“I don’t send you to kill, I send you to be invisible. I send you because you don’t exist.”
The Bourne Identity


Chapter One

“Andrews, do you copy?”

“I’m here. What is he doing?”

“He’s making the trade. The customer is male, short, about ‘5”4, Caucasian, weighs about 160, in his mid 30s’. They are talking quietly, it’s hard to hear, traffic is loud. Nolan looks agitated. Dispute has been settled. Everything has been exchanged. Customer is walking away. Nolan is walking into nearby pub, McGinty’s. He should stay there for most of the night.”

“Good, Malfoy, good. I’m sending a team over now. Be gone when they get there.”

“As always, Andrews.”

“Signing off now.”

The other side of the magical two way receiver went dead. Draco stowed it in his pocket and checked that his wand was still there. It was, good. He pulled his cap over his eyes and hunched his shoulders as he started to walk away from the pub, making sure no one had seen him. As always, no one had. He was too good to be spotted, too lithe and sneaky. Plus there was that handy fact that he didn’t exist.

Yes, as far as the wizarding community was concerned Draco Malfoy was gone. Wiped off the face of the earth with no one to miss him or care that he was gone. Only two people in the world knew that he was alive and above-all working for the Ministry. Draco was part of an elite Auror group. Though calling it a group was a little much since he only knew of two other people who knew anything that went on in it. These were the same people who knew he was alive.

Michael Pritchard and Nathanial Andrews. Only they knew, and they weren’t telling.

Mike Pritchard was the head of the Auror department. He was 35 and on top of his game. He had been made head two years ago and had started the group, placing Auror Nate Andrews as the head. Andrews was one of the Ministry’s top Aurors, but when he received an injury in the field which rendered him unable to go back out, he felt useless. Then Pritchard had offered him the position of the head of the group which would later be referred to as ‘The Invisibles’, and he accepted.

As far as Draco knew he was the only Invisible, but when you were a person who didn’t exist, working in a department that didn’t exist, it was expected that there would be a few secrets.

As an Invisible he was given a license to kill, but only when in life threatening situations. In most cases he did not do the killing, just the tracking. Draco would track a suspect for weeks. He needed to know how they lived, who they confided in, where they ate, where they slept. Everything, because when you knew everything about an enemy who didn’t even know you were alive, you had the upper hand. In Draco’s case, the upper hand meant he called Andrews and reported back what he saw and where the suspect was. Then Andrews would send a squad from the Ministry to bag the suspect and tell Draco to get the hell out of the area. So Draco did what he was told, knowing that the Ministry would capture the criminal in a matter of minutes, take them in, and everyone would be happy. Well, almost everyone. Draco’s least favorite part of a case was then end, when he no longer had anything to do.

Draco rented a dingy one room flat outside of Muggle London, but he was rarely there. He felt that having things to take care of tied you down in one place, something he couldn’t stand. That was why he loved his job so much; he got to go everywhere. In the 5 years he had spent as an Invisible, Draco had been to over 70 different countries, including Australia, Tibet, Mexico, and Egypt. And, although he wasn’t exactly sightseeing, he still got to go other places and be absorbed into other cultures, even if it was only for a few weeks.

Not that there weren’t some drawbacks to his job. Draco’s life was secluded from the outside world. He had no relationships with anyone except Pritchard and Andrews, and even when he went out he kept to himself and tried not to be noticed. In five years Draco had never celebrated Christmas or Easter or even his birthday, and had not been with a woman since his very first mission in America.

After a while, though, you got used to it and it became a way of life.

Draco was currently in America, New York City, in fact. This was Draco’s sixth trip to America and, strangely, the place had grown on him. He loved everywhere he had been, Boston, Dallas, San Diego, but most of all he loved New York, mainly because it was so easy to fit in there. A dark jacket and a New York Yankees hat was all he needed to become completely invisible. And his accent, not a problem, Draco could slip into an American accent as easily as he could write his own name. But the greatest part was that no one knew him there. Draco could walk into a pub and not have to worry about someone from the Ministry or a classmate from Hogwarts noticing him. He could be himself, or at least, he could try. Years of changing names and sometimes even faces (thanks to a Polyjuice Potion Pill Snape had invented) had made him somewhat schizophrenic. He was never truly himself, because even though he may try, his skin was always tan – tanning potion – and his hair was constantly changing colors, he might as well have been a Metamorphmagis for all the changing he did to himself. He knew it was necessary and that he had signed up for the job, but sometimes it got annoying.

So tonight a tan, black-haired Draco was scoping the streets of New York looking for a small, dark pub to go into, preferably one that looked as if it had been owned by the same old man for about a hundred years. Draco walked down the street and noticed a small pub next to the mouth of a dark alley; it was dark, and from what he could see, nearly empty. Perfect.

As he went closer he noted the small hand-painted sign above the door which read “Hearth”. He walked in and noticed how much it lived up to its name. Its large, polished bar was warm and reminded him immensely of The Three Broomsticks, except here, if he asked for a Butterbeer the barmaid would think he was plastered and politely ask him to leave for fear that he would vomit all over her shiny bar. Smiling wistfully at the thought of The Three Broomsticks, Draco walked to the very end of the bar and sat down on one of the wooden stools, all of which had been worn smooth with age. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his medium-length black hair which fell in front of his eyes as his hand went through it. Draco looked up as the young barmaid walked over to him and was filled with a strong sense of déjà vu.

She was young, with long, flashing red hair pulled into a loose bun so that small wisps framed her heart-shaped face. It was the hair, he realized, that made him remember back to his Hogwarts days and to the red-haired Weasley clan. As she came closer, however, Draco noticed how this young woman’s curves and defined beauty were nothing like the tomboyish features of the youngest Weasley, the only girl. Besides, Draco thought, what would a Weasley be doing working in New York, so far away from her precious kin?

Passing it off as coincidence Draco looked up at the girl as she stopped in front of him but was immediately taken aback when she said, “What can I getcha?” in a thick British accent.

As an Invisible Draco was trained not to show emotion, so he let his shock slide quickly off his face before he said, “A Black and Tan, please.”

“Coming right up,” the girl said as she began to move down the bar.

As she prepared his pint and tended to other customers, Draco tried to figure out who she could be. It was very possible that he had met her sometime in his past life, or it could just be her hair that was jogging his memory. Either way there was no denying her beauty. She was skinny, but still she looked soft and warm, with light skin coated with a dusting of light freckles. However, it was her eyes that caught his attention. Although she was young - about his age - she had amazingly warm, brown eyes that showed wisdom beyond her years.

He was still ogling at her when she began to walk towards him with his pint. Gorgeous, he thought as she placed in it front of him and asked, “Anything else?”

“No,” he said happily gripping the cool glass, “this is perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a warm smile. “Just call me if you need anything else.”

She walked away and Draco took a sip of his frothy beer, reveling in the warmth it sent through his body and the scent and flavor as is went down. He had to admit, the Muggles knew how to brew.

~*~*~*~*~

She watched surreptitiously as he closed his eyes and took a long sip. She couldn’t help feeling that they had met before, but she didn’t know many people in New York and he didn’t have an accent. So, shrugging her shoulders and claiming it coincidence, Ginny Weasley looked back down and continued to dry pint glasses.