'Mr. Malfoy, please follow me,' the pretty secretary smiled at Draco professionally, and began leading him into the depth of the Ministry.
They walked past the glass doors of the offices, down the long, carpeted corridors, past the employees that were running here and there.
The secretary lead him into the Minister's office – a small, cosy room with many bookshelves, soft illumination and a very homey feel to it.
'Draco Malfoy, welcome,' the new Minister, appointed only a few weeks ago, stood up from the chair. He was a tall man, silver-haired and very official-looking. Auror in the past, he had not been heard of until his rather unexpected appointment. It was a gamble, putting an unknown man on this high position, but one that had ended up being successful. After mere days he was being praised for his determination, devotion and decisiveness.
'Sir,' Draco nodded, 'I believe I am on time.'
'Yes – yes,' the Minister gestured to the secretary, 'the Aurors should be arriving in a few seconds.'
'Who is coming with me?'
'Mr. Krum, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. We would have sent more, but we simply have no others. Most are dead, or in St. Mungos. Five are guarding the Ministry, two Hogwarts and the three are going with you. Those are all we have now. Ah, here they are...'
Just as he said this, the three Aurors Apparated in the office. Ron still looked a little peaky, but despite his paleness, he had recovered wholly. All three were dressed in black. Hermione's sleek auburn hair was tied into a tight ponytail. All three brandished their wands.
'Minister,' Hermione spoke, 'I believe you wanted to fill us in on the plan.'
'Of course. Please, stand around the table,' the Minster returned to his seat.
With one smooth movement he whisked all the papers off the desk. He waved his wand and the glass surface transformed into a map.
'Right,' he jabbed the map with the tip of his wand in one place, 'you will Apparate to the cemetery where Mr. Malfoy's parents are buried. Buy flowers, Mr. Malfoy, pretend you are there to visit them. We already had Professor Snape inform He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that you shall be there. The plan is simple. Miss Granger, Mr. Krum and Mr. Weasley shall hide themselves and wait until the Deatheaters will turn up.'
Draco grimaced.
'With all due respect, Minister, what if he himself turns up? Or what if they discover its all a set-up?'
'Mr. Malfoy, we have no other options. You knew you were risking your life when you agreed to do this, so... As to your protection party, trust me in that they will be able to conceal themselves. So well that the Dark Lord himself will not be able to recognize them.'
'You don't have to do this,' Viktor spoke, in his quiet but firm voice.
'I know,' Draco looked at the map intently, staring at one spot and yet not seeing it.
'And another thing. Professor Snape asked me to give you this,' the Minister opened a drawer and extracted a crystal vial of a swirling white liquid. 'Its Morffianis,
a pain-killing potion. He said you might need it, since we have nothing else that will help you stand against the Ancient Curses. Take it.'
Draco slid the vial into an inner pocket of his jacket. It felt cold.
'And another thing,' the Minster went on, 'you are authorized to use the Unforgivable Curses. Good luck.'
Draco closed his eyes, his mind completely filled with the image of Harry. Would he ever see him again?
'Let's go,' Hermione said quietly.
It was cold. Unnaturally so. Draco felt the blood retreat from his face and huddled into his jacket – seemingly so thick, but in reality doing ever so little to protect him from the bitter frost. Or was the fear that was chilling his bones?
The graveyard was empty at this time of the night. Long, level rows of neat, well-tended for gravestones and small tombs. Cold, monumental statues of angels and saints, carefully painted fences and – peace. It was ironic, really, that the only place where Draco had experienced such a profound tranquillity was here, where there was so much death.
Hermione smiled wearily. Draco saw her hand sneak, unintentionally, to her growing stomach. He could already see a small bulge under her tight black shirt. Viktor nodded in his curt manner. Ron pretended he was busy with his shoelace – Draco knew that the red-head still disliked him greatly.
Draco began walking down the narrow path. He did not look back. He did not want to know where the three would hide – in case he might be tempted to look there and give himself away.
He found his parents' grave easily enough. It was the largest there. A hauntingly beautiful, Gothic tombstone made of silvery-grey marble, his parents' wedding picture, their names and dates. No soppy poetic epitaphs – he knew they would not have wanted them.
Hesitating for a minute, he kneeled before the grave. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. Did he have to do something? Did he have to say something?
He did not say anything. Instead, his mind strayed to Harry Potter, to those few, seemingly so short, hours of precious tenderness he had granted him. He felt such a pang of emotions – a mixture of fear, confusion, love, longing – that it frightened him. For Draco Malfoy had never been in love before. And the pure, undiluted strength of this emotion scared him.
What would happen? Not only to him and Harry as a... (he wanted to say couple, but were they?) but to his own life. Would he die? Never before he wished so hardly to have the gift of Divination – he would have given almost anything to know what was to come. He detested uncertainness.
He did not jump when he heard the footsteps behind him; he'd been expecting them. Neither was he very surprised when someone grabbed his shoulder. A cold, bony hand. Lord Voldemort's.
