Scorpius was at the neighbour's, reading while Mr. Keller, a very nice elderly man with three cats of his own, made dinner. Harry sat with the boy and explained the situation with the visitors and mushroom threat, trying to be as honest as he could, hoping it was what Draco would have wanted.

He had to check back at the office eventually, and found Ron grumbling. Apparently, the press was becoming more of a job than their actual jobs. Ron had first assigned one of the rookies, but they were completely incompetent when it came to fielding questions and handling the reporters. Ron had had to step in and be a bit more diplomatic. He had crafted an official response, after which things settled down slightly.

The rookies were out on a call - something about a disturbance that might be related. Ron was still going through the trial files, hoping for testimony that might shed light on something. They seemed endless, and a dead end, but it all felt like dead ends these days.

Harry was about to sit down and take a stab at them again when he was called into Shacklebolt's office. Why he was there on a Saturday was anyone's guess. Only a few do-gooders came in on Saturdays. Apparently, Harry was one of them now. Ron sent him a sympathetic look, but did not offer to go with him.

Shacklebolt looked ruffled. He gestured impatiently for Harry to sit.

'Give me a progress report,' Shacklebolt said. Harry frowned, but told him how things stood, putting emphasis on Hermione's work. Shacklebolt did not look impressed. 'The situation is becoming untenable,' he said.

'How so, exactly?' Harry asked. Sitting in another meeting with a man who had no interest in the case, when he should be doing something, was untenable.

'Don't play dumb, Potter, it's beneath you,' Shacklebolt snapped. 'The Wizangamot is considering a vote of no confidence. If I don't do something to appease them and calm this whole situation-'

'The situation does need calming, Sir,' Harry agreed. 'I suggest giving me the resources to help solve the case, Sir.'

'Don't,' Shacklebolt warned, pointing at him. Harry's eyebrows rose. He had never seen Shacklebolt this frustrated, especially with him. 'We might have a new investigation on our hands. I'm not sending you resources when there might be secret Death Eaters all over the Ministry. Did you read the Prophet's list of suspects? It's mostly bollocks, but it's fueling paranoia.'

'They'll get over it,' Harry said. 'The best thing to do is to remind them that we don't investigate people without cause.'

'So your recommendation is to do nothing? I swear, Potter, if I go down, I won't be going alone.'

'I'm sorry, what?' Harry's mouth fell open slightly.

'My leadership has been tainted by the stupidity of Juhlin, but you and I both got where we are because of each other. If I'm ousted, you won't get out clean, especially considering that everyone thinks you're sympathising too much with these people.'

'Sir, you are starting to sound like-'

'Don't lecture me on the treatment of prisoners or living in peace or any of that shite,' Shacklebolt waved his hand dismissively. 'People want them back in prison or gone. End of story. Lingering on like this is unsettling everyone.'

'Not all of the people in St. Mungo's are prisoners, Sir,' Harry reminded him, barely keeping himself under control. Shacklebolt's own loss of control was helping Harry keep his. 'They are just sick people, who are in a lot of pain.'

'If you keep on this, you will only makes things difficult for yourself in the future. I'm sure you have plans? I always thought one day you would succeed me, but if I'm ousted I'm not exactly in a position to help you with that.'

'Sir,' Harry raised his voice, just below a shout. The hairs on his arms stood up, and Shacklebolt seemed to sense something, because he sat back abruptly. 'Let me be clear. I could not give a toss about your job security, or mine for that matter. We fought a war together, don't you remember that?' Shacklebolt opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off by rising from his chair. 'I do. I remember the trials. You thought Draco Malfoy's sentence was too harsh, that it would create resentment within the pureblood families. You wanted only the worst to go to Azkaban. You advocated for community service and to let the seventh years retake their year, no matter their house.

'Has all that meant nothing?' Harry asked. 'These people are being killed, by Voldemort,' he spat. 'We used to try and stop that from happening.'

'Harry,' Shacklebolt said, voice low and shamed, but he was shaking his head.

