Title: The Well 4/?
Author: eidheann
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~ 900
Summary: Where there is a wish...
Warnings: angst
A/N: Continuation of my first attempt at writing/posting/sharing HD. Thank you for the feedback and support thus far.
The next week, Draco's schedule collapsed into nonexistence, just when he needed the familiarity most. The weekend was spent at the Manor, carefully not-thinking about the familiar rooms and memories of his childhood. His mother had taken to bed after reading the letter twice more, and had not emerged from her rooms since. It was left to him to make the necessary floo calls. First to his Master, bereavement leave was granted for as long as necessary, then to his parents remaining friends, most on the Continent. As he had died in Azkaban, his father would not be returned to be interred in the family vault until an Inquest had been completed. However, certain formalities must be maintained, and so he set to arranging a Memorial to be held at the family's chateau in Southern France the next week.
On Friday, one week nearly to the hour of the message from Azkaban, an elf arrived in the library carrying another envelope, another official seal on the front, this time for the DMLE. He is briefly grateful his mother is still in her rooms, where she can hide the sherry she takes with her luncheon to mask her grief. It is a politely worded request from Granger, requesting he come to her office at his earliest convenience.
Traveling to the Ministry is much the same as it always is since the War. He is stared at, frowned at, mothers hide their children, but no jeers, just silence. It is the silence, the cessation of conversation when he is seen that hurts the most, and he wraps himself in his Malfoy pride, not a trace of anything but tight shoulders, upright bearing, blank mask. Inside the Ministry is much the same. He hands over his wand to a sullen-faced guard, and takes the name badge in return. He becomes Draco Malfoy, appointment with Hermione Granger-Weasley, DMLE Inquest Division.
He arrives at her office, one of many doors along a hallway distinguished only by the brass plaque on the door bearing her name. Knocks twice. Enters at her call. She glances up at him, hair beginning to frizz out from her low bun, one quill behind her ear, another in her hand, and she looks exactly the same as she did in Hogwarts. Exactly the same and his chest clenches. She was the only one that knew about... them. She and Pansy, and his owl this week inviting her to the memorial has been the only contact he's had with Pansy since she left him with a "this will never work out," and he's stayed silent because he could never bear her "I told you so's." Granger figured it out on her own, though. Came to Grimmauld Place when she knew they would both be there. Sat them down at talked at them for an hour. It was the second to last time he saw Harry, and he still wondered...
Her face now was a mask of professional sympathy. She beckoned him to a chair and shuffled files around for a few moments. He watched her, focused more on maintaining his mask than anything she was doing. Afraid if he let it slip for a moment, he would ask her why. Why everything.
"Mr. Malfoy..." she seemed uncomfortable and paused.
He dipped his head slightly. "Granger."
"Granger-Weasley." She seemed on firmer ground with the opportunity to correct, and he briefly regretted trying to bait her. "As I'm sure you can guess, this is about the... incident at Azkaban with your father."
He blinked, startled. "Incident? What incident? We were told he'd died but the letter said nothing else. Did something happen?"
She looked profoundly uncomfortable at that. He would have congratulated himself, but his heart was pounding and he had to focus on his breathing. "Er, yes. We need to take a statement from you... Anything you may have seen on your visits..."
"Visits? What do you mean visits? We never..."
"Mr. Malfoy, I have sworn statements here..." she lifted a sheaf of parchment, her discomfort turning mulish, "saying you had been to Azkaban to visit your father a week ago yesterday... The day before he passed."
He shook his head, he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, his mask cracking. "We never went to Azkaban, Granger. It was not allowed. I have the decree at home; I'm certain my mother has her copy at the Manor as well. The Ministry refused us access and my father visiting privileges."
She rocked back in her chair at that. The mulish expression changing to puzzlement. "So you were not at Azkaban on Thursday?"
He could feel his hands shaking again, and knew he was losing all but the last shreds of control. "I am studying under a Potions Master. In Paris. I... He has me there every week. Monday through Thursday. I... No, I was not at Azkaban."
Her frown hit him once again with memory of Hogwarts; he'd seen it often enough in Potions, Arithmancy. She was puzzling something, using that big brain of hers for something. "If you would bring me the letters, Mr. Malfoy? There apparently is more to this that I need to look into."
His nod was stilted, and he stood abruptly. "Of course. I will owl them to you this afternoon. Good day, Granger."
"Granger-Weasley," she replied automatically, her hand already reaching for another file, her attention caught by whatever it was she was thinking.
He let the door close behind him with a quiet click.