Ron turned the knob of his radio off with a snap, cutting the WWN news presenter off in the middle of a financial report. He fidgeted in his armchair, working himself up into a good stew and muttering darkly to himself while he digested the latest breaking news story. He had never really considered himself the kind of man to hold a long-term grudge, but he had just discovered differently, and he was putting the blame for this bit of character flaw squarely on the shoulders of the person who'd caused the grudge in the first place. If he was going to be resentful, he might as well go all the way.
"Ron," said Hermione, emerging from the kitchen holding a long wooden spoon with her free hand cradled underneath its bowl to prevent dripping, "taste this sauce for me?"
Doing as he was told, Ron licked his lips and said, "It's good."
Hermione hesitated. "Just good? Usually it's 'delicious' or 'fantastic'. It's your mother's recipe; I followed it to the letter."
"No, it's great," he said distractedly.
"What's the matter?"
"I just heard on the radio that Trench decided to pardon Draco Malfoy today. He's out of prison; probably eating a baby as we speak."
"He doesn't eat babies," Hermione said reasonably.
"Well, then, something equally dastardly," Ron huffed. "I know Trench hasn't been the best Minister ever or anything, but letting Malfoy go? He's gone round the bend!"
"He has a good reason, I'm sure," she said, not sounding sure at all.
"That's just the thing; I --" He was cut short by a series of knocks at their door and checked his watch. "Oh, that must be Ginny. Bit early."
As was her habit, enabled by Hermione and Ron's habit of leaving their door unlocked during the day, Ginny let herself in after knocking. "Hiya," she called out. After a brief pause, she added, "There's an alarming amount of smoke coming from the kitchen."
Hermione sped past, dashing off a greeting as she went by, along with an utterance that sounded like "all Ron's fault."
Ginny poked her head into the kitchen and helped to siphon off the excess smoke with her wand. Her weekly Friday night dinners with Ron and Hermione didn't usually run to this kind of excitement. "Need help rescuing dinner?"
"No, I think we'll be okay," Hermione said with a sheepish grin and prodded at a blackened bit of chicken. "I'll just... shave this part off. It was your brother distracted me; he's upset about something he heard on the radio."
"I didn't know the Cannons were playing today."
"Ha bloody ha," said Ron, coming up behind her and pinching her side, making her yelp. "Just because your team happens to be on some kind of ungodly winning streak."
"I always back winners," Ginny said, grinning. "What's got you so upset, then, that you nearly ruined dinner?"
"Malfoy."
"Oh, yeah, that."
"'Oh, yeah'? You knew about it and didn't tell me?"
"Well, it wouldn't have made a difference either way, would it? Whether it was me telling you or the WWN, you'd go all stroppy anyway. Besides, I only just found out yesterday."
"I don't get it. Why's Trench doing this?" Ron asked, frowning. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and his mouth fell open slightly. "Is he covering up something? Did Malfoy actually do a runner, and all you Ministry folk have to pretend you let him out on purpose so we don't lose faith in the prison system?"
"You're not very good with conspiracy theories," Ginny said, helping Hermione set the table. "You heard the press conference on the radio; Trench has his reasons, even if we don't think they're very good. And no one's done a runner; I can personally vouch for that. I was tasked with getting Malfoy out this morning, actually, and I was supposed to sort of help guide him back into normal life, until he dismissed me." She pursed her lips, still unsure whether she took offence at being dismissed like a common servant, or if she appreciated him recognising the fact that she'd only accompanied him out of obligation to her job and setting them both free of the other's dislike.
"Had an interesting morning, then?" Hermione asked, dishing out everyone's portion of the meal.
"That's one way to put it. The other is probably 'aggravating'. He hasn't changed much, if you can imagine," Ginny said sarcastically. "And he didn't turn up at the press conference like he was supposed to, so you'll have to take my word for it."
Hermione snickered. "You mean prison didn't turn him soft and sensitive? I'm astonished."
