Chapter Two: Open Mind

Draco flopped down on his newly purchased bed and looked around the room. His flat was so small; he could get claustrophobia in here. It was nothing like the high ceilings and openness of the Manor.

But then again, nothing really was. The Manor was probably one of the finest buildings in the world.

He had an interview at the Ministry in twenty minutes, in the Department of Mysteries. Department of Mysteries? he'd read from the newspaper. Should I apply there? That definitely sounds like an uncertain future for my "career." He'd chuckled at his little joke.

I've been seeing Granger for a fortnight and I still don't feel any better. I just get more and more angry with her every time I walk in her tidy little office. He'd done a few things though. He'd ranted about his father, and instead of listening, she wrote it all down. He needed her to listen, not file away his rant for later contemplation. That ten minutes was pure gold, and she didn't even know it. She just nodded and wrote.

Stupid therapy, he'd said to her. I don't need your fucking therapy. You're not even helping me. And what did she say? She retreated back into herself, the schoolgirl bookworm. Her voice even had the same shrill quality as she went on and on about "denial." Fuck you, I'm not in denial, he'd countered. She'd laughed at that.

I'm in denial of what?

And she'd just looked at him with her stupid all-knowing, all-seeing look. Like she knew the dirty secret and didn't feel like sharing. Five steps, she'd said. The first is denial. Then you go back and forth between anger and sadness. Then apathy. Then acceptance. She had it wrong anyway. Wasn't apathy before anger? You accept your past, accept yourself. And then we can move forward.

Cut the fucking cue-card rhetoric and talk to me like a human being.

Straightening his tie, he grabbed his robe and got up, thinking about everything he'd lost because of his association with the Dark Lord. Maybe he'd even let Granger have some of those thoughts today. Thoughts about how he'd already been through several interviews and turned in all kinds of applications... but as soon as people read the name on the parchment, they knew. And they made up their mind then.

More that ever, Draco realized one thing:

He wished people would be more open minded.

And yet he had no idea that he was a hypocrite.

"How's the planning coming along?" Ronald Weasley asked his bride to be, Hermione Granger.

Hermione rubbed her temples. "How do you think?"

There was silence. With an answer like that, they both knew that Hermione should be left alone, or there would be hell to pay. So Ron dropped the subject, searching for a less stressful one.

"Guess who I have to interview for a job today?" he asked. Hermione shrugged and took a sip of her coffee.

"Draco Malfoy. He's applying for a job in the Department of Mysteries as a clerk in the Hall of Prophecy. Isn't that outrageous?" Ron looked at her, seeing that her temper had not improved.

"Guess who I have to treat at ten today," she muttered into her coffee. "Draco Malfoy. I've been seeing him for a fortnight and he's still the same prick. Isn't that outrageous?"

There was silence again. Poor Ron was quickly becoming less and less inclined to speak. He laughed nervously. "What a coincidence."

"Coincidence indeed." Silence.

Thouroughly beaten, he brought her her purse, shoes, and robe, saying, "Well, I have to go. I'll see you tonight." He kissed her cheek and disapparated.

Hermione's fist clenched around her coffee cup. What is the world coming to?

"So I see that you were recently released from Azkaban... I hope you know that I helped Harry with his argument."

Draco nodded and dropped the scowl from his face. He was surprised enough to find that Ronald Weasley was actually taking the interview seriously, and on top of that, being civil. "Thank you," he said.

Ron looked at him. Unspoken words passed between them.

Prick.

Ass-wipe.

"I don't need to grill you to see that you've changed a little." Haha, pull the other one. "That's good, that's a start. Hermione told me that you became a patient of hers a couple weeks ago. Small world." Ron looked more closely at Draco's school transcripts and cleared his throat. "So... I don't blame you for the Divination grade, mine was worse and I'm still the head of this sector. A good History of Magic grade is definitely a boost... how'd you stay awake in that class?" Ron looked up at him.

You're trying a little too hard to be understanding, Weasel. "I recorded his lectures, and listened to them later. But I mainly learned from the textbook." Draco looked down at his pants. His insides churned as he said the next part. "Binns' problem is that he didn't teach with any vitality. The information could have been fascinating if he had only made it so. I made it so on my own time." Ew. He hated the sound of his own voice. Talking to Weasel about his passion for history... it was like there were pigs flying outside Weasley's fake windows.

Ron nodded. Draco looked at him more closely, and said, "I know you don't like me very much." There, I said it. Stop pretending already.

Ron sighed. "I've come to realize that... liking someone is only half of what you can learn from them. Besides, I know that you really need a job. I can connect with that on some level. Any other employer wouldn't even consider you just based on your Azkaban record... two years you did, nearly three. Your... reputation... just seals your fate. Harry talked with Snape, and Dumbledore really put him up to freeing you. It was the right thing to do... though none of us took it very well." And I still hate you.

"And you still hate me."

"... Yes, I still do. And I still want you to suffer for all the frustration you put us all through."

Draco looked down. "It's okay. I get it. Dumbledore's... portrait... put him up to it. I'm too much of a git to inspire something good like that from someone, even Potter."

"But... you need a job."

"Yes... yes I do. Very much."

Ron ran a hand through his hair, exposing the freckles on his forehead. "I'm just going to ask you this one question - do you want a job, or just need one?"

Draco saw it. It was a test, like Granger's little tests. To see how far he'd come. Weasley had asked the kind of question that would display his character. "I have all the money I'll ever need... locked away though it may be. Used smartly, it alone could last me several lifetimes. My father would want me to rise up in the Ministry. The Wizenagamot requires that I get a job. I, on the other hand..." - here was the painful admission - "...don't want to waste my life away doing nothing. I want this job more than I need it."

It was the answer Ron had wanted to hear. It was satisfying on a cruel level to know that Malfoy was so pinched, but also satisfying to know that he'd take his job seriously. And as much as he wanted to say, "No, you can't have it," Ron did the right thing.

"Alright, you're in."

Draco sighed with relief.

"But know this." Draco smiled inwardly as a bit of the Ronald Weasley he knew and hated came out. "Any bullshit... any at all, and I'l have you eating slugs. I'll tear you limb from limb, poor hot acid down your throat, dissolve your testicles and turn your guts into snakes." Little red patches appeared on Ron's face.

Draco smirked at him. "Duly noted."