Chapter Four

Draco did not sleep well. He had dreams of Dumbledore, and the gentle face telling him that he was better than all this as he withered away into nothing. He woke up in a cold sweat, more tired than he had been when he went to sleep. He ran a shaky hand down his face, not wanting to move from his bed in the darkness. The day ahead seemed much too dreadful to face.

He knew that Ministry officials would be all over the Potions shop, and with that many officials poking around, the press was sure to follow. Draco knew if he saw one more Daily Prophet reporter, he'd snap. They'd been less than sympathetic to him over the years, especially in the weeks after his father died, asking him startling personal and offensive questions that seemed to get progressively worse, like "Mr. Malfoy, do you think your father killed himself because of his deeds during the war?" or, "Mr. Malfoy, are you afraid that in the event of your father's death, your assets may be turned over to the Ministry?" "Mr. Malfoy, many witches and wizards agree that Lucius Malfoy deserved what happened to him after his misdeeds. Do you agree?" "Mr. Malfoy, can you confirm the rumors about Narcissa Malfoy going insane?"

Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Fucking Malfoy.

All he'd wanted was for it to stop. And now it was starting all over again.

He groaned and rolled over in his bed, his hands still trembling slightly from the awful night, and he was fairly sure if he sat up the vertigo would make him sick. There were too many emotions bubbling under his surface. It seemed to be getting harder and harder to turn them off, and the stress was getting to him. He rubbed absently at his aching neck, thinking very hard about just staying in bed all day or all year or forever and never going back into daylight ever again.

But that would seem awfully suspicious.

He finally forced himself up and on his feet, and the room wavered violently before his eyes. Still, he managed to right himself without doubling over, mainly because he remembered he hadn't had anything to eat the day before. He trudged out of his messy bedroom and into the even messier kitchen, sorted some ingredients, and began to brew his calming draught.

"That should be alright," he said quietly. "It'll only take a few minutes."

He gritted his teeth. His body wanted it right then.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, waiting, watching for the potion to change from the dark sludge to the bright red color it was supposed to be. It felt like hours before he was letting it drip down his throat. He filled eight viles and stored them in a leather case, getting ready for what he was pretty sure was going to be the day from hell.

As he showered, he felt his mind wandering. Without the emotions to cloud his logic, his mind was sharper, though the world felt rather dull and dim. Still, the thought came to him.

The Ministry would undoubtedly be investigating him. After Potter's reaction to him the day before, he was no doubt suspicious, though certainly not guilty. He couldn't dare let his emotions get him – he'd end up blurting something he couldn't take back, or worse – breaking down completely in front of them. Remorse be damned, he didn't have much pride left, and the Ministry officials weren't the type of people that thought a few tears meant anything anyway. They'd probably go to the Daily Prophet with smug grins on their faces and spread the word that Draco Malfoy cried tears of guilt for killing Zacharius Smith.

"But I didn't kill him," Draco said. The words echoed very faintly off the tile walls of the bathroom, then drowned into the sound of water shooting from the wall.

It was such a damn simple statement. It should have been enough. But it wasn't. Not for Potter. Not for the Ministry. Not for the Daily Prophet. Not for the entire fucking Wizarding World. He didn't understand it. His family had not been perfect by any means, but had they really been so bad? And Zacharius wasn't any angel, but his misdeeds were quickly forgotten upon his murder, especially when a Malfoy was involved. And everyone was already completely convinced that he had killed Smith. The truth didn't matter. Zacharius was dead, and Draco was the only lead because he was probably the only lead the Ministry wanted. As soon as he was suspected, no one else cared for who else might have been there, who else might have killed him.

"I DIDN'T FUCKING KILL HIM!" he yelped, his voice bouncing around him and mocking him.

Draco felt his chest burn so violently that he gasped and fell against the side of the shower, the glass pressed against him, cold and slick. His breath fell shallowly from his lips as he waited for the pain to subside. After a minute, he managed to stand under the water again, though his legs still felt a little wobbly from the shock. It had been awhile since the potion had to fight his nerves so aggressively, and the pain had never been that bad. Still, as it bloomed through him, the numbness overtook him completely, and he felt nothing. He hardly felt his toes for a moment.

