It was dark, that much he could tell -- and it was suffocating. The walls were too close, the roof too low, almost as if the place he was in was made specifically for his body type. Perfectly manicured nails scrabbled against the silk lining beneath his fingers. He swore under his breath and punched his way through the wood, not even taking the time to be surprised at the strength that he shouldn't have. He was cursing the dirt that rained down on him and cursed it even more for sliding under his finger nails as he dug his way upwards…or was he going down? He couldn't tell. He was going somewhere though. He wasn't staying in that wooden confine a second longer. He felt a tugging deep down into his soul that was forcing him to dig and climb, not allowing him to rest. And really, who was he to deny the pull?
Finally feeling his hand breaking some kind of surface, he pulled himself the rest of the way up and out onto the ground. He took a moment to lie completely flat on his back, staring up at the dark studded sky. Who was he? Where was he? Why was he? He wasn't sure. Slowly, almost as if he wasn't used to sitting up, he looked around him, taking in his surroundings. It was dark out, much too dark for his taste. It was almost like where he'd been. And then he looked for it, and his eyes bugged out in righteous indignation. Who had dared to bury him?! And bury him ALIVE?! He knew he was a jerk sometimes, but this totally took the cake!
A few minutes went by as he stared unblinkingly into his grave before it occurred to him to look up at his grave stone. Draco Malfoy. That's what it said. And then it all came rushing back. The screams, the blood, the choking feeling. Ginny. He felt sick and raw anguish. He was dead! He knew he'd died! He looked at the grave beside him, unable to hold back the relief that someone had listened to their wills and buried them beside each other. Her grave was undisturbed, which made him feel worse. And then...He felt the anger and bloodlust that he'd felt watching them kill her. He would make those who had done this pay, and then he would worry about the hows and whys. He stood up slowly, brushing his fingertips across her name on the headstone as he left. The crow that he'd just noticed sitting silently on his headstone flew up in a flurry of wings and settled on his shoulder for a moment before taking flight and leaving him to himself.
He hadn't been irritated and he wasn't sure why. He'd always hated it when the owls had landed on his shoulders instead of perching on his arm as they should’ve. When they flew away they'd always managed to smack him in the head. He felt some connection to the silly bird and he somehow knew he'd see it again soon. Might as well get used to it now. Nothing made sense anymore, why not be connected to a bird? But first things first. He needed new clothes, not the dirty excuse of a suit he was wearing, and then he needed answers. And he thought he knew just exactly where to get them.
---
Hermione set a cup of tea silently in front of Neville, who was hunched over his end of the table and didn't even flinch when she'd set it down. He hated sudden movements, and the fact that he was not jumpy concerned her. He'd calmed down much after the initial explaining of the situation again to her, so she hadn't put a calming draught into his tea, but for a moment she almost wanted him to be raving and frantic again. This wasn't normal, and while she wasn't overly paranoid like Neville, she did like things to be the way they were supposed to be. A lot had changed over the war and she'd had to make new routines that were far too different from the old ones, but they were routines. She preferred not to have to change them again.
She moved back to the counter so she could regard him silently, her lower back pressing into the edge of the kitchen counter. If she strained her ear in this silence she could just make out the sounds of Molly and Arthur whispering in the living room, debating on who they should contact, if anyone. And she knew that they were discussing the murder of their daughter. It was sitting in the back of her mind as well. Were they really connected murders? Or was there just a copy cat out there somewhere? And if not, why wait so long for another attack? What was so special about this day that now three people had died on it?
There weren't any answers and she felt frustration. It was familiar, it was the feeling she'd had in the war. Hermione prided herself on intelligence and book learning and disliked it when she couldn't learn it in a book. She couldn't look these answers up, and even if she looked up Muggle Psychiatry there were never exact answers of why. Would there ever be? She was roused out of her thoughts by two distinct pops as Ron and Harry apparated into the kitchen, Harry looking dishevelled and tired. Both men looked older then they were at that moment and she felt worry digging itself into the back of her brain, another familiar thing. She pounced on it and ushered them into seats with Neville and hurried to get them tea before returning to her position against the counter to watch them all, crossing her arms under her chest and waiting for someone to be the first to speak.
