A Labyrinth of Dreams

Chapter One ~ November Rain

And when your fears subside
And shadows still remain
I know that you can love me
When there's no one left to blame
So never mind the darkness
We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain

'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain.

~ from November Rain by Guns N' Roses.

November 2006

It was raining in the city of London. Raining with single-minded fury, pouring down like torrents of melting ice that the whole world seemed to become grey. On every street, masses of umbrella-totting businessmen in dark, pinstriped suits sidestepped puddles. Peddlers and beggars huddled under archways, their arms wrapped around their knees, tattered clothing pulled close to shut out the biting wind and lopsided hats drooping with the weight of rain, allowing little rivets of water to trickle into their eyes. Streetlights shone with pale-faced luminescence, creating pools of watery glow and pigeons cooed softly, waddling slowly beneath the rooftops of grandiose buildings.

A black Mercedes pulled up at the curb of a street, its windows tinted black. The front wheel skidded into a puddle, sloshing muddy water on the sidewalk. The driver stepped out, dressed all in black and green with a chauffeur's cap secured tightly on his head. He quickly stepped through the pounding rain to the passenger door and opened it with practiced efficiency.

A woman stepped out, her black woolen cape wound tightly around herself. She darted for shelter as the chauffeur slammed the car door closed. He tipped his cap at her back before getting back into the car. The black cape billowed out behind her, revealing her stocking clad legs and a pair of polished black leather heels. She hurried towards the large front door and paused breathlessly for a second, pulling the collar of her cape closer. The front door of the large terrace house was painted deep forest green with an ornate bronze knocker in the centre. Recently though, a doorbell had been installed discreetly for the sake of modern convenience. She reached out with a carefully manicured hand and pressed it twice for good measure. A couple of moments later the door was opened.

The housekeeper ushered her in quickly and closed the heavy door behind them, shutting out the wind and the rain, before turning towards her. "How are you today, Ms Granger?" she asked, leading her to the coat closet. Hermione smiled affectionately at her, "I've told you to call me by my first name, Hannah," she replied to the motherly middle-aged widow, whose coppery hair had begun to be touched by grey.

"Master's expecting you upstairs," she informed Hermione, before removing her cape briskly and throwing it over her arm. Hermione nodded and her playful mood disappeared. She remained expressionless as she followed the housekeeper across the foyer and up the stairs, her heels sinking soundlessly into the plush forest green carpet. The stout housekeeper led her to the first door to their left and opened it, allowing Hermione to enter.

The study was furnished with wall-to-wall bookcases of solid rosewood. Behind the desk was a huge window, covered with thick velvet draperies. Hermione frowned as she glanced about the room, the frown becoming deeper as she took in the gold trinkets that had been left carelessly on the floor.

"Wipe that frown of your face right now, Hermione," a laughing voice spoke out from behind her. "I know exactly what you're thinking."

Hermione whirled around and glared at the millionaire standing behind her. He gave her a toothy grin, obviously amused by her distaste. The tall man strode around her, brushing his black hair out of his eyes, a lit cigarette in one hand. "Don't bother with tidying this room today, Hannah," he informed the housekeeper offhandedly, drawing his left hand out of his dressing robe pocket to pick up a crystal decanter of red wine. The housekeeper nodded before drawing out of the room, leaving him to contend with the icy stare of Hermione. "Wine?" he offered. She shook her head and he shrugged. "You must excuse the robe, but I find changing so tiresome."

Hermione walked forward and leaned her palms onto the desk's smooth surface, polished to such a degree that she could see her own reflection in it. "They call you Master now, do they?" she asked severely of him, taking in the black silk dressing robe he had no doubt imported from Paris and the glass of wine he held in his hand, probably of Venetian origins.

He sighed, placing the glass down and took a long drag on his cigarette. He couldn't understand Hermione's attitude towards him. Certainly he was older now and perhaps he was living a tad too luxuriously, but surely he had earned that privilege, hadn't he? What was money for anyway, if not to spend? Life was too short to be bothered with worries about money and responsibilities, hadn't she realised that yet? He certainly had.

26 year-old Harry Potter leaned forward towards Hermione, his long fringe falling habitually into his eyes. "They call me whatever they want."

Hermione sighed as well, and all hostility evaporated slightly. "You allow them to call you that? Doesn't it bother you Harry?"

He shrugged. "No. Should it?"

"The last person to be called Master was Vol-" she wasn't permitted to finish her sentence.

Harry stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray violently and stood up, turning around to stare out the window. "I wish you wouldn't bring that thing into our conversation, Hermione."

