So really, it went better than expected. I'm glad I held it together while I explained everything to Potter, and I'm glad he didn't Hex me into last Sunday for lying for so long. Overall, not a bad deal for me.

And by the end of the week, all the other Heads know, and they've come storming up to me one by one with the same 'how could you keep it a secret for this long' speech, with variations by Department. The Magical Maintenance lady was mortified that I didn't have a window in my office for twenty years, and she promises to get me one.

The only Department I don't hear from is the Department of Mysteries, presumably they have more important things to worry about.

The official meeting takes place on Friday, with a vague promise of drinks aftewards. I have researched all the Department Heads before, as part of routine Intelligence-gathering for my cases, but I'm struggling to put names to faces. There's Granger, Potter, one of the older Weasley brothers (Princey?), one of the Cresswell twins, don't ask me which one, Bell, and a severely elderly Wimple. But the rest might as well be strangers to me.

We all nod politely at each other and arrange ourselves around the conference table on Level One of the Ministry. I'm ushered to sit right next to Granger, and she smiles at me, and shuffles her parchment while the other Heads mill about and chat before they sit down.

Granger stands at the head of the table. "Thank you for taking time from your busy Friday to be here. I think you all know why I've called this meeting." She begins, stiffly. "I need you all to cooperate with our fledgling new Department."

I snort. "I'm not fledgling. I've been established for twenty years."

"Malfoy, we have no idea how your Department operates, so we're going to have to learn to work together. There will be growing pains. And if you expect full co-operation from the established Department Heads, you'll have to show responsibility and accountability."

"Does this mean I'll get a real budget?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. "And when will I get my window?"

Granger rolls her eyes, and I see Potter out the corner of my eye, stifling a smile. "We'll have to see."

So I gesture for her to sit down, and I stand up. "I'd like to formally introduce myself. Some of you may know me as Draco Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire. But when I was nineteen, I was cleared of all charges, and approached by Shacklebolt. He had a vision for a new Department. One that wasn't as bogged down in paperwork as the Aurors, or the MLE. One that could operate on almost zero resources, and behind closed doors. A job, he said, that only a Slytherin could do.

"I took on the challenge, and together, we established a small office. The Minister would bring me tasks that the Auror department was struggling with. I'd follow up on leads when the MLE was stuck behind red tape. I have kept faithful reports, and submitted evidence to the departments through Shacklebolt when necessary. But I won't be reporting to any of you. I've hired an Analyst and an Officer to help with my caseload, and I think it's best that you don't find out who they are."

The Heads are looking at me as I sit down, shocked to learn that I wasn't just running roughshod through their Ministry, and somewhat offended that I have no real plans to work alongside them in peace and harmony.

"Where will you get your cases from?" Potter asks, trying and failing to mask looking impressed.

"I will expect requests to be submitted in writing, and I will follow up within 24 hours." I say. "Anything too sensitive for your team, any case involving suspects within the Ministry. Anything you'd normally go to Shacklebolt with, now you bring to me."

"But where is your office?" Queries Weasley, the Head of the Department of Magical Transport. Percy? Princy? Whatever his name is, I dealt with one of his underlings last year, who was selling Ministry secrets to Dark Wizards.

I shake my head. "Not part of the deal. Send me a memo, it will find me, and I'll find you."

"Well, thank you, Malfoy." Granger puts in, though she doesn't seem all that happy with the way the meeting is going. "I'll let you know if there are any more questions. I'll need to see all requests sent to Malfoy's office for the time being, so please copy me in to any memos you send his way."

I fold my arms and sit down. Granger really doesn't need to make my job any of her business, it's not like I need babysitting.

For a while, she discusses things like the importance of teamwork, and unity, and hopes we can all be friends, and how we can all help each other to improve, as Department Heads, and as co-workers.

