Chapter 6- The Ministry

Draco was already Polyjuiced as his father, the wayward hair found in the folds of the robes he'd first been wearing when he arrived to Grimmauld Palace. Harry was next to him, fingering the Felix Felicity between his fingers. Draco still couldn't believe they'd neglected to tell him that they still had the potion. Honestly.

Hermione was already Polyjuiced as a short, greying Witch, whose name was Mafalda Hopkirk from the office of the Improper Use of Magic. Draco didn't recognize her, so he supposed she must either be not important enough for his father to know or on the light side.

"Mr. Magical Maintenance should be here any minute," Hermione whispered under her breathe, her voice coming out strange and faint sounding. "Right?" she asked, turning her head back toward Harry.

"He's gone this way every day for the last week," Harry answered, shaking his head. As if on que, there was a pop from outside their hiding spot, and Hermione jumped into action.

Draco couldn't see exactly what happened, but he knew well enough that the plan had been to give the ministry worker one of the Weasley Twin's sweets that would cause him to throw up to the point where he had to go home. Draco wrinkled his nose as there was loud heaving from the other side of their wall, the faint sound of a conversation and then another pop of Apparation.

Weasley let out a breath before he stepped out, and it was just Harry and Draco. Harry's eyes were steady as he looked over, green and determined.

"Ready?" he asked, and Draco just nodded. There was no point in saying it wasn't true. There was no point in telling Harry how terrified he was that they would be caught, at the idea of what would happen to him—to any of them if they were discovered.

He simply watched as Harry pulled his invisibility cloak over his head, disappearing from sight as he did. It was a strange experience, knowing Harry was there, that he wasn't alone, but not being able to see him. Draco took a breath and stepped around the corner, where Hermione was standing next to a short Wizard who had strange scrunched up features that looked strangely like a ferret.

"I'm Reg Cattermole," Weasley said, Polyjuiced as the man.

"I suppose we should get going, then," Draco said, and Hermione stared at him, biting her lip as she did.

"That's really strange," she said, motioning to him. "I don't think you turning into your father was a good idea."

"Too late now," Weasley answered, and Draco just turned his head away. Hermione seemed to take the hint at any rate.

"Did you take the Felix Felicity, Harry?" she asked.

"Just did," Harry's disembodied voice answered.

"What does it feel like?" Draco asked, and now that Hermione had pointed it out, he couldn't stop himself from noticing how strange he sounded with his own infliction on words coming from his father's voice.

"It's an amazing feeling," Weasley said, his voice dreamy, and Hermione and Draco stared at him. "You feel like you can do anything."

"When did you take Felix Felicity?" Draco asked.

"He didn't," Hermione answered, rolling her eyes.

"It feels strange," Harry's voice said suddenly. "I don't know. I feel like we should be going."

"Yeah," Hermione nodded slowly, biting her lip nervously. "Yeah, alright. Ron and I will go through the employee entrance and find Umbridge, while you and Draco—"

"—Go through the visitor entrance and check Umbridge's office," Weasley interrupted, rolling his eyes. "We got it, Hermione."

"Right," she said, and then Weasley was putting a hand on her shoulder, turning her, pushing, and they were headed down the street away from Draco and Harry.

There was a whisper of a brush against Draco's arm that must have been Harry, and he shivered, turning and making his way to the visitor's entrance of the Ministry. When they arrived at the little telephone box, no one else was there, which didn't particularly surprise Draco, given the Ministry's current reputation.

He stepped inside, listening as the box asked him his name and business.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said. "Visiting Dolores Umbridge." And the tag popped out with a pleasant ding. He fastened it to his robe as he waited for Harry to speak.

"Are you sure it won't set any alarms if I tell it my name?" Harry's voice asked, some part of him brushing against Draco again. Draco moved his arm away, trying to keep his face as blank as possible.

"Pretty sure," Draco answered quietly. "They don't check the records of who enters. They just look at the nametags once you get in. My father complained often enough how he found the system foolish for me to be sure." There was a long enough beat of silence that Draco almost didn't know if Harry believed him, or if he had simply left, but then Harry's voice was speaking again, and Draco had to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from reacting.

