Gone From the World

Gone From the World

Chapter Two - An Unpleasant Encounter

And I look for a single star in a starlit sky

Draco Malfoy wished that he could have gotten up and slapped Colin Creevey silly. To put it bluntly, he was getting pissed off.

"People," said Colin, the new Minister of Magic, pompously in a manner eerily reminiscent of Ernie Macmillan. "I think it's time for change. The old times are over."

"Doom, doom, doom," said Draco loudly and dramatically as several people around him chuckled. Like him, they couldn't stand their new Leader. Colin ignored them although judging by the vein popping out of his forehead, the strain was getting to him. He motioned impatiently to his junior secretary, a young girl who was apparently his cousin. She had wispy blonde hair and was very soft-spoken. Most people called her a beauty; Draco called her a dimwit. Then he had asked her out to dinner but that was a totally unrelated manner.

She scurried towards Colin carrying a stack of papers. The Ministry no longer used the old fashioned means of writing with ink and parchment. As Colin had put it, Muggle pens were just as inky as ink, more economical and the mantra -- much more modern. The Ministry was then bombarded with thousands of boxes of pens. The whole office had gone overboard with them; it was Arthur Weasley's dream come true.

To Draco however, it represented the gradual disintegration and rotting of the Ministry. But what did one expect when one had a Muggle-born Minister? Draco was privately organizing a large group of people (who fancied themselves as rebels) to call for Creevey's dismissal. He reasoned that if Fudge could be dismissed, Creevey could be as well, considering that people also thought that he was an idiot. To tell the perfect truth, Draco was secretly jealous of Creevey. The little ringworm got to be Minister by some weird twist of fate while he, with his pureblood roots, was still stuck in a dingy Law Enforcement office listening to brainless people gabber on.

Creevey's secretary/cousin/pleasure slave suddenly wheeling in a contraption cut Draco's musings short. Draco had never seen it before and he did not like the unknown. He eyed the machine balefully, wondering whether it was Muggle in origin.

Colin hit a button and immediately, an image was projected onto a white screen at the front of the room. Everybody gasped aloud while the few Muggle-borns sat back and enjoyed the confusion, which ensued.

"I think that it is a Death Machine. I've heard about those," said a witch, who had a nose ring, to her friend who was so pale, his pimples stood out like the Himalayas. "Apparently, it can detect Death Eaters by scanning for the Dark Mark."

Draco jerked backwards as if burnt.

"This is a computer," boomed Colin's voice from behind him and Draco wheeled around stupidly. He was glad to see that everybody along the entire back row also craned their heads back.

The Muggle-borns were definitely having the time of their lives. For all their lives, they had been mocked and cast out from society. Roles had been reversed; they finally got to see the superior pure-bloods in a position where they weren't as superior anymore. Revenge was indeed as sweet as ever.

Hermione-Know-It-All-Granger was giving everybody an analysis of how sound speakers worked.

"It is all simple physics," she explained to a cross-eyed wizard. "It works via energy transformations. No, it's not created or anything. According to Muggle physics - the Energy Law of Conservation states that energy can be neither created nor destroyed. The sound energy is a conversion of electrical energy...."

To which the cross-eyed wizard replied, "What is physics?"

"Silence!" yelled Colin. Hermione quickly straightened and looked attentive with the cross-eyed wizard next to her following suit. Draco did as well, albeit more reluctantly.

"As you can all see, I have installed Muggle Technology in the Ministry. This is so that we move into the modern era. Hermione Granger from the Communications Department has assisted me in modifying this technology to suit our environment."

Somebody raised a hand. "Minister, how is this going to aid us in the Battle against You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah," said someone else immediately. "Minister, shouldn't the funds used for new Muggle innovations be used to spend on something more worthwhile, like funding for the unemployed or something? There is a Depression going on...."

"Yeah!" came a bunch of voices, that acted as a Greek chorus. "The employees are underpaid! Pay us! Pay us!"

