Chapter 2

The Hangleton Towns

It was two hours later when Draco managed to find his way out of the clearing. The sky, now a dark gray, did nothing to brighten his mood. With his clothes sopping of rain water and his stomach empty, Draco could not remember a time when he had been in a worse situation.

He trudged over the last few tree roots before he came to a stop at the edge of the forest. It was late now, making it hard to see anything. There was a grassy hill in front of him that obscured his view; all that surrounded the hill was a vast ocean of green grass. Draco began to reluctantly climb the hill, but almost at once, slipped onto the wet grass, falling flat on his face. He grimaced and spat out several blades of grass. Latching on to a slightly larger tuft, he slowly climbed.

Draco looked below at the view from the top of the hill. Below him seemed to be a small town, littered with seemingly abandoned, cottage-sized houses. As far as he could see, there was no human activity within the town, making Draco feel suddenly queasy. His stomach tightened as the thick silence racked through his ears. Surrounding the village was more of the same tall grass- a plain that extended as far as Draco could see. He weighed his options and could see no other choice.

He carefully sat down on the grass and winced as he experience a rush of uncomfortable coldness. Gripping the ground, he warily slid down the slope. The ground soon leveled out and dusting his behind free of grass, he stood up. The silence which had unnerved him at the peak of the hill seemed even more eerie now that he was this close to the town. He tightened his grip on his wand within the folds of his robes, approached the gravel path that wound its way into the town, and began to walk.

Draco squinted his eyes. As he neared the edge of the village, he could make out writing on a wooden post topped with wooden arrows pointing in various directions. ‘Great Hangleton’, one read, pointing into the town. The arrow below it pointed to his right and in the same peeling letters read ‘Little Hangleton’. The last arrow, pointing towards the forest from which Draco had just come from spelled out ‘Hangleton Forest’. The oddity of why the Dark Lord would choose such a place to hold a gathering flickered through his mind, but Draco ignored the fleeting thought. Taking one last glance at the forest behind him, he proceeded forwards.

It soon became painfully aware to Draco that Great Hangleton was indeed a Muggle town. There was nothing to suggest otherwise; no wizarding shops, no passing owls; the entire street itself seemed to lack that magical ‘presence’ that Draco had grown so accustomed to. Instead, the streets were filled with busy looking people, all dressed in Muggle clothing, walking, in cars, or riding bicycles, all whilst chatting amicably. Draco glanced down at his wand and cursed at his misfortune. Being underage, the wand held so tightly in his right hand was rendered virtually useless. Still, Draco clung even tighter, for the mere feeling of the magical stick made him feel a little more at ease…though, at the same time, he dreaded the possibility of him actually needing to use his wand.

The street led Draco through the ivy entangled houses, deeper and deeper into the town. Countless of pairs of eyes gazed at him through dusty windows, squinting through the darkness, but soon would disappear as they would firmly draw their curtains to a close. Those on the street would look at him peculiarly, muttering about ‘fashion get-ups’, but would hurriedly look away once Draco made eye contact. Occasionally, loud raucous teenagers loitering on the streets would call at Draco, jeering with their drunken voices. When this would happen, Draco would veer towards the opposite side of the path, lowering his sopping head. A wave of shame rushed over Draco; here he was, an official Death Eater, cowering at the sight of some pathetic Muggles. Angrily, he kicked a small rock towards the side of the path.

As he walked on, worrisome questions began to explode within his head like lit fireworks. Waves of realization crashed him over and over again as the task the Dark Lord had just given him clicked within his brain. The mere thought of killing Dumbledore made him want to snap his wand and go live with the Muggles…what would he do when faced with the man himself? He felt his hands go clammy as he strayed his thoughts towards his mother. Death was certain, not only for him, but for his family as well if he failed. A nasty voice in the back of his head whispered venomously, “The Dark Lord knows you will fail, that’s why he picked you”. But Draco desperately closed his mind to the voice. He refused to believe that the Dark Lord only picked him as means of a punishment- just a ploy in which to punish the Malfoy family for his father’s mistakes…for after all, he was chosen, chosen above all others, was he not.

