"Talk."

It had been less than an hour, and all of the Aurors were already back at their desks, working on the requested reports. Draco was standing in a darkened room at the heart of the Ministry, staring at a witch he scarcely recognised.

Granger's face was like stone. She held her wand between loose fingers, but her magic crackled and sang in the cramped space.

"I said, talk. Why did you attack the Drunken Sickle?"

The massive wizard twisted and thrashed in the chair he had been lashed to, but Granger's Incarcerous held well; the cords only tightened around his long, gorilla-like arms. Muted lighting glinted off his silver mask, and Potter's glasses. The Auror stood in one corner of the interrogation room, shoulder to shoulder with Weasley and Longbottom on either side. They had lead Draco down a winding corridor to a set of black, numbered doors. The one marked '4' had been open, revealing the Death Eater and his interrogator.

Granger flicked her wand, and the silver mask went skittering across polished, marble floor.

"Goyle?" Draco gaped, stepping closer to the chair. He felt rather than heard the Aurors draw a collective breath. "You… you tried to kill me! How dare you?"

"I was waiting for you all before I began the questioning," Granger said, loosening the spells she had placed on Goyle just enough so that the wizard could move his forearms. She did not stow away her wand. "Now that you're a little more comfortable, care to talk?"

"This room reeks of blood traitors and Mudbloods," Goyle spat, staring balefully at each of them. His eyes landed on Draco, boring into him as he ripped back his left sleeve and showed them all the brand upon his flesh. "You're a traitor to the cause," he hissed as he bared the Mark. Only, it wasn't like the one decorating Draco's own arm. Smaller and deformed, the skull was clumsily inked, and the protruding serpent tongue seemed to Draco more like an earthworm.

"You were called, and you didn't answer. For that you will be punished, just like your traitor father!"

All eyes snapped to him, but none were heavier than Granger's. Draco chanced a look in her direction, just in time to see her and Potter exchange glances— a conversation between two people who knew each other so well, no words were needed. Potter gave a barely perceptible nod and stepped over to the loudly protesting Goyle, while Draco was grabbed by a surprisingly strong hand and frogmarched from the interrogation room.

The door slammed with a sense of finality, and he found himself face to face with Granger and her blazing eyes in an empty corridor. Her oppressive magic sucked all air from the space, and Draco found it difficult to draw breath as he watched her fiddle agitatedly with her wand. Would she put it away, already? Despite being a head shorter than him, there was something almost intimidating about her severe expression. Almost.

"Show me your arm, Malfoy, and don't give me any bullshit about how 'it's nothing'."

The foul language startled him, and he felt uncomfortably like perfect Prefect Granger had just caught him in the corridors after dark. A very volatile prefect, who still had her wand drawn. He found himself rolling up his sleeve; Granger hissed air sharply through her teeth when she saw his Dark Mark— inky black bordered by angry, swollen pink.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice sounded oddly choked, and she wouldn't look at him.

"Because it's an ugly scar that I would rather forget I had."

A heavy pause. Draco kept his face carefully neutral.

"But it could have been important to the investigation," she bristled, folding her arms across her chest. She wore Hit Wizard attire— a close fitting jacket and pants that tucked into sensible-looking boots. No sparkly flats in sight. "Merlin, it's vital to the investigation. It tells us that the Death Eaters are back in force, and someone is styling themselves as the new Dark Lord. Why else would it be activated?"

"Any one of us," the word tasted sour in his mouth, "could activate the Mark and summon the others. Not just… Him."

"It's still something you should have told me."

"Told you when, exactly? Before, or after you had a go at me?"

Her lips opened and closed, searching for words, and Draco felt a thrill of triumph that momentarily drowned his temper. Granger, with nothing to say?

"You're bleeding," she eventually blurted.

He rasped a short laugh, fingers rising to daub at his stinging lower lip. "So I am."

"Here— stay still."

Before he could stop her, Granger had stepped right up into his personal space. Her fingers were gentle on his chin as she tilted his face to the light, and Draco found himself holding his breath. What was she playing at? He considered shoving her away and insisting he could do it himself when he felt the first stirrings of her magic ghosting across his skin. Begrudgingly, he admitted that she was likely better at healing spells, and quietly let her do her work.

"There," she murmured, stepping away. Draco found his breath again. "Look, Malfoy, about what I said before… I'm sorry." Her eyes were bright as she peered up at him from beneath her lashes. "Can we… start again?"

Start again? Where was the beginning?

After a moment, Draco nodded curtly and said, "As you wish." He was relieved to find his voice cool and level. Potter stepped out of the investigation room and snicked the door shut, sparing him from having to say anything else.

