The Encounter
After Malfoy’s surprising request, Jacobs had insisted that they go to the Ministry of Magic. Using the Floo system near South Hogsmeade, they traveled to the Leaky Cauldron and passed through the wizarding bar into the streets of Muggle London. Having never taken this entrance to the Ministry of Magic before, Draco tried to hide his confusion and disdain for stepping into a graffiti-covered red phone booth.
With a sneer that would make his father proud, Draco’s mouth curled downward with near-disgust. “Are we sure this is the right one?”
“Of course it’s the right one,” Jacobs retorted. “Some Muggle teenagers got around to decorating last night, it seems. No matter. Someone will come and spell it away at some point today. If they’re smart, they’d use some sort of mild repellant charm so that it doesn’t happen again. But then again, it’s difficult to do that and not expose our kind, isn’t it?”
Draco grimaced but did not verbally respond. He watched Jacobs take a Muggle coin out of his pocket and put it into a slot in the main machine. When Jacobs lifted the telephone to his ear, Draco could a faint, dull and consistent tone coming out of the earpiece. The Auror then lifted a large finger to the rotary dial, where he selected the numbers ‘62442’, spelling the word ‘M-A-G-I-C’. An automated voice of a witch replaced the dull tone in the telephone.
“Welcome to the visitor’s entrance of the Ministry of Magic,” the voice said, professional yet cheery. “In order to meet your needs, please state your purpose for entering the Ministry.”
Jacobs spoke into the receiver of the telephone. “I, Auror Willick Jacobs, am bringing wizard, Draco Malfoy, into the Ministry today to request a meeting with the Head Auror.”
There was a pause as the system processed Jacob’s request. The feminine voice spoke again: “I heard: a meeting with the Head Auror. If this is correct, please dial 1.”
Jacobs dialed ‘1’. There was another pause and then the voice spoke a final time.
“You have dialed 1. We have processed your request correctly. Please take the visitor’s badges that are produced for you from the coin return slot and place them in a visible position on your robes or clothing. When you arrive at the main lobby, please proceed to the security personnel, who will verify your identity with your wands. We hope you enjoy your visit with the Ministry of Magic. Thank you and have a great day.”
As the voice had been instructing, two purple-and-gold visitor badges had appeared with a metallic clattering sound in the coin return slot. Malfoy took one out and twirled it absent-mindedly in between his fingers. It was smooth and the size reminded him of the ‘Potter Stinks’ badges he had made in fourth year. The purple-and-gold design featured the word ‘Visitor’ in beautiful, looping script and had a faint Ministry of Magic logo behind it. He fixed it to the collar of his black dress shirt. Jacobs fixed his to the lapel of his robes.
Before Draco could ask what they could do next, the floor of the phone vibrated. With a mechanical groan, the internal chamber of the phone booth began to lower them down into the lobby of the Ministry, like a lift. Draco kept his face blank as they descended, Muggle London disappearing from above them and the Ministry appearing at their feet just as quickly. People were Apparating or Floo-ing into the main lobby, and teemed throughout the building like fish in a stream, ebbing and flowing all together. The phone booth made contact with the floor of the lobby and the doors opened of their own accord. Draco stepped out behind Jacobs and smoothed down his shirt. He spoke to the Auror above the crowd’s hustle and bustle. “Right, so the front desk?”
They joined the multiple queues of witches and wizards waiting to get their wands verified, choosing to be in opposite lines. Draco tried to ignore the stares as best he could and maintained a strong stance. They reached the front desk at the same time and while Jacobs handed his wand over immediately, Draco hesitated. The security wizard that stood before him was older, probably in his fifties, and sported a large mustache that had ornate curls at the tips. The security wizard glared at Malfoy beneath bushy eyebrows, fixing him with a stare that conveyed that he knew exactly who Draco was and that he could care less about the Slytherin than the dirt under his shoes. The security wizard cleared his throat and held out his hand.
“Your wand,” he demanded. Draco handed it over. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Jacobs had already made it through the process, as well as two other people behind him. Great.
The security guard took out his own wand and cast a levitation charm on Draco’s. Having only just reacquired it from Potter, who had used it in the final battle against Voldemort, it felt like a piece of Draco was home. Now, as it dangled in mid-air in front of the security wizard, the blond felt his chest tighten momentarily at the thought of it being taken again.
The security guard had a gruff voice, with a bit of an Irish lilt. “What is your purpose in the Ministry today, Mr. Malfoy?”
More people passed through security clearance. Draco kept his head held high. He watched various charms and hexes run over his wand; bursts of red, yellow and blue light, and threads of white, green, and purple magic wrapping around the wood. This security wizard was going to put out all the stops on him. No matter. He could handle it.