This led to a riot between the Law Enforcement Department and all the other Departments combined. People were shouting, screaming and yelling like lunatics. An elderly wizard was running amok as he was sprouting antlers. It made Draco feel ashamed to be human.

"They don't understand how serious this is, do they?" Blaise Zabini who was next to Draco whispered. Draco gave a start: he didn't know that Zabini was there.

"No, they're idiots," he replied contemptuously. "Creevey is going to die."

"Do you mean that literally?" Zabini asked smoothly. Draco gave him an unreadable look.

"No, I meant, eventually." He decided to choose his words carefully. Zabini was unpredictable and by no means a friend of his. He was also a Death Eater and Death Eater politics were easy to get tangled in, but impossible to get out of.

"Let's just settle for his disposal now," Draco said, making sure that nobody in the vicinity was listening. "Walk in the desert begins with putting your shoes on."

"If you say so," Zabini smiled emptily and then slipped away so that nobody even noticed that he had even been there. Draco sighed in relief and when some blonde witch looked at him, winked cheekily back at her, ignoring her murderous looking boyfriend.

Harry was being haunted by Ginny. He could not get the image of her being suspended in the air out of his head. He wanted to drill a hole through his head and rip out the brain cells containing memories of her. Images of her laughing, images of her crying... it all seemed so insignificant considering that she was dead. It was as if everybody around him was dying.

It wasn't as if he would sorely miss her. Harry wondered whether he should grieve. On one hand, Ginny had been the love of his life but on the other, had he really loved her all that much? Harry had read about love. He didn't think that it existed but nevertheless, it still fascinated him. He supposed that real love was dead love - like his parents who were dead but were probably very much in love indeed. Now that Ginny was dead, should he do a Heathcliff and run to the funeral parlor, desecrate her corpse and make a vow to ensure that she would never leave his side?

Nah. He really couldn't be bothered.

So he went and did the next best thing. He went and got drunk.

'Purgatory' was one of those seedier nightclubs. It was one of those places, which, were in such a state of debauchery and sexual sin; Harry felt that hell was inevitable to those who visited. It was a large lantern of blinding neon lights and spinning disco balls. Harry felt as if he was out of the world just by staring at the swirling white flashes.

The dance floor was a breeding ground for moving, nubile and thrusting half-naked bodies, slippery with sweat. There was a couple making out with each other so passionately, that they were practically fucking. Loud Muggle music was being boomed across the club. Harry could not remember the last time he had been here; it had been so long ago. Everything worth remembering had been long ago.

Nirvana played and Harry hummed along subconsciously. Ginny had loved Nirvana. Harry would have been very jealous of Kurt Cobain if Cobain hadn't been dead. Now Ginny was dead like him. It seemed as if everybody cool was dead.

Hate me.

Do it and do it again.

Waste me.

Rape me, my friend.

Harry wanted to feel. He wanted to have his heart broken and feel that gut wrenching agony, like you can never breathe again. He wanted to feel that empty hollowness in his throat and that hot feeling behind his eyes when tears threaten to spill. He wanted to be drowning, like you do whenever you try to stop yourself from crying.

He enviously watched the pre-fornicating couple on the dance floor. He knew that it was perverted but he couldn't look away. It was as if the Evil Powers That Be glued his eyes there. It was like watching somebody stack it during rollerblading or a vehicle accident.

"Look here!" squealed a girl so shrilly, Harry winced and drew back instantly. The Voice belonged to a girl with long tousled blonde hair, flushed cheeks and smudged eyeliner. She looked trashy and post-orgasmic. "Harry Potter's here."

"Yes he is," Harry said in a bored tone. He was not in the mood to be picked up.

"Are you here to relieve some stress or something? Blow off some steam?" She made a vulgar movement Harry thought best to ignore. "Well, Jesus, I guess being the fucking Minister of Magic is a tiring job, eh?"

"No."

Still not taking the hint, the girl draped herself across Harry, invading his personal space of a radius of a meter. "Tell me Minister. How hard is it to be both Minister and our Savior?"

