Chapter 2
The Past Comes Back to Hurt You
"So, are you going to go?"
"Going to go where?" asked John. He shifted restlessly behind the dumpster he was currently hiding behind and looked questioningly across the alleyway to his partner.
"To that wedding you got an invitation for last Monday."
John got an uneasy feeling somewhere deep down in his stomach. He hadn't let himself think about the wedding lately; it would've made what he was feeling now real. It would have made everything about his past that he had tried to get away from too real. He had sent his reply back as a no, but truthfully, he really did want to be there to see his two old friends marry. It had been a long time coming, he thought. "I haven't decided yet."
"You should go, if these people are important to you," said David.
John’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. "We can't talk about this now," he cut in harshly.
"Says who?" David started to stand up and cross the small space between them when a dark shadow moved outside the entrance to the alley. He ducked back down in a dexterity that could only come from a lifetime of training, his wand held at the ready in an instant. "Shit!"
"That's who," John hissed. "Now be quiet."
Approaching them at a brisk pace were five men, wearing dark cloaks with hoods drawn up over their faces, shadowing their features from any recognition. They didn't notice the two men crouched behind the garbage bins, but walked right pass them to the brown door put in the brick wall of one of the tall buildings. As the door shut, John and David stood up and pressed their ears to it. Nothing but the heavy stomping of boots ascending a flight of stairs, followed by muffled voices, could be heard.
"What I wouldn't give for a pair of extendable ears right now," murmured John, not thinking his companion would hear him.
"A pair of what?"
Startled, he turned wide eyes on David, who was standing closer than he remembered, before composing himself and muttering, "Nothing." He turned his attention back to the happenings on the other side of the door but gripped his wand more tightly in his hand until he felt his fingernails biting into the soft flesh of his palm.
David slowly pushed the door open, willing it not to squeak and give away their position. They slipped inside and crept up the stairs, pushing their bodies against the wall on either side of the next door. Inside a small room, the five cloaked men sat around a wooden table. One yellow light flickered above them, casting the men in and out of darkness. They were talking in hurried whispers; John and David leaned in closer.
“… The plan’s all set?” one of the men asked. He was sitting on the far right and was twirling a quill between his fingers. A roll of worn parchment was in front of him, covered in scribbled notes and plans.
“That’s right,” replied another, sitting in the centre-left place.
“By this time next month, all of this will be over.”
The man on the far left held up one finger, as if cautioning the others. “Someone is here.” As one, they all turned to the door. The man who’d just spoken stood up and approached John and David’s hiding place; they didn’t have time to run before he was standing before them. “Well, well, well … look who we’ve got here: the baby and his new sidekick.”
“Who are you?” demanded David. “We’ve been tracking you for months; why are you here?”
But the man ignored David and instead turned amused eyes upon John. “Why are you here?”
“Surrender, or we’ll make you,” replied John stiffly. He shoved the man against the wall, his arm holding him in a chokehold, and stabbed his wand to the man’s pulse point. “Start talking.”
“Still got some of that old fire in yah, eh?” He spat the words as if not to would leave a foul taste on his tongue. He struggled against John and in the process, his hood slipped off of his head, revealing white-blonde hair gelled back off his face, a familiar pointed chin, and stony grey eyes. John staggered backwards at the same time the man pulled out his wand and yelled, “Sectumsempra!” John rolled on to the floor, narrowly missing the evil curse. Still standing, David was firing off spells at a rapid pace; already, he’d managed to stun one of the Death Eaters and badly wound another.
Draco Malfoy meanwhile, was still firing the cutting curse at John, who was having a difficult time getting in any decent shots of his own as he continuously dodged Malfoy’s attempts. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it, filth!” called Malfoy.
Ten minutes into the fight, and only one person was down. John and David were now each battling two against one, and the odds were not in their favour. Just as John was about to aim a stunner at Malfoy, however, all together the four Death Eaters leapt out of reach, as if pulled by an invisible string. As one, they all revealed a small silver chain with an emerald pendant from underneath their robes and gave them a tug. They port-keyed away, and the defeated Aurors were left at square one again - with an unconscious body and no idea where the deserted man’s companions had gone.
The interrogation room at the Auror Headquarters located in the American Ministry of Magic was small and cold; its furnishings consisted of no more than a long metal table and two chairs, and on one wall behind where the prisoner sat was a one-way glass wall. The bricks were painted a drab grey and there was not even a single window allowing light into the dismal atmosphere.