"You know, him not showing up this afternoon only fuels my theory," Ron pointed out.
"I was there, Ron; I'm telling you he's not on the lam. According to his letter to Trench, he's spending the day with his mother. Which, as far as excuses go, is fairly valid," Ginny conceded. "Anyway, it's official: Malfoy's a free man, and we'll just have to accept it."
Ron stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. "What is the world coming to?"
"Well," said Hermione, "I wouldn't worry about it too much. Voldemort's gone, and all the rest of the Death Eaters and their spawn are either in Azkaban or have fled the country in shame, so I don't see what kind of mischief Malfoy would get up to on his own, other than being a massive prat."
"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "Besides, what are the chances he'll cross our paths again?"
He was having one of those lucid dreams, where he could hear himself tell his subconscious not to awaken just yet. Having a warm, comfortable bed was just a little too good to give up for the time being; besides, the prison lights would soon jolt him into full consciousness anyway, and he'd just as well make the most of his illusion. Draco pulled the goose-down comforter up to his chin, taking a deep, appreciative breath of the freshly-laundered scent, a light floral perfume that reminded him of safer, happier times. He waited for the lights to flare and cut into his dreams.
Instead, there was a soft knock at the door, followed by a pop and the light patter of flat feet across the floor. "It is time to be waking up, sir," said Elba, gently tugging at the comforter.
Groggy and slightly confused, Draco pushed himself up onto his elbows and gazed blearily at the house elf. "What's that now?"
"Master Draco says Elba is to be waking him up at eight o'clock for his full day ahead," said Elba, parroting his instructions from the night before back to him and lowering her wheezy voice at the last few words as though she was in on some kind of secret.
"Oh. Right," mumbled Draco, dismissing the elf with a short wave of his hand. He folded the comforter back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet finding a cool hardwood floor instead of the concrete he had gotten used to over the past few years. He jerked his feet upwards before quickly realising where exactly he was, and why Blaise's elf had appeared. Rubbing a fist over one eye, Draco took in his surroundings, nodding to himself. Being free would take some getting used to, apparently.
Hurrying through his morning ablutions as usual, Draco suddenly slowed his movements with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He had no reason to rush; he was on his own schedule now, and he could brush his teeth for an hour if he wanted. He didn't, but knowing he had the luxury rather made his morning. By the time he dressed and made it out to the dining room, Elba had already laid out a large spread for him. Noting the single place setting, Draco asked, "Blaise still asleep?"
"Oh, no. Master Blaise left early," the elf replied, hovering as Draco picked up a rasher of bacon. "He is called out on emergency consultation," she added, referring to Blaise's freelance consulting work as a noted Potions authority specialising in Healing concoctions. Except for those who knew him well, his vocation frequently surprised people, which he found tiresome and had closed down his official practice to be a private consultant a few months ago so he wouldn't have to deal with such exasperations so often anymore.
Shovelling a forkful of runny egg into his mouth, Draco idly scanned the morning papers, wondering just how big a ruckus his release might have caused among the general public. He hadn't gone to the Minister's press conference the day before, of course, having spent much of the day in Normandy, so he wasn't sure what kind of reactions he ought to expect once people started seeing him out and about. He was both relieved and irked to find that his pardon warranted only a small, unobtrusive column on page three, next to an article about a lost cat that had found its way home hitchhiking by broom.
Having finished his breakfast, he took the paper with him into the living room and was startled to find Agents Williams and Webb standing at ease on Blaise's Oriental rug; Webb was, in fact, inspecting a glass case of priceless, exquisitely-made miniature figurines and clucking his tongue softly.
"Oh, good morning, Agent Malfoy," said Williams, coming forward to shake his hand while Webb straightened himself up and did his obligatory silent nod.
"Hi," said Draco, his handshake a little limper than usual.
"You were expecting to see us again, weren't you?"
"Yes. Although perhaps not in my friend's living room."