"I wish you would learn to accept the truth," she retorted, but allowed the subject to drop. She moved over towards the fireplace and held out her hands to be warmed. "It's raining cats and dogs out there."

Harry continued to gaze out the window, only half listening to Hermione's words. "A simple Impervius would have done the job," he murmured softly, lost in his own thoughts.

Hermione shook her head at the leaping flames. "Everyday magic is outlawed. You know that, Harry," she snapped.

"Don't get me started on that topic. Anyway," he said, turning back to face her, "no one obeys those stupid rules."

Hermione became as irritated as she had been on arrival. "They're laws Harry. Everyone has to obey them. You can't just choose to obey those you think are right and disregard the rest."

Harry shrugged. "We obviously disagree there, but it's of no consequence. We have more important matters to discuss."

Hermione sat down opposite to him and glared. "Yes, certainly. You better explain why I woke up this morning to find your chauffeur standing outside my doorstep with a demand from you for my presence."

Harry threw a newspaper onto the desk and leaned back. "It's all there," he pointed at the front page.

Muggle Officials in OUR Ministry?

Released this Thursday was a copy of the minutes taken during a recent meeting of the Ministry of Magic, detailing the proposed acceptance of Muggle officials within our department.

Due to continued pressure from the Prime Minister and his cabinet since the Ministry of Magic became a department within the British Government, there has been escalating suspicion that soon the Muggle government will nullify any authority the Ministry of Magic may hold.

Although recent developments do not verify the truth behind these suspicions, circumstances certainly seem to be developing towards such an outcome. Already witches and wizards are not permitted to use magic unless under specific circumstances, and magical beasts and beings including house-elves have been placed under a ban, will our very own Ministry be taken away soon?

Hermione read the document over three times before folding the newspaper carefully and lifting her eye to meet Harry's. "It's true isn't it? It really is happening."

Harry nodded. "It was always true. Those damned fools at the Ministry. They always thought that it wouldn't happen, that we could just all join hands and sing happy songs," he snorted derisively, "Someone had to take control, but no one was brave enough, and look where we are now."

"But we fought for them, Harry. We fought so they could live and be free. Don't they understand that it's over? He's been defeated," Hermione paused, "why can't they see that we're all on the same side here?"

'They can't see it, because no one bothered to tell them. We're dealing with Muggles here. Thousands of years spent keeping our world a secret from them had to have a reason."

Hermione sat up and looked him in the eye steely, her mouth set in a line. "May I remind you that even before the Gift, many Muggles lived with the knowledge of magic and dealt with it normally? My very own parents are Muggles."

"By Merlin, Hermione, that's the type of thinking that landed us in this situation in the first place! We're not dealing with people like your parents, or Muggles that were found to be trustworthy, we're dealing with a legion of people like the Dursleys who are all deathly afraid of anything that's even vaguely different from themselves." Harry thumped his wine glass onto the desk and dispelled the urge to yank out his hair. The world that he had sacrificed so much for was falling apart very rapidly and no one else had the sense to see it.

"Like you would care." The comment was offhanded, but Hermione uttered it with an underlying sense of bitterness and betrayal.

Harry tensed momentarily, before fumbling among the papers on his desk for his cigarette case and lighting another one. He took a long drag on it and swiveled his chair around, looking out at Hermione from the corner of his eye, his fringe camouflaging his expression. "Yeah," he agreed conversationally, "I don't care. The world could collapse upon itself and get sucked down a drain pipe and I wouldn't give a damn."

Hermione half got out of her seat, grabbed his cigarette from between his fingers and stubbed it out violently into the ashtray. "I wish you would give up that dirty habit," she muttered harshly before sitting down again, her back as straight as a ruler and her chin held high. Once again, Hermione was assured of her moral superiority.

Harry shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin that only infuriated her further. Hermione stood up suddenly, her mouth pushed into a taut line and her eyes shooting sparks. "I'll be seeing you Harry."

Harry laughed softly, "Yes, indeed. You will Herm, I'll make sure of it."

Hermione strode towards the door, but paused at the last moment, framed by the doorway and she turned her head about slightly. "Sometimes, I wonder what happened to you, Harry. What happened to all of us," she told him quietly, directing the words at the bookcase. She pulled open the door forcefully and marched out, head held high, slamming the door behind her relentlessly.