'I'm still fighting,' Harry said. 'I won't stop until his legacy is gone. You can tell the press whatever you want. I'll tell them the truth. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do.' Harry turned and stormed out. He didn't notice, but the second he left several items dropped out of the air. Papers, quills, books, and Shacklebolt's tea had all silently risen into the air while Harry had been speaking. They crashed down, startling the Minister. The air crackled with magic.

Harry was so angry, a small whirlwind followed him, causing many office workers to have to lunge after stray scrolls. He got in the lift, and no one dared go in after him. As it sunk to the Auror offices, Harry breathed deeply. The longer this whole thing went on, the more Harry could see the ugly side of everyone he thought would be on his side. He almost felt like calling friends, like Luna or Neville, just to ask them what they thought, so he could assure himself of their integrity. He thought about going to see Arthur and Molly. He hadn't been over there in ages. They would be reasonable, surely? But he had thought Shacklebolt unbreakable also.

The lift doors opened, and several people who had been waiting for it hesitated at the sight of him. Harry pressed another button and muttered 'sorry, wrong floor.' None of them joined him. Harry went all the way down to the sub-basement levels, until he found the Department of Magical Spaces, Buildings and Areas.

The doors creaked opened to reveal a long corridor, clad in dark wood panelling. Office doors were spaced out on both sides all along it, about ten feet apart. Harry read the names and titles as he went. Most of them were accountants, he noticed. Many of the doors held no names at all. The corridor was completely silent, and dimly lit. None of the names looked like they could be of help.

The unfamiliar surroundings made him realise how big the Ministry truly was. There were whole departments he had never even set foot in. To be completely honest, he couldn't be entirely sure he had even heard of the Department of Magical Spaces, Buildings and Areas before Draco mentioned it. What had the other options been? Something about a Cultural Board. Merlin, he was horrible at bureaucracy.

He came to the end, where the corridor split off in opposite directions, both of them identical. The same endless office doors. Now what? Harry chose a direction at random.

He almost fell into a sort of trance, staring at the exact same door over and over, with only a few more varied titles like 'case worker', 'surveyor' and 'inspector'. Suddenly, however, he passed a door that said 'Areas - Notary,' with no name. That sounded like something that might be useful. Even if no one was there, he could maybe summon Draco's letters. Harry opened the door, expecting to find a relatively small room with a few file cabinets, considering the small space between the doors.

Of course, he still sometimes forgot he was a wizard.

The room was perhaps five times larger than the door had suggested. There were three rows of desks, five deep, all identical, but only three of them occupied by wizards.

They were all fairly old, balding or completely bald, with the same brown robes. They were reading scrolls, stamping them occasionally. At the end they signed them, before sending them shooting off into one of the file cabinets, which would open magically, swallowing the scrolls as if they were fish being tossed to seals.

The three stopped what they were doing at Harry's appearance, staring at him in confusion, as if they had never seen a person from the outside world.

'Hello,' Harry said, 'I'm hoping someone might help a friend of mine. He's been wondering why no one has answered his messages?'

'Is he registering a new magical area? Or requesting permission for one?' the wizard at the front asked. He was a small man, bald and with thick glasses.

'Um, no, he's sort of registering an old one, I think.' Harry should have gotten more details before he came all the way down here, but he had been in desperate need of a distraction to calm himself down before he did something stupid.

'Surveying and inspecting of old areas is down the corridor-' the wizard abruptly stopped, staring even more wide-eyed. Harry knew that look. 'Are you- You're Harry Potter!'

'Yes, yes, I am.' He had over the years developed a sense of when just rolling with it was to his advantage. He never abused his power of course, but sometimes- well, it wasn't as if there was a line.

The wizard popped out of his chair, while the other two leaned close to whisper to each other. 'Auror Potter, it is an honour to have you visit our little Department. I am Rafferty Westheimer, at your service.' He shook Harry's hand enthusiastically, practically beaming. Harry put on his press-face and smiled back.