"Harry Potter. Visiting Dolores Umbridge," he said, and the name tag popped out. Harry must have picked it up, because it simply vanished into thin air, and then the telephone booth was dropping, leaving Draco's stomach somewhere up on the street and depositing them into the Ministry with a ding that was far too pleasant for how nauseated he now felt.

Draco stifled his groan, already aware of the people moving past him, the people turning to look at him—no, not him, his father. He tilted his head up, brushing his robes off as he swept forward, twisting his lips into an arrogant frown. He could still remember the years where it had felt natural to act like this, where he had believed he had a right to look down on the rest of the world. He could still remember how gently Harry had taken that illusion in his hands and shattered it, leaving him to see the truth behind his father's words.

He stepped up to the welcome table, the Witches eyes tired as she looked him over.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice low and full of false cheer. "How can I help you?"

"I'm visiting Dolores Umbridge," Draco told her. "I don't much care how long it takes, but I have some very important information to share."

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she answered, flicking her wand down at the book below her. "If I could just check your wand—"

"You know very well that I don't have my wand anymore," Draco snapped, pitched his voice in the way his father did when something had upset him. "Everyone knows I lent it as a favor to Him." The Witch blushed hard, burying her head furthering down into the book in front of her as she continued to read.

"Ms. Umbridge is courtroom B all day today. Trying Muggleborns, though I'm sure you can head up to her office and wait. You know where it is."

"Of course," Draco said, nodding at her firmly before moving past the table without a backward glance.

Unfortunately, he didn't make it two steps before something was tugging on his sleeve, making him pause midstep before remembering abruptly that it was probably only Harry and forcing himself to keep walking.

"We should go to the courtrooms," Harry's voice whispered, low and entirely too close to Draco's ear. What was he doing, standing on his toes and leaning over?

"That's not the plan," Draco answered quietly, sneering at the Wizard who gave him a strange look as he talked to himself.

"Trust me," Harry's voice said. "I've got a really good feeling about the courtrooms."

"It must be the Felix Felicity," Draco sighed, closing his eyes for half a second before heading for the lift.

The lift was empty when it arrived, pinging just as pleasantly as everything else in the ministry. It was such a lie. Everything in the ministry was so ugly.

"What's the plan?" Draco asked. "Barge into the courtroom? We don't even know if Umbridge has the necklace."

"I don't know," Harry's voice answered. He sounded a little confused, his voice wavering like he really didn't have any idea what he was doing. It wasn't exactly comforting.

"What about—"

The lift came to a stop on level two, and the doors opened to reveal a soaking wet, red-faced and wide-eyed Reg Cattermole. He shuffled into the lift, mumbling a greeting like he would rather the floor come swallow him up.

"Weasley," Draco answered, and he jumped, his eyes flicking over Draco's face liked he'd forgotten who he was.

"It's us," Harry's voice said.

"Oh…Oh! Blimey. I wasn't thinking…"

"Where's Hermione?" Draco asked.

"When we found Umbridge, she was on her way to the courtrooms, and she snatched Hermione to go with her. Apparently, they're trying muggleborns today. I'm supposed to be down there because they're trying my wife, but Yaxley sent me to make it stop raining in his office, but I don't know how—"

"You do know it's not your wife down there, right?" Draco interrupted, and Weasley blinked at him like the idea just occurred to him.

"We're going to find Umbridge," Harry's voice said. "You should come with us."

"But what about Yaxley's office?" Weasley answered. "If I don't do what he says, he'll take it out of my—I mean Cattermole's wife."

"That's not exactly what we're here to do," Draco muttered, biting his tongue before he could ask who cared what happened to some random witch.

"I think it'll be alright," Harry answered.

"Uh." Weasley flicked his eyes toward Draco, who shook his head. He wasn't about to be able to explain Harry to him. "Alright."


There were dementors in the courtrooms. Draco shivered, the cold seeping into his bones. He hated dementors. He hated the cold hopelessness they permeated. The faceless shapes massed around them, cold and foreboding and horrible. Their mouths gaped wide enough to be seen through the openings of their hoods, and Draco had to clench his jaw shut to hold back his scream. Weasley was pale beside him, his face a waxy, and for once, Draco couldn't blame him.