“I have a meeting with the Head Auror,” Draco replied. “Along with Auror Jacobs, my assigned surveillance personnel.”
“I heard you were assigned community service,” the security wizard replied. “I fail to see how a meeting with the Head Auror has anything to do with your sentencing. Unless you’re trying to get out of it.”
Draco internally bristled. “I was very lucky that the Wizengamot spared both myself and my mother,” he replied simply. “Now, with all due respect, sir, your job is to verify my wand and identify who I am, not to pass judgment on the reasons why I’m here. It’s clear by our interaction that you not only know who I am, but you have preconceived ideas of who I am - which is fine. But instead of running my wand through exhaustive testing, and making me wait considerably longer than everyone else - ”
Here, he looked around pointedly to show that multiple witches and wizards who had reached the front desk after he had were already through the security area.
“ - I suggest that you return my verified wand and let me pass.”
The security wizard sneered. “Is that a threat, Mr. Malfoy?”
“No,” Draco said. “But I’m sure that the Head Auror doesn’t like to be kept waiting. And I’d like to start my community service as quickly as possible. So, if you wouldn’t mind.”
He held out his hand, palm up, and waited. The security wizard looked over his shoulder to where Jacobs stood on the other side of the front desk. “What was the last thing we said to each other at the Hog’s Head last Thursday, Willick?”
Draco’s inner anger boiled. Was the security wizard really testing Jacobs for signs of being an imposter? Or under the influence of a Confundus or Imperius charm?
The Auror’s eyes narrowed, realizing the intention behind the question. He answered simply, but did not seem to like it one bit. “We said we would split bets on the Chudley Cannons game,” he replied. “Them vs. The Holyhead Harpies.” He held up his wand to show the security wizard. “Unless you think your colleague can’t do their job, my wand has been verified, Reggie. I’m who I say I am and I’m here with Mr. Malfoy for a reason.”
The security wizard shrugged and didn’t seem apologetic for his offensive question. “Can’t be too careful these days, Willick,” he replied, fixing Draco with another glare. “Dark wizards use all kinds of twisted magic to get what they want. I wouldn’t be surprised at what this one could do.”
Draco’s fists clenched at his sides so tightly that he swore he heard his knuckles crack. The security charms and enchantments stopped enveloping his wand, but it had not yet been released from the levitation charm. When the blond spoke to the security wizard, it was through gritted teeth.
“I’ll repeat again, it would be within your best interest to return my wand and let me pass. I just want to meet with the Head Auror.”
The security wizard smirked. He had noticed Draco’s fists clench and seemed pleased that he got a visible reaction, after all. He released the wand from its hovering place above the desk and offered it to Draco. When he spoke, his tone was mocking.
“Here you are, sir,” he replied. “I hope you have a pleasant Ministry visit.”
Draco took his wand back quickly and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Without another word, he strode around the right side of the security desk and joined Jacobs.
“If that nutter ever dares to goad me again, he’ll see how much of a Dark wizard I really could be,” Draco said with a snarl. “I’ve witnessed things that would make his toes curl and his heart stop. He would be dead in his tracks the moment he - ”
Jacobs put a calming hand on Draco’s right shoulder.
“That’s just your anger talking, boy,” he said. He lowered his voice and took his hand off the younger’s shoulder. “In any case, you’re not really in the position of uttering threats, anyway,” he added. “Would probably go against that whole ‘rebranding’ thing you’re trying to do with your community service, wouldn’t it?”
They passed through the Atrium of the Ministry and into the enchanted lifts. Jacobs was right. He needed to keep his temper in check. When they stepped into the enchanted lift, they were forced to stay near the front due to the volume of witches and wizards already inside.
“It’s busy for a Monday,” Jacobs noted. “People are moving around here like whirling dervishes.” Draco nodded but kept his face neutral, exposing nothing.
Another automated voice, the same as the one from the telephone, echoed throughout the lift. As others had already pressed buttons for the floors they needed, the feminine voice said the order of their stops on the lift.
“Level 7: The Department of Magical Games and Sports.” Draco figured this spot was for the bloke who sported a large trunk of what looked to be Quidditch balls, although it was a different colour than standard issue. Maybe he was going to patent a new prototype for the sport.
“Level 9: The Department of Mysteries. Level 5: The Department of International Magical Co-operation. Level 4: The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.” Here, Draco looked at the witch covered head-to-toe in troll bogeys. Probably for her.