Hermione stomped down the corridor with efficient speed; her anger acting upon her vision like a pair of blinkers did on a horse. She could only see straight ahead, ignoring her surroundings completely. She strode quickly past the ornate paintings hanging on the walls and caught neither a glimpse of the artwork, nor of the gestures some of them were making at her. She brushed against the wall when turning the corner and saw not the gold-flecked wallpaper upon which a border of red lions had been worked. She cascaded down the stairs in a furry of black silk, her hand grazing the banister as she descended, without noticing the feel of smooth, polished wood beneath her touch. In her mind, she wondered why she had come today. To be further disillusioned with Harry? To be moved to a righteous anger, which she had thought herself capable of controlling now? Or to be reminded of memories that were now scattered, faint and held no place in her life? Perhaps you just came to see Harry again, a small suppressed voice in her head suggested, but Hermione squashed the disloyal view vehemently.

The housekeeper hurried towards Hermione, her face a disapproving mask. "You've gone and upset Master Harry again, haven't you?" she asked, opening the coat closet and pulling out Hermione's black woolen cape. She held it up and draped it about Hermione.

Hermione nodded and tugged on the pair of suede black gloves Hannah had thoughtfully provided for her. She was surprised to find that they fitted perfectly. "I'm sorry Hannah, but his attitude irks me." She turned to leave but Hannah stopped her.

"There's more to that than what you just said. Ms Granger."

Hermione sighed. "The 'more' you're referring to is my annoyance at his devil-may-care take on everything. He holes himself up inside this little haven and pretends that everything that happens outside has no effect on him," she paused wistfully, "I wish the Harry I knew was still around."

Hannah opened the door. "Well, I don't understand your political affairs and grand events, but I understand Master Harry," she told Hermione slowly, "and I think that poor boy is just hurting for some affection."

Hermione chuckled, her thoughts of escaping quickly suspended. "He might be hurting for something Hannah, but I'm quite sure it's not affection."

"Well, he can't be that negligent of outside events, or he wouldn't have called you here to discuss recent news."

Hermione stopped and glanced at her sharply and matronly woman reddened, "Servants do talk, madam. But what do I know? I'm just a housekeeper."

"He's probably just worried if these new circumstances might affect his share holdings," she said harshly, "after all, without them, he might be forced to live like everyone else with a year or two." Hermione finished her statement by surveying what was visible of his apartments with a disgusted grimace.

Hannah nodded wisely, but disagreed with her internally. "Well, that may all be true, but the darling defeated Lord Voldemort. I'm sure we can all find it in our hearts to excuse him some," she tried to say kindly, but Hermione stiffened and scowled.

"I certainly hope he's not planning to bathe in the glory of that for the rest of his life."

"There's nothing I can say to shift your view of him, dear," Hannah admitted almost sadly, "but do take care."

Upon hearing the resignation of Hannah's tone, Hermione pivoted on her toe and gave her a light peck on her wizened cheek. "Don't worry too much about us. He was my best friend once. I am not so short of memory as to forget that." She then turned around again and walked out of the doorway into the rain resolutely.

In the distance, a flight of stairs down, he could here his housekeeper closing the entrance door and bustling away, her daily activities keeping her busy. Harry wished occasionally that he could keep himself occupied, keep himself busy and thereby content. But he couldn't. And so instead, he spent his days lazing about, determined if unable to stop the thoughts from crowding his mind, then to stop thinking at all. He tried to reach for his cigarette case and it fell from the desk. He cursed at it and threw his lighter across the room.

Harry was sprawled in his chair, staring mindlessly into the fire, watching each flame carefully as it leaped, each and every single flame seeming determined to leap higher than the last. "But what's the point of reaching so high," he wondered to himself, "If the only reward is to spiral downwards again and sputter out like a pathetic candle?"

Hermione might misunderstand him, might misinterpret his every action, every word, but Harry could forgive her for that. Sometimes he wondered if he even understood himself. In his head he could hear her cruel little sentences repeating themselves. What's wrong with you Harry? What happened to you Harry? Everyone seemed to demand an answer to those questions these days, pretending to care about his anti-social behaviour.

He turned to stare out the window instead, to watch the rain come spilling down from the heavens. He never wanted to see anyone from his old life again; in fact he refused to talk to anyone but Ron and Hermione. And Ron won't see me. He's gotten on with his life, no time for dear old Harry Potter now. Why bother with me, now that he's got his own spotlight?

