Draco sits in his study, holding his head in his hands. The Message remains untouched on the ebony surface, although the owl which delivered it has long since left. The unruly scrawl itself doesn't give much away for those who don't recognise it.
Draco, on the contrary, knows the handwriting far too well. He's been expecting this for a few days now, but the reality of the smooth parchment on his table shocks him nonetheless, to the point where he has resorted to boycotting the unwelcome Message. The sender, unsurprisingly, has left things to the last possible moment. Nothing new there.
Sunlight begins to filter in from the almost-closed curtains and Draco, momentarily blinded, half-heartedly scowls at the infiltrating ray before covering his eyes with the back of his hands.
The official order itself arrived exactly one week ago from the Ministry of Magic. Draco had been trying to relax in the drawing room when a tawny owl had flown in, dropped an off-white envelope in his lap, and promptly flown out again. What had bothered Draco was the way it hadn't waited for a reply; it implied that the contents were unnegotiable, and that they didn't warrant a response.
He'd opened it with trembling hands to find his suspicions confirmed; the oh-so-familiar dread settled uncomfortably in his stomach as he'd skimmed through it.
Dear Mr. Malfoy, it had read (Draco had flinched at those words; he didn't think he'd ever get used being addressed as Mr. Malfoy). As you may be aware, a number of high profile crimes have recently taken place in Muggle London. Upon investigation, we have been able to confirm that these incidents are directly related to the Dark Arts.
We regret to inform you that your name, amongst others, has come up in regard to these inquiries. The Ministry of Magic does not wish to impede on your wellbeing by having you brought in, and, as for the moment, we have no further evidence against you (Draco had known straight away that this was the only real reason for allowing him to walk free). Therefore, for both your safety and that of the Wizarding Community, we are assigning to you a temporary guardian. You will be required to remain with your guardian at all times until the situation has been dealt with.
We have provided for you the details of your guardian (see overleaf), who will send you a message within the next few days in order to explain the terms and conditions to you in more depth. You are required to both abide to this plan and keep the guardian's personal information private under jurisdiction of the law. We sincerely hope you appreciate the great care we have taken in choosing a suitable guardian in accordance to your personal requirements.
The measures outlined to you above will take effect next Monday (week beginning 21 st May).
Draco had known that this was a long time coming; no matter how much he had tried to push himself away from the Wizarding Community over the years, the mistrust was omnipresent. Draco reckoned that he should be relieved that he wasn't immediately being rounded up and brought in, but the thought of having some detestable Ministry worker breathing down his neck at all times had only served to insult him. Draco, breathing out heavily, had then proceeded to turn the parchment over. The name of the guardian, printed in neat cursive, stole his breath from his lungs.
Your assigned guardian is: Harry Potter.
He'd blinked twice, taking it in, before dropping the note in resentment.
Draco grimaces at the memory, then steals another glance at the forbidden Message, before letting out a long suffering sigh and reaching for it.
"Hermione, I can't," Harry says, leaning back on the couch, hands on his stomach. "It's Ministry business," he hastily adds, the word ministry implying top secret. Hermione sighs, irritated, but doesn't continue, instead taking a seat on the armchair beside him.
As Harry stares at the ceiling, he distractedly notices the crumbling wallpaper and makes a note to do something about it. 12 Grimmauld Place is his house, after all, and its neglected state is somewhat due to him. In his defence though, he's only recently moved back in. He couldn't even think about the house when the war ended without getting unwanted and disturbingly vivid flashbacks. But years have passed, and Harry has learnt that no matter how much you try to move on, you will always be rooted to the places that belonged to your loved ones.
It still hurts, though.
"I just wish you trusted me, Harry," Hermione whispers dejectedly, and Harry feels incredibly guilty. It's not that he doesn't trust her, it's just…well, first of all, it's Ministry business, like he's said, and second of all...
His thoughts flit to Draco Malfoy.
He can't exactly remember the last time he saw him. The aftermath of the war is still a blur to him, and anyway, it's not as if he wants to see him. The image of Voldemort during the Final Battle welcoming Malfoy back into his ranks, the awkward embrace, the sheer betrayal…just thinking of it infuriates him. But he supposes he doesn't have a choice anymore. The Ministry has forced him into this, Harry just knows it, for a number of reasons; dropping out of 'eighth' year, declining the position that the Ministry offered him nonetheless, neglecting his 'duty' to attend events, and so on. Harry remembers the exact words they'd used in the letter:
As you consider our proposal, we urge you to be reminded of the fact that we granted you full custody of Edward 'Teddy' Lupin under special circumstances. Having contemplated this, we strongly advise you to send Mr. Malfoy a message in order to fill him in on the details that we have provided you. We hope this serves as an icebreaker of sorts.
The measures outlined to you above will take effect next Monday (week beginning 21st May).
They're sublimely blackmailing him.
"How's Ron doing?" Harry asks quietly, changing the topic. Hermione immediately perks up, before noticing Harry's tone.
"Oh, Harry," she says, a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. "I'm sure this will all wash over soon." Harry sits up, agitated.
"For Merlin's sake, Hermione! What don't you understand? They lost Fred because of me. George was mauled because of me. And now, Ginny's disappeared. And whose fault is it? Mine!" Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but Harry isn't done yet. "And maybe, maybe that would be okay, if I'd actually looked for her. But what did I do? Nothing! I just…" Harry's voice breaks. "I left them, Hermione."
Hermione doesn't reply, but hugs him, when an owl flies in. Hermione jumps back, startled, before looking at the neatly folded note with suspicion. Luckily, Harry covers up the signature before she can get a glimpse of the extravagant handwriting spelling out his enemy's name.
"Ministry business?" she asks airily. Perhaps it's the mistrusting look in her eyes, or the embarrassment of almost being caught with a letter from Malfoy, of all people, but Harry shakes his head.
"No," he blurts, instantly regretting his decision when Hermione just narrows her eyes further.
"Well, then. Can I see?" Harry says nothing, but she gets the message, and stands up. "I'll leave you to it, then. Besides, I've got to get back to the children. And Ron will kill me if he finds out where I've been." Her voice is soft but disappointed as she Disapparates.
Harry glares at the note in his hand with bitterness, before opening it up. Malfoy's words are curt and to the point, much like his were.
2:45 pm, Patisserie Valerie.
D.L. Malfoy
Harry briefly wonders what the L stands for, and why the hell Malfoy would want to meet in a Muggle café, before placing the letter on the table and stalking out of the room.