“And Level 2: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
That was their stop. The second floor housed the Auror Headquarters, the Improper Use of Magic office, as well as the Wizengamot Administration Services. Perfect. As they took hold of the supportive handles that dangled from the ceiling of the lift, Jacobs explained that the Head Auror, now that Kingsley was promoted to interim Minister, was a wizard named Alfred Scrump. Scrump, by all accounts, was described as a tall man with a few scars across his face, the outer tail of his right eyebrow was missing, and he bore nasty scars along the length of his back from being attacked with a slashing curse from behind. Draco cringed at that, reminded of his own scars from when Potter had cut him open in sixth year with that Sectumsempra spell. Jacobs explained that Scrump had once fought off thirty Inferi in battle, and as a result, had developed an enjoyment for using spells that revolved around fire.
“He is a wise and very sharp man, but can come off as aggressive,” Jacobs warned as they stopped at Levels 7 and 9 and let others off the lift. “Best let me do all the talking, he’s a no nonsense kind of guy.” More people got off at Levels 5 and 4 until they were the only ones in the lift.
The automated female voice spoke. “Level 2: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”
They promptly left the lift and Malfoy followed Jacobs dutifully, just a step behind. The Slytherin held his head high, no matter who stared in his direction or whispered his name. This floor, like the others in the Ministry, was black marble and Draco’s shoes made an audible click along the ornate surface. They reached a large door, made of a light wood that vastly contrasted the depth of the floor, labeled with a bronze plaque: Auror Headquarters. Jacobs pushed open the door without hesitation and motioned for Draco to enter the room, first.
When Malfoy did, the first thing he noticed was the change in flooring. Rather than the hardness of the black marble, they were greeted with a deep mulberry plush carpet beneath their feet. There were walnut chairs upholstered with emerald velvet alongside the left wall. Walnut side tables, one in between each pair of chairs, also matched the ornate reception desk, the wood of which was polished so well that Draco swore he could see the muffled reflection of his trouser-clad legs. Behind the reception desk was a set of large windows, split into multiple panes. They all had frosted glass, perhaps for the purpose of making visits to the Auror’s Headquarters more private. Draco turned in place, observing the area further, and noticed that there was a narrow slot at the top of the entry door. He didn’t need to wonder about its purpose, long. A trio of purple-and-gold interdepartmental paper memos, folded like airplanes, flew through the slot and gracefully fluttered down onto the large desk.
“Why don’t you go sit down while we wait?” Jacobs suggested. “They shouldn’t be too long.”
“Who’s they?” Malfoy asked. Jacobs chuckled.
“There are some house-elves that are employed here - they’re interdepartmental. As you know from having house-elves of your own, they can Apparate in different ways than we can. It makes them just as fast as using the interdepartmental memos,” he added, nodding to the purple paper planes on the main desk. “In any case, that’s who the Head Auror asks for help in terms of having a reception team.”
Sure to his word, a house-elf appeared with a small pop right as Jacobs was finished speaking. They were younger, without wrinkles, and they wore what Malfoy supposed was a dress, fashioned out of the remains of a tablecloth or silk scarf. To Malfoy’s combined interest and horror, the house-elf also boasted makeup; light lipstick and some mascara. And were those earrings? She sat down in the office chair and adjusted her dress.
“Good morning, Holly,” Jacobs said as he leaned forward, his arms crossing upon the surface of the desk. “Lovely day we are having, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes,” Holly replied with a smile. “Fine day, Jacobs, with all of that sunshine. Holly enjoys the sunshine, it makes her happy. Give Holly a moment, please.” Holly quickly opened the three interdepartmental memos and muttered something to herself, processing the contents. “Oh no, the Advisor is not going to like that,” she said, clucking her tongue. A snap of the house-elf’s fingers produced a typewriter with purple memo paper and she jotted something down using the keys. The paper flew out of the typewriter once completed, folded itself, and with a “shoo”-ing motion from the house-elf, it went up into the air and flew back out the slot at the top of the door.
Holly vanished the typewriter with another snap. “How can Holly help?”
“Well, Holly, I have Mr. Malfoy here and we need permission from the Head Auror to go and visit Azkaban. Mr. Malfoy would like to go and visit his father.”
To Draco’s shock, Holly got up off her office chair and climbed up onto the desk in order to peer around Jacob’s body to stare at him. “Mr. Malfoy,” she murmured softly. “Oh my.”
Draco lifted up a hand in greeting. “Cheers,” he said, trying to hide his discomfort. Then to Jacobs, “How long is this going to take?”