"I am not your Savior," Harry said automatically, removing an olive from his martini. "I am not the Minister anymore, Miss."

Harry did not want to talk to her yet he did not know how to brush her off. All his life, he had thought about everybody else instead of himself. He felt as if he owed it to everybody. He desperately wanted her to go away but he didn't know how to make her. Of course, there was the direct 'please go and don't come back' but Harry felt as if that would have been unforgivably rude. The last thing Harry wanted to be was rude. Harry couldn't be rude. Years of working in the Ministry and being the Savior of the Wizarding World had washed it away from him.

"You are my Savior." The girl stared at him curiously. Harry took another drink and wondered that if there were less lights, would the girl look more appealing? Her clothing left little to the imagination. She was one of the children of the modern era. "So you want to go somewhere less busy?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged in a non-committed way. Actually, she wasn't that bad. Sex was sex and when you were male, there was no such thing as excruciatingly torturous sex. "Aren't you making a bit of a quick decision? Maybe we should talk first or something."

"What can we talk about?" the girl giggled to herself. "I know you're famous and you're hot and you're male, so why not?"

Harry shrugged again but then something caught his attention and he stood up straighter. He zoned out the girl's harsh voice and the loud grungy music.

For Harry had just seen the one and only Draco Malfoy, walk in the club. It nearly made his heart stop.

Draco Malfoy was dressed stylishly in black trousers and a white shirt. His platinum blond hair was gelled into spikes as he tossed a Galleon to the bouncer. He smiled flirtatiously at several prostitutes who swarmed around him like fruit flies around rotten fruit and then he waved them away as a pretty witch wearing a cheap tiara ran towards him and they embraced.

Malfoy stood out like a shiny new coin amongst all the other dull coins. Everybody seemed dim and insignificant next to him. Perhaps it was the blond hair, or the way he presented himself, or the angle Harry was viewing him at, but it seemed as if there was a halo glowing around the other man's head. Harry knew that Malfoy was no angel but at that moment, he thought that if ever there were a fallen angel, it would take the form of Draco Malfoy.

The whore next to him was still talking but Harry was barely listening. "You have to do something Minister. The Ministry is employing Muggles to do some of the clerical tasks leaving us with nothing else to do...."

Draco Malfoy whispered in Tiara Girl's ear and she giggled. Then to Harry's dismay, he made a beeline for the bar.

Then Malfoy saw him and raised an eyebrow as if challenging him.

"Potter. I see you've changed - not," he said with his trademark sneer. "The Depression affecting you? Oh, how silly of me. Of course it's affecting you. That shirt - didn't you wear that to Weasley's birthday party way back before he died?"

Harry glared at him as his hands trembled with exploding anger. "Only a faggot like you Malfoy would give a shit about clothing in the middle of a Depression."

"And we're back to cheap school boy insults," Draco said dramatically. He sat down next to Harry and smiled nastily at the prostitute who was looking nervous. "You know, you have some potential," he gave the unfortunate girl a condescending glance down before continuing. "If you didn't look so utterly plebeian. No self-respecting man, not even Potter, would want to fuck a whore who looks as if she had her last bath last year."

"Malfoy...." Harry said warningly. As usual, Malfoy was pushing his patience limits. The poor girl looked teary. Harry did not like watching girls cry. It made him flustered because he never knew what to do.

"Better go find yourself a nice young boy tonight Potter," said Malfoy, smiling wolfishly. "There's less chance of being diseased. Hey, you there." He motioned to the girl. "There's still dirt and God knows what else on your face."

The girl bit her lip and clawed at her face. Her nails were bitten, torn off and bloody. Harry grabbed at her hands and she flinched at the contact. They were very grubby and Harry sighed. He had had it easy. He handed her all the Galleons he had with him. She smiled at him shyly before departing as fast as possible.

"Did you give her all your savings?" asked Malfoy in his horribly sarcastic voice. "Aw, you did. Have you thought about what you're going to be eating tomorrow or are you going to go starve yourself now?"

