Where Angels Fear To Tread

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Chapter Two: The Storm Has Begun

Italics: dates and thoughts

Bold and italic: things on paper

[italics] : memory flashes and flashbacks

The First Day: 2008

Clouds were moving to cover the sun, which was drifting away as if it was bashful of showing its face.

---------

They had thought it to be a false alarm. After all, in these times of peace and prosperity, crime rates were at an all time low (figures from the Daily Prophet, Special Edition) and the people were happy with the Ministry. The Aurors didn´t have much to do, and there were rumors of staffing cuts in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

So, when they heard the blood-curling screams and determined their location - central London, can you believe the cheek? - they didn´t think much of it.

However, regulations were regulations and they had to send someone to check it out.

"Michael, get your ass in here!" Lazy Operative #1 shouted.

"What?" was the (un)enthusiastic reply.

"There´s a thing in Central London, go check it out!"

"Why, what is it?" Michael was a pale, freckled young man with his head perpetually pointed towards the ground.

"Probably a prank of some sort. Be careful anyway." Replied Lazy Operative #2.

So Michael went, dropping by the Leaky Cauldron for a drink before heading towards the site. Hey, he was a growing boy and he needed his snacks.

The important matter of an anniversary present for his girlfriend occupied his mind as he went up and knocked on the door. He was still thinking about the cheap talisman he saw for sale in one of the Diagon Alley shops when no answer came and he had to force the door open. It was still in the back of his mind as he searched for any sign of people.

He stopped thinking about talisman necklaces when he saw the bodies.

***********

Rain clouds gathered beneath the dark roof of the sky. A breeze picked up. A passing stranger shivered in the cold.

Elsewhere...

"It´s going to rain."

"Why, thank you for that astute observation."

"Grumpy as ever, Severus."

"How many have you taken, Potter?"

"Three."

*********

The Second Day

If anyone at the Hanged Sphinx were doing anything else other then drinking their brains out, they´d have noticed the newcomer amongst them. He was a tall and graceful young man with blond hair and cold grey eyes whose whole posture screamed defiance and rebellion. Yet if someone looked closely enough they would see that his left leg dragged a little as he walked.

On a normal day, all the patrons of this particular establishment would have been too smashed to notice anything at all, which was what made the Sphinx such a popular spot for shady dealings. Not that there is much of that these days. Oh no.

However, today someone was watching and noticing. This particular someone also had a rather unfortunate sense of humor. All these factors added together decided what would happen at the next moment.

The watcher stuck out his (as chance would have it, wooden) leg. The young man, focusing all his energy on his walking posture, did not seem to see him. He tripped.

Or he would have, if he hadn´t suddenly sat down on the seat opposite the watcher faster than one could blink. The wooden leg tripped a poor waitress instead. She was new and rather nervous, and her plate was full. The sounds of laughter and drunk people went on around them as she bent to retrieve the broken glass with a glazed and overstressed look on her face.

The watcher took pity on her and waved his wand vaguely in the direction of the waitress. The glasses repaired themselves instantly. The young man watched all this with a contemptuous gleam in his eyes.

As the waitress ran off, muttering her thanks, he spoke.

"What do you want, Longbottom? I thought I made it clear that this was my vacation week."

Neville Longbottom laughed quietly at the words, spoken totally without inflection in a drawling voice that would have made many people´s skin craw four or five years ago. Now, they were all more or less used to it.

"Special job for you, Malfoy. Briefing in two hours." With those words, he got up and left, leaving Draco Malfoy glaring daggers at his back. The head of the Aurors never did say more than what was absolutely necessary.

"Fuck you, Neville."

*************

Two Hours Later

Ministry Building

Crowds of loudly chattering people parted ways for him as Draco stormed his way around the building. This was not turning out to be a good day. First day of his vacation, and he gets called back. It´ll probably be some stupid idiot trying to make pacts with demons for gold again. Are such trivial matters fit to be bought to the attention of Draco Malfoy, top Ministry Auror? Of course not.

No one listened to him complain anymore, either. Everything´s so happy and wonderful that it´s sickly. Really. Must he be subjected to news of engagements, honeymoons and new children every day? The Ministry was worse than a tabloid rag when it came to rumors.

