"I have to talk to you."
Potter's sharp, insistent voice broke through the haze of Draco's mind. He'd scarcely been able to stop thinking about Hermione since he woke up in her bed that morning, and he scowled at Potter.
"What is it?" he drawled. He hadn't even made it to his workspace yet, and he adjusted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder impatiently.
"It's about Hermione." At that, Draco's full focus swivelled to the dark-haired man before him, brows high. Potter only rolled his eyes. "Of course, that would get your attention. Obviously, you and I know she isn't missing anymore, and I want to update her case files in the archive, but you know what will happen when I do."
Draco grimaced. He did; it was a large part of the reason why he hadn't been in a rush to do anything with her case. She would likely be ambushed and paraded around the media, heralded for her sudden return and tragic story.
"I don't want to put that on her," Draco ground out. "Not now, while her mental state is so precarious."
Because they still didn't know what might cause her situation to come crumbling down around her. Whether anything might unlock her missing memories―or dismantle what she had spent years attempting to rebuild.
"Neither do I," Potter said quickly, falling into step as Draco paced the rest of the way to his desk. "But I know you've been talking to her―consider bringing it up?"
Releasing a long breath, Draco stared at the other man for a moment. He lifted a brow. "I don't think it's a good idea. Imagine how overwhelming it would be for her to be surrounded by people―reporters―asking her questions about things she doesn't even remember."
Potter wrenched a hand through his hair. "Yeah. But we can't just ignore her file forever."
Draco's shoulders sank. "I know."
"Give it some thought," Potter said, "and we'll figure out the best way to proceed. Maybe I'll bring it up with Robards to see what he thinks."
Although Draco winced, he didn't want to challenge the thought. Surely discussing the matter with the head of the department didn't constitute appropriate for such a delicate matter.
But as though they had summoned him, Robards snapped from a short distance away, "Malfoy. My office."
Draco blew out a breath and refrained from rolling his eyes as Potter offered a grimace; he ought to have just stayed in the warmth and comfort of Hermione's bed. The day was already shaping up to be a mess.
"Good luck," Potter quipped before darting away.
Grinding his teeth, Draco crossed the floor and slipped into Robards' office, pressing the door shut behind himself.
The man fixed him with a hard stare. "Take a seat, Malfoy."
Draco didn't know what to make of the situation, and Robards' expression gave no hints. If anything, the matter was dire, and Draco's stomach clenched with unease. He set his bag on the floor and dropped rigidly into a chair, fixing his superior with his full attention. Robards only jotted several things down on a memo and sent it through the chute while Draco waited; the man's usually tidy hair was a mess, and he had deep circles beneath his eyes.
As the prolonged silence began to prickle along the surface of Draco's skin, he asked, "Is everything alright, sir?"
Robards squared his jaw and regarded Draco over his frames. "You tell me, Mister Malfoy. What do you know about what went down in Azkaban last night?"
Draco felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. "Excuse me, sir? I haven't heard anything."
Huffing a breath, Robards dragged a hand along his stubbled jaw. "I don't want to be the one to tell you this. Your father, along with three other inmates, orchestrated an escape attempt from the secure ward last night." The words rattled around Draco's brain as he sucked in a sudden, sharp breath. Robards looked grim. "They made it pretty far, too. Three guards and one Auror lost their lives."
"No," Draco whispered, the word falling like an exhale. His heart sank to his sternum.
"Yes." The man's piercing eyes still lingered on Draco. "The guards think it might have been spurred by your father's visitation with your ailing mother. Apparently, he claimed his―quote―incompetent traitor of a son has been doing nothing to help the situation."
Draco ground his teeth, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest; a sudden and intense headache flared below his temples. "I don't even know what to say, sir―what's happening with the situation now?"
"Your father will go to trial again," Robards said, his words carefully clinical, "as will the other inmates. Mister Malfoy, each of them were former Death Eaters." He hesitated, releasing a long breath. "No one's taking this lightly; certainly not the Minister nor the Wizengamot. News of Death Eaters coordinating from within―killing guards―this could set a devastating precedent if not dealt with properly."