Draco skidded to a halt. In the midst of his troubled thoughts, he had reached a fork in the road without even realizing it. One trail led towards his immediate right, towards Little Hangleton- the other led deeper within Great Hangleton. Draco weighed his options; if he went further into Great Hangleton, the chances of him finding a way home grew no more probable…however, he had no idea what lay ahead for him in the latter. Both options presented problems. Breathing heavily, Draco walked towards his right. At least there was a possibility that Little Hangleton was different than its neighboring town. Draco’s mouth watered as thoughts of Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks filled his mind, and he hoped that there was something similar in Little Hangleton.

The walk to Little Hangleton was much shorter than the walk from the forest to the fork in the path. In less than ten minutes, Draco could see the first few houses. The houses in Little Hangleton were very much like those in Great Hangleton but much shabbier, and fewer in number. The roofs had missing planks, and the small gardens were overwhelmed with weeds…But Draco began to notice several strange occurrences as he walked further into the town. Unlike Great Hangleton, there were no cars parked on the street; in fact, Draco could not spot any other types of Muggle transportation around. There was no one hanging around on the streets, but instead, it appeared to be that every single inhabitant was inside their houses. While Great Hangleton seemed to be bustling with activity, Little Hangleton seemed to be drained of any life whatsoever. No one gazed at him with a funny look on their face through the glass of their windows; rather, all the curtains were tightly drawn, and their doors firmly shut. Draco felt suddenly very alone and very scared by himself in the stranded road. He stopped walking and began to turn to head back in the opposite direction when he suddenly felt a hand grip his shoulder.

Darco yelped with surprise and stumbled forward. Instinctively, he reached for his wand and spun around, the stick brandished in his hand.

“Hey, hey, no need for that mate!” The speaker was a black-haired gangly boy who appeared to be the same age as Draco. His face, scattered with golden freckles, was filled with uncertainty mingled with fright.

Draco did not lower his wand, but narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious. Lower your wand!” The boy’s blue eyes flickered back atnd forth nervously between Draco and his wand.

The boy’s comment caught Draco off guard. “You’re a wizard?” he asked warily.

“No. I just happen to assume that every stick in the world when pointed at me is a wand.”

Draco thrusted the wand menacingly. “Funny.”

The boy’s eyes twinkled. “I thought so. Come on now, no need for the wand. I promise I’m not armed.” He reached into his pockets and turned them inside out.

Draco lowered his wand to his side, but did not loosen his grip. “Who are you?”

“Roger’s the name. Yours?”

The gears in Draco’s brain whirled quickly. Almost everyone in Britain knew of the Malfoy’s connection to the Dark Lord. “Dennis Creevey,” he said quickly.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Draco chose to ignore his question. He suddenly became aware that several pairs of eyes were looking at him through the folds of their curtains. “Why is everyone inside?”

Roger paled slightly and glanced at the surrounding houses. “Actually, we should be inside too. Come on then.” Motioning for Draco to follow him, he started jogging up the street.

“Wait,” called Draco.

Roger stopped and turned around, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Why should I go with you?”

Roger smirked. “Of course. Because I’m one of the many lined up to help you out.” He waved his hand vaguely towards the deserted street.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Roger’s lack of clever humor was pathetic. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“You don’t.”

Draco stared at Roger, his mind working very fast. If he ditched Roger now, there was no way he’d find his way back home…but on the other hand, he’d rather be alive and not home than dead in some stranger’s house.

Clenching his teeth, Draco muttered, “Fine. But I have some questions. Like first off-.” But Roger had already resumed his jogging.

As Draco quickened his pace to keep up with Roger, the queasy feeling returned to his stomach. He hadn’t known Roger for more than two minutes, and here he was, following him to Merlin knew where. He kept his eyes steady on Roger’s hands, incase they made any sudden moves; eyeing his muscular calves, Draco wasn’t sure he could win a physical fight with him (though he’d never say that out loud, of course).

“Almost there,” Roger said. “Ahh, here we are.”

In front of them was a small house, identical to all the others in the town. The only difference was that this one, if possible, was in even worse condition than the others. The entire house itself, which was slightly leaning towards the left, had large chunks of brick missing from its sides. The few flowers in the small garden were wilting, and there were large gaping holes within the planks of wood that comprised the porch. Draco was certain of one thing; his mother would have fainted in two seconds flat if she saw it.

“Home sweet home,” Roger grinned. Steering clear of the holes, he made his way into the house.

Draco, feeling more nervous than ever before, followed.