For all his complaints, if someone tied him up, hung him over a cliff on a rope, and threatened him with the Killing Curse, (and if it was a good day), they might get him to admit that he `didn´t hate´ his job. It would not have been his first choice of career, but ex-Death Eaters, even supposed spies, had little choice anyway. If it wasn´t for the Ministry´s star witness, he might have fared much worse.

He was in the second floor corridor before he remembered that it was a Saturday, and therefore the briefing room would be on the fifth floor. With a groan and a few choice words about the Ministry´s Apparition laws, Draco began to climb what the interns termed `the Unforgivable staircase´.

Fifteen minutes and myriads of swear words in several languages later, a disgruntled Malfoy walked up to an innocent-looking wooden door. He stared at the sign posted, saying `do not disturb´ and noted the lack of a doorknob or doorbell. Then he whipped out his wand and tapped the sign twice.

The door dissolved away, and Draco walked in, muttering about paranoid old Aurors.

The Auror´s briefing room was a comfortable room with stuffed red armchairs and polished wood coffee tables. Portraits of former Aurors decorated the walls. The only thing out of place in this room was the wall facing west. It was made of what seemed like black border at first sight.

Three people were currently lounging in the room, having tea and chatting amiably amongst themselves. The first was the watcher in the Sphinx. His name was Neville Longbottom, and he was the Head of the Aurors. This might have seemed unlikely to anyone who knew him at school, but he had grown and changed much during the War. Now in possession of a wooden leg and a sense of humor that was notorious in the Ministry in general, there seemed to be nothing of the timid boy he was in the man he had become. He waved Draco over to his table, where he was currently engaged in conversation with another man. Grumbling half-heartedly, Draco walked over and sank into one of the armchairs, thankful for the small comfort. It was almost a necessity, with all the Aurors who had gained disabilities in the War.

He glanced over at Longbottom and started as one amber eye met his across the table. Remus Lupin was someone he hasn´t seen for a while. He did not look much different. His hair was still streaked with silver and his robes were still shabby. The only change was that one of his eyes was now a dull hazel, a poor replacement after he lost the eye to a silver arrow in combat.

"So, what brings you here, Lupin? Still job hunting?" He drawled, pasting one of his more annoying smirks on his face. Hey, if he was suffering, someone has to be suffering with him.

"I´m an Unspeakable, actually. I hear you´ve done well here, Mr. Malfoy." Was the unflappable reply. Draco sighed internally. It was no fun when they were so difficult to rile up and had a comeback for everything he said. Still, he couldn´t let it go without another parting shot.

"Moved up in the world, haven´t you." Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Longbottom. "So, what was so urgent you had to drag me out from my first real vacation in three years?"

"Really, Malfoy. Didn´t I give you a month off last year?"

"Two words, Longbottom. Sex. Demons. Remember? I´m sure you do."

To his credit, Longbottom didn´t even flinch at the less-than-happy memory. He looked unruffled by the whole thing, except that if you looked very closely, you could see the slightest flush on his cheeks.

He did, however, change the topic extremely quickly.

"Right. Down to business." All trances of friendliness disappeared off Neville´s face, leaving behind a professional mask. He took out a rolled up piece of parchment from somewhere inside his large cloak.

"I think you´ll find this most interesting."

********************

It was a simple piece of parchment. The words were written in unremarkable black ink with the blocky script that was typical of Ministry memos. What made it more incredulous was the fact that the information it yielded was even more unexceptional.

Three brutally murdered in central London home. It was really quite commonplace these days, mostly former Death Eaters who had gotten off easy letting off steam. Most Aurors wanted nothing more than to catch the bastards and make them pay but the Ministry higher-ups seemed not to care. Or, as Draco privately thought to himself, they were in the old families´ pocket, which was a lot more likely.

He continued in this cynical line of thought for some time, until he reached the end of the report. The words froze him on the spot

Body Identification: Baddock, Malcolm; Baddock, Melody; Baddock, Richard.

If anyone were looking closely enough at that moment, they would have seen his hands shaking slightly as they held the paper. Fortunately for Draco´s sanity, neither Longbottom nor Lupin seemed to notice. If they saw anything wrong, they kept their mouths shut.

Body Identification: Baddock, Malcolm...

An image formed in his mind´s eye of a small boy with brown hair and defiant blue eyes. The Baddocks weren´t really a big family, so the boy had been something of an underdog in Slytherin house.