Squeezing his temples between his thumb and forefinger, Draco ground out, "And how do they think it will play out?"
Robards fixed him with another hard stare, but the words were soft. "There's been talk of the kiss."
Draco's eyes fell shut.
Although most of the Dementors had fled Azkaban after the war, leaving a squadron of cruel guards in charge of the prison, some had remained. Those particularly thirsty. Somehow, the idea felt so abstract, and after everything his father had done―including this, now―Draco couldn't stomach the thought.
He was glad he hadn't had time to eat breakfast after a slight lie-in with Hermione.
"I don't want to ask this," Robards went on quietly, "but I need to know. When was the last time you spoke to your father?"
"What?" Draco's head snapped up, eyes wide. "You can't possibly think―" He cut himself off at the look on his superior's face, devastation slicing through him like a hot blade. "At the visitation at St Mungo's."
"And did he mention anything―"
"No."
The possibility of tossing his guts felt real as Robards visibly weighed his words once more. "You must know I don't think you had anything to do with this." The way the words hung suspended, as though there was more, played against every insecurity that existed within Draco's spirit. "But I don't run the department alone, and the others―"
"You can't be serious," Draco ground out, panic getting the better of him. He wrenched a hand through his hair. "You can't fucking―"
"Mister Malfoy."
Draco fell silent, shame spiking thick and heavy within him. He wanted to cry and scream and run away and―
"I'm sorry to say, but this is too important. Too much relies on the outcome of this case, and I can't have you anywhere near it."
A breath caught in his lungs, and for an instant, Draco couldn't breathe. "What are you saying? You're kicking me out―"
"I am not kicking you out." The man fell silent. Draco's heart thudded aggressively in his chest, and his mouth went dry. Every part of him was stiff with tension. "I am putting you on suspension from active duty for the duration of the investigation and trial. I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy, but this is too high profile. I cannot allow for even a flicker of doubt in the department."
"That's bullshit," Draco croaked. Robards shot him a look but didn't admonish him. "I didn't have anything to do with this."
Robards' chest sank heavily with an exhale. "Your father and his cohorts had makeshift weapons. The components of which they would not have been able to gather from inside Azkaban. Some of my colleagues in the Ministry suggest the timing of your father's visitation―"
"What?" Draco was on his feet before he could stop himself. "I didn't―" At the very thought that he might have been involved, the words fell away, stifled in his throat. He wrenched a hand through his hair, propping the other on the back of his seat to stabilise himself. His skin grew hot.
"Let me make something abundantly clear, Auror Malfoy," Robards said quietly, "I don't think you had anything to do with this. In fact, I know you didn't."
Chancing a look towards his superior, Draco could read the contrition in his face. "I didn't do this. If I had known he was planning anything like this, I would have told you―"
"I know."
Nausea churned, insistent, in his stomach, and Draco collapsed back into his seat. Drawing in a long, rattling breath, he dropped his face into a palm. "What do you want from me?"
"I have to ask," Robards said, his voice quiet and apologetic, "where were you last night?"
A humourless chuckle, bitter and terse, fell from Draco's lips. Not a fucking chance he would involve Hermione in this. "I was at my girlfriend's place. And she had nothing to do with it, either. If I'm a fucking suspect or something―"
"Mister Malfoy." Robards folded his hands on his desk as he leaned forward. "Kindly watch your tone. I know this isn't easy, and I don't want any accusations thrown around the department any more than you want them thrown at you. But I need proof for the others that you weren't involved."
"Your proof," Draco said, his words hoarse and weak, "is the fact that I've been fighting twelve hours a bloody day to prove myself as an Auror. Why would I want to break Death Eaters out of fucking Azkaban?" When Robards only released a sigh and stared at him, Draco pressed on. "If I were anyone else, I would be in the field already."