Harry shook his head angrily. People thought that he disillusioned them, that he had betrayed the image of the great hero. But I'm the disillusioned one, he argued back, I'm the one who saw the truth and came back bleeding. And as for that ridiculous image, it had never been real anyway; they had contrived it for themselves. It was no fault of his that he had broken their mould. He suddenly pushed himself up, getting out of his chair and walking towards the door. Just before he left his study, he seemed to pause as though he wished to pose there for moment, to create the perfect picture of misunderstood bitterness and deterioration, before slipping his feet out of his slippers and into a pair of black shoes Hannah had laid out and Harry had hid behind the door. He then shrugged off his dressing robe. Beneath it, he was fully clothed. * * * *

"Please present identification," the computerized voice asked them tonelessly.

She replied first, speaking directly into one of the microphones situated in the wall. "Tracey Combs, customer relations."

"Benjamin Darlington, Personal Assistant to CEO, management affairs."

The computer scanned them quickly, checking its databases of thousands of employees, only about 10 percentage that worked in the main headquarters, in the central London. The rest were scattered all over the world, but corresponding their movements and decisions to the London Office.

"Identification complete. Please enjoy your day, Ms Combs." With that the doors of the elevator opened and Tracey gave him a last flirtatious parting smile before stepping onto her floor. The doors slid close behind her. It only took a second to reach the third floor, so advanced had the technology become, that Ben knew for a fact that they had already arrived on the third floor before the computer had asked them for identification. But his journey would be longer. Unknown to all but the most select and trustworthy of employees, the top level of Headquarters was actually situated elsewhere, in a place his employer called Elisien. Supposedly a magical isle, which was unable to be plotted on any map, and surrounded by protection barriers, Elisien was deemed the safest place for the Upper Offices. The elevator system used in the Draconis building had been designed to take any verified staff member from within the Draconis building to the Elisien Office and vice versa. The journey took approximately 5 minutes and Ben utilized the time well.

As usual he pushed his key into the computer system within the elevator and typed in the commands he required to generate the digital mirror that he had personalized. The mirror now greeted him with a whistle in its electronic voice, "Hello, beautiful."

Ben grinned back at his reflection. His sandy blonde hair, carefully styled by his Italian hairdresser, flopped naturally across his forehead. His eyes were the colour of ripe plums, a strange inheritance from his half-veela mother. He stood at 6 ft tall and wore his tailored suit extremely well. All in all, he was what could be described an 'absolute dream' and at 25, Ben indeed had been described that way many times. Women loved him, and considered him the perfect material for Mr. Right. Tall, handsome, caring, a great cook, with fantastic dress sense, rolling in plenty of cash and completely sympathetic to shopping addictions. Unfortunately, he also possessed one quality that women weren't looking for in their ideal man. Benjamin Darlington happened to be gay, and completely at peace with his homosexuality.

He straightened his storm grey tie and fiddled with the fames of his candy pink, frameless sunglasses. Ever since he had read that pastel coloured shades were back in again, he had hurried out to buy a pair. They offset his colouring beautifully, and his boyfriend, Patrick, completely adored them.

"Elisien Office, Main suite," the computer announced before the door slid open to reveal a large open space with marble floors, dark wooden furniture and strategically placed potted plants. He withdrew his key from the system and strode out of the elevator leisurely, towards the plump secretary who sat behind a desk across from the elevator, typing into her computer system.

"Hello, Polly," he greeted her with his characteristic grin, "any messages for me yet?"

Polly smiled back, her good-natured face crinkling about her eyes, "None yet dear, but Mr. Malfoy has been rather impatient this morning. He's tried to contact you three times and fire you five."

"Ah, he's in one of those moods," he said wisely before winking at her playfully. "I'll handle this, Polly." He made a brave, self-sacrificing face at her, before marching promptly towards Malfoy's office, with a cheerful whistle.

He stepped into the large room with its dark burgundy carpeting and lack and white furnishings. The wall facing outwards was made up entirely of glass, which could not be fractured or broken in any way, manufactured by Real Glass Pty. Ltd, a company that was controlled by Draconis. Draconis was in reality nothing more than a holding company, owning and controlling many smaller, profitable companies, but they did produce and offer many services of their own, so Draconis had never been identified as entirely a Holding company.

"There you are. You're late." Draco stated simply on seeing his somewhat wayward PA.

"Draco," Ben greeted him warmly, his arms out spread as though to embrace Draco. "You really are getting old. It's Friday morning and look at you, all serious. All work and no play makes Drakkie a dull boy. "

Draco stepped away from Ben and walked behind his large semi-circular desk to grab a newspaper. "Don't touch me, Ben, I know all about your

"You care about your appearance too much," Draco told him critically, surveying him briefly, "And take those ridiculous glasses off."