He didn´t really know any of the Baddocks well enough to feel anything but pity for them. What really threw him was the fact that whatever else they might have been, the Baddocks were definitely a Death Eater family.

Other notes: A Projection in the shape of an ankh was seen on the walls. (ref. The Hunter´s Mark)

Even Draco, who had no memory of the Scourges, knew what that meant. The mark of the Hunters. Those who had dedicated themselves to persecuting former Death Eaters and bringing them to justice in the `Clean up´ stage of the war. They were ruthless, certainly, but not a group of cold-blooded killers by a long shot.

Markings and scars: numerous slashing marks, badly mutilated corpses.

Death Eater methods, the Hunter´s Mark...It didn´t add up right. The two groups understandably loathed each other and each tried to distance themselves from the other for as long as possible. Only a Hunter would know how to cast the Mark, so...

"How many Hunters are there left?" How many are still sane and not rotting in Azkaban?

"About eight or nine. The `War Hero´ bunch, who´ve got enough power and credibility to keep themselves out of prison; the nobodies, who no one even bothers to lock up because they´re such non-issues; those who keep a low profile and do work for the Ministry; and those who are still on the run."

Not many suspects, then.

Granger-Weasley. Not likely. She´s such a bloody recluse these days she probably doesn´t even come out of the house.

One of the remaining Weasleys? Maybe. They´ve all settled down now, more or less, but that family has some serious anger management problems.

Finnigan? Definitely not. He´s something of a family man these days, if such a thing is even possible.

And that leaves...

"The Ministry has a prime suspect already, so you can stop going through checklists in your head, Malfoy." Longbottom chuckled darkly as he handed Draco an envelope, stamped with the `top secret´ Auror seal.

He torn the envelope open carefully, curious to find out what drivel the Higher-ups have sprouted this time. As his fingers touched the parchment, a cold feeling went up his arm. He shuddered imperceptibly. His entire arm felt like ice. It´s definitely not good, then.

Whatever dark thoughts he might have had regarding the suspect´s identity, the reality of it still shocked him to the core.

H. J. Potter

No. Not Him.

Is suspected of murdering the Baddock family

Never again.

[What´s the matter, Draco? Isn´t this what you´ve always wanted?]

Never again will he have green eyes filled with intoxicating power cutting him open and leaving him bleeding dry.

[Death is no joke, Malfoy. Least of all to those who worship its ways.]

Never again.

"No." He was surprised to hear how steady and final his voice was. Normally he would be shaking after a flash of memory as strong as the one he just had.

"I beg you pardon?" Lupin, his eyes full of polite concern, as if he somehow knew...

"What are they, lunatics? Potter may be a lot of things, but he never killed without reason, even in the worst days." At least, that´s what everyone says. Draco personally does not remember much, bar the memory flashes.

Longbottom shook his head, eyes full of a melancholy dark shadow Draco had often seen in the eyes of those who had seen too much in the War. He sees it in the mirror every morning, even though he has the blessing of a blank memory, even though the War is still a blur to him. "That´s what I told Fudge, but he´s never listened to the Aurors and he´s not about to start now. He´s absolutely certain that Harry has to be behind this."

"And isn´t he supposed to be still rotting in Azkaban? How long did they give him?"

Lupin´s soft murmur of "Life sentence" barely penetrated the fog in his mind, even filled as his voice was with anger and hopelessness.

Draco looked up. He stared straight at Neville for the first time since opening the envelope. "Look, you want me to do this investigation, right? Then stop making me drag answers out of you. You´re holding back. I don´t like it. Tell me everything or I swear to you I will walk off this job right now."

To his surprise, Longbottom only threw back his head and laughed in response. The sound echoed off the walls, sounding eerily like the cries of the ghosts in Malfoy Manor in the old days.

"That´s what I like about you, Malfoy. You´re straightforward. All right. I´ll tell you." But you won´t like it at all. The words lay unspoken, but Draco felt their weight like a vice grip on his ribs.

"No more games. Spill."

"It was really quite ingenious of him. If I wasn´t doing a location check of the Hunters for this investigation, no one would have known he was gone until his next interview with Cho. And that´s not for another month."

No one envied Cho Chang´s job. She worked at St. Mungo´s and had to do routine checkups on all those who had been admitted there during or after the War for psychological trauma. Especially as it was difficult to get a word out of most of her patients, as most of them were trained to resist interrogation during the War.