"You're right," Robards said, at last, leaning back in his seat. "You would be."
Bitterness coiled in his stomach like smoke at the admission, and Draco ground his jaw to keep from saying anything more. He knew he wasn't useless, and even Potter himself had noted how much he'd improved over the past months.
"Please don't suspend me," he choked out. "I'll stay away from the trial case."
He could hear the desperation leaking through his tone, but at the moment, Draco didn't care. All he had was his efforts to prove himself as more than his father's shadow. And for the man's actions to follow him still, now―Draco felt as though his heart might simply shatter, depleted and bone-dry.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy." Draco could see in Robards' face that he meant it. "My hands are tied. It's only until we sort this mess out. Until the trials are completed, and this whole potential Death Eater resurgence is put to bed." He hesitated for a moment while Draco's heart thudded heavily and his eyes blurred. "Prejudice has always been a prevalent thing in the wizarding world."
The unspoken close of the statement haunted the back of Draco's mind.
As you well know.
Draco knew about prejudice better than anyone.
The cruel, bitter irony of it curled around every part of his being, leaving him empty and miserable. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him entirely; his shoulders sank, brow furrowed with defeat.
"I need to ask for your badge."
Staring hard at the desk in an effort to force back the angry sting of tears, Draco felt the fight seep away through his skin. For all his training and drive to become an Auror, still his colleagues doubted him. Years of effort crumbled down around him faster than he could take stock of the wreck.
He fumbled for the badge at his belt, fingers grazing the smooth metal of it as he slid it across the desk.
Panic swelled within his chest as Robards retrieved it, tucking it into his desk, and Draco thought he might simply dissolve into the wisp of a man that remained.
"I'm sorry," Robards said again.
But Draco couldn't find any more words. He clenched the arms of his seat with white knuckles and forced himself to ask, "Was that all?"
"That was all. I will keep you posted as the situation proceeds."
Draco pushed into the arms of the seat, his hands shaking as he stood. He shrugged the strap of his bag over one shoulder, feeling as though his strength had been utterly depleted. With a sharp, stiff nod, he turned for the door.
"Please ask Auror Potter to come to my office," Robards spoke quietly.
Releasing a tight breath, Draco nodded again.
The bright lights of the department stung the backs of Draco's eyes as he left the office, and he could feel stares tracking him. Whether they already knew or not, he didn't care.
He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so much of a failure.
Catching Potter's concerned gaze, Draco strode forward and muttered, "Robards needs to see you."
"What happened?" By Potter's searching eyes, Draco knew he wasn't stringing him along. That Potter, at least, wasn't against him. If nothing else, he was one of the only ones Draco knew he could rely on. Still, he could only shake his head. "Malfoy."
"I've got to go," Draco choked out, blood spiking hot in his veins at the stares.
He brushed by him, their shoulders jostling, in an attempt to escape.
And he had no idea where he was going to go.
Hours later, Draco sat slumped on a bench along the Thames, a bright and mocking sun blazing down on him as he stewed in his own melancholy.
For as hard as he'd tried, and for the years of effort, he ought to have known he'd never be able to shake the shadows of his youth that sought to follow him wherever he went. And now his father's actions had put his career on the line―and moreover—exposed so many things Draco had tried to ignore.
He might never be granted status as a full Auror, not if his own department didn't trust him.
Between his ailing mother, his imprisoned father, and his floundering profession, Draco hadn't known how to make sense of anything or where to turn. And now, all three had collided into a storm from which he couldn't escape.
He didn't dare talk to Hermione.
He couldn't comprehend the deep, all-encompassing shame when he so much as thought of her.
Several times, his phone had gone off in his satchel, but he didn't even have the nerve to look at it. The sun was high in the sky, already well past its midday peak, but Draco didn't know what time it was. It didn't matter, as he had nowhere to be.
Suspended.
Suspect.
Carding an aggravated hand through his hair, he grit his teeth on a scream that threatened to break free.
