Murmurs, Memories and Macarons
The Ministry of Magic was abuzz today; witches and wizards poured through the gilded doors of the building’s entrance and gathered in the vast Atrium, sitting upon chairs that were placed at the base of the newly erected golden fountain. Some individuals held wands, others held scrolls of parchment and others still held enchanted cameras. Last night, a breaking news bulletin had been announced - today, there was going to be a speech regarding the future of the Ministry of Magic. Even the golden characters of the fountain - a mermaid, unicorn, wizard, elf and goblin - were looking down at the base of their fountain to where a matching golden podium rested, eagerly awaiting what was to come.
Portraits of past Ministers that hung on the walls of the Atrium whispered amongst each other in fevered excitement. There was Wilhelmina Tuft, who had been Minister from 1948 to 1959. She had passed away from an ingesting an unknown allergen: Alihotsy-flavoured fudge. Known for her cheery disposition, she had been painted with a blush in her cheeks and kind eyes behind rectangular spectacles. Her hair had been graying but it had been coiffed into a beautiful updo, and she wore a deep red lipstick.
There was Millicent Bagnold, who had been Minister from 1980 to 1990. She had been self-acquitted for uttering the phrase “I assert our indeliable right to party,” after it had been announced that Lord Voldemort had disappeared after his attempted attack on an infant Harry Potter. She was dressed in a blazer that had large shoulder pads and her hair was wildly teased.
The other portrait that was locked in the discussion was Faris Spavin, who had been the longest serving Minister for Magic. He had served from 1865 to 1903, and left office at the age of one hundred and forty-seven. His wrinkled eyes widened at the sight of the gathered crowds below.
“Do you think a MACUSA representative is here? Perhaps the President has opted to intercede.”
“No,” said Millicent. “You can’t be the Minister unless you are a resident of the wizarding United Kingdom. And MACUSA needs their President, so they wouldn’t come here permanently - maybe a visit though.”
Wilhelmina adjusted her spectacles. “Maybe they’re doing to dissolve the Ministry,” she said softly. “There has been so much corruption in recent years, with Scrimgeour being murdered and Pius Thicknesses being Imperiused. Maybe it’s time for the people to govern themselves.”
“The members of our community turned on each other during a war,” said Spavin. “They’re not going to hold hands and sing together, you ninny. It’s going to take more than that to unite our nation and get along.”
“Maybe they’ll appoint a new Minister,” said Millicent. “Someone with strong leadership qualities and attention to detail, someone disciplined. What about Madame Hooch? She is still the flying instructor at Hogwarts is she not? She is as fierce as they come and from what I’ve overheard about how she referees her games, she could whip this place into shape right away.”
The other two portraits both rolled their eyes but fell into silence as the sound of a microphone crackling echoed throughout the Atrium. Some of the gathered witches and wizards put their hands over their ears at the sound. There was a pause and then a voice, female and light, started to speak.
“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” she began. “Please take your seats before the press release commences; additional chairs are located at the base of the fountain in the middle of the Atrium. Reporters should be seated in the press box located at the back of the gathered assembly. The press release will start in five minutes.”
Witches and wizards from the public, wanting to witness the mysterious press release first-hand, poured in through the public entrances of the Ministry of Magic. Once their wands had been verified by security personnel, they joined alongside their fellow curious witches and wizards, seating themselves in available chairs or using duplication spells to make more chairs available for everyone. After five minutes had passed, the crowd had grown to about three hundred people, and about ten reporters. Most of the press was from The Daily Prophet, but some were from international news publications. Whatever this was, it was going to be big.
“Thank you,” the voice said, echoing throughout the Atrium once more. “The Ministry of Magic thanks you for making time for attending this press release, having only stated a precursory announcement last evening. We understand that some of you have traveled far to be here and appreciate your efforts.”
As the voice spoke, Aurors Apparated to stand before the podium, causing a murmur amongst the crowd. The voice continued.
“It has been two weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of Lord Voldemort’s horrific reign. The press release today will discuss events relative to the Battle of Hogwarts. If this topic will be triggering, we ask that affected witches and wizards leave the Atrium. A full transcript of today’s press release will be given to you at the end of the event, so that you will remain informed. We would also like to caution that, as reporters are present, their camera flashes may be disruptive to anyone who is sensitive to light or may have light-based medical conditions. Those who may be affected may also wait outside of the Atrium and receive that full transcript at the end of today’s press release.” A pause as a few witches and wizards rose from their chairs and exited; the chairs vanished into thin air. The voice pressed on.
“Now, reporters, guests and patrons of the public, please applaud for the arrival of the Chief Warlock of our Wizengamot.”
The Chief Warlock, a witch named Tilly Salsbury, Apparated onto the stage amongst the applause. She wore the tradition plum robes as expected of a member of the Wizengamot and had a tall black hat upon her head, with a matching plum sash around the base. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, and had a clean makeup look that made her appear fresh, prepared. She was confident. Lifting her wand to her throat with her right hand, she gently pressed the tip against the skin and her voice was amplified throughout the Atrium.
“Thank you, everyone. We have called a press release today to discuss some changes that will be happening to the Ministry and some of our legislature. These changes pertain to the aftermath of the battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, some modernization of some of our dated laws and announcements from our new Minister for Magic.”
Shocked whispered broke out through the crowd. A new Minister? How could that be? The Minister had always been elected by the people for the people. There had been no announcements for candidacy, no public vote - how had this happened?