He wished they could just turn around and run. Screw the world and everyone in it. Someone else would take care of Voldemort. Something brushed against his hand, a touch of warm skin, and the Dementors pushed even closer to them, focusing their attention toward a spot on Draco's left, and he remember with a start something Severus had told him their third year. Dementors weren't fooled by invisibility cloaks.

He reached into his robe, wrapping a hand around his wand, but cold, invisible fingers closed around his wrist, and he loosened his grip. Harry was probably right. It wasn't like the dementors were raising an alarm. It would probably do more harm than good to start casting spells now. Weasley watched the movement with wide eyes, but Draco raised his chin and pushed his way forward.

"No!" a man's voice echoed down the hall. "No, I'm a half-blood. I'm a half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard!" Draco followed the noise, remembering what Weasley had said about Umbridge trying muggleborns. It led them to the open dungeon door of a courtroom.

"Take him away," Umbridge's voice said, steady and self-satisfied, and immediately two dementors broke away from the ones crowding around them, rushing toward the dungeon door. They reemerged a second later, clutching the arms of a pale-faced wizard and glided down the hallway.

"Next," Umbridge said. "Mary Cattermole."

"My wife," Weasley said, swallowing hard. Draco rolled his eyes and strode as confidently as he could manage toward the door, Weasley right behind him.

"Reg!" a woman called as soon as they entered. She was trembled hard, her dark hair pulled back in a sharp bun and her face so pale, she looked as though she was on the verge of passing out. "Reg! You came!" She let out a soft sob, wobbling slightly as she crossed the dungeon and practically threw herself at Weasley. Weasley stumbled and caught her about the waist, blinking rapidly. He patted her gently on the back, and Draco wondered vaguely if he or his wife would pass out first.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Umbridge said. She stood from behind a high balustrade, her eyes wide as she looked down at Draco. On one side was Yaxley, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and on the other was the woman Hermione had Polyjuiced herself as, pale and with trembling lips. The ceiling towered above, dementors circling every corner and up into the ceiling, and pacing in front of the platform Umbridge sat on was a bright-silver cat. Draco figured it was probably to protect the prosecutors from the dementors. Why would they want to feel such despair, after all?

"Did we have an appointment?" Umbridge asked, her eyes flicking around the room. There was a brush of fabric against Draco's hand as something—someone—moved past him. Weasley's low voice as he continued to comfort his wife.

"Yes," Yaxley said, his voice low and scathing. "Why are you here of all places, Malfoy?"

"We had no appointment, but I did need to speak to you about a matter of the upmost importance," Draco said, raising his chin up in the air as high as was possible. He felt absurd. "I ran into this," He waved his hand at Weasley, curling his lip as if he were disgusted. "On my way to your office and decided to deliver him to you. Surely, he is just as culpable for harboring and marrying a mudblood, is he not?"

"Quite right," Umbridge said. She leaned forward, a necklace swinging forward off her chubby neck, and Hermione squeaked at the sight of it, her eyes glued to the necklace like—like it was a horcrux. Draco swallowed.

"What matter was so important that you were sent to deliver it?" Yaxley asked.

"I'm not at liberty—"

"Stupify," a disembodied voice yelled, and suddenly Umbridge slumped forward. Hermione squealed, and the silver cat vanished. Yaxley whipped his head around, reaching into his robes for his own wand, but he wasn't near fast enough. "Stupidy," Harry yelled again, and Yaxley slid to the ground in an unconscious heap. Mrs. Cattermole let out a startled yell and a fresh wave of sobs started up again, followed by more frantic comforting.

"Harry!" Hermione said, twisting around out of her seat with her expression some combination of frantic and disapproving. Harry suddenly appeared in a shimmer, standing just behind where Umbridge had been seated.

The temperature dropped even lower as the dementors pressed further down on them, faceless shapes descending upon them. Intent on ending their lives. Draco clutched at his wand, the words echoing around in his head, each unsuccessful attempt at a Patronus charm running around in his mind. His hand trembled. His body shook. Someone screamed. Harry yelled something, and warm flooded through him.