'A pleasure to meet you. I'm hoping someone here can help me. My friend has sent a lot of reports and messages to various Ministry Departments, including this one. It's about a magical site.'

'That is our speciality,' the man smiled, 'but you said it was old? Does it have a case file number?'

'No, it's not in the system. I think it's an archaeological site. A magical heritage site.' The man's smile faded, replaced by a frown. He glanced behind him at his comrades, who both nodded imperceptibly. The wizard turned back to Harry.

'Who has been sending these missives?' he asked.

'Draco Malfoy,' Harry said, almost sighing in defeat.

'Ah, I do believe I know to which case you are referring,' the man said. 'Let's go to my office.' He led the way out, and stepped right across the hallway to the door opposite. He opened it and gestured for Harry to enter. Inside was a very nice and spacious office. It held a big desk, a very comfortable leather chair, and a seating area comprising of two sofas and a coffee table. Along the walls were shelves and filing cabinets. Harry had to smile - every Department always took the advantages they had access to.

'Please, have a seat,' Mr. Westheimer gestured to one of the Chesterfield sofas. Harry sat, wondering if the man was worried Harry might tell someone about this abuse of power. Then again, maybe it was just the done thing.

Mr. Westheimer hurried to the nearest filing cabinet and opened the top drawer, pulling out several scrolls, and a stack of letters. He set them all on the table in front of Harry and seated himself. 'These are Mr. Malfoy's reports relating to the site he is currently working on, I believe. A druid magical site, I think he posited.'

'That sounds like something worth saving,' Harry said, noticing Draco's neat handwriting on some of the letters.

'Indeed, I would love to visit the place myself and do some surveying. Unfortunately, this is not, strictly speaking, under our jurisdiction, so to speak.' Harry tried not to get turned around by the way the man spoke. A lot of wizards who spent their lives down in the basements developed that kind of speech, as if making sure they could get out of every clause they offered.

'But it's a magical area, right?'

'Yes, and no. Right now it's just a field,' he explained. 'Most of Malfoy's work has dealt with unused places and artefacts. We have only surveyed two sites and registered a single one thanks to Malfoy's reports over the years. Most of them we simply do not have the resources to look into. As you saw, we are woefully understaffed.'

'But this is an important site.'

'Yes, I agree, as a private citizen of course. But as an employee of this Department, I can not speak to that. Mr. Malfoy sends copies to the Cultural Board and the Committee of Magical Artefacts, I believe. In this case, I think you should speak to the former. If anyone would be interested in saving it, it would be them. Of course, that is my private recommendation. Officially, Mr. Malfoy's report has been sent on to all possible parties, and I can not speak to their handling of the case.'

'You don't sound hopeful,' Harry commented.

'Malfoy's work is excellent,' Mr. Westheimer said. 'His reports are incredibly thorough and follow every guideline to the letter. I'd love him to work here, to be honest!' The man gave a soft chuckle. 'But I am not in charge of hiring, of course!'

'As to his work,' he continued, 'The Ministry, in its current organization, has no place to process requests of this nature. None of the current Departments have this within their purview, you see. His reports often end up being circulated several times before someone puts a "case closed" stamp on them to get them out of the air. Though I myself have never witnessed such an act, nor would I close a case without going through the proper procedure.'

'That's...' Harry shouldn't be surprised, but damn it, this was not the distraction he needed. 'There must be someone who could make a decision on this. Survey it, at least, make an official inquiry request. Something!'

'An intervention of this nature would require a lot of manpower. The site would have to be made unplottable, muggle documents would have to be destroyed - some locals might even have to be obliviated or at the least confunded. You would need an order from the Wizangamot or the Minister of Magic himself. Or, to buy time, you could get a formal request to halt proceedings until further investigation from the Department of International Magical Cooperation.'

'Merlin,' Harry sighed, his head dropping down into his hands. 'I'm not likely to get any of that.'

'But surely you know the Minister himself?'