John Fischer walked through the single door and approached the unconscious man before him. “Finite Incantatem.” Then, as if awaking from a deep sleep, the man slowly opened his eyes, blinking furiously as he gazed about his situation. “Welcome back,” said John emotionlessly; it was clear that the man was anything but welcome in his presence. “I’m sure you won’t mind answering a few things for me today, will you.” It was not a question.
“Who wants to know?” sneered the man.
“The American ministry, that’s who,” John replied just as coldly.
The man shrugged his shoulders, but said no more in return. John sat down and, withdrawing a small vial filled of what looked like clear water from an inside pocket, placed it plainly in view of the prisoner.
“This, as I’m sure you are aware, is Veritaserum - truth potion. Three drops of this and you will be revealing to me all of your innermost secrets. If you choose not to cooperate today you will be forced, under the law, to drink some, and you will me tell what you know anyways. So, why don’t you just start by stating your name for the record?”
The Death Eater rolled his eyes arrogantly but said, “Keith Wiblin.”
“Good. Now, who are you working for, Mr Wiblin?”
Keith Wiblin laughed, throwing his head back, his chair rocking. “Who else?”
John’s eyes tightened. “Give me a name, please.”
“You of all people should know!” the prisoner exclaimed, quite beside himself.
John stood up. He walked around one end of the metal table and leaned forward on it so that he was eye-level with Wiblin. “Are you working under the orders of the late Voldemort.”
“Hmm,” mocked the Death Eater, “now how many people do I know of, who are alive, that still dare mention the Dark Lord’s name so … negligently? Oh! That’s right, only one … only you.”
John’s lips twitched and his breath hitched sharply, but his eyes gained a haunted look in them. “How do you know me?” he demanded.
“Why else did you think Draco Malfoy was here, in the ‘New World’ of all places?” he sneered. “Your childhood enemy. Coincidence? I think not. He’s here … we are here, for you. You are the reason for running all over North America like a pack of wolves, you are the focus of our attention. Draco Malfoy wants you to pay, and he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.”
The door slammed shut behind John as he ran out; Keith Wiblin could be heard laughing himself hoarse on the other side. John pressed his back to the wall, focusing on breathing evenly, and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as the start of a migraine began. He knew he would have to face his past eventually, he just didn’t think that all of his preparations toward a normal life would come to be for naught so soon.
Breathing heavily, John sprinted down the hallway; he found David about three quarters of the way back to the offices, walking in his direction and holding a pale envelope in his hand. He looked scared about something, John thought: his eyes were panicked, and the fingers grasping the card were creating wrinkles in the paper.
“Hey, John …”
“Dave, I need you to finish interrogating the Death Eater. Please, I just … need to get away, or something.”
David stopped when John reached him and hid his hand holding the card behind his back. “Okay, sure. But, John, I need to talk to you about something first. It’s pretty important.”
“What is it?”
“Umm, how do I say this?” he stumbled on the words. “You know your friends that are getting married next month? The Weasleys.”
“What about them?” asked John, confused.
“Well,” He held up the hand previously behind his back. He didn’t speak for a minute and then he muttered, “I’m in-invited too.”
John heard the words, but did not understand the meaning. Blank dumb shock was written across his face. Ron and Hermione knew David? How was that even possible? David was in America with him; as far as he knew the Weasleys, nor any of their extended family, had ever been to America, let alone met David and formed a relationship with him, a bond close enough to consider including him on their marriage day.
David was still talking, though. He looked morosely down at the toes of his shoes. “I haven’t told you everything about me John, but when I saw the invitations last week, I knew I would have to soon.”
“You know the Weasleys?”
“I met them briefly about four years ago, immediately after the end of the war. I was in England visiting some distant family who’d survived the war and was recruited to help in the rebuilding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Weasleys were also helping in the renovations, and we became friendly. I haven’t heard from them in a while - you know how you lose touch - and I never expected them to invite me to their wedding.”
“You know the Weasleys?” John repeated. If he didn’t believe it, maybe this would turn out not to be true, like willing yourself awake during a nightmare.
“Yes,” said David worriedly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, John.”
But John turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. He was not in the least bit angry with Dave, but this was too much for any one person to be expected to take in a day. First, he sees Draco Malfoy for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts and learns that Malfoy is planning on taking revenge on him for some obscure reason that only him and his cohorts know of; and next, he learns that David Bryant, his friend since the Auror Academy four years ago, had known his past family for all of these years. He walked slowly back to his cubicle and flopped into his chair, leaning back heavily on it; it wasn’t even three o’clock yet and he already needed a nap.