Ben shrugged and stared out the window. "You know I can't, Drakkie, I don't want to think of the consequences of walking around with uncovered eyes." He fiddled with his collar and watched as two swallows chased each other about outside the window, darting in and out of the sunshine. "Trust Elisien to be beautiful and sunny while the rest of the world becomes drowned by rain."

The newspaper in hand, Draco moved back around to sit next to Ben on his desk. Although he had to keep up a business-like appearance in front of everyone else, Ben had been with him since Draconis was first established. Six years ago, it had still been a tiny floundering company, barely staying afloat in the corporate world and with only two employees, Dylan Crown who was now an executive officer, chief of management and Ben, who had become his personal assistant, which entitled managing quite a few of Draco's affairs that he would have trusted to no one else. Ben later had revealed that his first reason for working for Draco was that he thought Draco was too cute to desert, but deep down both of them knew Ben's loyalty to the company and to Draco went beyond a split-second physical appreciation. "At least you could have chosen a different colour other than pink," Draco frowned, "and stop calling me that ridiculous name. We have important issues to discuss."

"Yes sir," Ben responded, raising his eyebrows in surprise. And his eyebrows soared higher as he caught sight of the heading of the article Draco tossed into his lap. "Muggle officials in our ministry?" he read out loud incredulously, "What the hell is this load of crap?" He read quickly through the short article, cursing aloud at intervals and threw it back at Draco when he was finished. "That," he said pointing, "was nothing more than bullshit."

Draco folded the newspaper effectively and stored it away in one of his cabinets. "That's one way of looking at the situation, Ben, but there's another view on it that altogether much darker. Since the Gift, both the magical and the Muggle society have gone through drastic changes. Both sides have benefited from the alliance between our worlds, proven by the booming growth cross companies such as us and Fairchild have had by providing muggle services and products advanced with the aid of magical properties, and vice versa. But beneath all of this," and here Draco paused to take his seat behind the desk, forcing Ben to turn, "is an underlying current of discontent, felt by both communities. The nature of the magical community has been repressed, the

"Well, in the same year another essay was also written, although not so publicly renowned, by a person called J.K Rowling. Her essay also supported the coming together of both worlds, but she was rather pessimistic in his view. According to her, both worlds would fight for supremacy over the other, and the muggle world in fact would try to suppress the magical out of fear. Unless understanding, or to some degree control could be found and exerted by the magical world, we were in the line of fire for nullification. Muggles read this publication and denounced it, disgusted with such a poor view of their humanitarian feelings. But, now I'm concerned over the accuracy of Rowling's essay." Draco stopped speaking. His expression was pensive and his eyes were focused on a patch of blackness on his desk where he had spilled ink. In the period of three minutes, he had aged dramatically and seemed ten years older than his 26 years.

"You should get some rest, you look horrible," Ben told him, rather more concerned about Draco than international tensions between Magical and Muggle worlds.

Draco chuckled slightly, coming out of the dark shell he had just retreated into. "Thanks for the compliment," he drawled sarcastically. "I hired you to be my PA, Darlington, not my surrogate mother."

Ben shrugged light heartedly. "Heavens knows, you need one. Ever since..."

"I don't," replied Draco, tight lipped, "need any type of mother, thank you very much."

Ben drew back. He should have known better to say anything relating to Draco's mother. It was a closed subject and everyone who knew Draco, knew that much.

A sharp rapping on the door dissolved the escalating tensions in the room. Ben breathed a sigh of relief and slipped into a chair. As Draco called out for Polly to enter, Ben wondered why Draco was in such a strange mood today. What do you mean, Darlington? he asked himself, he's always been like this. Since you met him anyway.

Polly opened the door slightly and poked her head in to look at them. Her dark eyes were curious as she addressed Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, there's been a phone call for you. Apparently the Bureau of Magical Intelligence has been called in to investigate you latest takeover bid for D.I.N Insurance. They have sent over some agents from the Commercialisation of Magic department. They are waiting for you in the Green Room, sir."

Draco waved his hand dismissively, "Let them wait."

"They said it was urgent, sir, and Mr. Crown thought that it would be to our advantage to meet with them now, before the other party does."

"Other party? I'm not exactly afraid of a small company such as D.I.N Insurance."

Polly shook her head this time, her elaborately coiled hair bouncing along. "Not D.I.N Insurance, sir, Fairchild Inc."

At that both Ben and Draco sat up. Fairchild Inc. was one and a half times the size of Draconis, and was also their only rival on the market. Fairchild had been established as a Muggle corporation 7 years before Draconis and had up until now allowed Draconis to grow uninhibited. In the recent years though, Fairchild became the second corporation after Draconis to become crossed, with Muggle and Magical staff, catering to the diverse needs of the current market. It seemed that now it had finally recognised Draconis as an opponent.