All this passed through Draco´s mind in a flash. The majority of his brain was currently engaged in another activity, one he deemed far more important. Denial.

"He GOT OUT?" He half-shouted and immediately regretted it at the smirk Longbottom was fighting - and failing - to hide.

Damn.

"He could have been out as early as a whole week ago or just yesterday. We don´t know anything for sure."

Oh Hell.

"And you want me to track him down so you can trial him for murder - again."

"Yep." Longbottom was smirking openly now.

Oh bloody Hell.

"By all reports, he´s supposed to be insane! How did he get out?"

"Don´t you worry about that. You just have to track him down."

I´m as good as dead. What were they thinking?

"I´m not sure you understand this, Longbottom, but Potter and I have a very long and complicated history. He sure as hell won´t be happy to see me again. Actually, I believe it more likely that he will curse me on sight."

He got a raised eyebrow for his trouble.

"He doesn´t have a wand. He isn´t even supposed to be able to cast Lumos." A pause that becomes far too long. "Unless you know something I don´t regarding Harry?"

Great. I can´t tell them anything. There´s so much they don´t know about their ex-golden boy that I´d love to throw in their faces, but I can´t say anything because I don´t remember enough to sound creditable. Just great.

"Well, Draco?"

A Potter might prefer to suffer in silence but a Malfoy does not take such stupidity. It was time to take a gamble.

"You tell me, Longbottom. Isn´t he your Boy Who Lived? How would I, the nefarious former Death Eater know anything about the great Harry Potter?"

Longbottom did not look angry at Draco´s words, aimed to hurt. In fact, he looked slightly disappointed. "It was just a stab in the dark, Malfoy."

Draco´s relief was so heartfelt he had to fight to show nothing on his face.

He knows nothing, then.

"Work on your aim next time, Longbottom. One might think that you had regressed to your Hogwarts days. So, did the Higher-Ups assign me a watchdog? After all, they wouldn´t want the Nocturnal Eagle to get a hold of this."

Realising what he had just said, he groaned. Since the Prophet had become Ministry-controlled two years ago, Rita Skeeter and a few other journalists left the paper and formed the Nocturnal Eagle. While most regard it as a tabloid trying to discredit the Ministry, Draco knew that most of what they printed was actually much closer to the truth than the lies force-fed to the public by the Prophet.

There was a silence. Lupin, who had remained silent throughout the discussion, looking around the room with disinterested eyes, suddenly looked uncomfortable. His voice, when he spoke, was still calm and pleasant.

"Actually, Bode managed to persuade Fudge to send an Unspeakable with you. He wanted someone who knew Harry, so I´m afraid you´re stuck with me."

This just gets better and better.

Draco would never admit it, but ever since the revelation about Lupin in his third year, he had started harbouring a small amount of fear for the apparently kind and frail man.

Longbottom broke in to his revere. "So, Draco, yes or no? Tell me now. If you say no, I have to go get Moody out of retirement."

"Moody? He can´t even see his own fingers these days." Draco drawled disdainfully, shuddering inside at yet another former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he had acquired an immortal fear of. Even though he knew it wasn´t really him, the ferret incident still made him wince, fourteen years later.

"Yes or no?"

That was the question, wasn´t it? He was half inclined to say no, but then he realised his only real reason for saying so. Him, afraid of meeting Potter again? Never! Besides, if he said no, he´d never live it down from Longbottom.

"All right."

If he´d been listening carefully enough at that moment, he would have heard two collective sighs of relief. As it is, he was busy planning his next sentence.

"One condition - as soon as this thing is over, I get a month off - no interruptions at all. Got it?"

"Deal."

They shook on it.

**************

Somewhere else

"Only three, Potter? One would think that playing leader in the war would have improved your meagre chess skills."

"I don´t think it´s possible for me to be good at chess anymore than you are able to speak a sentence without insulting anyone."

"I´m glad you have an accurate self-image."

Silence.

"Do you get the Nocturnal Eagle delivered?"

"Yes. At least they sometimes print real stories, as opposed to just blowing the Ministry´s trumpet."

"Can I see?"

Shuffling of papers.

"Ah."

"What´s so interesting, Potter? You look even more ghoulish than you normally do."

