Chapter 4: They Meet
Over the past two years Draco had slowly formed new connections within the ministry. Unlike his father, he wisely built relationships with competent officials in all departments, despite their blood status. Learned prejudices can also be unlearned, but it was sometimes still a struggle not to be surprised when a half-blood or even, daresay, a Muggle-born, proved worthy of his or her position within a department. He planned to visit one such witch as he prepared himself to floo an hour early to the ministry-to the Department of Magical Transit on the sixth floor to be more exact. The witch he sought did not work the same hours as most officials, and he planned to catch her alone before she was relieved for the day. He wanted to be as prepared as possible for his new post, and one aspect of that was knowing news before others.
"Ms. Featherstone," he began, after a thorough inspection of the floor's premises, and after silently casting muffliato, "may I request your confidence in regards to –"
"Mr. Malfoy, I know that look." The tall, thin, witch stood from behind her desk at the Portkey Office and walked excitedly toward him. "You heard a rumor you want me to verify. Hmm. Which one could it be? No, no! Please let me guess. It is one of my favorite games with you." Apparently there had not been much commotion during her shift; her eagerness to speak with him could only spring from boredom. She was also wrong. He in fact did not know if any rumors existed, but there was no need to confide as much to the elder witch.
"Ms. Featherstone, we both know I don't enjoy games that try my patience. I want to know if you have heard anything about a new law proposal. I would greatly appreciate a direct, prompt response. That is well within your capacity."
"Ah, but you must play because I have the upper hand! But don't fret Mr. Malfoy, I know when I can push my limits with you, and that sour look says that it isn't today. It's not most days, come to think of it," she commented to herself more than him. "I believe you want to know about the highly secretive marriage law rumor." She slowly mouthed the last three words, but the silence spoke volumes to Draco as his head wrapped around such a law, its purpose and repercussions. He wished she would continue without her dramatics. "Although, I don't know how you found out," she said, taping her finger against her chin and looking toward the ceiling. At this she leaned forward and whispered, "It was a conversation between the Chief Warlock and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement only yesterday afternoon while they waited for their portkey to Barcelona. I made that portkey using an old snitch. They were going to a quidditch world cup qualifier match, you know. I thought it was an appropriate gesture, but they did not seem to notice." Leaning back and speaking in a louder, but still quiet voice, she continued, "I was sure I was the only one privy to their conversation, and I haven't said a word about it until now. Hmm. I must admit a slight bit of jealousy. Who else can gather information as prolifically as myself?"
"Nevermind that, Ms. Featherstone," he sighed, too much like Lucius. This was news to him, but his stoicism was mastered during his Deatheater days, and Ms. Featherstone was none the wiser. "What can you tell me of their conversation? And please, remember your audience. No more asides to yourself will be financially appreciated."
"Fa! Mr. Malfoy you insult me. I gossip with you for the pleasure of gossip alone. And since it is for my pleasure, your condescending manner in controlling my entertaining means of conveying such rumors might make me not speak to you at all." At that she crossed her bony arms and glared.
Annoyed, Draco also had a tinge of respect for this Half-blood-no, Portkey Official. She held her own well enough. It was frustrating that she could not be bought to filter out the unnecessary comments. She must have been a Gryffindor. Among their many annoying qualities was that their principals could not be bought. It was, however, with respect that he acquiesced, "Very well, Ms. Featherstone, please indulge me with everything that occurred between the two yesterday afternoon while you stealthily eavesdropped."
Agrippa uncrossed her arms and replied, "I will happily oblige, and lucky for you, I have to make it quick. My shift ends in about forty minutes and in about thirty minutes ministry officials will begin crowding the corridors and offices." Draco smirked. The conversation was finally getting somewhere. "Yesterday, as I was awaiting an owl for portkey location confirmation within the Departamento Magico de Transporte (that's Spanish for Magical Department of Transportation you know) in Madrid, I could tell there was whispering behind my back. I have a keen sense of when someone is partaking in my favorite pastime. I quickly cast a focal sonorousand was able to hear what was transpiring as if I was the third to their conversation. Then, with great foresight I might add, I grabbed an empty box and also cast geminio verbatim. I see your confusion, and rightly so! It is a spell I made myself after watching my mother with a Muggle contraption that can hold voices. This spell captures the words of a targeted conversation and copies them into a container. You have to have a container before you cast or the spell is useless." She paused to smile proudly.
"Ms. Featherstone, I have run out of time. I believe I hear the Floo Network activating. Would you be so kind as to give me the box so I may listen at my leisure later?" Draco mentally catalogued the new spell. This one might prove handy, although he preferred others to do his snooping for him. Hopefully the talented witch would give him the box.