"So they've started paying attention to our actions, have they? I'll take it as a compliment," Draco muttered softly so that Ben only just managed to catch it. He turned to Molly, "Tell them I'll be down soon." Polly nodded her understanding and closed the door again.

Draco stood up resolutely and waited for Ben to lazily follow suit. "Tell Dylan to gather together every file on the takeover bid as well as any other company affairs from every branch placed somewhere safe and then lock it away from the mainframe computer. I want all the files, anything that can be hacked into or used against us by Fairchild in Elisien and the Elisien Mainframe counterpart before the day is over. Leave no loose ends lying around." Draco straightened his tie a walked quickly to the door.

"Wait up, Draco," Ben got up, straightened his tie as well and opened the door for Draco. "After you, boss."

Draco smirked as he walked out, "I see you've remembered your manners and job entitlements."

"There's that," Ben agreed jovially, "but there's also that pay rise I was hoping for..."

"You can keep hoping, Darlington."

"Yes Boss."

Ben followed Draco to the elevator and hopped in with him. Draco gave him a strange look. "Why are you coming, Ben? Didn't I tell you to find Dylan?"

"Dylan's in the circular office today, he told me yesterday that he had some papers to sort though, a job he couldn't trust to anyone else."

"So he's doing that today, is he?" Draco muttered under his breath. Ben had no idea what he was talking about. They both stood in the elevator silently. The computer system had already been commanded by Polly to take them to the Green Room that was on the sixth floor of the central headquarters. The computer however only recognized Draco and Ben had to present his ID again.

"Ben Darlington, PA to CEO, Circular Office."

Hermione paced back and forth within the room. She had never been inside the Draconis building, although she had heard about it from her work colleagues. It was every bit as large and impressive as they had told her to expect. She had left Harry's mansion for her workplace and the moment she had arrived, Lionel had appeared in her doorway and informed her that she had been assigned to his case. Since she had graduated from Hogwarts, Hermione had continued her education at Ashten University, then a new establishment, dedicated to higher education for those who were not Muggles. After graduating with Honours, she had settled for a job in the Bureau of Magical Intelligence. She had remained there, now holding the position of Senior Research Assistant in the Commercialisation of Magic department.

Lionel Moor paced in front of her. He was an investigative agent for the C.o.M department and her partner for this investigation. He was senior to her only in age, being 34 and 8 years her elder. He had a strange liking for the colour brown, wearing a plain brown tweed suit, with a white shirt and a plain brown tie. His feet were shod in brown leather shoes and his watch was his only saving grace, although Hermione was convinced that gold never came so close to having a brownish tinge, naturally. His hair, which was also brown, was unattractively gelled and one single curl sat atop his forehead, as though suspended in motion. His eyes were brown as well, dressed in a pair of rectangular, browned framed glasses. To finish the picture of a rather boring character, serving as a severe-faced interrogator was his carefully trimmed and kept moustache, although Hermione felt sure that facial hair had been most definitely out for at least a decade. He glanced at his watch, stamped his foot and made a 180-degree turn to begin pacing in the other direction. This had been his consistent routine for the last 15 minutes and it was, quite frankly, driving Hermione wild. Her nerves were already frayed from her encounter with Harry that morning, and now Lionel was running them rampant with his inconsiderate behaviour.

Since they had stepped into the Draconis building, they had been ushered quickly, with expressionless politeness, to the Green Room and told to wait there. She couldn't help but think that the room had been aptly named, as the carpet was green, the upholstery on the furniture was also a pretty shade of green and the blinds on the far side of the room was also green. The vases were glossy black, holding long green blades of plant life and pure white lilies. The walls themselves were painted black, but due to its white ceiling and magically charmed amount of light within the room, rather seeming to close in on the occupants, the black walls served to reflect and emphasise the green-ness of the room. Hermione could understand why they had been escorted here. The green colour was rather relaxing and would have been harmonising, if Lionel hadn't been there to destroy every shred of tranquility.

Hermione shivered as she watched the rain pour down, against the windowpane. The room was silent aside from Lionel's footsteps on the carpet. "Even as our cloudy fancies take, suddenly shape in some divine expression. Even as our hearts doth make, in the white countenance confession. The troubled sky reveals, the grief it feels," she quoted softly to herself.

"Very poetic," a familiar voice from behind startling her for second time that day.

Hermione froze.

