His imposing stature commanded the respect and reverence befitting a Minister of Magic following the grievously destructive war. The wizarding world needed someone like Kingsley Shacklebolt at the helm, ready to alleviate the chaotic wreckage that lay strewn across their cities and within the weary souls of the shattered masses.
As he sat firmly perched behind his ornate mahogany desk, Malfoy was reminded that Kingsley Shacklebolt made a wildly unpopular decision when he took Draco on as an employee at the Ministry. He could only fathom the pushback he received behind closed doors in his attempts to convince the others that he deserved a second chance. That's not to say Draco himself thought he deserved a second chance, but he was profoundly grateful Kingsley saw in him what he may not have been able to see in himself. Which is why he felt an unwavering obligation to not let him down.
"Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy."
Kingsley's resonant voice sounded like a thunderous rumble in the otherwise empty room. He gave Draco's hand a hardy shake, gesturing toward the pair of armchairs in front of his workspace.
"Thank you so much for meeting me here on such short notice. I didn't want to delay in speaking with you about your position on the MacNair case." He paused, meeting Malfoy's eyes with razor-sharp concentration. "But first, I want to talk to you about something infinitely more important than this case, and that's Hermione Granger."
Kingsley's fingers met in stiff peaks as they rhythmically tapped against each other, a gesture he was sure Dumbledore himself invented during his reign as Headmaster.
Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Kingsley thought Granger was infinitely more important than this case. Who doesn't, he thought bitterly. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, bracing for what drivel was about to come disgorging out of the Minister's mouth.
"To clarify, I mean that your working relationship with Miss Granger is infinitely more important than this case, insofar as to say that without your amiable cooperation, very little can be accomplished."
He paused, rubbing his coarse ebony beard in contemplation. "I am well aware that your relationship with Miss Granger is tenuous at best, but the ill will you feel toward each other must be put aside to ensure your professional success. Am I clear?"
The significance of his declaration hung thickly in the air between them. Draco was a lot of things, but he assuredly was not naïve. Certainly not naïve enough not to have heard Kingsley's thinly veiled threat. To remain in the good graces of the Ministry, he would have to toe the line with Granger. He knew he owed Kingsley that much for all he had done for him. He also knew that the only thing lying between him and success was Granger. And that, unfortunately, was the part he'd yet to sort out. Regardless, he would not allow her to be the cause of his demise.
Malfoy nodded his head in solemn acknowledgment.
"Minister," Draco began, "may I ask what prompted you to seek me out for this particular assignment?"
The thought had been nagging at him ever since he received word he would be temporarily relocated to the DMLE. It was apparent why he was relegated to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, seeing as his current responsibilities extended no farther than the length of a Quidditch pitch. Not that he was complaining. Quidditch had always been a lingering leisurely pursuit of his. But, Granger's comment about his expertise vacillated irritatingly at the back of his mind and he intently awaited their confirmation by the Minister himself.
Kingsley took a thoughtful breath as his glance meandered unhurriedly around the room. After a pregnant pause, he locked his heavily guarded eyes on the young man sitting across from him and replied in earnest, "It may surprise you to know that you have a very fierce ally within the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy. One who sought you out almost immediately when the details of this case began to manifest."
Draco remained stoic, despite the fact that this information left him perfectly befuddled. He could almost feel the cogs in his brain whirring, trying to hone in on who this supposed ally could be. Apart from Theo, he could think of not a solitary soul at the Ministry who would willingly affix themselves in his corner. He wondered if it would be improper to ask, but immediately thought better of it.
Demonstrating an astonishing ability to read Draco's mind, the Minister answered in succinct acknowledgment, "Mr. Potter."
As swiftly as a dementor's kiss, the words choked the breath from his lungs, finding him awkwardly clearing his throat as his head began to swim with this bewildering realization. His jaw would have been lying on the desk between them had it not been for his aristocratic upbringing reminding him to reveal nothing of his mind's inner ruminations. Having Potter as an ally seemed as unlikely as his aunt Bellatrix being posthumously elevated to sainthood.
How was this even possible?
And more importantly, why?
These questions would need to wait, however, as Kingsley's look of increasing impatience reminded him of the sobering purpose of their meeting. However, Draco filed this tidbit of information away in a remote corner of his mind for later perusal and began to listen intently as Kingsley relayed to him the recent developments of the MacNair case.
