“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?”