The Chief Warlock smiled as she continued on.
“In light of the recent end of the Second Wizarding War, I extend my sentiments of sincere condolences on behalf of the Ministry of Magic. To those that have lost loved ones in the Battle of Hogwarts, we are truly sorry for your loss and appreciate their bravery and great sacrifice. We, at the Ministry, recognize that our nation is still in a period of great mourning and while tradition states that there must be a public vote for appointing the Minister, we also understand that that decision may have been too mentally or emotionally taxing for some individuals at this time. Therefore, the members of the Wizengamot have been deliberating judiciously over the selection of the new Minister - and in light of recovering from our recent tragedies, the illustrious high court of our parliament has made a decision on behalf of the public. This Minister will serve our nation for six months, in an interim period that will coincide with our mourning and recovery. After six months, the public will be called to vote and could either re-elect our interim Minister, or appoint a new one. If re-elected by the people, the Minister for Magic will continue for all seven years of their proper term. If another candidate is selected, they will also bear their term of seven years, unless there are outlying circumstances. Will all attendees who are physically capable of doing so rise for the naming of our new Minister?”
There was a cacophony of scraping chairs on tile and the shuffling of feet as the gathered witches and wizards rose out of their chairs. The Chief Warlock addressed the crowd a final time.
“To all of the people and creatures that respect our governance, and to all who are gathered here today, it is the Wizengamot’s hope that this new interim Minister for Magic will help guide us out of this period of great mourning and into a new chapter of our collective lives. The interim Minister for Magic will govern over all of the wizarding United Kingdom, and uphold all of the responsibilities and laws expected of them. This candidate was chosen by the Wizengamot based on their extensive experience as an Auror for the Ministry, as well as being a coveted member of the Order of the Phoenix, so led by the late Albus Dumbledore. This candidate also fought valiantly at the Battle of Hogwarts and has proven to be a loyal and true ally to the great cause against Voldemort and his forces. And in recent weeks, they have successfully led a team of Aurors in detaining many of the existing, known Death Eaters. May they guide us with their experience, strength and wisdom. Esteemed guests, reporters, please welcome your newly-appointed Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.”
Chief Salsbury took a step back from the podium just as Kingsley Apparated in front of me. A protective bubble immediately formed across the small staged area, formed by the Aurors to protect their new Minister for Magic. The crowd erupted into cheers, some waved.
For the occasion, Kingsley had chosen robes of turquoise and gold with a heavily beaded kufi that sparkled under the camera flashes. He smiled warmly at the crowd, saying “Thank you,” softly, before crossing to his place behind the podium. He cleared his throat as he reached his left hand deep into a pocket of his robes and produced his wand. The tip pressed on a point of his neck that was just shy of his Adam’s apple. “Can everyone hear me?”
His deep voice, warm and comforting, reverberated off the Atrium walls. The crowd nodded. “Good,” Kingsley said. “That’s good.” He took a deep breath, composing himself, and started to speak.
“Thank you, everyone. I must admit that I did not expect to see so many people here for this press release. I am thankful that you all made the time to come and promise that it won’t take too long. The late Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of Hogwarts and one of my dear personal friends, once said to me that the most extraordinary things can come out of some unexpected situations. I stand before you today appointed by the Wizengamot as your interim Minister for Magic. I understand that I am the first Minister to come by my position in this way, and on the heels of the end of the Second Wizarding War, meaning that one of my first priorities as interim Minister will be gaining the people’s trust. I will work diligently to show you the person I am and to earn the wizarding world’s respect over the next six months. To some in our great community, I understand that my appointment to this position is considered undeserved and that there are other candidates who could have been elected in my place. To them, I extend the invitation to write to my office and explain your troubles, or what I could do to assuage your reluctance. I would like to think of myself as a fair and noble man, who is receptive to what the wizarding world has to say and I want all members of our community, people or creatures alike, to feel represented and heard in this new era of governance. We have been divided for so long. It is time we were united as an equitable nation with opportunities for all to thrive.”
Here, a few cheers broke out, causing the Minister to pause. He allowed it for a few moments before raising his right hand in a gesture that asked for silence. The people quieted and he continued.
“Now, dear members of our magical community, you may ask ‘What does being an equitable nation mean?’ In order to convey that I want to strive for equity in this nation, we are going to do something the Ministry has never done. It is my hope that if the Ministry takes on this new vision for the future, other businesses in the wizarding United Kingdom may want to follow suit. My first official act as Minister - ”
Here, he was interrupted by a few flashes of Daily Prophet cameras.
“ - will be conducting a job fair for those in our magical community that have not had traditional employment or who may want to work in the Ministry. This means that any creature, be they human, elf, goblin, centaur, merperson or giant - could apply to the Ministry for Magic at entry-level positions for the following departments: the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Improper Use of Magic Office, and the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Spells and Protective Objects Office. If individuals who obtain the position need accommodations, for example, an underwater office or an enlarged working space with durable furniture, please rest assured that the Ministry will create those comfortable work environments for those individuals prior to the start of their positions. This will also come with a continued zero-tolerance policy for workplace harassment, but more information on how the Ministry will be conducting this job fair and the expectations for all employees will become available to the public within the coming week.”