'He's not a fan at the moment,' Harry said. Mr. Westheimer looked utterly confused. Harry decided not to be the one to explain the situation outside. He thanked the man for his trouble.

'Not a problem. I'm sorry I can't be of more help.' They rose together and the man opened the door for him again. Harry stepped out of the office, only to stop short at the sight of the lifts just one door away to the right. He glanced at Mr. Westheimer in surprised. The man grinned.

'Magical space is a wonderfully practical thing, don't you think?' Harry smiled back, agreed, and said goodbye.

XXX

Sunday morning

A sunday was no day for progress, especially if the Ministry was involved. But apparently someone had been working late last night, because Harry had finally gotten word from the Ministry archive on his request to access all documents pertaining to the war. Hermione had asked him to do it because she suspected some documents had been taken from Malfoy Manor during the clean-up.

The request was denied. Harry almost firecalled Shacklebolt, but it was probably his doing, and he wasn't likely to change his mind if Harry's head appeared in his fireplace on his day off.

He spent the day going through trial transcripts and patient interviews, hoping for something would jump out at him.

At lunch he went to visit Draco to tell him the bad news about the archaeological site. The patient was very weak, but seemed to become even smaller as Harry spoke.

Harry sat by the bed, waiting for a response. Draco just lay there, staring at the opposite wall. Why wasn't there a wireless in here at least? Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione. He knew she would be in today as well.

His gaze fell to Draco's forearm. It was bandaged, but the dressing looked a bit old, and there was just a hint of red coming from where the Mark would be. Had he been bleeding from it? That was not a symptom, but then Harry remembered Draco's reaction when he had become agitated. He had scratched and pulled at the Mark. Perhaps he was doing it more frequently as the pain worsened. The thought of Draco scratching at his skin until he bled was almost enough to make Harry want to scream.

'I hate to ask, but this isn't just for me, you understand,' Draco said softly, calling Harry back from his dark thoughts. 'Is there any chance you could talk to the Minister?'

'I would, Draco, in a heartbeat, if I thought it would help,' Harry said, bowing his head. 'But Shacklebolt is not very pleased with me right now. He's worried about his job. He practically threatened to have me sacked if the vote of no confidence goes through.'

'What vote? What's going on?'

'You…. you haven't been reading the Prophet, then?' Shit, this was just what Draco needed. Harry should have guessed Hermione would keep the news from him. But he couldn't lie. He told him the whole sorry tale, paying special attention to how it was all just mindless paranoia and that it would all blow over once they found a cure.

'You shouldn't be so shocked,' Draco said. 'You of all people should know that public opinion is not as easily won as a war.' It was the first time Draco had even hinted that Harry might have had to deal with the public being unreasonable, and Harry made special note of how matter-of-factly he had said it.

'I know, but I thought at least, after the trials...'

'The war was not about politics, in the end,' Draco said. The tone of his voice made Harry go still, like he was young again listening to someone tell a special story. 'You know it more than anyone. Or maybe you're the only one who really knows.' At Harry's frown, he continued. 'It was about evil. Pure evil. Not even all those who fought truly understand that. Those people crying for our heads, the one who sent the mushrooms, they don't know shit. All they know is that Death Eaters are bad, and their fates have rightly caught up with them.'

Harry nodded. He supposed all that was true. People really didn't know what Voldemort had been about, in the end. Most people didn't even realise they had lived under his rule. They just thought the overthrow of the Ministry had been a regular old coup d'état. Scary, yes, but not evil incarnate. Their day-to-day lives had been inconvenienced, yes, but they had not had to face an opponent on the battlefield. Muggleborns had had it much worse, of course, but very few had died outside of combat.

'I'm sorry I asked you anyway,' Draco said, and it took a while to remember where the conversation had started. 'I know you probably don't use your influence like that.'