At last, he pulled the phone from his bag, skimming the notices. Three missed calls from Hermione. Several messages. His face grew grim, heart tossing in his chest as he scanned them one at a time.
Hey! I had a nice time last night. Thanks for coming by.
Draco, is everything alright? Harry just asked me to corroborate where you were last night. Something about your father?
Draco? What's going on?
Please call me back. I just want to know if you're alright?
Releasing a sigh, Draco dragged a hand down his face. As he clutched the phone in his palm, it buzzed again, and he opened the message.
Malfoy, answer your fucking Floo calls.
After blinking several times at the message, Draco surmised Potter must have been with Hermione. He blew out a long breath, then dialled the number.
"What the fuck?" Potter's voice came over the line. "The department's in bloody chaos over this Azkaban shit, mate. Robards actually fucking suspended you?"
Draco worked his jaw. "Where are you?"
"I'm at Hermione's cafe. She's worried sick over you."
"Put her on."
A moment of silence hummed on the line while Draco's stomach tossed steadily. Then her quiet voice came on the line, and it felt like a knife through his heart. "Draco, are you alright?"
"Fine," he drawled.
"You aren't fine," she breathed, the words a soft admonition. "Harry told me some of what's happened. Can you come here?"
Trepidation stung at his nerves, and he glanced at his watch. "I'm tied up with something at the moment." He didn't want to lie to her, but he couldn't see her—couldn't handle the warmth in her stare as if he were worth her notice.
Because he wasn't.
"Oh. Of course."
The subtle hint of sadness in her tone suggested she didn't believe him, and Draco wanted to curse himself for it.
"Look, do me a favour," he muttered, "I don't want you to have to get involved in this, alright? You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. Not even Potter." He released a long breath when she didn't respond and dragged a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean for you to get tangled up in anything, yeah? All they want to know is what I was doing last night."
"You were with me," she ground out quietly. "And if I need to tell anyone that, I will. Draco, it isn't fair for them to accuse you of anything."
"If you talk to them, Hermione, you'll be throwing yourself into a spotlight brighter than you realise right now."
She didn't answer for another long moment, and Draco's skin itched in the silence that ensued. At last, she sighed. "I don't know what's going on, Draco, but Harry's told me they suspended your badge over something that wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I know how much your work means to you."
He might have been annoyed with Potter if not for the fact that he and Hermione had been on friendly terms for a number of weeks already; it wasn't Draco's place to say anything about that. If nothing else, he was glad that she had someone else to talk to―and he knew he could trust Potter to look out for her wellbeing.
"Just a mix-up," Draco muttered. "It'll be fine once this mess dies down."
He wished he could believe his own words. Despite what Robards had said, Draco would be genuinely surprised if he was ever fully reinstated.
"You aren't tied up with anything, are you?" Her voice was soft and apologetic, but he heard the hint of something else. Something like pain. "I'm on your side, you know."
"I know." He blew out a long breath, squinting into the sun above. "I just don't know how to deal with this right now."
Honesty was good. Draco wasn't used to having anyone care enough about how he felt. Not even his mother―and at the thought, he bit back a groan. He would have to rehash this mess with her.
"Okay," she said, meek and quiet. "If you want some company later, I only work until eight."
Draco ground his jaw, indecision raw and searing as it raced through him. "Okay. I'll let you know."
Hermione didn't instantly respond, and he heard a muffled male voice on the other end. She said with a sigh, "I'm supposed to tell you to get your arse home and answer your Floo―whatever that means."
Scrubbing at one eye, Draco drawled, "Tell Potter to piss right off." But he released a long exhale and rose to his feet, stretching out his stiffened muscles after sitting on a bench for hours. "Fine. Tell him to give me ten minutes. And to use a secure grate."
He could hear her speaking off the line for a moment before she returned. "Alright."
"Thanks," Draco said softly.
"Draco, are you sure you're okay?"
He almost couldn't handle the tenderness in her voice. "It'll be fine," he said. "I'll talk to you later, alright?"