He stood back from the crowd as he heard some murmuring break out. It had been the talk of the magical community when Dumbledore had hired a centaur to be one of the Divination teachers at Hogwarts a few years prior. While most had said it was about time, there were some muttering that it was unseemly, and more than one angry owl had landed at both the Minister’s office and the Headmaster’s desk at Hogwarts School. But now that Kingsley had made his speech and declared equitable government opportunities, it was sure to set some tongues wagging. He had better dig into it, and drive the point home.
“As an aside to this first act - we can call it a subsection - there will be a slight change to the legislature regarding house-elf ownership. Between myself and the members of the Wizengamot, as well as the representatives of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, we have agreed that the Ministry will be introducing a mandatory wage for house-elves as of June 1st.”
Shocked gasps, some surprised smiles and a few rounds of applause.
“Families or businesses that continue to own house-elves must begin paying them a compensatory wage at the minimum amount that we mandate. If a family would like to maintain their house-elf but may not have the financial means to do so, we invite you to contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the coming weeks, as the Ministry has found some accessible subsidiary funding to support those in need. We are aware that change cannot happen in a day. We understand that there will be those in our community who will still hold prejudices and preconceived notions - and we are expecting a grand adjustment period. But please understand, my friends, that this is why I was appointed into this position. To make positive change and help us rebuild. Too much has happened in the last few decades to pit us against each other - but a nation divided is a nation that will fail. We must do better in order to thrive, rebuilding together as a united nation. We must learn how to stand with our fellow man, woman, or creature and support one another in a symbiotic relationship. This will be the only way forward as the magical community that makes up the United Kingdom.”
There was a large round of applause now and cheering, the loudest of all coming from the goblin and elf depicted in the oversized gold fountain - they knew what this kind of employment representation meant for others of their kind. A chance at a true life. Kingsley had the decency to look humbled as the cameras flashed once more. One of The Daily Prophet reporters raised a hand to ask a question, but an Auror guarding at the front shook their head. “Questions at the end,” they promised. The reporter nodded and went back to snapping photographs.
When the crowd had quieted, Kingsley looked down from the podium to gaze at the gathering seated below.
“Yes, my friends, change is coming in our great nation. Let’s be excited.”
He cleared his throat.
“But that is not all I’m announcing today. My second act as Minister for Magic will be dedicated to the reconstruction and restoration of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. To many of us, the beloved institution was our second home for a time, and we owe her for our foundational education, life lessons and the experiences we came to know inside her walls. Unfortunately, as a result of the Battle, much of the school was badly damaged. Hogwarts School is an equitable educational institution and provides spare resources for students-in-need, such as cauldrons, protective gloves, extra copies of textbooks, crystal phials and more. In addition, much of the school’s own resources, like stored potion ingredients, textiles, or archived scrolls were also lost in the Battle, or damaged beyond repair. Therefore, whether you would like to volunteer your time to the physical reconstruction of the school, or if you would like to make a charitable contribution to the fundraiser that the Ministry of Magic has set into place as of this morning, we would greatly appreciate either effort. A full list of needed items will be posted in the main lobby of the Ministry, but will also be sent out via owl to the majority of the homes in our wizarding nation. If your place of business creates any of the required items, and you wish to donate some resources on behalf of your company, we invite you to owl in and one of our information witches at the front desk would be more than happy to assist you with further directions on how to appropriately ship your products to Hogwarts School.”
“At the end of the day, I understand that rebuilding Hogwarts to her former glory may seem daunting. But the alternative of seeing her reduced to rubble and ash is a pain that many of us in the wizarding community cannot bear. If we take on the challenge of volunteering our time or donating to the cause together, we will be able to bring life back into her hallowed halls. Future students deserve to have the best magical education possible, and current students deserve to have a school to return to, one that is free from all of the negativity and damage inflicted the year prior. They deserve to have a fresh start and the space to create new, happy memories.”
Kingsley adjusted the kufi on the top of his head and stood tall. The crowd waited with baited breath; some had tears in their eyes at the thought of the school in ruin. Some, who had physically been present at the Battle, closed their eyes with pained expressions - a pain that Kingsley recognized all too well.
“I know I’ve taken much of your time this morning and I thank you for being patient with me,” Shacklebolt continued. “But, if I could have your attention for a few more moments, I would like to announce my third act as interim Minister - I have commissioned several artists to paint portraits of the fallen from the Battle of Hogwarts. These portraits, once reconstruction is completed, will be hung along the walls of the entry staircase leading up to the Great Hall, so that students, professors and visitors alike will be greeted warmly as they enter the school. Once the portraits have been installed, we encourage the families of the fallen to come and visit the portraits of their loved ones as often as they wish. Let us honour those that we have lost and cherish their memory through the preservation of their spirit, character and life in these portraits.”
Kingsley used his right hand to wipe tears from his eyes and set his jaw, determined. With a deliberate slowness, he lifted the tip of his wand from his throat and raised his left hand into the air above him, pointing his wand up to the ceiling. Oh yes, he would remember his fallen friends, lost in battle; Remus, Nymphadora, Fred Weasley…
“Always,” he said softly. The tip of his wand illuminated in silent vigil, a tribute to those who had lost their lives on May 2nd, 1998.
There was a moment of silence and then -
The only sound that could be heard was the gentle scraping of chairs on the hardwood once more as the gathered witches and wizards rose from their seats. One by one, they all raised their wands up to the ceiling, tips alight, joining their new Minister in his grief. Even the golden wizard from the fountain had raised his shining wand to the sky, his expression solemn.