“Oh, Holly can tell you that,” the house-elf squeaked. Now that she was on top of the desk, she walked along it to stare more intently at a clock on the wall. “The Head should be free in about half an hour, so you just need to wait. But you will be his first appointment. Holly suggests that you read here while you’re waiting, but you can walk around and observe if you’d like. Holly will go tell the Head that you are here and waiting.” She hopped off the end of the desk and landed on the carpeted floor with minimal sound, scampering down the hallway and around the corner before either wizard could say another word.
Draco spread his legs wider to get more comfortable. A quick look to his left showed that copies of the same Daily Prophet that he had read that morning were on the side tables, ready to be picked up. He rolled his eyes. Jacobs tapped the top of the reception desk with a large hand and turned around to face Malfoy.
“You look sour,” the Auror commented. Draco raised an eyebrow.
“Do I?”
“Yes, you look like you’re waiting to be spoken to by the Headmaster at Hogwarts for doing something wrong,” he said with a small chuckle. “Like a scorned schoolboy.”
“Well, we are waiting, aren’t we?” Draco asked. Jacobs laughed a little louder.
“Go have a walk then,” he suggested to the Slytherin. “I’ll be here waiting. But stay in this set of offices, so I know where you are.”
Draco got up from the emerald chair and adjusted his trousers. “I reckon I’ll go do that,” he said, his tone impetuous. “Better than sitting around.”
He set off down the main corridor, following the same path that Holly the house-elf had taken. He had another conscious thought about how plush the carpet was and had half-a-mind to ask Holly if she knew the producer - he could see about getting it added to his room at Malfoy Manor. Pushing the thought from his mind, he turned left along the corridor, and passed a few portraits of magical creatures, beautifully painted with oil paints. The doors to the offices of other officials were spaced together closely, and Draco felt a twinge of pity for them. They couldn’t have been that official when their offices were about the size of a broom closet, could they? His father had always talked about Ministry officials having grand offices when he had been a boy. Perhaps now, after the War, things weren’t so grand as they once had been.
The mulberry carpeting gave way to a deep hardwood, so rich in colour that the hue of brown appeared almost black. Draco’s footsteps echoed here. The corridor seemed unending - perhaps it was a trick to get unsuspecting wizards or witches lost. And yet, Holly had invited him to adventure around - as did Jacobs. Some of the doors had gold plaques, inscribed with the title of the Ministry official that it housed.
Draco began to read them as he passed by: ‘Personal Transcriber’, was one. ‘Publicist’ was another.
When he saw a door whose plaque read ‘Advisor’, he grew curious. He hadn’t heard of an advisor being appointed to the interim Minister and wondered who had been selected for the position. But Holly had mentioned an advisor earlier, said there was something they wouldn’t like about one of the memos. He was assuming a lot - that the advisor role meant that they were advising the interim Minister, himself. Perhaps they were a tactical advisor, there for analytical purposes and helping strategize their next moves. The blinds on the window were shut, stopping him from getting a good peek at whomever was inside. Did he dare open the door and find out? The Slytherin part of him that had always loved misadventure said a very glaring, yes. And who was he to argue with himself? Slowly, Malfoy closed his hand around the doorknob and turned it, then pushed the door open.
Magic never failed to surprise him. What appeared to be a small office from the outside opened into a room that rivaled the Malfoy Manor’s grand room in size. It had light blue walls, almost grey, and an enchanted ceiling showcasing birds and sunshine. Directly in front of Draco, about thirty feet away, was a standard-sized wooden desk, trimmed in silver filigree. There were a few books stacked on the desk, but nothing too unkempt. To Draco’s left, there was a spiral wooden staircase that led up a loft in the office: it looked as though it housed filing cabinets. Rows and rows of filing cabinets. “Good use of space,” he muttered under his breath appreciatively.
On the right, there was a collection of furniture. To the left as a chaise lounge that was covered in a dark navy fabric and the same silver trim as the advisor’s desk. Beside the chaise lounge, there were two arm chairs, also navy blue and silver, one bearing a fluffy orange pillow, and set in front of all three was a large wooden coffee table, made of the same wood as the desk. It was topped with a vase that held red roses and Draco wondered if whomever the advisor was had received these as a gift. Draco made to sit on the armchair with the fluffy orange pillow, intending to wait to meet the advisor properly, but had to contain a yelp when he realized that the pillow had moved. He quickly got up and stood off to one side, watching as the pillow unfurled and took the form of a very sleepy and very disgruntled orange cat. It was larger than most cats he had seen, and had visible mats amongst its layers of fur. The feline fixed Draco with its yellow eyes and appeared annoyed that it had been woken from its nap in such a way. It hissed at him in warning and hopped down from the armchair, the little bell dinging on its collar.