I furtively watch Potter, he's only half listening. I see him rest his chin on his hand and slip into a daydream. His eyes unfocus and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. His eyes have wrinkles at the corners, and his hair is peppered with grey streaks. His scar is so light, it's almost gone. He's changed his glasses from the cheap Muggle kind, to ones that are rimless, and it makes his eye colour stand out even more.

"... And I'm sure Malfoy agrees. Malfoy?" Granger is saying.

I sit upright. "Of course." I say quickly, to cover up the fact that I wasn't listening.

"Then it's settled. Harry will shadow you for two weeks, and we'll meet back here to discuss any changes that might be needed to improve your Department. Now, shall we all go have drinks?"

What? What did she say? I look at Potter and he looks as befuddled as I do, and he stands up quickly. "Hermione, wait. I have my own caseload to deal with, I can't just drop them all for two weeks."

Granger looks at him as she stands up too, smile frozen with forced patience. "I know, that's why we're so lucky to have Dennis here on board with taking over your cases for the time being." She says, with a tone like a witch who hates repeating herself. Which she probably is.

"Right, right." Potter says, masking an eyeroll by rubbing his eyebrows. "Of course he is."

Dennis Creevey, that name rings a bell now that she's said it. Head of the Auror department, and beaming like a fourteen year old at getting to play Head of MLE now too.

We all troop out, and a small shouting match ends with the agreement that we should go for drinks at The Leaky Cauldron. At least they have an acceptable Merlot, unlike the Three Broomsticks. And not likely to have any goat knuckles floating in it, like the Hog's Head.

We Floo straight there, all thirteen of us, then overwhelm the barkeeper with our orders, and take up a quarter of the bar as we all jostle for the best seat.

I end up wedged between Granger and Creevey, who are discussing the technicalities of Creevey's temporary new job, which he is apparently very excited about, judging from the amount of spittle flying everywhere as he speaks.

Extricating myself, I inch closer to Bell, who I can at least make civil conversation with. We are family, after all.

"How's Daphne?" I ask, casually. Katie married Astoria's sister in 2010. Adopted a Muggle baby, I heard.

"She's well." She replies, stiffly. "How's Scorpius?"

"He's brilliant." I say. "He just-"

"Good. I'll see you around, then." She says shortly, and turns to someone else.

Fine. She's still angry, that's fine. I never did apologise for punching her in the face at Astoria's wake. It wasn't completely my fault, to be fair. I'm pretty sure she was gloating that she married the healthy sister, and I got the dead one.

Or maybe I was just drunk and grieving. Who's to say anymore. It's really no one's fault, I suppose.

So I sit and stew for a while as I finish my drink.

"Can you believe Hermione?" Says Potter, plopping down next to me with his Firewhiskey. "I think she wants me to spy on your department."

"You think? She practically threw you at me." I clink our glasses. "Well, here's to working together again."

"Cheers." Potter throws his drink back. "Just don't fuck it up this time, Malfoy."

I roll my eyes as I take a swig of Merlot. You'd think the amount of times I saved his sorry arse, he'd be a bit nicer to me.

The rest of the night gets blurry. A few drinks at the Leaky, then a few more at the Stix, and I have a vague recollection of being in the Hog's Head, telling Percy Weasley the story of when Potter snuck into the Daily Prophet building and got caught by Rita Skeeter. He's in hysterics as I describe her 'perfume emergency', but all of a sudden I remember...

"Wait a minute… I think that was me." Tears are streaming down his face, and his laughter has gone completely silent.

I find I'm actually quite charming, the more drinks I have. Everybody wants to talk to me, all of a sudden. Especially when I tell stories about all the times I've spied on Ministry employees. Gilbert Winkle even told me I should write a book. Me, a book? I always thought so.

The next real memory I have is of waking up in my bed, in pain. Serious pain. My head might be split in two.

Gingerly, I try lifting it off the pillow. Nope. Opening my eyes is also a nope.

I feel a movement to my right, and my heart stops. A hand feels its way over my body - why am I naked? - and up my chest.

"Oh shit." He says. Oh shit indeed.

It's Potter.