He gasped as a bright silver stag blasted through the dementors crouching in front of him, scattering them back into the far corners of the room. Mrs. Cattermole was still clutching at Weasley, and they were both trembling, shivering, their eyes wide. Something touched Draco arm, and he flinched away. Harry drew his hand back, blinking back at Draco like he didn't recognize him. He clutched the gaudy gold locket in his left hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Draco snapped.

"Go home, get the children," Weasley was telling Mrs. Cattermole. "I'll meet you there. We'll have to leave the country."

"Why won't you just come with me?" Mrs. Cattermole asked. "Why is Harry Potter here? Why is Lucius Malfoy helping us? Why—"

"You can't ask questions, uh, Mary?" his voice pitched like a question, and her eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, Mary. I'll meet you at home. Just trust me."

"Summon your Patronus, Hermione," Harry asked. "We'll need as many as we can muster to get through all the dementors outside." His own Patronus had come to stop by his side, holding its head high with its antlers long and gorgeous. Harry's eyes flickered over Draco's face, but he didn't say anything. Maybe because he already knew.

"Expec—Expecto patronum," Hermione muttered, and nothing happened. She let out a frustrated breath and tried again. This time and bright silver otter burst out from Hermione's wand, swimming through the air hover next to Harry's stag.

"We have to go," Draco said.

"Right," Weasley answered. He'd managed to pry himself from his wife, leaving her hovering uncertainly in the center of the room.

Then they were running, the stag and otter leading the way as they ran out of the courtroom and down the halls. The dementors shied away from them, horrible and a step away from sucking the soul out of all of them. They only stopped when they arrived at the lift, the ding disturbingly pleasant for all the dementors pressing down on them. The lift doors shut on the dementors, and Draco leaned back against the wall, feeling on the edge of passing out.

Hermione's otter dissipated into silver smoke at the lift ascended, but it was only as the lift came to stop on the Atrium floor that Harry let his stag disappear, looking down at it regretfully before it disappeared with a pop. He pulled his invisibility cloak on as the doors started to slide open. Mrs. Cattermole watched him disappear with wide eyes, her fingers closing once again on Weasley's arm.

Draco led the way out of the lift, trying to look casual and arrogant and not like they'd just stupefied two of the top-ranking people at the ministry. Hermione kept close to his side, Weasley trying to pry Mrs. Cattermole off him again.

They had almost made it to a fireplace when they heard it, Yaxley's voice yelling above the din of voice.

"Stop Lucius Malfoy! Stop him!" Yaxley yelled, his voice growing close, too close. "Seal the exits! SEAL THEM!"

Immediately, everyone around them jumped to attention, Draco's impossibly blonde hair becoming entirely too noticeable to ignore. Some witches and wizards started sealing off exits while others turned their wands on Draco. A balding wizard stepping in front of him, hold his wand up with a determined expression.

Draco whipped his wand out, sending a curse straight at the man. In the confusion, Weasley shoved Mrs. Cattermole through one of the unsealed exits, and she disappeared in a flash. Hermione blocked a curse from Draco's right, yelling "stupefy" into his ear.

"My wife!" a voice called, and Reg Cattermole—the real Reg Cattermole—shoved his way through the crowd. "Who was that with my wife? What's going on?"

Yaxley's eyes narrowed on Mr. Cattermole for half a second, and Harry's voice cast another spell to Draco left. Then Yaxley whipped his head around, eyes wide toward Weasley, and something too close to realization appeared in his face,

"Stop them!" he yelled, renewed determination in his voice as she shoved his way closer.

"We need to go!" Hermione yelled, her hand closing around Draco's arm. He felt Harry's fingers press into his wrist, hot and so tight they hurt and then he felt the press of Apparation, darkness pressing against and into him, forcing him into too tight of a space. Hermione's hand slid along his arm and her fingers tightened. Then they landed hard, the ceiling of Grimmauld Place spinning above him. Cobwebs stuck to the one corner and a man looked down at him from a picture from, his eyes narrowed like he was annoyed.

"Diffindo," Yaxley yelled, and blinding pain shot through Draco's side. Liquid trickled down his abdomen. Hermione's hand slipped from his grip. He twisted his wrist, locking his fingers through Harry's. He squeezed his eyes shut. They couldn't stay here. His side was on fire. Hermione yelled something. Someone was screaming. He Disapparated, taking Harry with him.