It was Harry. He took a sip of his tea out of force of habit, knowing Hermione would hound him otherwise. "It's lovely Herm, thank you." She simply nodded and he turned to regard Neville who looked up at him expressionlessly. "Th...We managed to clear the rubble alright. She was left intact and there weren't any signs of torture." They could all see him struggle to say this as professionally as he could and not let his personal feelings get in the way. His expressive green eyes were slightly shiny and held so much sorrow. They'd all gotten to know Hannah well when she'd started her romance with Neville, she was a sweet woman. It was hard not to feel sad over her death. Harry continued.
"It appears that...they just blasted down the house when she was in it...and let that do the job." He rushed to assure Neville when he saw the look in his friend's eyes. "It was instant, I promise you. She didn't feel pain." Or much anyway...He mentally tacked on grimly. He would assume a piece of plaster landing on your head would hurt as it knocked you out, but after that the house had collapsed down on her unconscious form and therefore couldn't have caused her more pain. For that he was thankful.
Neville nodded and then looked at the three faces in the kitchen with him. He felt only a slight sense of relief that it had been a brief and painless death, and nothing like the way that Ginny and Draco had died. He'd take the small mercy as he could and licked his lips nervously, light brown eyes darting in between the three companions. "Will...will you help me plan the funeral..?" His voice sounded dead to his own ears but he did notice the pleading note within it. He couldn't do this by himself. Merlin, he'd loved Hannah.
"Of course." Hermione jumped in quickly, a little guilty to feel such relief at being able to set her over active brain to a draining task. She was good at organizing, and she'd take anything that would allow her to help. "Don't worry about anything." She said firmly. "I'll do it all." He didn't argue and she instinctively knew he was grateful and wasn't put off by his lack of response. She turned her attention to Harry, mind working on voicing the questions she'd been thinking earlier.
"Is it the same group who killed..." After all this time she still couldn't say it. It was hard enough to even think it. "Or is it some form of a copy cat?" She watched Harry rub at his forehead in a stressed gesture as she moved to sit with them at the kitchen table.
"That's just it Hermione. We don't know. It's the same type of thing. The same words, only not in any human blood that we can tell…perhaps cow's blood as far as I can tell, but there's no evidence to indicate anything! No bloody trail! Nobody should be that clean and efficient!" His voice had risen as his frustration grew, and then he slumped his shoulders down in silent defeat. Ron put his hand on his best friend's shoulder and shook his head lightly. "It's not your fault mate. That's the trouble with magic you know, can just charm away anything you'd like. And then, after a few hours, magical residue disappears so you'd never know what had been cleaned to reverse it." A pause. "Besides, if it's Death Eaters like we assumed last time, they've been killing for ages. They know how to not get caught."
Harry nodded mutely and looked between his two best friends and Neville. They would help this investigation as much as they could, he knew that. He would share everything with them, they wouldn't tell, and he knew they deserved to know. He felt relief for being able to share a case with them, most often he wouldn't tell them more then the law would allow, but this was different. This was family. They'd do this together, and hopefully this time, there would be something, anything to find.
---
Muddied shoes stepped up cement stairs lightly but quickly, as if the person was far too impatient to get to the top. Upon reaching it, there was a momentary pause as he looked over his shoulder, and then the door received a solid kick and sprung open immediately. The man slipped inside and closed it soundly behind him. Pale eyes scanned the darkened surroundings.
Everything was left exactly as he remembered it. It was just a lot dustier, and obviously unused since he'd lived there. He supposed then that her living relatives had been to heartbroken to go through her things here, and maybe felt that they didn't have the right to go through his. In a way, he was pleased it was all untouched. It made everything so much easier for him. He didn't even feel a moment of guilt as he tracked mud all across the Persian carpet as he headed to the bathroom. He needed a shower, desperately. He was dirty, and it was gross, and he was pretty sure that if no one had touched anything in the flat, he was pretty sure his bathroom had been left alone as well.
---
He'd been right. Satisfied, dressed well, and clean. Now to make a special little visit for all the information that he needed. What he would pay to be able to watch that little scenario, over and over again. And with that thought, he left the flat in a hurry, not thrilled, but not surprised to see the crow sitting a few roof tops down, and taking flight after him. It proved to be pretty useful. He felt tugs deep down again, like he had when he'd been climbing out of the grave. The feeling seemed to lead him to where he wanted to go. It certainly made finding this place short work.