He finished his shower, dried, dressed, and padded out into his living room to put on his shoes and coat. But his cauldron caught his eye as he made his way past the kitchen. He frowned. In the state he was in, he would be almost as suspicious if he was an emotional wreck – maybe even moreso. He checked his watch, then sighed. He could be a couple of minutes late, he supposed.

He pulled out Validus Venenum, and began to flip through the pages.

…

Draco adjusted the bag on his shoulder as he approached the shop, only about fifteen minutes late. He was sure Peter had already gone inside and started setting up, as he did often when Draco was late, however, as the shop came into his vision, he found Peter sitting outside on the ground, in a small patch of dirt where the snow had not piled, looking very pale in the face, as if he knew he would be in trouble.

"Peter, what are you doing out here? Did you forget your key?"

He shook his head, his sapphire eyes laced with worry. "No, sir."

"Then… enjoying the morning sunshine? Quit cocking about. We've got work to do."

"But, sir. The Ministry won't let me."

Draco felt his chest bloom in pain as his emotions were squelched against his will. "What?" he asked, his expression dark as he stared at the door. Anger was slow to come, and when it did, it was a mere echo of what it might have been without the potion.

"They say that the shop is under investigation, and no one but Ministry officials are allowed to go inside."

"Well, that's ridiculous." Draco said simply, and he was fairly sure that without the draught keeping his emotions down, he would have started throwing things in the street or cursing the first person he saw – which would have unfortunately been Peter.

Draco waltzed up to the door and put the key in the lock, ignoring the letter on the door telling non-Ministry officials to keep out. As he turned the knob, the door didn't even move and he blinked slowly, feeling a small bit of anger pulsing in his temples and pulling his wand out of his robes.

"Alohamora."

Nothing.

Draco's chest was burning so strongly, he was almost certain it was glowing, and he knew he needed to calm down. But the Ministry was pushing their limits already. He couldn't just close up shop. It was his job. He scowled, digging through his bag and producing a mortar pestle that he usually used for potion ingredients and slammed it through the window glass. It shattered noisily, and many people stopped to watch as Draco strolled casually to the window and stepped through into the shop, the display askew on the floor. He looked over his shoulder at Peter, who was still standing in his place, completely dumbfounded.

"Sir, your window-"

Draco waved his hand. "I'll have it repaired. It's worth the funds to prove my point. The Ministry will not control me."

"Why did they close the shop?"

Draco looked to Peter who was clambering through the window display rather clumsily. "They've convinced themselves that I've done something wrong when I haven't."

"Do you think we'll sell anything with our display destroyed?" Peter looked a little miffed at the devastation of all his hard work.

Draco would have probably laughed if his emotions weren't being dragged down into the pit of his stomach. It was actually quite amusing to see the poor boy so red in the face.

"Probably not."

"Then why did you break the window?"

Draco's head shot in Peter's direction and the boy immediately took a step back, realizing he was out of line, though Draco hadn't even glared at him so much as just stared at him blankly.

"Because I needed to get inside."

"…" Peter hesitated before finally asking. "Why?"

"Because this is my shop, and I should be able to get inside when I need to."

The potion was in full effect after fighting Draco so strongly outside. Draco couldn't feel the tips of his fingers as he drummed them on the desk.

"So much for not being suspicious," Draco muttered to himself as he watched Peter rather dejectedly try to clean up the damage.

Draco's eyes wandered to the outside, and he could see the Ministry officials approaching against the pure white snow. He knew it wouldn't take long before they showed up – he'd probably set of an alarm of sorts. But it was fine with Draco – he had a few things he wanted to say to them anyway.

He dug into his bag and pulled out the leather case, keeping a watchful eye on Peter as he swept up the glass, looking a little chilly with the cold air streaming through the open display.

He had brewed three potions that, from the translation he'd made in Validus Venenum, were basically Pepper-Up Potions with a kick. He wasn't sure what the potions would do, but he was pretty sure his impulsive decisions were already being made that morning, so he decided he might as well drink one in hopes of looking a bit more human to them.

He drank it and slipped the case back into his bag.

"The Ministry's coming," Peter said. "…Sir? Are you alright? You're flushed."

Draco gripped the counter, keeping his eyes on his hands as he felt his body heat up dramatically, his heart slamming against his chest, lungs tightening, vision blurring. He squeezed his eyes shut.

