Chapter 3

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Entering the Ministry of Magic felt like stepping back in time. As Draco crossed the dark wood floor of the Atrium, he remembered a hundred occasions before that he had done the exact same thing, his father at his side. As a child—always at Lucius Malfoy's heels beneath the gold and peacock blue of the ceiling—he had experienced the Ministry like a lord amongst peasants. Overconfident. Supercilious.

He was alone now. He didn't quite have Lucius's presence: the powerful stride, the authority, the entitlement. But the distinctive white-blond hair turned heads, nonetheless. Draco held his chin high, pretending he still belonged there.

"Wand." The watchwizard held out a dispassionate hand, looking bored. Draco handed over his wand without complaint, loathing how vulnerable it made him feel to be unarmed with hostile eyes at his back. "Ten inches, hawthorn and unicorn hair, that right?"

Draco gave a terse nod. He had a silver visitor's badge pinned on his chest, and he had endured the inspection of the Probity Probe without issue. There was no reason for him to be denied entrance. And yet, he couldn't help but worry that he might not pass this last obstacle. The wizard behind the desk looked at him with narrowed eyes for a second too long, and Draco's stomach twisted. But then he was being handed back his wand and nodded through to the lifts, with nothing more than a gruff noise of acknowledgment from the watchwizard.

It was mid-afternoon on a Tuesday, and the Ministry didn't lack for activity. Draco chose the emptiest lift he could find, stating his destination with a clear, even voice. Only one person scowled at him.

The ride was excruciatingly slow. The lift stopped four times, letting people in and out, before the voice finally announced that they had reached level two: the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Draco ducked out of the lift, breathing a sigh of relief when the golden grilles closed behind him without anyone following. It was easy to find the Auror Office, which despite its relative importance was little more than a chaotic assemblage of cubicles, identified only by a haphazard sign labelling it as the Auror Headquarters.

Draco's nerves increased tenfold. The office was bustling with noise and movement, unexpected bursts of laughter and a flurry of paper airplanes in every direction. Draco did not have a good track record with Aurors, to say the least, and he knew his reputation in this office was no better than dirt. He took a fortifying breath, steeling himself, and stepped into the den of lions.

It was more difficult than he expected to find Potter's desk. He had no sense of how they might be organized, and each cubicle he passed seemed similarly cluttered with odd paraphernalia, the walls collaged with wanted posters, maps, and newspaper clippings. Draco didn't even know if Potter would be in the office; he could just as well be out on an assignment right now, busy interrogating some other innocent shopkeeper.

He needn't have worried. Luck hardly ever favoured Draco, but it seemed to have found him today, as the next cubicle Draco passed was occupied by a bespectacled man with habitually poor posture, his dark head bent over some sort of convoluted chart.

Potter didn't notice Draco right away, absorbed as he was in whatever he was examining. Startling Potter with his presence in the middle of an office full of Aurors did not seem like the smartest course of action, so Draco went with a more cautious approach: an unobtrusive clearing of his throat to draw Potter's attention.

To Potter's credit, though he was clearly not expecting to see Draco standing there, he did not so much as flinch in surprise. The only evidence of his shock was the hand that immediately went to his wand, ready to draw it at a second's notice.

"What are you doing here?" No greetings, no niceties. Potter's eyes were hard, and his hand did not loosen its grip on his wand. "I told you—"

"Stand down, golden boy," Draco said, waving off his show of hostility. "I have information for you."

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