A/N: Bah! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, I'll try to get the next one up sooner. School work is terrible. : And sorry for the bad quality of my rushing to get this finished. Thanks again to Faith for editing this for me. ^^ Enjoy!
Finally feeling his hand breaking some kind of surface, he pulled himself the rest of the way up and out onto the ground. He took a moment to lie completely flat on his back, staring up at the dark studded sky. Who was he? Where was he? Why was he? He wasn't sure. Slowly, almost as if he wasn't used to sitting up, he looked around him, taking in his surroundings. It was dark out, much too dark for his taste. It was almost like where he'd been. And then he looked for it, and his eyes bugged out in righteous indignation. Who had dared to bury him?! And bury him ALIVE?! He knew he was a jerk sometimes, but this totally took the cake!
A few minutes went by as he stared unblinkingly into his grave before it occurred to him to look up at his grave stone. Draco Malfoy. That's what it said. And then it all came rushing back. The screams, the blood, the choking feeling. Ginny. He felt sick and raw anguish. He was dead! He knew he'd died! He looked at the grave beside him, unable to hold back the relief that someone had listened to their wills and buried them beside each other. Her grave was undisturbed, which made him feel worse. And then...He felt the anger and bloodlust that he'd felt watching them kill her. He would make those who had done this pay, and then he would worry about the hows and whys. He stood up slowly, brushing his fingertips across her name on the headstone as he left. The crow that he'd just noticed sitting silently on his headstone flew up in a flurry of wings and settled on his shoulder for a moment before taking flight and leaving him to himself.
He hadn't been irritated and he wasn't sure why. He'd always hated it when the owls had landed on his shoulders instead of perching on his arm as they should’ve. When they flew away they'd always managed to smack him in the head. He felt some connection to the silly bird and he somehow knew he'd see it again soon. Might as well get used to it now. Nothing made sense anymore, why not be connected to a bird? But first things first. He needed new clothes, not the dirty excuse of a suit he was wearing, and then he needed answers. And he thought he knew just exactly where to get them.
---
Hermione set a cup of tea silently in front of Neville, who was hunched over his end of the table and didn't even flinch when she'd set it down. He hated sudden movements, and the fact that he was not jumpy concerned her. He'd calmed down much after the initial explaining of the situation again to her, so she hadn't put a calming draught into his tea, but for a moment she almost wanted him to be raving and frantic again. This wasn't normal, and while she wasn't overly paranoid like Neville, she did like things to be the way they were supposed to be. A lot had changed over the war and she'd had to make new routines that were far too different from the old ones, but they were routines. She preferred not to have to change them again.
She moved back to the counter so she could regard him silently, her lower back pressing into the edge of the kitchen counter. If she strained her ear in this silence she could just make out the sounds of Molly and Arthur whispering in the living room, debating on who they should contact, if anyone. And she knew that they were discussing the murder of their daughter. It was sitting in the back of her mind as well. Were they really connected murders? Or was there just a copy cat out there somewhere? And if not, why wait so long for another attack? What was so special about this day that now three people had died on it?
There weren't any answers and she felt frustration. It was familiar, it was the feeling she'd had in the war. Hermione prided herself on intelligence and book learning and disliked it when she couldn't learn it in a book. She couldn't look these answers up, and even if she looked up Muggle Psychiatry there were never exact answers of why. Would there ever be? She was roused out of her thoughts by two distinct pops as Ron and Harry apparated into the kitchen, Harry looking dishevelled and tired. Both men looked older then they were at that moment and she felt worry digging itself into the back of her brain, another familiar thing. She pounced on it and ushered them into seats with Neville and hurried to get them tea before returning to her position against the counter to watch them all, crossing her arms under her chest and waiting for someone to be the first to speak.
It was Harry. He took a sip of his tea out of force of habit, knowing Hermione would hound him otherwise. "It's lovely Herm, thank you." She simply nodded and he turned to regard Neville who looked up at him expressionlessly. "Th...We managed to clear the rubble alright. She was left intact and there weren't any signs of torture." They could all see him struggle to say this as professionally as he could and not let his personal feelings get in the way. His expressive green eyes were slightly shiny and held so much sorrow. They'd all gotten to know Hannah well when she'd started her romance with Neville, she was a sweet woman. It was hard not to feel sad over her death. Harry continued.
