Falling

Draco had been to the Ministry hundreds of times. Mostly with his father. He had been escorted there in shackles the last time, awaiting his fate with dread in his heart. That day, he had walked out as a free man, vowing never to step foot in the damned place again.

Draco almost splinched himself when he arrived. People gave him curious looks as he raced across the Atrium. He firmly ignored this. At the lifts, he found himself waiting within a crowd of Ministry employees, many of whom were staring. They had created a small circle around him, as if afraid, somehow, that being an ex-Death Eater were contagious.

He sighed.

He entered a lift when it arrived. One floor later, it jilted to a halt. 

“Department of Mysteries,” the disembodied voice said.

Draco, alone, stepped out into a windowless corridor. Behind him, the lift ascended noisily back to the upper levels of the Ministry. A long, black corridor extended before him, ending in the only door in sight. He shivered at a sudden chill.

Despite having rushed to get there, Draco stepped carefully. His footsteps echoed in the dim hallway. Torches lit up the place every few meters, but some magic about them kept the place in shadows and the walk to the end of the corridor as cold as ice. Several hours seemed to pass before he finally made it to the plain, black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. 

Draco took a deep breath. Lifting his arm, he knocked twice.

The door cracked opened immediately. When nothing else happened, Draco stepped through, hands curled into fists by his side. Once inside, he had only a split second to register the dark, circular room about him - lit only by eerie, blue lights - before he heard a familiar voice.

“You’re late!”

A man stood in the center of the room with hands on his hips. He had a long nose, small ears, and a thin, elongated body covered in the black robes of the Unspeakables. His wire-framed glasses were askew.

“Richie?” Draco said.

“It’s Mr. Wright to you,” Richie said. He fixed his glasses. “Now follow me.”

Draco had no time to ask questions. Richie turned right around and stalked off to the other end of the room before he could even open his mouth. 

“This is the Death Chamber,” Richie said. They had walked into a cavernous hall with seats lined along its sides, like an ancient amphitheater. In the center stood an enormous, stone arch. A tattered veil swayed between its columns with some unseen breeze. Draco thought he could hear it whispers coming from somewhere behind it, forming words just on the edge of his hearing, as if calling to him from the remnants of an old dream.

Richie took his elbow. “Follow me,” he said. 

They walked past the mysterious arch to another plain, black door off to the far right corner of the hall. This led them to a thoroughly mundane office with six cubicles. The office was circular as well, with seven doors, including the one they’d just come from, set at regular intervals around the walls. Five men and women, dressed in regular robes, like Draco, sat at their respective desks in the room under floating balls of blue light. They were all scribbling away at feet-long pieces of parchment. 

Richie led Draco to the only unoccupied cubicle.

“This is where you’ll be working,” he said. 

Draco stared at the plain area. The desk and seat looked as if the Unspeakables had stolen it straight from Hogwarts. The cubicle was located next to a yellowing plant that reeked of death. 

He looked back at Richie. 

Richie cleared his throat. “Follow me,” he said.

They walked over to one of the seven doors. This one was marked with a golden nameplate:

Richard Wright.

They entered Richie’s office. It was only slightly smaller than the previous room and filled entirely with books - in bookcases, on the floor, on a lectern, even a few in the air, floating around as if being read by invisible people. 

Richie sat himself behind a desk in the corner of the room. It too was overflowing with books, as well as scrolls, quills, different coloured inkpots, framed photos, and random scraps of parchment. He gestured for Draco to sit down in the seat across from him. 

“So, Mr. Malfoy,” Richie said. He peered at Draco from across his wire-framed glasses. Draco still could not move past the fact that this man was the same one who periodically fed Astoria strawberries and called her “Tori”.

“You’ll be apprenticing under me here in the Death division,” he continued. “The folks out there will be your fellow apprentices.” He grimaced. “I would introduce you, but everybody’s always busy with some project or the other around here. As an apprentice, you’ll do a lot of heavy lifting, but I dare say you’ll be up to the challenge. Your N.E.W.T.’s scores are the best I’ve seen in a while.” 

Draco felt himself flush with pride. He’d only ever heard his mother compliment him on his N.E.W.T.’s scores. Astoria had called him an “insufferable nerd” when she saw.

“All of that to say, I have high expectations for you, Mr. Malfoy,” Richie said. “I won’t judge you for your past. If anything, your intimate experience with death, and Voldemort, might help here.” Draco shuddered at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name. Richie gave him a piercing stare. “You’ve a three month probationary period to show me what exactly you’re worth to us here in Mysteries. It’s the only chance you’ll get. Try not to muck it up, will you?”

Draco took in a deep breath. Probation. He was used to that, wasn’t he? 

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I can promise you that.”

Richie smiled. Suddenly, he clapped his hands together, startling Draco.

“Let’s get started then, shall we?”