"We're very good at our jobs," said Williams, as if that explained everything. "Now, as was our deal, we got you out of prison -- you're welcome, by the way -- and now you work for us. We're in the midst of getting all the necessary parts moving so that you will be guaranteed a job at the Ministry, as we discussed, so in the meantime, we're here to get you settled into your artificially normal life."
"And what might that entail?"
"Well, we understand that you are looking to live somewhere other than Malfoy Manor," Williams began.
"How -- Does Weasley work for you, too?"
"Who?"
"Never mind."
Williams smiled, going on as though the interruption had not occurred. "Might we suggest taking up residence in a Muggle area?"
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Your unexpected early release has caused quite a stir among the wizarding community, you see."
"Has it? There's barely any mention of it in today's papers, and if there's anyone who's going to overreact to things, it's the staff of the Daily Prophet."
"That's true, of course, and given the time they've now had to mull the situation over, you'll find the evening edition telling quite a different story -- a page-long editorial, and quite a loud one, at that, devoted solely to you and how Trench has made the biggest error of his career in giving you an undeserved second chance," he said, his jovial tone somewhat inappropriate for the occasion. "I wouldn't worry about Trench, though," Williams added. "He'll bounce right back up in the popularity polls soon enough."
"It must be nice knowing things everybody else doesn't."
"Yes, sometimes it is quite satisfying," he said with a contented little sigh. "But let's get back to the issue at hand. We believe, that for our purposes and your interests, that you would be better suited to living among non-magical folk. For one, as I mentioned, you're a hot topic of conversation and debate at the moment, and attention will naturally draw itself to you in a wizarding area, which, we imagine, will get rather vexing, and just plain inconvenient. Living in a Muggle area, where most people won't recognise you, will significantly cut down on unwanted attention."
"If that's the case, then why am I going to work for the Ministry? Won't people there be just as -- if not more -- inquisitive and irritating?"
"Well, you ought to still have one foot in the wizarding world. Besides, I think you'll find that being in the Ministry's employ will make your real job quite a bit easier; it's amazing how much confidential information you can overhear in a government office. As for your other foot, some of your missions will be carried out in Muggle areas, using Muggle methods, and we want you to acclimate yourself to that kind of lifestyle, so that you move as naturally through the non-magical world as you do in the magical one."
"All right, fine," said Draco, who had a feeling their suggestions were less that than orders.
"We'll leave the house-hunting up to you; no mansions, mind. Muggles, just as wizards, tend to get nosy about rich people and their affairs sometimes."
"Indeed," Draco agreed, remembering quite well.
"Another agent will be in touch with you soon to begin your training," said Williams abruptly, and fished a thick roll of parchment out from somewhere inside his jacket. "You're allowed one Secret Keeper, who will be charged with not only keeping your identity safe, but also taking care of you should the Unit be unavailable to you for any reason. Choose wisely, and read the fine print."
Draco accepted the parchment, and Williams smiled brightly at him before taking his leave. Webb tipped two fingers to his head in a little salute, and the two agents let themselves out of the penthouse. When the door clicked closed, Draco found himself frowning. "Elba?" he called.
The elf pattered in quickly, ready for whatever orders he had to give.
"Did you let those two men in?"
Elba looked blankly at him for a second, and then followed it up with a slightly fearful grimace. "Elba did not see any two men, sir. Elba is busy with the washing. If Elba has done something wrong, sir --" She looked as though she was about to cry.
"No," said Draco firmly. "It's fine. Go finish your washing."
She slunk out of the room and popped herself in the head just in case she had done something wrong.
Reading the Secret Keeper contract carefully, Draco paced the length of the living room -- it was a fairly large area to cover, which made for satisfying pacing. Williams and Webb were clearly quite clever men, able to get in and out of places without anyone noticing if they didn't want to be noticed. He was sure they were capable of much more than that as well, and though it made him slightly uneasy, there was a part of him, too, that was more than a little eager to learn the skills they had to offer. Besides, they had kept to their word so far, and that went a long way.