'I think you overestimate what influence I do have,' Harry said, unable to keep the smile off his face, despite the topic. For Draco to say such a thing, surely that meant he didn't see Harry as the attention-seeking git of their school days? Harry certainly didn't see Draco like he used to. Draco looked at him oddly, but that just made Harry smile wider.

'What?'

'Nothing, just your life- you, really,' Harry couldn't put it into words, but he had to try. 'You've adapted better than anyone else, and you probably had the worst of it compared to your peers. I'm… I feel-... I'm trying really hard to think of different word than proud.'

Instead of being insulted, like Harry had anticipated, Draco almost blushed. He couldn't manage it, due to his paleness, but Harry could tell he was more touched than anything.

'Slytherins are nothing if not adaptable,' Draco said, staring at his sheets. 'Some of us just forgot that.'

'That must be it,' Harry said, letting Draco off the hook. What had he been thinking, saying something like that? But Draco continued to astonish him, and he hadn't felt this light since this whole mess started. 'I won't give up on the site just yet,' he told him, rising. 'But there isn't much more to be done today. I'm going to visit Scorpius next. Is there anything you'd like me to tell him?'

Draco looked at a loss for words for a moment. 'Just,' he said, considering. 'Just tell him his father loves him.' Harry nodded, smiling. He turned to leave. 'Harry.' The name made Harry more than just pause, he had to turn and raise his eyebrows at Draco, who now did blush, very faintly. 'If they let visitors back in, please don't tell Scorpius before you've spoken to me.'

'Why?'

'I don't like lying to him, ever, but the thought of him watching me die...'

'You are not dying.'

'I've been here over a week, and I'm starting to reach the limit of how much pain potion I can take. I'll start to become incoherent soon. I don't want him to see me like that.' The moment of happiness was gone, and Harry wanted to scream again. He managed to nod, leaving quickly before he said anything to upset Draco more.

As he walked towards the lift, he spotted the shy nurse who had told Draco about the telephone call. He immediately sensed something was off. She was walking very straight, eyes ahead, not even glancing in Harry's direction. There wasn't much happening on the ward, being Sunday and with no new patients for several days, so the pair of them were the only two out in the corridor at that moment.

As Harry drew level with her, he gave her a cheerful smile and said, 'Hello, working on a Sunday too?'

She jumped slightly, then gave a lopsided smile. 'Yes,' she said, her voice raspy. She coughed. 'Yes,' she said again, more high-pitched. 'Someone has to!' She hurried down the corridor.

Harry took out his wand. There was no doubt in his mind, she was polyjuiced. He just hoped the real nurse wasn't harmed. He followed her, trying not to make too much noise, but it wasn't long until she realised someone was behind her. She drew level with Draco's door, pausing. Harry almost raised his wand then and there, but he couldn't hex someone so completely unprovoked. She glanced behind her, eyes wide, then spotted his wand.

'I think we need to have a chat,' Harry told her, keeping calm. 'Why don't you lift your arms and let me summon your wand.' She stared at him for two seconds, before turning and running. Harry swore and shot a stunner, but she apparently had experience with running from the law, because she constantly zig-zagged. Harry's spell just missed her. Harry took off running. She was almost at the exit to the stairs.

'Stupefy!' Harry shot a powerful stunner. It practically roared down the hallway. He hoped no one came out of their room just then. The nurse turned at the door, and dropped like dead weight to the floor. Her wand was out, a small shield just enough protection against the edges of Harry's stunner as it slammed into the door.

'Stop!' Harry tried, but she was scrambling to her feet out the door. Harry reached it a second later and paused. He kicked the door open, spinning away in case she fired. Nothing came, so he stuck his head into the stairwell and heard her running down. 'Shit,' he said, taking off after her.

He glanced over the railing so he could see all the way down. He spotted her hand and shot another silent stunner, but it missed. It was hard to aim while running in a downward spiral. He was quicker by far, being in his own feet. Suddenly she spun, shooting a stunner, but Harry's shield deflected it. It wasn't very strong, he noted.

