Father and I end up realizing the nearest place to Floo to the Ministry, aside from the Ministry itself, is miles away, but after a dodgy twenty minutes on some kind of underground railway system for Muggles that I never knew London had, we're finally outside the Ministry building, sopping wet. Stepping into the red box and being taken down to the atrium is almost a surreal experience, and my thoughts are spinning. Is this real life now? Are things back to normal? Is this what normal is?
I step out into the hustling atrium with Father and we're momentarily jostled around as we spot the new statue at the fountain. It's a trite-looking thing, a generic scruffy-haired looking wizard and a plain-looking witch holding hands with a House Elf (just called Elves now, apparently), a Goblin and a Centaur. Etched into the short tiled surrounding the fountain are giants, mermaids, hags, Muggles, vampires, half-werewolf-things, all holding hands too. It even has a plaque which reads, This statue is dedicated to Harry Potter, for the brave deeds that destroyed our old one.
Father and I just exchange a look, he rolls his eyes, and we pass it without comment. Security seems to be ramped up around here too, and me and Father are asked to give up our wands before we can go the Auror Headquarters. Walking the halls is even more surreal. The House Elves are wearing suits and ties, and robes, and dresses, and all manner of garments. It looks like they've been given regular jobs, since they're carrying parchment and quills and not seeming to do any cleaning at all.
When we reach level two, we step into the Auror office, which seems to be the busiest part of the whole Ministry right now. People are filling the cubicles, yelling across the room at each other, coming and going rapidly, and there are memos flying around all over the place. I envision them all bursting into laughter when I mention my application, so I'm tempted to just turn around and leave. But a prod from Father makes me step into the room.
"Um, good morning." I say, to the person in the nearest cubicle who seems to be one of the underlings who is acting as a go-between. She looks up at me, appearing hassled, and continues to unfold memos.
"Yes?" She says.
"I'd like to drop off my Auror application. I've left my details on it for correspondence, if you need-"
"We won't need to send you an owl," she snaps hurriedly and my stomach starts to sink. "When can you start?"
My insides do some more funny turns, and I stammer, "s-start? When?"
After another impatient look, I blurt out, "tomorrow!"
"Eight on the dot. Don't be late." She says, and I take it I'm dismissed. I turn around in sort of a daze and step out of the office, where Father is waiting.
Father looks confused at my odd expression. "You did drop off your application didn't you, Son?"
"I start tomorrow." I say, dry-mouthed all of a sudden, and it sinks in that I'm actually doing this, and that they must be idiots to let me.
"Standards must have gone to the dogs." Father says, not necessarily unkindly, but it still stings a little.
"Well, I still probably won't get through training." I say, trying to look on the bright side. "They must be taking on anyone right now and letting the program weed them out."
"Right." Says Father, and appears to minutely relax. "I think we need a drink, don't you?"
After a quick Butterbeer – though I don't know what Father added to them – we arrive back home in a decidedly better mood.
Mother greets us at the fireplace and we tell her about what happened at the Ministry.
"Oh, wonderful!" She says. "Obviously they know you're trusted by all the right people, so they're eager to have you on board."
"Oh sure, definitely." I say airily. Then it strikes me. "Wait, so you think I only got accepted because of all that business with Potter?"
Mother has the grace to look ashamed for a second, and then goes back to business. "Darling, don't call him Potter, you two aren't schoolboy rivals anymore! When is he coming over for supper, anyway?"
I inwardly groan. There's no way in Merlin's frock would I ever invite that prat here, so I come up with a quick lie. "Well, he's terribly busy now, you know, dealing with everything. So I probably won't even see him for months."
"Oh, sweetheart, don't say that! After last night, he can't be too busy to talk to you!" Mother looks crestfallen, and comes over to give me a hug. Then a light seems to switch on behind her eyes, and she pulls me away.
"I know just what I'll do." She says, and then she's off.
Father and I exchange another look, he gives a small shrug, and we go our separate ways for the rest of the day. I manage to resist the temptation to hole myself back up in my room, and head towards the library to read some defensive magic spellbooks so I won't look like a complete idiot tomorrow. I mean, we must have some, right?
After half an hour of fruitless searching through what now looks to be Mother's entire magical romance library since most of our property has been seized, I end up settling for a book on dueling. Dueling involves attacking and defending, right? And there are even chapters on what to do if you have to duel a beast, like a centaur or Animagus, or Boggart. I'm sure this will be helpful.
I settle down at the desk to read, and become so absorbed that it seems like after no time at all, the light outside has almost gone and I find my nose almost up against the pages. Turning on the desk lamp, I go through the last few pages – how to duel from under water – and close the book. I can't wait to use some of these spells. I never thought there'd be more to dueling than throwing the meanest curse you can think of at someone and trying to make sure you don't get hit yourself.
"You see, while the Expelliarmus technique has often proven useful and works as a first resort, one must already have backup charms in mind in case of failure or even wand loss." I say to Mother at dinner, and she nods.
"Very good, Draco. You're going to amaze everybody tomorrow. Don't forget your manners, either. And I've laid out some conservative black dress robes that you can't go wrong with, since I don't know the dress code."
I'm starting to get excited at the prospect of tomorrow, at least in between the times that I'm gripped by a nervous terror so strong that I can barely move a muscle, anyway. That evening, I alternate between sitting on my bed, awash with fear, and hopping around to practice a couple of spell-casting techniques. A dart-and-jab here, a swish-and-flick there, a quick flourish, and I start feeling pretty good about myself again.