It was this picture that was splattered across the majority of the front page of The Daily Prophet the next morning. Kingsley Shacklebolt; interim Minister, in the shadow of the fountain wizard, illuminated by the light at the tip of his wand. The crowd’s hands were depicted in the lower half of the shot, with their wands also extended upward, their tips glowing. It was a strong message, one that conveyed to the entire wizarding world that the magical community of the United Kingdom was a unified front after a shared loss. Like a baby phoenix at rebirth emerging from the ashes, the nation would grow from this grief together and rise out of their pain into a new future as one.
Draco Malfoy skimmed over the front page article with his cadet-grey eyes, taking in the photograph. Throughout the article, the writer had outlined buzzwords in a bolder font so that they caught one’s eye even more - ‘Albus Dumbledore’, ‘Battle of Hogwarts’, ‘Voldemort’.
Malfoy found it interesting that the article had summarized the part about the house-elves getting wages as ‘new reform in the luxury space’, implying that only the upper class of the wizarding community and well-funded businesses were going to have to deal with this issue. In Kingsley’s speech, which had been printed in full on the fourth page of the Prophet, he had clearly stated that subsidiary funds were going to be given to families who had perhaps inherited their house elves and didn’t have the financial means to pay them. How interesting of the Daily Prophet to twist the interim Minister’s words already. Then again, twisting words is what gave The Daily Prophet their business - others needed to have something to base their opinions on.
A poll on the third page of The Daily Prophet asked the public to respond to Kingsley being appointed interim Minister for Magic, the first of his kind. As Draco watched on, the numbers continued to fluctuate. Witches or wizards could tap their wands to the newspaper poll, producing a live vote. Unsurprisingly, 80% of the voters favoured Shacklebolt, with 15% being against, and 5% being undecided. Kingsley was a strong Auror of exceptional skill and had always been known as one of Dumbledore’s closest acquaintances. Having fought in the Battle, himself, was sure to give him an extra edge over some of the other candidates - although the Ministry had not disclosed who their other potential candidates had been.
The blond wizard sat in the front of Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, directly in the path of a large sunbeam that poured through the top panes of the shop window. Items filled the rest of the glass display, including towers of teacups, stacked artificial macarons that were replicas of the real things, and an enchanted copper French press that poured a seemingly endless stream of coffee into a large mug, adorned with the Madame Puddifoot’s logo. The curtains that framed the windows on either side were pink with white lace trim, and the walls of the shop were cream with little pink rosettes. If Malfoy admitted it to himself, this shop was reminiscent of Umbridge’s office from fifth year and it unnerved him a little. But he had come here to relax this morning and aside from the couple at the back of the shop that was all loved up, and the two other patrons who were currently ordering at the counter, the shop was empty. It was nice to come when they first opened.
As it was the middle of May, the weather had been warm enough for Draco to wear a simple charcoal grey button down, black trousers, and a smart belt with matching black shoes. The expected rise in the day’s temperature made him want to roll up his sleeves, but the wizard ensured they stayed cuffed at his wrists. His very quick trial over the last two weeks had clearly shown that he was repentant of any part he had to play in the Second Wizarding War - but people were still unsure of the boy wizard, the unlucky one who was forced to make all the wrong choices in order to ensure his family’s safety and do the Dark Lord’s bidding. It was bad enough that they looked at him on the street as if he were some type of magical beast, ogling and whispering to their companions. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of staring at his Dark Mark, too.
When Malfoy turned to the fifth page of The Daily Prophet, he saw his own face staring back at him. The photograph had been taken on the last day of the trial; Draco looked numb while his mother, who had her arm protectively around her son’s shoulders, looked relieved, if a little tired. Unlike the patriarch of the family, Lucius, who had been immediately arrested after the Battle of Hogwarts, Narcissa and Draco had been led to trial over the last two weeks, explaining all that they knew about the Dark side of the Second Wizarding War and the parts they had to play. Malfoy allowed the memories of the last two weeks to turn over in his mind…
“So, you’re saying, Mrs. Malfoy, that you lied to Lord Voldemort about Harry Potter being dead? Why would you do that?”
Draco had sat on the sidelines of the court chamber, beside an Auror. His mother sat in a simple wooden chair in the middle of the Wizengamot court chamber, with a regal posture that did not allow her back to touch the back of the chair. She had her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands on her lap, her head held high. She was not afraid.
“I could feel his heartbeat,” his mother had explained to the Chief Warlock. “I knew Potter wasn’t dead. And knowing if Draco was alive, at the castle, was enough for me. I knew that lying to the Dark Lord meant death, but I didn’t fear the end if it meant that I knew my son was safe.”
“Mr. Potter, can you confirm these allegations?”
All eyes turned their gaze onto the Chosen One, who sat at the very back of the courtroom. He looked tired but had cleaned up to come to the proceedings that day, wearing a black dress shirt and trousers. Some of his minor cuts and scrapes were already healing from the Battle.
It had certainly been a shock for Draco to see his former enemy standing in the corridor that led up to the courtroom that morning. His first reaction had been to demand what Potter was doing there at all, but he had stayed silent and simply leaned across the wall opposite the Chosen One as the Auror beside him kept careful watch.
“They’re questioning your mother first, yes?” Potter had asked after a minute or two of uncomfortable silence. Draco nodded in response, not having the words to express his conflicted emotions. After a few moments of Potter waiting for an answer, Malfoy watched the dark-haired wizard sigh. The Chosen One scuffed one of his dress shoes along the floor, making a small squeak, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black trousers.