And then—nothing. Draco opened his eyes.

"Yes, Peter. I'm fine. You're dismissed for the day."

Peter looked confused. "But I just-"

"Out."

Peter shrugged and clambered out the window, heading up the street before the Ministry got to the shop.

Within a few minutes, in came the Ministry, and leading them was Harry Potter himself.

"Ah, here to give me another chance, Potter?" Draco said snidely, and the words felt heavy and strange in his mouth.

He looked a bit taken aback.

"Oh, erm-" Harry cleared his throat, getting his bearings. "Mr. Malfoy, you have gone against Ministry regulations and entered your shop, clearly disregarding the statement put up to tell you to stay out."

"Oh, is that what that was?" Draco replied with a smirk, feeling a little jittery and on edge.

Harry glared at him, though he seemed more curious than anything. Draco swallowed thickly, already starting to regret taking the potion. He drummed his fingers on the table. His body felt like it would never stop moving, like he'd been zapped with lightning.

"Yes, it was. Did you read it?"

"I'm afraid I don't read notices, Potter. Especially when they are placed on my door by a vile, ignorant government organization that has no idea what it's talking about."

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"Enough!" Draco's voice felt raw and hoarse in his throat. His chest ached with the combination of the drugs in his system.

"Mr. Potter, do you want us to-" one of the Aurors started, but Harry silenced them with a hand.

"Alright, Malfoy. Why don't you go ahead and tell me what you want to tell me."

"I didn't kill Smith. If you're looking for a tearful confession, you're in the wrong place."

"Evidence places you at the scene," said a Ministry official, looking down his nose at Malfoy – just like they always did.

"It doesn't mean I killed him!" Draco seethed. "Though I'm sure you certainly stopped looking when you found out I'd even been there. A good quick way to get the last Malfoy behind bars before he has the chance to revive You-Know-Who? Don't be such idiots. I'm just trying to live my life without your disturbing it."

"And we are trying to do our jobs, Mr. Malfoy," replied another official with a sneer. "And people like you always make it a harder job than it should be."

Draco glowered at the two Ministry men that had spoken against him, standing on either side of Harry. Draco had never seen them before, and it made him all the more enraged. They didn't know him. They probably based their opinions on articles and hearsay and that was not who he was, no matter what anyone believed.

"Consider it earning your living you condescending piss-artist."

Harry held up his hand quietly before the officials even had a chance to lift their wands and hex Draco the next dimension. Draco almost wished they would have. It would have made his life a bit easier, and they would have been kicking themselves for getting rid of the man they wanted to blame.

"That's enough. Let's try not to lose our heads here, gentlemen."

Draco stared at Harry. He was all business in front of the Ministry. It was almost sickening.

"Some hero you turned out to be, Potter. You're just as corrupt and ignorant as they are. You brought them here because you can't get past that bloody feud we had when were schoolboys, is that it?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, and there was something behind them that looked almost like shame, and something else that was reading Draco up and down.

"Get out of my shop," Draco finally finished, his voice dangerously low, and he could feel his sanity teetering on the edge. "…Or I will blast you out myself."

Harry didn't look bothered in the slightest, but he knew Malfoy's tendency to bluff. The other Ministry officials, however, with their long robes and longer faces, looked terrified.

"No need to get violent, Malfoy."

Smug. It was the only word that Draco could think when looking at Harry Potter and the small smirk playing on his lips.

"Fuck you."

Draco felt spent, even though he had only been arguing for a matter of minutes. He figured it probably had something to do with the potion, because he could taste it in the back of his throat. His adrenaline was starting to even out and exhaustion was starting to settle in. He frowned. He used to be better at arguing. He'd just gotten too accustomed to turning the other cheek.

"I didn't kill Smith. I can give you my word on that. You've got the information you needed. Now get out." Draco growled, before turning in a swirl of robes and stalking off to his office, locking himself in.

After a long moment, he heard a knock on the door.

"Sod off. You're not going to believe anything I say anyway, why should I give you a statement?"

"…Give me one reason to believe you didn't kill Smith." Harry was almost daring him to be honest. "What was he to you?"

Draco bowed his head. "Well… it doesn't matter now, does it?"

He disapparated.