"It appears that...they just blasted down the house when she was in it...and let that do the job." He rushed to assure Neville when he saw the look in his friend's eyes. "It was instant, I promise you. She didn't feel pain." Or much anyway...He mentally tacked on grimly. He would assume a piece of plaster landing on your head would hurt as it knocked you out, but after that the house had collapsed down on her unconscious form and therefore couldn't have caused her more pain. For that he was thankful.
Neville nodded and then looked at the three faces in the kitchen with him. He felt only a slight sense of relief that it had been a brief and painless death, and nothing like the way that Ginny and Draco had died. He'd take the small mercy as he could and licked his lips nervously, light brown eyes darting in between the three companions. "Will...will you help me plan the funeral..?" His voice sounded dead to his own ears but he did notice the pleading note within it. He couldn't do this by himself. Merlin, he'd loved Hannah.
"Of course." Hermione jumped in quickly, a little guilty to feel such relief at being able to set her over active brain to a draining task. She was good at organizing, and she'd take anything that would allow her to help. "Don't worry about anything." She said firmly. "I'll do it all." He didn't argue and she instinctively knew he was grateful and wasn't put off by his lack of response. She turned her attention to Harry, mind working on voicing the questions she'd been thinking earlier.
"Is it the same group who killed..." After all this time she still couldn't say it. It was hard enough to even think it. "Or is it some form of a copy cat?" She watched Harry rub at his forehead in a stressed gesture as she moved to sit with them at the kitchen table.
"That's just it Hermione. We don't know. It's the same type of thing. The same words, only not in any human blood that we can tell…perhaps cow's blood as far as I can tell, but there's no evidence to indicate anything! No bloody trail! Nobody should be that clean and efficient!" His voice had risen as his frustration grew, and then he slumped his shoulders down in silent defeat. Ron put his hand on his best friend's shoulder and shook his head lightly. "It's not your fault mate. That's the trouble with magic you know, can just charm away anything you'd like. And then, after a few hours, magical residue disappears so you'd never know what had been cleaned to reverse it." A pause. "Besides, if it's Death Eaters like we assumed last time, they've been killing for ages. They know how to not get caught."
Harry nodded mutely and looked between his two best friends and Neville. They would help this investigation as much as they could, he knew that. He would share everything with them, they wouldn't tell, and he knew they deserved to know. He felt relief for being able to share a case with them, most often he wouldn't tell them more then the law would allow, but this was different. This was family. They'd do this together, and hopefully this time, there would be something, anything to find.
---
Muddied shoes stepped up cement stairs lightly but quickly, as if the person was far too impatient to get to the top. Upon reaching it, there was a momentary pause as he looked over his shoulder, and then the door received a solid kick and sprung open immediately. The man slipped inside and closed it soundly behind him. Pale eyes scanned the darkened surroundings.
Everything was left exactly as he remembered it. It was just a lot dustier, and obviously unused since he'd lived there. He supposed then that her living relatives had been to heartbroken to go through her things here, and maybe felt that they didn't have the right to go through his. In a way, he was pleased it was all untouched. It made everything so much easier for him. He didn't even feel a moment of guilt as he tracked mud all across the Persian carpet as he headed to the bathroom. He needed a shower, desperately. He was dirty, and it was gross, and he was pretty sure that if no one had touched anything in the flat, he was pretty sure his bathroom had been left alone as well.
---
He'd been right. Satisfied, dressed well, and clean. Now to make a special little visit for all the information that he needed. What he would pay to be able to watch that little scenario, over and over again. And with that thought, he left the flat in a hurry, not thrilled, but not surprised to see the crow sitting a few roof tops down, and taking flight after him. It proved to be pretty useful. He felt tugs deep down again, like he had when he'd been climbing out of the grave. The feeling seemed to lead him to where he wanted to go. It certainly made finding this place short work.
A/N: Bah! Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, I'll try to get the next one up sooner. School work is terrible. : And sorry for the bad quality of my rushing to get this finished. Thanks again to Faith for editing this for me. ^^ Enjoy!
To Be Continued.
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