“I’m here to help you,” Potter admitted. “You saved my life when Ron, Hermione and I were captured by not initially telling the Death Eaters it was me in disguise. You bought us time. And I’m here to honour your mother’s bravery. There’s some good in the both of you, Malfoy, whether you believe it or not. And although Ginny thinks I’m daft for believing in you, and while I don’t fully understand it myself, I just do. So, if they ask me to confirm any of your testimony, I’m here to offer whatever I can if it will help your cause, and your mother’s.”
Draco had felt a lump form in his throat. “That’s very kind of you, Potter. I don’t deserve it.”
“Maybe you don’t,” Harry had conceded. “But only time will tell if I’ve made the mistake of advocating for you. If you keep your freedom, rather than going to Azkaban, how you use it is up to you. It has nothing to do with me.”
Malfoy had actually found the heart to joke with his former enemy. “When did you turn into some wise sage?”
“When I died and came back,” Potter had replied, his tone casual. “Returning put a lot of things into perspective for me.”
The members of the Wizengamot watched as Potter rose from his seat at the back of the courtroom and walked forward until he stood at Narcissa’s side.
“Yes, Chief Warlock,” he had replied. “I had died, had seen the world of the in-between and had been offered the choice: to continue on in death, or to return to life now that my body and my soul were entirely my own. I chose my life and Narcissa had been sent over to verify if I was dead. She had placed her hand on my chest. She felt my chest rise, felt my heartbeat. And when she asked if her son was still alive, I did my best to nod my head, without letting Lord Voldemort see that I had lived. If you want further proof, I would have no issue with providing a memory vial for you for a Pensieve.”
The Wizengamot had asked for what Potter offered and sure enough, the entire courtroom watched Harry’s memories: of being in the in-between, speaking to Dumbledore, coming back to life on the floor of the Forbidden Forest and Narcissa, hovering almost protectively over him, asking after Draco. Then, Narcissa had stood up, turned to face the Dark Lord head on and announced with one word, “Dead.”
Draco thought back to the first day of his own trial. What had initially started off as questions about his father and how much Draco had witnessed as a child quickly evolved to the infamous question: “Now, Mr. Malfoy, how did you become inducted as a Death Eater? Was it a choice? Please, tell us every detail you can remember.”
Draco had sucked in a shaky breath. Being in the center of the courtroom, on the chair, in front of the entire fifty-member Wizengamot, had been a little jarring. But he had been ready for this moment for a long time, ready for the chance to tell the truth.
“It was the summer before my sixth year,” Draco had begun. I had my friends Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini over, and we were enjoying an afternoon in the gardens at the Manor. One of the house-elves had just brought us tea when there were two loud cracks and both Mr. Parkinson and Mr. Zabini Apparated in front of us. They told Blaise and Pansy that they had to leave with them right away, and warned me to be careful. The next thing I knew, they were gone, and I was seeing black plumes of smoke hurtling through the sky. They Apparated down to the front gates of the Manor and from my place in the gardens, I could see a group of about five Death Eaters, one being my aunt Bellatrix, and then the Dark Lord stood at the front of the group. With a touch of one finger to the gate, it opened, which was surprising because we had so many wards at our home to protect us. I quickly ran inside, through a secret back entrance, and found my parents in the great room of the Manor, nervously pacing. When I asked them what was going on, my mother quickly told me to speak only when spoken to and to keep my gaze on the floor out of respect unless the Dark Lord asked me to look into his eyes. My father begged me not to say anything stupid that could get us killed. I didn’t know what was about to happen. When the Dark Lord and his followers entered the Manor, they found us in the great room and he immediately sat down in my father’s ornate high back chair. I had cast my gaze down, so that all I could see was his exposed bare feet just peeking from underneath his billowing robes. My aunt had laughed, a deranged and disjointed sound, and said to my mother that she was so happy to see her sister and asked why hadn’t they had tea recently… Can you imagine, she was asking after tea when the Dark Lord was in my family home?”
Here, Draco had felt the quick bite of anger and choked it back before he continued.
“The Dark Lord confessed that he was ashamed of our family, but primarily of my father, Lucius. He had given my father a task, to collect a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, about Potter. Said about knowing how neither can live while the other survived - regardless, he said that my father was a horrible excuse of a Death Eater and that he hid behind his money to give him power. He threatened to kill my father for having failed. He said our only redeeming quality was that Bellatrix was a member of our family, and that she had killed our cousin, Sirius Black, during the skirmish in the Department of Mysteries. Killing a highly-coveted member of the Order of the Phoenix was sure to be a blow to the Order in and of itself, but the reality of murdering Potter’s godfather gave the Dark Lord much satisfaction. He reveled in the idea of Potter suffering at the hands of one of his disciples. From then on, it got worse.”
When Draco’s throat tightened with emotion, the same way it had when talking with Potter, the Chief Warlock had paused and offered Malfoy a five-minute recess. They adjourned. When they returned and Malfoy had taken his seat at the center of the courtroom once more, he had composed himself and was ready to press on. Draco had told the Wizengamot of how Lord Voldemort had forced him to his knees with wordless, wandless magic and had told him that he would be taking the Dark Mark to redeem his family’s reputation. Draco had twisted and squirmed under the pressure but had not been able to rise. Lord Voldemort had stepped forward and cupped Draco’s chin tenderly before wrenching the boy’s face upwards so that he could gaze into the eyes of the Dark Lord, himself. The serpentine, cold, red eyes.