She slowly turned around and found herself directly at Draco Malfoy. She knew and had known for a long time that he owned and ran Draconis Inc, but part of her had never really accepted the fact, unable to connect the three different images she had of him. Draco Malfoy, the spoiled prat who had plagued her life in Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy, the depressed, obedient son who had changed from a pawn to a queen by crossing the chessboard and now Draco Malfoy, CEO of Draconis Inc. the multi-millionaire. Or was it billionaire now? He stood before her, so cool and composed, so unlike the last time she had seen him. But that was nine years ago, she reminded herself, people could change a lot in that time span. She surveyed him quickly from his steel grey Armani business suit, to his hair, which was still pale blonde, like strings of honey in the sun. His eyes allowed Hermione to see that he was flustered at the sight of her and portrayed confusion. She felt a little bit better, as though her embarrassment had faded due to his discomfiture.

Lionel looked back and forth between both of them, frowning in obvious bewilderment, before moving towards Draco and extending his hand. "Good morning. I'm Lionel Moor, Investigative agent and this is Ms Granger, senior research assistant. We're both from the Bureau of Magical Intelligence, as another party has expressed concern over your recent takeover bid for..." Lionel stopped to check his notes and allowed Hermione enough time to regain her composure. She noticed that Draco had also recovered and he currently pulling out a chair to sit on, paying attention to Lionel and completely ignoring her. Lionel pulled out the piece of paper, "Ah, here it is. D.I.N Insurance. Of course the identity of the opposing party will be revealed with time, but at present they have chosen to remain anonymous."

Draco shrugged and gestured for Lionel to sit down, before turning to Hermione and nodding at her to sit as well. He folded his hands on the table and appeared to be listening intently. "The other party...that would be Fairchild Inc, would it not?"

Lionel started. "Yes, it would. May I ask, Mr. Malfoy, how did you find out?"

Draco waved a hand dismissively. "All through the grapevine. Completely unreliable most times, but it does offer its gems," he smiled and returned to intent silence again, as though considering the subject closed. "What charges are Fairchild planning to press against me?"

"The usual, broach of regulations, illegal bargains, just that sort."

Hermione decided it was time for her to speak up as well. "They have also suggested that Draconis is practicing the illegal use of magic, violating several legislations passed down by the British government and adhered to by the Ministry of Magic."

Draco looked over at her coolly, "They have, have they? Is that all?" he asked, turning back to face Lionel.

"Yes," Lionel replied.

"Well," Draco stood up and returned his chair, "You must excuse me. I'm a busy man, and no doubt so are you. And since we understand each other so well, there really is no reason to take up anymore of your time."

"But, Mr. Malfoy-" Lionel protested, becoming flustered now. Draco simply ignored him.

"Any documents you require, I'm sure my personal assistant will be more than willing to procure them for you. I'm sure you'll quickly find that we are innocent of any charges Fairchild might bring against us. As for signing of agreements and other such documents, ring my secretary, Polly and I'm sure she'll arrange for an appointment. Good day to you," he directed at Hermione before turning on his heel and waltzing out of the room.

* * * * *

Ben hurried across the hall and stopped in front of a concerned Polly. "What's wrong, Polly? The last time you had to buzz for me, was when Draco refused to sleep for the fourth day in row and then fainted."

Polly gave him a worried look and then corners of her mouth were pressed in a downward arc. "I don't know, but Mr. Malfoy came up here after his meeting with the C.o.M agents, locked his door and hasn't done anything else since. I had to cancel three appointments, and the Japanese client was extremely put off. He hasn't touched his lunch," she pointed at the tray of now cold food sitting on the table outside Draco's office. Ben offered the tray a disparaging glance, cold tuna, avocado and cream cheese sandwiches never sat well with him, before turning his attention back to Polly. "And I'm beginning to get very worried. Especially since the readings the computer has been giving me are violet, the reading for emotionally unstable and breaking down."

"Don't worry, Polly, I'll get everything sorted out." Ben tried to reassure her before turning away, his mouth set in a very determined line. He marched to Draco's door, looking to the entire world like a fierce lion, but the unbidden worry and fear in his eyes softened his expression.

"Draco, open up! You're scaring Polly. What kind of gentlemen are you?" he banged against the door forcefully. A muffled grunt came from inside before silence set in again. Ben kicked the tray of food next to him in frustration. Violet readings never meant good news, and given Draco's emotional history, the element of danger seemed all the more overwhelming. "You sod, open up! Or I'll break down the door and you'll have to pay for damages!"