"Yeah, alright." She hesitated for a moment and, lowering her voice, said, "You know I'm here if you need. Whatever it is, you can talk to me."
"Yeah," Draco bit out, "I know. I appreciate it."
He bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from suggesting that maybe she shouldn't be. That he didn't deserve someone willing to stand by his side―not least of all someone so genuinely good. Because even if he didn't deserve her, he didn't want to lose her. He could barely fathom the thought, and his stomach churned at the idea of her walking away.
"Okay. Bye."
When the line went dead, Draco stared at the phone for a long moment before stowing it into his pocket. Then he slipped from the river bank down the road to an innocuous point where he could duck between two buildings to Apparate home.
Not five minutes later, the fire flared neon green in his grate, and Draco rolled his eyes as he answered the call. Potter's face appeared in the flames, his expression irritable, and he announced, "I'm coming through." His face vanished before Draco could even say anything.
He scowled and folded his arms when Potter appeared on the hearth, already speaking. "I don't know what sort of bullshit the department is playing at, but this is ridiculous."
"I don't really want to talk about this, Potter," Draco grumbled, collapsing into the sofa. "So if this is all you wanted to discuss, please kindly fuck off."
"It isn't, so don't be a prick." Potter sank into the armchair beside the fireplace, looking around the flat, and it occurred to Draco that Potter had never been to his flat. But he'd had no cause ever to invite him over before, even now that he and Theo were an item. "Hermione wanted to see you, by the way."
Draco clenched his jaw, thinning his lips. "I can't see her right now."
"Right," Potter clipped, "because it'll interfere with your pity party."
"You can leave."
"Buck up, Malfoy," Potter pressed on with a grimace. "I'm on your side. And Robards is too, but he can't go against the Wizengamot on an issue like this. We all know your father's a royal tosser, and you had nothing to do with it, but an Auror's dead, and so are three guards, so they can't just dismiss the concerns. With any luck, Hermione won't have to vouch for your whereabouts last night because they'll find the scum who smuggled contraband into the prison. You aren't a suspect―not really, because Robards knows how you despise your father."
Draco scowled at him even though he knew he shouldn't dismiss the few allies he might have in the department. "He didn't need to take my badge."
"Bloody political, isn't it?" Potter waved a dismissive hand. "I agree; it's bullshit. But he doesn't want the gossip that would come from a Malfoy in the Auror's office when a Malfoy is on trial for the kiss."
At the reminder of his father's potential fate, Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He sucked in a breath through his nose and glanced away.
Potter froze, his face falling. "Er, right. Sorry about that." Fixing him with a hard look, Potter barrelled on. "The issue coming from the other side is that you just had that visitation, and three Aurors saw you speak with your father, and now this. I know you better, and honestly, anyone who thinks you could have slipped them weapons hasn't been paying attention, but you know how it is."
"I do," Draco said delicately, hating the fact. He released an anguished sigh and dragged a hand through his messy hair. "It fucking sucks to know that half the department is willing to turn on me that fast, mate."
Rarely did he and Potter discuss anything on a deeper level, and he felt a little weird about the look Potter gave him.
"I know it does," Potter said softly at last. "I can't even remember how many times the Ministry spoke out against me during the war." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Closed-minded, the lot of them, and not everything's changed since the war."
"Yeah," Draco muttered. "Anyway, thanks. Keep me posted."
"I will." Potter rose, pacing towards the grate. "And I'm going to offer you some unsolicited advice. Coming from someone who knows Hermione better than anyone―or used to, anyway―don't block out her efforts to help. For whatever reason, she's decided she wants you in her life―even though she knows the past between you two is shady at best―and if you shut her out, you're going to wreck it."
Draco blew out a breath, feeling simultaneously better and worse from Potter's visit. "Thanks."
With a nod, Potter cast a handful of powder into the grate and vanished.
Author's Note: Hiii hello thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts about the chapter xo
Alpha and beta love, as always, to the wonderful Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel respectively.