“I am a merciful Lord, Draco,” Voldemort had sneered. “I am not going to kill your family right away - I am giving you a chance. You do want to see your parents live, don’t you, Draco? You don’t want them to die because of your actions, do you? Take the Mark, young Malfoy, and promise yourself to me,” he whispered. “Promise that you will do my bidding and that you will follow in my footsteps - and I will let them live.”
Draco told of how he had continued to struggle against the invisible bonds that trapped him. He had snarled through gritted teeth, “I’ve seen what you’ve done to my father. I refuse to become one of you.” Draco had continued on to say that in response to his refusal, the Dark Lord had struck Draco’s face so forcibly that his cheek and lip had split open and he had toppled over onto his right side, his temple hitting the hardwood floor and causing his vision to blur. A loud ringing had begun in his ears as his mother screamed his name and for mercy for her son. Lucius had said nothing in his son’s defense.
His delusional, twisted aunt had cackled as his vision refocused. And when Draco could see clearly once more, he had a view of the pooling of Voldemort’s robes around his feet, like black ink. The Dark Lord had moved to stand beside Draco’s head and had turned the younger’s head to stare up at him using the side of his bare, soiled foot. Malfoy had fought the urge to retch, for he couldn’t move away, couldn’t do anything. He was trapped. Then, the Dark Lord had leaned down and spoken to the young wizard in a menacing hiss, their faces inches apart.
“I am giving you one more chance, boy,” the Dark Lord had threatened. “Take. The. Mark. Be on the right side of history and join us in power, Draco, or watch your parents die.”
When Draco hadn’t immediately responded, Voldemort had snapped his fingers once. With an immense force, his parents were immediately pushed to their knees under the same wordless, pain-inflicting power that bound Draco. Malfoy told the court of how he had watched the veins pop in their necks, blood vessels pop in their eyes. They had both screamed soundlessly, trapped in their torment. He told the court of how he had made eye contact with his mother in that moment - and her eyes had begged him not to give in, to be strong. But Draco couldn’t watch his mother die - and as much as he despised his father, he couldn’t be responsible for that fate, either. And so, as tears had rolled down his cheeks, Malfoy had done his best to nod under Voldemort’s restraints. The Dark Lord had hissed, a dark grin on his face, and then he had reached for Draco’s left arm and exposed the bare skin.
Bellatrix, of course, was giddy about the whole affair and had been rambling in her own delusional way.
“Yes, that’s it, Draco. You’ll be just like Auntie Bella now, and we will have so much fun torturing Mudbloods and Squibs and blood traitors together! You will never forget it, Draco darling, the first time you kill someone - seeing the light leave their eyes and knowing that it’s because of your power - it’s like a drug. There’s nothing like it.”
The Dark Lord had pressed the tip of his wand to Draco’s left arm, and the searing pain that followed had caused Draco’s vision to go white. He heard his mother screaming, and heard the sounds of agony pouring from his own throat, before he passed out from the pain. The next thing he could remember was that he had woken up in his own bed to his mother wiping a cold cloth across his clammy brow. Draco told the Wizengamot of how Lucius had grimaced at the foot of the bed when he saw that his son was awake.
Lucius had bellowed, angry beyond reason. “How dare you faint in front of the Dark Lord! What do you want to do, embarrass us further?”
Narcissa had addressed his father without even looking in his direction. Her tone had been cold, full of quiet anger and Draco could see the fury seething in his mother’s eyes. It dripped into her voice as she spoke.
“How dare you speak to him that way,” she said quietly. “You know how long we tried to have a child, Lucius, and when Draco was born, you swore that you would stop at nothing to protect our son. He was the only thing we lived for. And now, tonight, not only were our lives in jeopardy but his as well, based on your stupid and foolish actions. You’re the one who failed to please the Dark Lord. You did not protect your son - you threw him to the wolves as a sacrifice, hoping that the Dark Lord would take his anger out on our son instead of you. Because of your decisions, and the choices you have made, Lucius, our child had to choose to take the Dark Mark at sixteen or watch his parents die. We might as well have sentenced him to death. He cannot do this. He cannot live this life, the life you have lived. What if the Dark Lord orders him to murder someone, Lucius? Do you think that our son, our brilliant boy, deserves to have blood on his hands because of you?”
“Of course he’s ready for this,” Lucius had replied. “He has to have a thick skin in this world, Narcissa, and a little murder on his hands is - ”
Narcissa had lifted her free hand into the air once, flicking her fingers. Lucius’ mouth had sealed shut, lips fused together. This was the only time that Narcissa looked back at her husband, a satisfied smirk on her face. When she addressed her husband, she glared.
“If you really believe that our son is capable of murder, Lucius, you are lost to us,” she had said. “You have condemned him to a life of service for a Dark Lord that wants to destroy the wizarding world and all creatures in it. And I’m not lost on the irony, Lucius - I know that I believe in pureblood supremacy and for a while, when we were young, I, too, saw the value in the Dark Lord’s ideology. But now that it has grown into another impending war, now that it involves our son… I don’t want to do this anymore. So, when I release this muting charm, I want you to go into our bedroom, pack some of your things and move into the guest suite of our home. I don’t want to see you, or hear you when I am present in the Manor. The only time that we will be in the same room together is if the Dark Lord calls on us, for we must present a united front. However, Lucius, I will also warn you of this.”