"I know why you come to me, Mr. Malfoy. I may be a successful gossip, but I choose my audience, and you prefer discretion. I am sure you cast a muffliato when I wasn't looking. You mustn't appear so needy. I have no one else with which I care to share this particular information. I trust you will put it to good use. You may keep the box." She levitated the small wooden object into Draco's hands. He quickly put it in a pocket on the inside of his robe. "To activate it, say, 'Verbatim revilio.'"
With a proper nod Draco left the office. Agrippa Featherstone had just delivered him a valuable piece of knowledge. Why would the ministry desire to enact a pureblood custom? He knew Kingsley was trying to unite the witches and wizards of Great Britain, but by adopting the ideologies of the elite? There were too many questions. If there was a marriage law in the works, he needed to understand the perspectives and goals of his advisories before slyly working against them and pushing his own agenda. He needed to find solitude as soon as possible.
It was not until lunch that Draco was able to isolate himself in a small janitorial closet on the second floor. After casting an Imperturbable Charm, and silencing the soft humming coming from somewhere within the closet, Draco pointed his wand to the box and said, "Verbatim revilio." Immediately Chief Warlock Doge's voice could be heard.
"…but the pure-bloods did not have it all wrong."
"I know there is good in every custom, but this is not an example of one of them." Draco recognized the voice of Williamson, Head of the Department of Law Enforcement.
"You do not see the bigger picture, Williamson. We are on the brink of extinction."
Williamson scoffed, "Extinction! You act as though Wizarding Britain is the only place in the world. Have you ever been to a Quidditch World Cup?"
"There is no need for condescension, Williamson. I am talking about preserving a culture, and the people that make up its society. Rome once had our kind, but they were extinguished thousands of years ago. I would rather that not happen to us."
"Portus," a familiar feminine voice said. "My this was such a clever idea! I hope they can admire the ingenuity of using a snitch as a portkey." Damn that witch. As clever as she was, she had recorded herself, and being the closest to the spell, Draco was no longer able to hear the real conversation. "Sirs, if you please, your portkey, which I so cleverly made from an old snitch, will activate in a matter of seconds."
"Why thank you, Madam," responded Doge. And that was the end of the conversation.
Draco shut the box and sighed. He would have preferred more insight, but it was enough. Doge saw promise to imposing an age old custom among pure-bloods of arranged marriages, but he failed to see the changing view of the post-war citizens. Williamson was slightly more aware, he surmised, that young witches and wizards were less likely to embrace a custom in a new society trying to form a new identity, a new unified culture. He knew his next move. He would push for the marriage law. He would even volunteer to write clauses within it. Being a pure-blood elite still held a few privileges, he was happy to discover. No one would suspect that he strongly opposed it, but he would write the clauses in such a light that their prejudices would be apparent, even for Doge. Surely a custom that even his generation wanted expunged would not pass the Wizengamot when its bigotries were so exposed.
Draco stood and opened the door, confident that the staff on the second floor were out to lunch.
"Aha!" a high pitched shout pierced his ears. Draco backed against the wall as he stared down a wand pointed at his throat. His eyes traced the wand to the hand, the arm, the neck, and finally to the face of Hermione Granger.
"What are you doing, Granger?" he found himself snarling despite his earlier resolution.
"What are you doing, Malfoy? Why did you cast an Imperturbable Charm on the closet?" She had yet to lower the wand.
"How?"
"This closet emits a soft hum. I listen for it every time I pass. Today it was unusually silent." She glared at him, unwavering.
"A little paranoid, Granger? Lower you wand. This is the only time I will ask nicely." Grey met brown as he returned her glare.
"You didn't say 'please'. That word is usually included in a nice request, Malfoy."
"I believe, under my current situation, the manner of my request will suffice." They stood in frozen silence a moment before she lowered her attack stance. He scoffed. "Still the little-know-it-all, I see."
"Still the same secretive prat, I see," she returned. "What were you doing in the closet?"
"Like I would ever tell you. Does it kill you that I know something you don't?" This was all wrong. He wanted to apologize. He didn't want her friendship, but he also didn't want the animosity. He was so tired of hatred. But something about being around her brought back recalled emotions against his will. He looked down at her left arm, wondering what he would find.
"You wish, Malfoy." But then her expression changed to slight alarm when she realized where he was looking. His face was no longer sour, but he still looked too much like Lucius for her to soften. "It's still there. Cursed daggers leave a permanent mark, as I am sure you know." She lifted her arm for him to get a better view.
She said it so matter-of-factly. How? Her bravery ran deep to be able to put up such fortitude when confronted about the torturous memory. He pulled up his left sleeve and held it parallel to hers, a few centimeters apart. "I know, Granger."