Nearly twenty minutes later, with the briefing complete, they heard a rigid knock at the Minister's door, alerting them to Harry's arrival. Kingsley had apprised him earlier that he would be joining them soon to escort him to the evidence room, but upon hearing his entrance, an unfamiliar tension began coursing through his veins.
"You may come in."
Kingsley's deep voice echoed once again around the cavernous room. The Minister rose from his desk and boldly approached the now open threshold, purple robes sweeping like a plume of smoke in his wake. Malfoy followed suit as Potter neared the Minister, hand outstretched in greeting.
"Kingsley. Malfoy."
Potter casually looked through his disheveled spectacles from one to the other, his extended hand traveling effortlessly from Kingsley to Draco. Malfoy gripped it with needless force, unexpectedly recalling a time when this same gesture ended very differently their first year at Hogwarts. It seemed an unlikely paradox as he looked down at their conjoined hands, after all the unpleasant events that had passed between them. From sworn enemies to what? Certainly not friends. But perhaps a professional alliance of sorts.
"Harry, I'd like for you to escort Mr. Malfoy down to the evidence room. Mr. Weasley should already be there awaiting your arrival."
For fuck's sake, Draco inwardly groaned to himself. He should have known he wouldn't be able to escape the dimwitted fool, Weasley, while working in the DMLE. How the cretin managed to secure a law enforcement position among the wizarding elite was any wonder. He sighed. Add Weasley to the growing list of intolerables he would need to tolerate whilst there. He could easily handle him. He most certainly was no worse than Granger. Granger at least had a sharp tongue that could verbally joust with the best of them. Weasley, on the other hand, couldn't form a cohesive thought if his life depended on it.
"Sure thing," Harry added, moving to depart. "Malfoy?"
He turned around, motioning for him to follow.
With a terse nod of his head toward Kingsley, Draco donned a mask of willful compliance and followed Harry out the door.
It wasn't until the heavy slab of lumber closed with a firm thud behind them that Draco leaned over and muttered in a dangerously low voice, "What are you playing at, Potter?"
Harry paused mid-step.
"Sorry?" He turned and looked questioningly at Malfoy.
Draco bristled with a menacing intensity.
"A little birdie told me it was YOUR brilliant idea to acquire me for this case. Which means you had to have known I would be tossed straight into the lion's den with Granger!"
His pale face suffused an alarming shade of puce as he spoke.
"So either that means this is your sick way of settling a vendetta, or you most certainly are up to something! So which is it?"
Harry chortled as he turned and proceeded to meander down the hallway toward the lift.
"Why am I not surprised you'd immediately assume the worst?"
He shook his head in affronted disbelief while Malfoy struggled to keep up, even with his abnormally long stride.
"Despite what you think, there is nothing sinister behind your placement on this case."
He chuckled again, adding, "I merely thought your skillset could prove useful, given the nature of our latest findings. Nothing more. Nothing less."
He reached out to push the button indicating their intent to descend to the lower level of the Ministry, just as the doors opened to reveal the tornadic presence of a profoundly frenzied Hermione Granger, jettisoning out into the vestibule with a murderous look on her normally cheerful face.
"'Mione, it's Saturday. What are you doing at the Ministry?"
He took note that she wasn't wearing her typical Ministry attire of a pencil skirt and collared blouse, and instead looked as if she had quite literally narrowly escaped a windstorm. Her hair was standing on end, jumper askew, and were those pyjama pants?
Before he could reach a conclusion on the matter, Hermione had sidestepped where Harry stood and darted straight toward the object of her deep disdain. Her chin shot up in flagrant defiance as her eyes pierced Draco like a dagger.
"I've arrived early for our meeting, Malfoy. Contrary to what you may think, I am a very busy witch and could only manage to barely squeeze you in."
Her words dripped with contempt.
Seeing no immediate indication of acknowledgment, she harshly latched onto his robes at the elbow and fisted the fabric into her angry grasp, all but dragging him toward the door to her office.
Draco couldn't recall in recent memory an occasion when a witch had addressed him with such vicious vehemence, and if he was being honest, this version of Granger was a bit terrifying.
He looked back at Harry with anxious reluctance as he was being unceremoniously shoved into Granger's office but all he saw before the door closed with explosive force was the beginnings of a shit-eating grin.