Here, Narcissa stopped wiping Draco’s brow and stood up from her son’s bedside to face her husband.
“If you continue to speak ill about our son, I will use a Severing Charm to cut your throat so quickly that you won’t even know you’re dying from asphyxiating on your own blood. And if you do not help me figure out a way to save our son from the fate that awaits him if he continues down this path, I may murder you myself. Because if the Dark Lord ever gives me a choice to spare a life, I’m choosing our son. He is the only thing that matters to me, even if he no longer matters to you.”
With another flick of her fingers, the muting charm had disappeared, and Lucius had stuttered over his words, trying to fix something that was irreparably broken. When no adequate words were found, he left the room quickly, leaving nothing but silence in his wake. Draco told the court of how his mother had resumed sitting on his bedside and had run her fingers through his hair. Her tone was soft, and sweet, as if she was soothing him to sleep like she had when he was little.
“You brave boy,” she had cooed. “You very foolish, very brave boy. You didn’t have to sacrifice yourself for us.” She had leaned forward to kiss his forehead. Draco had opened his mouth to talk but his voice cracked and pain seared his throat from screaming. “Don’t try to speak, you need your rest, darling,” Narcissa said. “I’m going to go and make sure your father is packing his things - and then I’m going to pay Severus Snape a visit… but I’ll be back soon.”
The last thing Draco had told the court was that he now understood that his mother had gone to Severus Snape that evening with her aunt Bellatrix as a witness, to ask Snape to take the Unbreakable Vow in order to protect him from the Dark Lord. Draco hadn’t understood in the coming days when he had heard, not wanting Snape’s formidable presence constantly looming over him. But now that the war was over, he understood everything. Snape’s actions had truly saved his life, in more ways than one.
Draco was snapped out of his reverie by a shadow passing over the fifth page of The Daily Prophet. He could tell by the way it was still that it was caused by a person standing in the way of the window’s sunlight, rather than a cloud passing over the sun outside. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee from his cup before speaking.
“If you’re going to watch me, that’s fine, but I don’t need to feel your breath on my neck,” he said, miffed.
The voice that answered was a thick Cockney, of a lower male register.
“Apologies, Mr. Malfoy, but you understand that I’m under strict orders to be within six feet of your person when able, as per your community service agreement. Someone needs to keep an eye on you and make sure that you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing.”
An Auror, by the last name of Jacobs, was confident as he spoke and if the last twenty-four hours were any indication, he was going to be taking his post very seriously. Last night, at the end of the first day of Draco’s new torment, the only time the Auror had given him space was when he stood guard outside of the front doors of the Malfoy Manor while Draco and his mother had slept. His own mother had been given a ‘guard dog’ of her own, who had also taken post at the front door as the night had carried on.
Draco kept his tone exact, calculated. It was a warning that was not to be trifled with.
“Exactly,” he retorted. “Within six feet, not six inches. Now, back up.” His words were a command, not a request.
Jacobs didn’t move. “May I remind you, Mr. Malfoy, that if you cause any physical harm to an Auror, it’s straight to Azkaban for you. No community service, no second chances. Right into a grimy cell beside your worm of a father.”
That was it. Draco uncrossed his right knee from his left leg and slowly folded up his newspaper. He turned in his chair and stood up with a deliberate steadiness, a slowness, that was meant to intimidate. And he could tell, looking into the beady eyes of this portly man with a salt-and-pepper shoddy beard and slightly receding hairline, that Jacobs wasn’t used to being addressed this way and that the Auror’s bravado had almost immediately vanished. Draco’s fingers itched to grab his wand on reflex, but thought better of it. His 6’2 frame was slightly taller than that of his ‘guard dog’ but he was more fit, more muscled. And after the Second Wizarding War, he had vowed to never be intimidated by anything again. He was going to be calling the shots in his own life, and would cower to nobody.
“May I remind you, Jacobs, that I’ve done my research. Before you arrived yesterday morning, I had some of my connections do some digging on you. Are you curious to know what they found?”
Confusion replaced by fear glazed over Jacobs’ eyes. “Go on, then,” he said.
Draco smirked. “They found out that you’ve been seeing a pretty little thing from the Improper Use of Magic Office - and have the images to prove it. Rather compromising, too, seeing as the hidden camera in your office caught her on her knees. What was she doing, tying your shoes below your desk?”
Jacobs started to turn purple but said nothing. Malfoy continued, goading the Auror further.
“She’s, what, ten years younger than you? Fifteen? She’s certainly not the same age as your doting wife, Maude, is she?”
“Are you threatening me - ?” Jacobs began but Malfoy cut him off by lifting a palm, bringing him to silence.
“Oh, it’s not a threat, Jacobs,” Malfoy began, chuckling softly. “I am making you a promise. You should know that, if nothing else, I am good on my word. So, if you dare to speak one more slanderous word of my family or my past again, I promise you that an anonymous owl will be sent to the Ministry, your personal life will be plastered all over the front page of The Daily Prophet, you’ll be disgraced and both you and your little waif of a side piece will lose your jobs - entirely. If I were you, I would watch my mouth.”
He picked up his copy of The Daily Prophet from the table and walked around Jacobs to the front counter of Madame Puddifoot’s. The sales witch behind the counter was the same one who had served him the coffee a few minutes prior. Draco supposed that she was of similar age to his mother, with some grey wisps visible amongst her blonde pinned hair and some fine wrinkles starting at the corners of her eyes. She smiled at him kindly as he approached the glass-covered display counter, and wiped her hands on a cloth tucked into her apron. Her name tag said “Doreen; ask me about my favourite teas!”