The inside of the house was no better than the outside. It was littered with various debris, and piles of assorted papers were scattered on the floor and table. From what Draco could see, there were only two small rooms, a single corridor, plus one sitting room. Moth eaten couches were the only furniture, besides one tilting wooden table.

“Why are we here?” Draco blurted.

Roger raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. We’re missing the grand party that’s going on out there.” He jerked his head towards the street.

Draco felt his cheeks flush. “Don’t talk to me-“

“If you recall, you are in my house are you not.”

Draco said nothing in reply, but merely took a seat on one of the couches. “Why isn’t anyone outside?” he asked. “You talk like it’s always like this.”

“You’ve heard of You-Know-Who, I’m assuming.”

“Of course,” Draco replied indignantly.

“Good,” Roger said. “Well, there’s your answer. You-Know-Who.”

“How does the Dark Lo- I mean, You-Know-Who have to do with anything?”

Roger laughed. “It has to do with everything. Little Hangleton’s mainly a wizarding town, except a few Muggles, and even they don’t go out much. People are frightened out of their minds. It’s a small town, Dennis. People get frightened easily. No one around here stays out much.” For some reason, Roger looked increasingly bitter about this.

Draco decided to not question Roger’s change in mood and pressed on. “Well why were you out?”

“Nosy one, you are.”

Draco coolly stared back.

“Anyway,” Roger continued. “I was returning home, you know, after visiting Great Hangleton. You must have passed it-”

Draco nodded.

“Nice place, isn’t it? Loads of fun; it’s way better than this dump. I really wasn’t supposed to be out actually…past curfew and everything. But that’s beside the point. Continuing on, I saw you walking all alone, and I hadn’t seen you around here before, so I just sort of…”

“Scared the hell out of me?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Roger replied with a smile.

Draco didn’t return the friendly gesture.

“So what are you doing here anyway? I know I haven’t seen you around.”

“I’m from London,” Draco made up. “I’m visiting my cousin. We were flying around on our broomsticks when we crashed into the forest. My broom is beyond repair, so I left it there. I couldn’t find my cousin after I recovered, so I walked out of the forest and followed that gravel path near Great Hangleton.”

“Ahh, I see. Are you on break or something?”

“Yes. The school year starts soon. Don’t you go to Hogwarts? I’ve never seen you around.”

At this, Roger flushed a deep red. “Oh, well, you know, my parents can’t really afford it. I’m home schooled though,” he added hurriedly.

After an awkward pause, Draco asked, “Great Hangleton- it’s a Muggle town, right?” He couldn’t help the distaste that crept into his voice.

But apparently, Roger hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

Draco raised a pale eyebrow. “Muggles? Fantastic?” He was beginning to like Roger less and less. Something about the mischievous twinkle in his eye and his strange adoration of Muggles unnerved him.

Roger narrowed his eyes. “Yes, fantastic. Oh Merlin, don’t tell me. You’re one of those pure blooded freaks, aren’t you?”

“Freaks?” Draco sneered. “I think you’re the one with the freak-like problem.”

“If you must know, I’m pureblooded myself.”

“A pureblooded traitor more like it.”

“Call it what you like,” Roger snarled quietly. “But blood status is counting less and less now a days.”

“Not with me,” Draco replied shortly.

Roger didn’t retort, but merely gazed at Draco imploringly, his blue eyes pouring into Draco’s gray ones. Draco felt himself grow hot under his steady gaze and found himself staring at the dusty wooden floor.

Roger suddenly cleared his throat. “So why are you still here then?”

Draco noted that the friendly tone in his voice had all but disappeared. “Well I can’t use my wand- idiotic under-age magic rules. So I’m somewhat stranded here, I suppose.” He said the last sentence off-handedly, not wanting to seem like he was asking for anything.

Roger nodded. “Well, you know where you want to go, right? We’ll wait for my mum to return, and I’ll ask her to Side-Apparate you back to your Manor. But are you okay with Apparating with a ‘Muggle lover?’” he added scathingly.

Draco chose not to reply to his last question, but instead said, “Yeah, that would be good.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine.” As if on cue, Draco’s stomach grumbled loudly.

Roger smirked. “Wait here.”