"Fuck off, Darlington," came Draco's reply, "stop buggering me!"

"Fuck you Draco," Ben muttered under his breath before slamming his shoulder into the door and recoiling in pain. It was a lucky that Draco had an unexplainable liking for old-fashioned doors made of wood, or Ben would have shattered his collarbone. "Just open the bloody door and stop playing at the 'Drama Queen' game!" No reply came and Ben began to kick the door, all the while cursing Draco to himself.

Each enraged snap kick direct at the door was punctuated with a curse. "Scoundrel." Kick. "Good-for-nothing ninny." Kick. "Misaligned alien amoeba." Kick. He was halfway through 'Moronic Wanker' when the door swung open and a bleary-eyed Draco peered at him, a skeptically sarcastic look in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Uh, hi," Ben recovered, returning to stand on both feet. "Lovely day for this sort of thing, isn't it?" he asked, a bit sheepishly.

"What part of 'fuck off' did you not understand?" Draco asked him, heavy annoyance in his voice. He left the door open and turned back into his office. Ben followed him in. the blinds had been drawn across the large window, and the lighting was minimal.

"What part of 'you are not a temperamental sixteen year-old anymore' should I explain to you? You have a responsibility to every person who is involved in Draconis, whether directly or indirectly. Locking yourself in the one place within this entire building that is not monitored by a camera linked to Polly's computer is incredibly stupid and then worrying everyone to death is unbelievably selfish!"

Draco reclined himself into his chair, unimpressed with Ben's lecture. "I hope," he began sarcastically, but his breath was short with what might have been anxiety, "that thinking is not against the law, like so many other simple requirements are."

"Get off it, Draco," Ben told him, making a large gesture with his left arm, "You weren't just thinking. What's wrong?"

"Nothing of your concern, Darlington. Playing the little mother again, are we? Twice in one day is a bit much, even for you."

Ben sighed. "Draco..." he warned.

"I'm tired and I'm irritated. And I'm upset because I saw someone today I almost made myself forget. Is that good enough for you? I'm going out," he announced, standing our and striding for the door.

"Who did you see?"

"Don't worry."

"Who was it, Draco?"

"Forget about it."

"Draco, tell me!" Ben grabbed Draco's arm.

Draco whirled around until he was almost nose-to-nose with Ben. "It's none of your business, Darlington," he hissed savagely, yanking his arm out of Ben's grip and storming out of the dimly lit office.

Ben shook his head at his boss's stubbornness. Draco could be a royal pain when he wanted to be. And he always was if you happened to ask him anything personal. Ben removed his glasses. He had learnt since a young age not to allow any being to see him with his eyes uncovered. The possible risk that lurked at the back of his mind prevented him from even considering taking them off. But there was no once else in the room, he was safe. He walked over to the other side of the desk and drew open the curtains, allowing the warm Elisien sunlight to pour in and onto his face.

Turning around, his hand grazed something. A piece of paper lay on the desktop desolately, scrunched up within an inch of its life. Ben picked it up cautiously, his mind engaged in a furious debate over morality. Curiosity won out in the end and he smoothed it out. It was poem, written in what Ben instantly recognised as Draco's handwriting.

I saw her face, like an ivory miniature,

Of the memories I carry in my heart.

Fleeting words of love sprang from her lips,

Like the eternal waters of spring from the Fountain of Youth.

She spoke and looked at me,

Her gaze as eloquent as a minstrel's songs,

And fiery stars lit up the sky beyond.

Ben read it quickly; surprised that Draco had attempted to write poetry. A love poem in blank verse at that. Usually Draco stuck to short sentences that were far more to the point. Ben chuckled. Draco could never know that Ben had read his 'secret' note, but Ben couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Draco's face if he ever confronted him with it. He was about to discard the note when he noticed writing on the other side as well. He turned it over. A single word was scrawled across the back.Hermione.

* * * * *

Jim allowed Tom to pull him into the doorway, but his eyes remained glued on the figure. "I think it's an Angel," he said stubbornly, a wistful expression in his eyes. The girl stood there, unaware of his gaze, her fiery red hair flying in the wind. She stooped down and pulled her knees in, as though hurt by the cold. Jim cast her a last longing look before turning away and permitting Tom to close the door behind them.

A last golden ray flared up from the ocean depths, as though the sun himself was touched by her plight. It touched the head of the girl and illuminated her with an illusion of a halo. The sounds of her sobs were stolen by the wind and her crumpled form told of a deep desolation. But she had seared herself forever into Jim's memories, as the Angel of Sorrow, with long red hair.