Long Live the Mafia Prince - A Drarry Fanfiction

Part 012

My brain is ringing into my ears. Barely on my feet, I tremble to the kitchen. I'm sweating while being cold at the same time. Chills continue to run up and down my spine as I pick up a glass from the sink. Filling it, I reach for the painkillers in the kitchen drawer.

Cold water swims down my throat. The screaming voice in my head drowns. Putting the rest of the pills back, I wipe the sweat off my face.

Ginny is not dead. She wasn't beaten to death. She didn't get sucked into a void. It was just a dream. She is still alive and waiting, desperately, for me to come back for her. I still have time. I still have hope...

I drag my shaking legs to the kitchen table. Taking heavy breaths, I lean tiredly onto the wooden chair. The collar of my shirt is moist in cold sweat, my hair is everywhere at once, and my gaze is lost while staring at nothing. Hallow, yet in pain, all I can is to hope the meds would kick in soon.

The weather seemed nice this morning, but clouds line the sky now. Something about the empty streets of early afternoon, while usually peaceful and calming, feels deserted today. The slow clouds, the stiff wind, the silence... Even to the fallen leaves on the ground, the world appears to be dead. All the world but whatever woke inside me.

I can hear my own breathing, my heart throbbing, and ears buzzing. I can feel every itch, a single hair shifting, and individual nerves twitching. Everything moves rapidly, not one thing still for a second. Rushing, racing, running. Tick, tock, tick tock...

Just as the clock hits two, I hear a tapping on the living room window.

/////

There's nothing on the outside of the glass. At least, not an owl, unexpectedly. Instead of a bird, there is an envelope on the window ledge. Bring the letter over to the couch, I read the address.

Harry Potter

Sometimes it's not a street number that lets one know of a letter's origin.

It's Draco Malfoy. The handwriting, the address replaced by my name, the otherwise blank envelope...

My hands still trembling, I tear open the letter.

They are coming for you. Run.

Unconsciously, I glance out the window. I close the curtains as I reread the letter. Though only six words gracefully traced onto fine parchment, I feel some sort of power from it. A sort of power that leads me to my room, to pull out a coat, and to check for my wand.

Who are 'they'? Why are they coming for me? Where do I run to?

Then I pause, my wand drawn in front of my locked front door.

Draco is telling me to run away from people who are after me. With no explanations, reasonings, or context, he tells me to run.

Should I believe him? Is he lying? What for? What does he know that I don't? Has something gone wrong in his plan? In all of this, am I the only victim?

I pull my hand down to my side. A breath in and out, I rip Draco's letter. Once, twice, three times... Dozens of small parchment pieces fall to the ground. I put my wand away and walk back to the couch.

I need to gather myself and just wait. Wait for the painkillers to kick in, wait for Ron to do something about 'La vie', and wait for the sun to set so that I can see Draco like our trade is-

Knock, knock, knock.

I snap to the front door. In a second, my hand is on my wand, approaching whatever is outside, whatever has come for me. With my hand inches from the door knob, the voice on the other side of the door speaks.

"Harry Potter. We come from the Ministry. We need you to cooperate and follow us to the Auror Office immediately.".

/////

Someone snatched my wand away from me. Another pulled me out of my own home. A few more dragged me down the street. It took less than an hour for these people to sit me in the interrogation room of the Ministry of Magic's Auror Office.

I have never sat on this side of the room before. Behind the one way glass or actually in the room, either way I never even imagined a day like this would come. A spell to document my voice on me, chained to a steel chair, and with no wand, I am, without a doubt, a criminal. And to say I was a working auror two days ago...

Less angry about being wrongfully treated this way, I'm more confused. What did I get wrapped up in? For the past few days, all I've done is be kidnapped by Draco Malfoy a few times. Surely that can't make me a predator. If anything, I am a victim, though maybe that's why I'm here...

The door bursts open. I flinch. I didn't even see anyone coming through the small door window...

I look up at the poorly mannered intruder. Surprising, or perhaps not surprisingly, it's Hermione Granger.

"Harry Potter," she says, "I thought I told you not to come into work.".

As she sits in front of me, putting her files down, I glare. "I didn't really come here on my own feet, did I?".

Granger glances at me, the chuckles. "What's got you so worked up? Shouldn't I be the heated one in the room?".

"What makes you say that?".

"Perhaps the fact that you, an auror on my team, has been arrested for a robbery you reported as a Mafia related case?".

I blink. "What are you talking about?".

Granger leans on the desk, glaring back at me. "Why was 'La vie' in your hands?".

There's silence. For a good few seconds, as Granger continues to pierce me with her gaze, I sit, everything paused. What is happening? Is the Ministry really who Draco warned me about?

"Are you accusing me of stealing 'La vie'?" I say.

"Like I said." Granger says.

I sigh out a dumbfounded laugh. "Seriously? You're the head of the Mafia team, is this how you got there? By arresting people you personally don't like and acting as if it's crime solving?".

She doesn't even blink. "I ask again. Why was 'La vie' in your hands?".

I sigh down a lump of frustration. "It wasn't in my hands, it never was.".

"Then explain to me, how were you able to get your friend to turn it into the Ministry?" Granger says.

"Okay, listen," I say, shoving away my annoyance, "I know you're not dumb. Please just use that big brain of yours and think, the Mafia dagger. The one I used as the leading evidence to put the Mafia on the scene of the 'La vie' theft? Does it ring any bells?".

I wait a few seconds. By now, Granger should be walking out of the room, ordering her pawns to free me, no charges. Funny thing is, it starts taking longer.

"So, what you mean to tell me is," Granger says, "because you turned in concrete evidence of another suspect to the case, you are unrelated? Even though you handed in the stolen object in question that should've been, according to your theory, hung up in the Mafia boss' home office?".

Unbelievable. I lean back in my chair. "You don't believe me.".

She gets up from hers. "Why should I?".