Roger left the sitting room and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Draco by himself. He slowly got up and paced around the room. The walls were somewhat well decorated (again, not up to the standards of Mrs.Malfoy) with floral wallpaper, but peeling wallpaper nonetheless. They were covered with various pictures, all black and white; apparently, from what Draco could see, Roger had four older sisters, bringing the total number of members in the family to 7. Draco smirked as he was strongly reminded of the Weasley family. He moved towards the table in the center of the room and began rummaging through the piles of papers. It was clear that Roger’s parents were not wealthy people- countless of notices were scattered on the table, all informing the family of new bills, old bills, and mostly, bills that hadn’t been paid.

Draco strained his ears, trying to hear Roger walking down the corridor. When he heard nothing but silence, he continued to look through the stacks of paper. He pushed aside the large stacks of bills and began to read a small pamphlet placed near the edge of the table.

“Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Force,” Draco read. He snorted. “Pathetic that Fudge is.”

He tossed the pamphlet aside and returned his eyes to the stacks of paper. He frowned as he caught sight of a pile of newspapers underneath the table. Squatting on his heels, he bent his head below the table and reached for the pile.

“What- damn!” Draco swore loudly as he massaged his head. Rubbing his scalp with one hand, he reached for the pile and placed them on top of the table. He noticed, with a frown, that they were Muggle newspapers- the pictures were motionless. He picked up the first newspaper in the pile and began to read the headlining article:

Mysterious Death of Local Gardner Puzzles Police

The death of a local gardener, Frank Bryce, is set to become one of the biggest mysteries that Little Hangleton has seen in recent years. His untimely death on July the 20th has shocked not only the townspeople, but the authorities as well. Bryce was found dead by Mrs. Higgins, a local teacher who was passing by the ‘Riddle House’, the residence in which Bryce was found in, and noticed that the door was wide open. “I went in, and the first thing I noticed was that the house was very quiet, very eerie,” Mrs.Higgins told us. “I called out, but got no response. So, I went upstairs, and- and, there he was. Lying on the floor, eyes wide open… his face was terrified, his mouth hanging out wide open. For a second, I thought he had passed out- I couldn’t see any blood you know. But then I felt his pulse, and I knew.” Mrs.Higgins then proceeded to run out the ‘Riddle House’ and immediately went back home to call the police.

According to the Head Deputy Officer of Little Hangleton’s police force, Mr. Carleton, Bryce’s murder is unlike “anything he’s ever seen before”. “We have all our men working tirelessly on this case, and we will find whoever has done this,” he firmly told reporters at a press conference. But some don’t agree. A medical examiner from Great Hangleton General Hospital has revealed to reporters information on Frank’s autopsy, and clearly expressed his doubts in the case and the substantiality of the evidence. “At the moment, we have been unable to determine Mr.Bryce’s cause of death,” he began. “As you have all heard, Mr.Bryce was found three days ago in his home, alone, and very much dead. No signs of struggle or broken entry were apparent. As I mentioned earlier, the cause of death has not been uncovered yet…such is due to some strange occurrences to say the least.” The examiner refused to answer any more questions on said “strange occurrences”, despite the badgering of many reporters.

To add to the mystery surrounding this case, coincidentally, another set of murders occurred in the very same house in which Frank Bryce was killed. Fifty years ago, the original habitants of the ‘Riddle House’, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, as well as their son, Tom Riddle, were all found shockingly dead in their house. Interestingly enough, all three murders presented very similar characteristics to that of Frank’s. No signs of forced entry or struggle were uncovered; in fact, all three Riddles exhibited the very same terrified look on their faces upon discovery that Mrs.Higgins vividly described. Furthermore, Mr.Bryce was also once the Riddle family’s gardener, and was, in fact, largely suspected to be involved in their murders. Though Frank was cleared of any charges, some never fully trusted him again. “I always thought he was a bit dodgy,” a source who wishes to remain anonymous claims. “Even though those charges were dropped, I never trusted Frank for a second.” Yes, the circumstances surrounding these two mysteries are indeed very peculiar and will trouble most for some time to come. However, whatever the truth behind these murders may be, it can be said with confidence that the town of Little Hangleton only wishes for Mr.Bryce’s murderer to be brought to justice.