Draco ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he began. Was he really apologizing to a cat? “I was just wondering who worked here.” The cat hopped up onto the advisor’s desk and fixed Draco with such a piercing gaze that it stopped the wizard from speaking momentarily. It was as if he was being analyzed. Draco fixed the collar of his shirt.
Something about this cat tugged at his memory. But what? He thought of McGonagall. “Are you an Animagus?”
The cat rolled its eyes and meowed, laying down on the desk. The bell on its collar tinkled again with its movements. It did not take its gaze off of Draco. This cat seemed smarter than average, or at least, more sentient than other domestic felines. It appeared to be knowledgeable about Draco. Studious.
Draco heard footsteps coming from the loft above, where the filing cabinets were. A female voice called out. “I heard your bell, you silly thing. Did you finally wake up? You’ve been in that armchair for the better part of the morning.” She laughed softly.
She was talking to the cat.
The cat gave a sleepy “Meow” in response. The woman laughed again. “Oh, don’t give me that,” she replied. “Why don’t you go do something productive with your day? Like chase the pixies that are harassing men in the third floor bathroom? I’m sure they’ve got a little infestation in there by now, someone from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures should really be on that.”
The cat purred loudly, as if agreeing. Draco heard the witch giggle.
“See, Crookshanks, you know that I’m right. But you could catch all those pixies and be the hero, you know. I know you could. You’re just getting old.”
Getting old? Draco thought. The cat passed the ‘getting old’ stage several years ago. It was still healthy, but just weather by time. Also, the name of the cat rang a bell. He had definitely known someone with that name. Was it a colleague of his father’s? A family that was a part of high society? Had they had tea at the Manor with his mother before?
The cat’s head snapped up towards the loft and his tone changed when he meow’d again, as if offended by what the witch had said. Draco heard a few more footsteps and was surprised when a face peeked over the wooden banister of the upper floor. She was backlit thanks to the enchanted sunshine in the ceiling, but Draco could tell that her hair was brunette.
“You are getting old, Crooks,” she said. “It’s a fact and I can’t help it. You’re even getting some grey fur - becoming a distinguished gentleman.” She stopped short when she saw Draco and he saw her body language completely change, from relaxed and playful, to stiff and guarded. Even her tone had altered.
“Oh.”
That was all she said. “Oh.” Did she have the same adverse reaction to him as every other witch and wizard seemed to in this damned Ministry? He prepared himself for another grating conversation like the one with the security wizard.
“Sorry to intrude,” he began. “I’m here with my Auror, you see. My name is - ”
“Malfoy.”
His last name was not a question. It was a statement. Hearing the use of it from her lips caught him off-guard and he took a startled step back. The change in his stance altered the lighting and now that the witch was no longer backlit, Draco had a clear view of her face.
Hermione Granger’s face.
A flashback of them meeting on their first day at Hogwarts. Another when he called her a Mudblood in second year. Her head popping up out of the water of the Black Lake at the end of the Second Task. Granger’s shocked face when he, Umbridge, and the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad had broken into the Room of Requirement and disbanded their little “army”. Sixth year, she had been crying by herself in a stairwell, muttering something about Weasley. He had made sure not to be seen. Her tortured screams in his home at the hands of his deranged aunt during the Second Wizarding War. Seeing her crying when she thought Potter had died in the Battle.
But then there were other memories.
He had visited her bedside in second year when she had been Petrified, scared that she wouldn’t wake up. He had only been joking when he said Mudbloods would be next with the attacks.
Third year, he had chuckled when she had shoved Trelawney’s crystal ball off the table and stormed out of the classroom. She had some fire. He liked that.
Her little smirk when she had caught his eye at the Yule Ball, walking past him on the arm of Victor Krum.
Her annoyed scowl when they had been put on Prefect duty together in fifth year. It gave him a little sense of pride to know that just his presence irritated her. He admired when her cheeks flushed and her temper flashed.
And that one night, in sixth year, where they had finally given into the tension and slipped into an abandoned classroom. How she had moaned his name in his ear as he had plunged into her - how she said she hated him as much as she loved him…
Potter had never found out, of course. Or Weasley. He would have been killed the next morning. And then they had been on opposite sides of the war.
To Granger’s credit, she reigned in her surprise faster than he did and composed her face quickly into a mask, tight-lipped with set eyes. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. He tried to find words but they wouldn’t come. He was stunned, in awe of seeing her again.
“Granger,” he began, taking a step forward. She frowned and he fell silent, knowing better than to argue with that expression.
“What are you doing in my office?”
Shit.