As she turned to run more, she tripped over her own feet, tumbling down. Harry shot a cushioning spell to keep her from breaking her neck. He ran after, and was over her by the time she settled. He grabbed her wand straight out of her hand, aiming both.

'Are you done?' he asked, annoyed. 'Who are you?'

'Screw you, Potter!' The words sounded bizarre coming from her mouth. He almost laughed.

'Do I know you?' he asked.

'Fuck off!'

'You are under arrest for suspected use of polyjuice.' He bent slightly and sniffed at her. Definitely not the sweet nurse. Her hair was also slowly shortening and darkening from her usual blonde. 'Illegally obtained, I'm guessing, and of poor quality.'

'I'm not polyjuiced,' she had the nerve to declare. Harry did laugh then.

'Right, well, then I'm arresting you for hindering Auror work by making me run all the way down here. We will be having our chat, down at the Office.' Her hair was now a buzz-cut, which looked hideous on her. Soon her face started bulging out, red and wrinkly. She was starting to pop out of her clothes, Harry realised with horror, and he quickly spelled the nursing robes bigger.

Eventually, she turned into Gregory Goyle.

'What in Merlin's name are you doing here?' Harry asked. He hadn't seen Greg since the trials. He had gotten off with a slap on the wrist. Harry had been almost glad. The boy had lost his best friend, his parents, and the ability to follow Draco everywhere. Last Harry had heard, he was working in a butcher's shop. It had made sense, at the time.

'I just came to see Draco!' Goyle cried indignantly.

'Really? You don't have any mushrooms on you?'

'What?' Harry knew Goyle couldn't have any interest in killing Gilfoyle, not to mention the skill and intelligence it would take to come up with the mushroom pastry. 'Nevermind. Why couldn't you just come visit like a normal person?'

'They wouldn't let in visitors,' he said, as if that was all the reason he needed. Harry sighed.

'Get up,' he said. Goyle got to his feet, wobbling slightly at the no doubt uncomfortable change. Harry held out his wand. Goyle eyed it like Harry would snatch it back if he tried to take it. 'Just take it,' Harry said. 'I'm not going to arrest you. Just, don't buy illegal potions, okay? And where is the nurse whose hair you stole?'

'She's got the day off. Went to her grandmother's.'

Harry almost laughed again, but this was just sad.

'Is it true?' Goyle asked, finally snatching the wand back. He tucked it away. 'Is he dying?'

'Yes, but we're going to save him.'

'My Mark hasn't woken up. Will it, do you think?'

'How long after Draco did you take the Mark?'

Goyle frowned, forehead furrowing as he tried to remember. 'Uh, I don't know, I can't remember. A few weeks maybe?'

'Then it's probably going to start hurting very soon,' Harry told him. Goyle paled. 'I'm sorry. When it starts hurting, you need to come to back here immediately. You'll need treatment to handle the pain.'

'You would help me?'

'We aren't enemies, Goyle, not anymore. But you need to go home now. Draco's in a bad way. He needs to sleep. But, if you like, I can come get you tomorrow and let you visit with me.'

'Really?' It was bad of Harry to cheat the rules like this, but maybe Draco wanted to see him. He wasn't sure how they had left things.

'Yes, just, promise you won't break the law again.'

'I promise,' Goyle said, and Harry - Merlin help him - believed him. They started walking towards the ground floor. 'I wish I had never taken that vow,' he grumbled. Harry sympathised, but didn't know what to say. 'I was with Nott when he died.' That stopped Harry dead. He looked at Goyle, who looked ready to cry. Harry almost awkwardly patted his shoulder, but then he thankfully continued speaking. 'He said it hurt like he was taking the vow, only constant.'

Harry hadn't heard anyone describe it quite like that. It clicked with something else in his mind, but it was vague, like a dream he was trying to remember.

'Come, we have to go, I have to go.' Harry hurried Goyle out of St. Mungo's, forcing him to give up the rest of his illegal polyjuice before promising to come by after the shop closed tomorrow.