Draco put down the paper and leaned back in his chair, shocked. He’d never have guessed murders could have happened in a town like Little Hangleton, never mind such mysterious ones. And the description Mrs.Higgins provided the paper…it reminded Draco awfully similar to the effects of the Killing Curse…no struggle, no blood…

“Why are you staring at the ceiling? Trying to count the flies or something?”

Draco spun his head around.

Roger stood there holding a tray, smirking. “Be careful. You’ll get whiplash.”

“Whatever,” Draco muttered.

Roger walked around the couch and dropped the tray onto the table. “Here,” he said. “Crisps were all I could find. Sorry I took so long by the way. My kitchen isn’t exactly what you’d call organized.”

Draco saw Roger’s eyes travel towards the piles of paper on the desk, which were now scattered over the surface.

“You’ve been snooping I see.”

Draco ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. “Yeah, well-”

“Don’t apologize. Although now that I think about it, I don’t think you’re the type of person that would apologize.”

Roger walked around and took a seat beside Draco. “I see you’ve been reading the newspapers. Mum was clearing them out a couple of days ago. But I have no idea why you’d be interested in them.”

“Do you know anything about this Frank Bryce’s murder?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. It happened 2 years ago. Strange man, that Frank was. He refused to stop being the gardener for the ‘Riddle House’, even after the Riddles were murdered…old man’s stubbornness I suppose.”

“You don’t think-”

“That the murders were wizard-related? Oh yeah, of course. It’s mainly a wizarding town, as I said, but we keep ourselves quiet-the Great Hangleton folk and the Muggles here, they have no idea. That newspaper you were reading- it was from Great Hangleton. They don’t know about any magic business, but we here are all pretty confident that it had something to do with it. A main reason this town is so…quiet is because of Frank’s murder. It scared people; forced them into seclusion.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. “What about these Riddle people?”

“Oh, Grand-dad told me about them. They were dead before I was born of course, but from what I’ve heard, they weren’t very nice people; one of those rich, snobby types. No one was really broken up about it once they heard. But the real catch was that they were murdered just like Frank; you probably read about it, didn’t you? Again, another wizard induced murder. And another reason for the people of Little Hangleton to be scared.”

Draco couldn’t think of anything to say to this. Roger was staring off into space, with the same bitter look plastered on his face.

Suddenly, Roger cleared his throat and stood up. “One second, let me just find- ahh, here it is.” He drew his wand out from underneath the couch cushion and dusted off his hand on his jeans. “Mum should be here any second now. Don’t worry, you can take the crisps- hey, what was that?”

Draco turned his head to the front door. The door knob was being turned loudly, shaking the dust off the ceiling. Draco jumped off the couch and drew his wand.

“Stay back,” he warned Roger.

“Chivalrous,” muttered Roger, as he too brandished his wand.

BAM! Suddenly, the door swung open, revealing a rather frazzled looking woman dressed in a long black coat.

“Roger! What is this? Who is this?” the woman shrieked.

“Oh, hello Mum,” Roger said sheepishly. He tucked his wand back into his jean pockets. “Er-meet Dennis.”

Draco, realizing that he was pointing his wand in Roger mother’s face, quickly stuffed it in his cloak. “Oh-er; Hello there.”

“Hello, Dennis,” she said shortly. “If you don’t mind me asking-”

“Dennis got stranded in the woods, Mum,” Roger interrupted. “I was wondering if you could Side-Apparate him back home.”

“Oh, oh of course!” she said, her plump face considerably softer. “Poor thing, you must have been scared.”

Draco drew himself up to his full height and said imperiously, “Oh, I don’t really scare easily.”

Roger’s mother looked considerably taken aback and said uncertainly, “Well…of course. So, shall we be leaving soon?” She nervously flickered her eyes between Roger and Draco.

“Yeah, definitely,” said Roger.

Draco cleared his throat and stuck out his hand towards Roger.

Roger smirked and shook Draco’s hand. “What, no thank you?”

“Don’t push it,” Draco replied coolly.

“Well come along, Dennis. Can’t be dilly-dallying.” She stretched her arm out towards Draco expectantly as she held her wand out with the other. “Where are you headed again, dear?”

“Malfoy Manor.”

“Alright then. Let me just concentrate for a second.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Roger said slowly. “Isn’t Malfoy Manor-”

But what Malfoy Manor was, Draco never found out because before he knew it, Roger’s mother had spun around, and all of a sudden, it went dark.