"The idiot thought he was being really clever, smugly telling us that there's a Fidelius Charm placed on their hideout, so we'll never find it— that's two new pieces of information to add to your board, Hermione." Potter absentmindedly ruffled the front of his hair, and Draco fought to refrain from rolling his eyes. Some things never changed. "You think it's worth the paperwork to get permission for Veritaserum?"

Granger gave a thoughtful hum before shaking her head; a far cry from the witch with the blazing eyes. She had even tucked her wand away.

"Goyle's an open book by the sound of it, try getting more from him through questioning. I'm going to ask Kingsley for permission to use a Pensieve— the Wizengamot should have one to spare."

"Right. The scope of the investigation will turn to finding the Secret Keeper, though we'll need to keep expanding our list of known Death Eaters. Er, Hermione… could I have a word?"

Draco looked up, catching Potter just as he glanced away. A derisive laugh bubbled in his chest, but he was hardly surprised by the distrust. He tweaked his sleeve down before Potter had a chance to look at the constant reminder of what Draco had once been. When he turned to stalk off, leaving them to their little conversation, Granger's voice made him pause in the darkened hallway.

"Malfoy."

He turned, coolly arching a brow.

"Good work today."

After a mocking half bow he turned away again, making his way through the winding passageways that were the bowels of the Ministry. His healed lip still tingled as he stepped into the Atrium, held his wand tightly, and turned in place.

Draco pushed through the front door of Malfoy Manor and was immediately greeted by a liveried house elf.

"Allow Monby to take Master's cloak," the elf offered in a bullfrog voice, and Draco shrugged the garment off. He could see another house elf— this one clad in a pristine pillowcase— dusting the gilded frame of a long dead ancestor.

"Thank you, Monby."

The house was quiet but for the click of his shoes against the floorboards, but deep in the foundations of his family's ancient seat, a flicker of magic stirred. Dark, ancient, and impossible of being purged no matter how many times his mother decorated. Draco could smell sawdust in the air, and spotted a patch of the entry parlour re-wallpapering itself. He didn't need to call out to know where his mother would be.

As usual, he found her perched on a window seat at the edge of a small, bright sitting room. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, turning her hair to spun gold, but her skin was pale and lustreless. She stared out at the first of the autumn leaves spiralling down, brittle and dead. The black of her mourning robes sucked up most of the light. His mother glanced up as he entered, and attempted a weak smile; Draco knew it was for his benefit alone, but he felt relieved that she was no longer as despondent as she had been immediately following his father's death.

"Hello, Mother. How goes the refurbishments?"

She beckoned him closer with a slender, ring-bedecked hand. A giant emerald glittered in the setting sun, casting errant shards of green light across the Mooncalf rug Draco stepped across on his way to the window seat.

"I have done most rooms, now, save a few," his mother said softly, returning her eyes to the garden outside with a small, melancholic sigh. They didn't talk about the dining room, where He had conducted most of his business. Nor did they speak of the drawing room down the hall, much less enter it. Whenever he passed, Draco could feel the echoes of the curses cast inside seeping through the crack beneath the door.

"Your room is just how it was." Her eyes were hopeful and sad as she peeked up at him. Trying to coax him to return to his childhood home.

"You know I cannot return, Mother. And what's more, I believe that you should leave, as well. It's not safe for you here."

"Lucius was in Knockturn Alley. I will be here, behind centuries of wards." Her voice was tremulous, and Draco seized her cold, delicate fingers and held them tight. She attempted a wan smile, her fingers twitching. "And besides, the Autumn Gala is approaching, and you know how that is always the most anticipated social event of the year."

"Are you sure you are feeling up to the occasion?"

"I am Narcissa Malfoy." A Slytherin glint entered her steely blue eyes, and she finally seemed to focus on Draco's face. "Who else is going to host it?"

He caught himself grinning. Really, an Autumn Gala when there were posters of escaped Death Eaters plastering every spare bit of wall in Diagon Alley? Leave it to his mother to pull off something so lavish, even in her fragile state.

"It would give me peace of mind if you would allow a few Aurors to attend, in disguise."

"Surely you are in no position to be asking favours of the Ministry?"

No, Draco supposed he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't ask.

"I'll pose it to Granger as a chance to catch any Death Eaters who try to use the Gala as an opportunity."

"Hmm, Miss Granger. Yes…" His mother's eyes were still bright and calculating, even if her tone was distracted. Ordinarily, that would be a cause for alarm… but Draco found he enjoyed her scheming expression much more than the forlorn air that had followed her around for weeks.

Still holding his mother's hand, he turned his attention to the garden that was steadily turning gold. A fountain played in the distance; the only sound as they sat and watched the sun set over Malfoy Manor.

A/N: I have recently made a Tumblr, and even though I'm still figuring out how to use it, you're more than welcome to follow me! My username is littlestivy.