Day 2
Without further direction, Draco hits the books. He doesn’t know what’s worse, a Malfoy unexpectedly becoming a government consultant due to real expertise rather than grift, or a Malfoy government consultant who was itching for something to do.
Plus, he really wants a look at the Ministry’s Archives. It’s a brief scuffle at first because the archivists had definitely not wanted to let him in the building on the basis that Draco looked like the type of person to take notes in pen. Draco had appealed first to his security clearance, to conscience, and then finally had only gained entrance when he had intimated that his personal connection to the Minister might put him in the position of getting the archivists the more expensive banker’s boxes that could withstand the periodic hurricanes. Draco, although reluctant to make that promise, knows that he will even financially back it himseif—after all, the archivists could literally erase you from history.
He’s on the stacks ladder, straining to reach a particularly high shelf, when Hermione appears underneath him. “Gah!” he says, nearly falling off the ladder. “Where have you been?” she asks. “I’ve texted you like 50 times.”
Draco peers down from the ladder and tilts his head meaningfully in the direction of the sign that reads, “No unauthorized texts in the stacks.”
“Oh,” Hermione says with faint embarrassment. She lowers her voice, “You know, I’ve never actually been in here before. Gives me the creeps.” She pauses and then Draco realizes that she has been waiting for a librarian to pop out of the shelves and accost her for that statement. To be honest, however, judging from Draco’s morning, he imagines that they probably welcome that reaction. He scampers down the ladder with some alacrity, as faint noises in the surrounding boxes suggest that something is definitely waking up.
Now, making their way through the hallways, Draco realizes that he doesn’t know what this meeting is about.
“Has something happened?,” he hazards, looking at Hermione, “or this yet another shining example of Ministry efficiency?”
Hermione chokes down a laugh which she unsuccessfully disguises as a cough. “Do you need me to pat you on the back?” Draco asks, just because he can.
“You’ll see,” Hermione replies.
There’s been another incident. But rather than being dangerous, it’s much worse, it’s stupid.
“They think what?” Harry says. He’s speaking in great earnestness to what appears to be a naked mole rat. Draco winces. He does not want to know why a Ministry Auror would need to take that form, nor does he especially want to know.
“There’s more protesters, and they believe,” now the Auror pauses a bit uncertainly, clutching a clipboard that has appeared in his hands, “that you’re secretly an elf, and now, they demand to see an unaltered photo of your ears.”
Harry, looking perplexed, attempts a complicated manoeuvre with his eyes, as if he’s trying to examine his own ears. “That doesn’t even make sense,” he says, having been unsuccessful. “Couldn’t I just alter my ears anyway? With magic?”
“Well then that’s a huge relief,” Ron says from behind Harry. “They’re just nutters, simple as.”
“Wait,” Draco says, having spotted a photograph on the Auror’s clipboard. “Isn’t that a member of the Wizengamot in the crowd?” And so it is.
“Shit,” Ron says, with fervour, and Draco is inclined to agree.