Day 1
He’s led into the conference room by the still twittering aide. This area is new. Draco has only been into the more formal areas of the Ministry. In his memory, there had been a lot of dark wood paneling and stern looking old men. This is more Muggle office. For a Ministry in Crisis, it's fairly empty, both of people and furniture, save for a long table in the middle of the room. There’s a map on the table from first glance, flanked by piles of books, oh, and there’s Harry. Harry looks the same as the photograph, except for the addition of the deep bags under his eyes. And of course, he has a rather prominent stain on his collar. Judging by the color, it's pizza sauce. Typical, Draco thinks. Potter has managed to bumble his way into the highest political position in the country, and he still can’t eat neatly.
“Sir?” Draco hears, and then realizes that the aide had been nattering the whole time that Draco had been surveying the room. Draco waves him away. “Thanks,” he says in his haughtiest manner. “I trust I can talk to my former classmates without assistance.” The aide scoffs, and walks off offended, and someone looks up. Hermione. She looks equally as exhausted as Potter. She stands, and shakes his hand briskly.
“Draco,” she says, “Welcome. You’re in the perfect time. A briefing will start shortly.” The rest of the people at the table look up. Draco takes a moment to scan the faces. There’s many familiar faces, more Slytherin than he had expected. Next to Harry sits Ron, and there’s Pansy, fucking Pansy Parkinson on the other side, looking self important, and holding a clipboard of all things. Harry is still looking down at a thick sheath of papers, and that bothers Draco, it really does. He has not come all of this way to not even get a glance from Potter. Draco summons up his past self.
“Potter,” he calls out. “Have you enjoyed your pizza?” Potter looks up at Draco and smiles faintly, as if encountering a beloved, yet nosy aunt.
“Have you gotten better at Divination?” Potter asks. “No,” Draco responds, and gestures to Harry’s collar. Harry looks down, and colors, a deep pink flavoring his cheeks. “Er–” he starts, but Ron interrupts from the other side. “Shut it!,” Ron says, but to Draco’s surprise, he’s smiling. “Honestly, Draco, you’re such a git.” Draco doesn’t mind. He and Ron have reached some form of agreement over the years, not only because Hermione calls Draco every time she has a research problem that requires his expertise. There’s only enough times that Ron has walked into Hermione and Draco talking over each other over a floo call, before Draco and Ron decided to just not mention the past 15 years. Denial. Draco is fine with that.
“Noted,” says Draco. “Where do I sit?” Hermione gestures to a seat directly across the table from Potter, and Draco sits. He opens his bag to pull out his laptop, and when he looks up almost the entire table is gaping at him, except Hermione.
“A laptop? Really Draco?” Pansy says, “Isn’t that a bit ironic for you?” She eyes Draco, evidently expecting Draco to blow up at her, but he merely shrugs and powers it on. He has brought it to make a rather inelegant point.
A chime sounds. Hermione looks to the door. “They’re here,” she announces. The door opens with a malevolent click, and a flood of Unspeakables pour in the door. Draco immediately wants to hide despite the fact that he’s more than old enough. To be honest, Unspeakables have always given him the creeps. A bit like human Dementers, with those creepy old robes of theirs.
Now, the Unspeakables are all dressed in the same grey Muggle suits. Draco wonders if that is for Potter’s sake given his Muggle upbringing, or a sign that the Unspeakables are branching out to the Muggle world. He hopes not. They line up in front of the table. Draco, and everyone else turns to Potter, who looks startled for a second before understanding that he’s expected to be the leader here. Odd, Draco thinks, how the fuck did Potter get to this position?
“Please,” Potter says, and picks up his quill expectantly. The line of Unspeakables parts, and one steps forward. The presenter is a dull man in his late 50s. He begins his recitation, eyes circling the room. Draco quickly clears his mind, and erects some mental barriers just in case.
“During the inauguration at 1:30pm, a fringe group broke through the Auror forces, and used their concealed wands to fire a series of curses at the Minister and the crowd, including the use of an Avada Kedavra. The Minister’s Protego shielded the crowd from the spells, including the Killing Curse.” This is a surprising fact to Draco, but the rest of the room does not react. The thing is that Potter should not have been able to block a Killing Curse with a Protego. No one was supposed to be strong enough to do that. The whole business of the wand connection between Voldemort and Potter had been explained after the War, but Potter had not seemed especially powerful.
The Unspeakable pauses, then adds quickly. “Unspeakables request extensive diagnostic testing of the Minister to determine how the Minister was able to wield a spell of such power.” Draco notices Potter’s hand momentarily tense around the quill that he has so far been using to dutifully write notes.
“Denied,” Hermione says loudly, curling her lip. “Please don’t waste our time.” She waves an imperious hand at the Unspeakable, and pulls Ron to her side. She whispers something, Ron nodding, but Draco can’t make it out. Draco turns his attention back to the front, not before looking at Potter again. Potter’s shoulders have tensed, but he too pulls his attention back to the Unspeakable.
“Of course,” the Unspeakable continues, seemingly unphased. “The crowd was evacuated safely. However, as the papers have noted, there have been a series of mass protests outside our government buildings with a mix of people–former Death Eaters, as well as former neutrals. From what we have gathered, the protests have a narrative in common. They believe that Voldemort isn’t dead, but merely in hiding, but that he will return to reveal a great evil hiding in the Ministry itself. Our conclusion,” and now the Unspeakable does seem to choose his words carefully, “is that the protesters are mad. We suggest a course of mass hospitalizations or Memory charms if necessary.”
Bullshit. “They’re not crazy,” Draco interrupts. “They’re zealots. There’s a difference.” Hermione is still whispering to Ron in the corner, Pansy is at Harry’s side, gesturing to an advisor across the room, and Harry–Harry just looks small.
Draco clears his throat. “I said,” he repeats louder, they’re not crazy, they’re zealots.” This time he has the room’s attention. Draco loves this.
He stands up now, relishing the dramatics. “People join these kinds of movements because they’re looking for connection. There’s something they are missing, and the movement provides it for them. A sense of belonging, or maybe a solution to unhappiness. It’s not madness though. It’s something else.”
The Unspeakable interrupts now. “Whatever it is,” he says. “We don’t have much time. There’s plans that will escalate. We know who is at the protests. Let’s just round them up.” The other Unspeakables break their stillness to nod in unison.
“And then what?” Draco asks. “It can’t be that the only people involved are at the protests, there’s too much coordination for that.” He turns and directs his next words to Harry. “I hoped that we would have learned our lesson from the Ministry’s past mistakes.” It does not escape Draco’s attention that he is the one to say this. Or maybe that’s why Draco is here, he thinks, to be an embodiment of the perils of tradition.
“Okay,” Harry says finally. He waves a hand at Draco, and Draco sits. Now having proven himself, he can allow himself to retreat and observe.
“I really don’t have enough information to act,” Harry says. “Let’s meet tomorrow.” And with that, Draco’s first day is complete.