“Done with your coffee, already? What else could I get you, Mr. Malfoy?”
“May I get a box of ten assorted macarons to go, please,” he asked. “My mother loves your little sweets and I’m afraid she hasn’t had the opportunity to have them lately.”
Doreen grinned. “Of course, sir, coming right up.” As she bustled away, Draco heard Jacobs muttering something under his breath from where he stood exactly six feet away from the blond wizard.
“What was that?”
“N-nothing, sir,” Jacobs replied. “I was only saying - ”
Draco smirked. “Relax, Jacobs. I trust that my boundaries are clear, now. Although I don’t like the idea of having a watchdog, I understand why you’re necessary and I will do my part to show I am a good citizen and repentant. Besides, we are going to be seeing a lot of each other so I can’t hate you too early on, can I?”
This response clearly caught the Auror off-guard and he sputtered some more as Draco turned his attention back to Doreen, who had returned with a filled box of macarons.
“There you are, sir. The total will be four Galleons, six Sickles and twenty-four Knuts.”
Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out the change, counting it out easily and placing it into Doreen’s open palm. “There you are.” She handed over the box of macarons from her other hand and pocketed the change.
“Before you go, Mr. Malfoy, may I say one thing,” she asked, lowering her voice to a soft whisper. Draco nodded. Doreen tilted her head to the right, motioning for him to come around to the far side of the counter so they could have a little more privacy. Draco listened. When they were able to stand only a few inches apart, Draco was surprised when Doreen reached forward and clasped his free hand with both of hers.
“Mr. Malfoy, I have been working here for twenty-five years,” she began. “And I noticed when you started coming into the shop, first with your parents and then when you got older, on your school Hogsmeade trips. Now, you may have never noticed me and why would you? I’m getting to be an old woman and I’m a sales clerk, besides. To you, I was a nobody.”
She patted the top of his hand and chuckled to herself.
“But I will say that even though there was the occasional time where I witnessed you being unkind to your classmates, I never believed that you were a bad little boy. Rather - misunderstood. And based on your recollections in your testimony, I’m sorry that your father didn’t protect you more than he should have. I apologize if anything I’ve said has offended you.”
Her words of sentiment caught Draco off-guard. This woman, who had clearly observed and learned more of him than he could ever know of her, was wise and seemed kind. Her intentions seemed honest. It wasn’t her fault that she had somehow read him like a book. How could he be mad at her for her words?
“No, that does make sense. Thank you, Doreen,” he said quietly.
“I kept up with your testimony over the last two weeks, young man. And I want you to know that even though you have challenges ahead of you - particularly this new one with that burly bodyguard of yours, or whatever he is - there are those in this community that see that you were trying to survive through your circumstances, most of which you could not control. And we are hoping that you will find a new path, one that will be bountiful and peaceful - one that will bring you everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Draco cleared his throat. He was surprised that he was getting emotional at her words.
“Thank you for saying that, Doreen. It seems like you and yours are the only ones that do believe in me, besides my own mother, of course.” He pulled his hand out from in between her own. “Could I come back and visit sometime, actually?”
Doreen smiled, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes becoming more pronounced. “Mr. Malfoy, you are welcome as a guest of Madame Puddifoot’s anytime.”
“No, I meant - to chat with you.”
His words made Doreen smile even bigger. “Oh, you dear boy, yes, of course. If you’d like your mother to come along as well, I’m sure your guard dog over there won’t mind.”
Draco smirked. “My mother has one, too. Part of our new community service bit and all that.”
Doreen smiled knowingly.
“Don’t make it easy work for them, you know. They think they’re high and mighty up in the Ministry and of course, we’re to respect them. But you know what they say about the mighty - the higher they are - ”
“The farther they can fall,” Draco finished. “I’ll make sure to keep him on his toes, Doreen. Thank you again, for your kind words today. I’ll make sure to share them with my mother, she’ll be so pleased to hear that someone is on our side. And thank you for these,” he added, holding up the box of macarons. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Please don’t tell anyone I was this nice to you today,” he teased. “Although I want to revamp my public image with this whole community service thing, it doesn’t need to be immediate. I can still be the villain in some people’s stories.”
Doreen laughed softly. “Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Malfoy.”
With that, Draco Vanished the box of macarons for his mother and turned to face Jacobs. “Shall we go then?”
Auror Jacobs was clearly displeased. “Yes, by your leisure, Mr. Malfoy, so long as you are good and ready. We need to go to Gringotts to speak about your family trust.”
“Oh no, Jacobs, that’s where you’re wrong. We must go somewhere else, first. Somewhere where neither of us will be welcomed warmly. In fact, many people there will want us dead.”
He tightened his tie and cast a look around the tea shop one last time before stepping through the front door. Jacobs followed behind him dutifully and they fell into step together as they entered the cobbled street. The blond rolled his eyes, feeling like a toddler being chased by a nursemaid.
“Why would we go somewhere where people would want us dead?” Jacobs asked.
“Because,” Malfoy answered simply. “It’s where my father is. We have to see if he will give me permission to access the trust. Not that he has real control over it right now, of course, with being locked up and all. If he won’t, my mother will.” He turned to face Jacobs and ran his right hand through his bright blond hair. “Be brave, Jacobs,” he said. “We’re about to go to Azkaban.”