"I need to leave now. Thanks for tea, Severus. I don´t think we´ll meet again."

"And I´ll be all the more glad for it. Evening, Potter."

******************

Dusk that day

Auror´s Briefing Room, Ministry Building

Remus sighed as he brushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. His right eye always hurt like that when it rained. It´s a warning, Peter would have said. Bad things happen on stormy days. Peter was always a little obsessed with dramatics.

He would have laughed bitterly at the irony if the thought didn´t still sting deep. Nearly thirty years after the old Marauders had graduated, high-spirited and ready to take on the world, and this is where they ended up.

James, dead by the hand of the Dark Lord. Peter, the man who betrayed James, still on the run, hiding from his old friends. Sirius, the innocent man even now hunted for a crime he did not commit. And him, working with the same people who had condemned Sirius, only this time, he was helping them to track down and condemn James´ son, the one they owed everything to.

Remus would have thought that Draco, being Harry´s old arch-rival, would relish the chance to humiliate his counterpart. Curiously, the younger Malfoy was strangely reluctant to take on the task of tracking Harry down. He was currently engaged in a staring contest with a photo of Harry, taken before his incarceration. The former professor decided to snap him out of it before he could become permanently cross-eyed.

"Malfoy." There was no reply. Lupin decided to try a different tactic.

"Draco." The young man in question snapped his head up, his eyes still slightly unfocused.

"What did you just call me, Lupin?"

Thoughts running though his head about touchy young Aurors, he replied. "As we will possibly be working together for the next few weeks, I think it would be more efficient for us to refer to each other on a first name basis."

Draco looked like he was about to argue, and then changed his mind. "All right."

Lupin nodded. "Right. I think we can safely say that we won´t accomplish anything more by sitting here and reading back copies of the Prophet. We need better sources."

Draco suddenly looked amused. "What do you think we are doing?" His brow wrinkled in concentration, and then he continued, "Remus."

Lupin was oddly pleased that his old student had remembered his first name correctly. But the question he posed...

"You mean to say..."

The blond snapped his fingers, once. "I knew there was a reason Snape despised you so much."

He raised an eyebrow in response.

"It´s because you´re actually halfway competent, as opposed to total idiots like some of the other Defence Against the Dark Arts professors."

"Why thank you for that generous compliment, Draco."

Draco merely shook his head and went on, his eyes glinting. "They want us to track down Potter. I say we investigate the actual murders instead. If Potter´s responsible, it should lead us to him. If he´s not responsible, the murders will probably lure him out into the open anyway."

Remus nodded, impressed. Maybe Neville was right about Malfoy. A thought belatedly struck him. "Do you think that´s what the murderer is trying to do?"

"Lure Potter out into the open? Maybe. But then the murderer would have to be someone who knew he was going to break out of Azkaban, or someone who found out even before the Ministry did."

Lupin grinned ruefully. "I don´t think that´s very difficult."

"Having worked in this hell-hole for the last two years, I think I´d have to agree with you on that."

*************************

Sometime later

Somewhere

"On the run again, Harry Potter? There is indeed no rest for the wicked, is there?"

Not very far away, a dark-haired young man inclined his head, as if listening to something only he could hear.

"You´d know better than me."

***************

Early Evening

Granger-Weasley Residence

The house - a mansion, really - was not like how you had seen it. An enormous, foreboding gothic monstrosity, it was most unlike either of its occupants. You wonder if they find the contrast amusing. Probably not, you decided. Neither of them have your well-developed sense of irony, your way of appreciating the cards dealt to you by fate.

There were many layers of magical energy overlapping each other, a burst of primary colours so bright they almost seemed real to your vision. Hexes and enchantments, most of them barely legal, guarded the mansion, daring any intruder to try and invade its vaunted halls. You think yourself smarter than they.

Stepping up to the gates, you rang the doorbell.

*************

"For the ancient Chinese, the `Immortals´ were beings worthy of respect and they gave generously..."

Freude, schoener Goetterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken,
Himmlische dein Heiligtum...

Dr Hermione Granger-Weasley looked up from her book, scowling as the doorbell played the chorus of `Ode to Joy´ over and over. She hated unscheduled visiters.

Hermione flicked on the security monitor, prepared to give whoever it was a piece of her mind, and froze.

She blinked, two seconds later, and ran outside for the first time in two years.