"Fuck off Malfoy." Harry had had enough. "You didn't have to do that to some poor innocent girl. You're dressed in diamonds while everybody else starves. You have no shame."

"Please," Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Like shame is something to be proud of."

Harry sighed heavily. He had come here to forget, not to be involved in a verbal battle and with Draco Malfoy of all people. He still hadn't forgotten the expression in Malfoy's eyes last night when he had announced his resignation. He got up and was about to head for the door when Malfoy grabbed his hand.

"Let go of me," Harry gritted his teeth. "Go and find a nice young boy to grope instead."

"Oh, shut up Potter." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Bloody sodding Drama Queen."

"I thought I told you to let go?"

Malfoy let go off Harry, and Harry touched his wrist where Malfoy's hand had been twenty seconds ago. "What'd you do that for?" he asked indignantly.

"I could ask you about your sex life but then there'd be nothing to discuss, so I'll just get to the point." Malfoy leaned forwards and smiled in a very mirthless manner. "Did you know that Creevey is planning to involve Muggles in this war?"

"No," said Harry shortly. "It's a...bad thing, right?"

Malfoy gave him an incredulous look. "Potter, that's the understatement of the year. That is like saying the Dark Lord is evil, or that you are stupid."

Harry felt his hackles rising. "Contrary to what you think of them, Muggles might be useful. Voldemort doesn't have them. More people equates to being stronger. United we stand, divided we fall. Didn't your mother ever teach you that? Or was she too busy training you to become a Death Eater?"

"Don't talk about my mother," growled Malfoy. "In fact, don't talk about anything you don't understand. Of course then you wouldn't be able to say a thing...." he trailed off, looking smug at how his diatribe had naturally come out.

Harry ignored the implied insults. Perhaps the 'mother' comment had been a little undignified. "But the Muggles will be able to help," he said anxiously. "They've got weapons and stuff."

"And what, they're helping us out of the goodness of their simple but generous hearts?" Malfoy asked sarcastically. "Muggles? Help? Potter, they've nearly destroyed their world. After they've finished with it, they're going to come and destroy ours. You have a good comeback for that?"

Harry shrugged again. "Well yeah, Malfoy. If this world contains people like you, maybe it needs to be destroyed."

There was a silence. It broke when Malfoy laughed. "That was good Potter. And here I thought that you were better off in a place where nobody can see, hear or feel you."

"Oh fuck off." Harry had figured out that Malfoy had nothing interesting to say. He got up, threw a couple of Sickles to the bartender and made his way towards the front door.

"I heard that Ginny Weasley hung herself this morning," Draco Malfoy stood at the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Harry retorted, pushing past him. His fingers brushed past the material of Malfoy's shirt and he blushed at the contact, hoping that Malfoy wouldn't see his reddening cheeks in the dim light.

"Do you know what happened to her after she died?"

"Heaven?" suggested Harry irritably. "A better place? As if you know Malfoy."

"I meant to her body, in the literal sense." He smiled infuriatingly when Harry did not reply. "The forehead turns blue and purple as the blood flow is blocked, causing excessive hemorrhaging. Her vertebrae bone fractures and cracks before suffocation occurs. The tongue becomes stiff and protrudes, as do the eyeballs. The saliva and mucus flow into the nasal cavity," he sounded as if he were a textbook. "Basically, she wouldn't be your typical attractive corpse."

"Malfoy, I don't think she cares about what her body looks like. She's kind of dead. Nobody cares about what happens to your body after you die. Bottom line, you just leave it."

"I'm just saying," Malfoy smiled and before Harry could blink or say another word, he had disappeared. Frowning, Harry made his way back toward his apartment.

He was thinking about how much he hated crypticness when he saw two dark shadows hovering near his front door.

"Mr. Potter?" A man wearing a black suit and dark shades showed him a card in a wallet. It was too dark to see what the card said.

"Yes?" Harry asked suspiciously. He was not in a mood to be trifled with.

"We are here to arrest you for questioning about the murder of Ginny Weasley."