, she didn’t look at him, instead spoke while maintaining her gaze out the window.

“It’s a list of spells that you’ll need to master, as well as what they do and what situations best call for them. The other papers are descriptions of what you’ll be doing once we get back to the office.”

Draco nodded, slightly uncomfortable with the fact that she was so openly brusque. He expected it, but it didn’t mean he was comfortable with it. It made him feel like something unclean, the way she refused to meet his eyes and the constant scowl on her face.

And so, for the duration of the carriage ride, in an effort to avoid being aware of the unpleasantly awkward silence between them, Draco poured his attention into reading and memorizing the numerous spells written on the first page of the file.

---

“Welcome, you two. I hope your trip wasn’t unpleasant?” Professor McGonagall – the current Headmistress of Hogwarts – greeted them as they walked into the Entrance Hall. Evelyn was holding her broom – a Nimbus 2001 that had been ridden so much that the wood where her hands went was slightly indented with the shape of her fingers, burnished and slightly darker than the wood around it – and smiling at the older witch. Draco felt the woman’s spectacled gaze fixed upon him, and curtly nodded in greeting before settling his gaze on the Main Hall that was visible just behind the emerald-robed witch, the familiar sound of students eating and talking filling the air.

Evelyn nodded politely. “Hello, Professor McGonagall. The trip was fine…I didn’t know that Alida was already pulling carriages. Hagrid said that they usually waited five years until hooking them up.”

McGonagall shrugged, glancing at Draco once more from behind sturdy spectacles. “I’m not the one to question, Miss Longstone. I’m sure that Hagrid would be happy to answer all of your questions related to the thestrals.”

Evelyn smiled. “Oh, I see…sorry about that.”

“It’s quite all right. Now, the first flying lesson is with the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years, and that’s in thirty minutes. Your next class is with Slytherin and Ravenclaw at 1:00 PM. I’ll just,” The woman waved her wand, and Draco’s bag and Evelyn’s two bags disappeared. “send those up to your rooms. The lessons are taken place outside, on the Quidditch pitch. You will have an hour and a half in which to teach, and your class will be using the brooms found in the small green shed. Are there any questions?”

Her voice was as stern as Draco remembered, and Evelyn nodded seriously, sending a quick smile at McGonagall as the older woman walked back into the Main Hall.

Evelyn sighed, and looked around with what Draco interpreted as a fond expression, her blue-gray eyes lingering on the Ravenclaw banner hanging above the second to last table on the left. So she had been a Ravenclaw. And if she was friends with the Weasley girl…then she must be a year younger than him. Both of those explained why her face had never stuck out to Draco before. He vaguely remembered his time as Slytherin Seeker, and a Ravenclaw Quidditch player with long wavy brown hair, but his memories of playing Quidditch continued to deteriorate as time went on. He still loved the game – he always had, the competitive streak in him adored a challenge – and often lamented the fact that his Nimbus 2001 had been destroyed on the night the Death Eaters were sent to intercept Harry Potter four years ago. Voldemort’s rise to power in his fifth and sixth year at Hogwarts hadn’t really allowed him time to participate in popular sports.

Draco followed Evelyn on the familiar trek to the Quidditch pitch, which was as tall and beautiful as always. He stuck his hands in his pockets, when they reached the sheds that held the broomsticks, just outside the stadium, ad watched as Evelyn flicked her wand to unlock the simple chain locking the door of the green shed. When she brushed past him to walk into the shed, he noticed that she was taller than he had assumed at first, and that her robes held a faint lingering smell of honeysuckles – the same scent that clung lightly to the desk back at the Ministry. He didn’t particularly like the smell…it reminded Draco of Pansy. The girl had worn so much perfume that it surrounded her like a toxic cloud. Now, whenever Draco smelled any perfume remotely flowery, his stomach twisted and turned unpleasantly.

The blonde walked into the musty shed, and assisted the witch in carrying the thirty learning broomsticks out onto the cool September air. The brooms were old and gray in color, and wheezed weakly when Draco set them down. He couldn’t help but smirk condescendingly. He couldn’t wait to see the first years fumbling around on the ancient brooms…it would provide a bit of entertainment to ease the tension between him and his female companion.

Evelyn was treating him exactly like the rest of the wizarding world had since the fall of Voldemort, and again, even though Draco expected it, it somehow unnerved him to see the expression of blatant irritation on her face. He didn’t know why, but it seemed unnatural for it to be present on this witch’s – Evelyn’s – face, which made Draco even more confused because he hardly knew the woman.

“You’re going to be repairing the brooms used by the House Quidditch teams.”

Draco blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Hop to it, there are at least thirty brooms in that shed that need repairing!” Evelyn’s voice was firm, and her tone sharpened when Draco flared angrily. “What, did you really think I’d trust you around a group of innocent first years?”

“I refuse to–” Draco began, but shrunk back at the sight of a slender wand tip just inches from his chest. His words died in his throat as he caught sight of her face, which was carefully neutral.

“Look Malfoy. I don’t like you; you don’t like anyone besides your peachy Slytherin crowd. That’s been made perfectly clear. But you’re in my territory now. I’m your superior, and as such, you will listen to my orders without question. I don’t know why the hell you were given this job; I think that it was a huge mistake for them to even consider your application, but the damage is done. Don’t say a word, just go do it. I don’t want to talk to you more than I have to, and I’m sure the feeling’s mutual.”

Draco watched as she turned huffily, and began inspecting the brooms that were resting in two neat rows opposite each other.

That bitch! No one had ever spoken to him like that, and if she thought she could just turn and act as if nothing was wrong, then she was in for a rude awakening! Draco reached for his wand, and pointed it at her back. She was still tense as she waved her wand over the old brooms, for the moment still unaware of his intentions, stupidly ignorant to think that he wouldn't do it.

One word…and she would be regretting the day she crossed him. One word…and she would be begging for mercy. Anger, raw and painful with both shock and embarrassment, pulsed through his fingers, and he almost let the spell escape his lips.

Almost.

Then he remembered his goal; to create a new name for himself. He had almost forgotten…he had a sudden urge to toss his goal into the wind and give in to his darker desires.

What was one little spell? It would be just this once, just this particular witch…

With a gasp of horror, the boy hurriedly turned on his heel and fled into the shed that had, in that instant, become a sort of sanctuary, slamming the door behind him. He locked it behind him, not to keep her out, but to keep himself in. Draco didn’t trust many people in this world, and he himself was one of those people.

It was pathetic.

The boy sank to the ground, shaking with fear and with barely contained rage. Is this what Draco was reduced to? Attacking a defenseless – not entirely defenseless, in Evelyn’s case, but similar, seeing as her back was turned – witch just because she insulted him? That was what Voldemort had done without hesitation and with a sick sense of pride. Remembering made sweat bead up on Draco’s pale forehead, and he gripped his hair tightly in his hands and tucked his head between his trembling knees.

He wasn’t like Voldemort, he wasn’t like Voldemort, he wasn’t like Voldemort, he wasn’t–

Wasn’t he?

Was Draco just fooling himself in thinking that he had managed to make it through the two years under Voldemort’s service without adapting to some of the wizard’s masochistic tendencies?

It took everything in Draco’s power not to scream.