The door swung open, snapping Draco out of his thoughts. Blaise stepped in, shrugging off his cloak and hanging it up on a gold hook next to the door. "Hey," he said.
Draco looked at the parchment in his hands, and then up at Blaise. It wasn't as if he was awash in options. Besides, if you couldn't trust your best mate, who could you trust? "Hey, Zabini. You're pretty good at keeping your mouth shut, right?"
"Ron," said Hermione, emerging from the kitchen holding a long wooden spoon with her free hand cradled underneath its bowl to prevent dripping, "taste this sauce for me?"
Doing as he was told, Ron licked his lips and said, "It's good."
Hermione hesitated. "Just good? Usually it's 'delicious' or 'fantastic'. It's your mother's recipe; I followed it to the letter."
"No, it's great," he said distractedly.
"What's the matter?"
"I just heard on the radio that Trench decided to pardon Draco Malfoy today. He's out of prison; probably eating a baby as we speak."
"He doesn't eat babies," Hermione said reasonably.
"Well, then, something equally dastardly," Ron huffed. "I know Trench hasn't been the best Minister ever or anything, but letting Malfoy go? He's gone round the bend!"
"He has a good reason, I'm sure," she said, not sounding sure at all.
"That's just the thing; I --" He was cut short by a series of knocks at their door and checked his watch. "Oh, that must be Ginny. Bit early."
As was her habit, enabled by Hermione and Ron's habit of leaving their door unlocked during the day, Ginny let herself in after knocking. "Hiya," she called out. After a brief pause, she added, "There's an alarming amount of smoke coming from the kitchen."
Hermione sped past, dashing off a greeting as she went by, along with an utterance that sounded like "all Ron's fault."
Ginny poked her head into the kitchen and helped to siphon off the excess smoke with her wand. Her weekly Friday night dinners with Ron and Hermione didn't usually run to this kind of excitement. "Need help rescuing dinner?"
"No, I think we'll be okay," Hermione said with a sheepish grin and prodded at a blackened bit of chicken. "I'll just... shave this part off. It was your brother distracted me; he's upset about something he heard on the radio."
"I didn't know the Cannons were playing today."
"Ha bloody ha," said Ron, coming up behind her and pinching her side, making her yelp. "Just because your team happens to be on some kind of ungodly winning streak."
"I always back winners," Ginny said, grinning. "What's got you so upset, then, that you nearly ruined dinner?"
"Malfoy."
"Oh, yeah, that."
"'Oh, yeah'? You knew about it and didn't tell me?"
"Well, it wouldn't have made a difference either way, would it? Whether it was me telling you or the WWN, you'd go all stroppy anyway. Besides, I only just found out yesterday."
"I don't get it. Why's Trench doing this?" Ron asked, frowning. Suddenly his eyes narrowed and his mouth fell open slightly. "Is he covering up something? Did Malfoy actually do a runner, and all you Ministry folk have to pretend you let him out on purpose so we don't lose faith in the prison system?"
"You're not very good with conspiracy theories," Ginny said, helping Hermione set the table. "You heard the press conference on the radio; Trench has his reasons, even if we don't think they're very good. And no one's done a runner; I can personally vouch for that. I was tasked with getting Malfoy out this morning, actually, and I was supposed to sort of help guide him back into normal life, until he dismissed me." She pursed her lips, still unsure whether she took offence at being dismissed like a common servant, or if she appreciated him recognising the fact that she'd only accompanied him out of obligation to her job and setting them both free of the other's dislike.
"Had an interesting morning, then?" Hermione asked, dishing out everyone's portion of the meal.
"That's one way to put it. The other is probably 'aggravating'. He hasn't changed much, if you can imagine," Ginny said sarcastically. "And he didn't turn up at the press conference like he was supposed to, so you'll have to take my word for it."
Hermione snickered. "You mean prison didn't turn him soft and sensitive? I'm astonished."
"You know, him not showing up this afternoon only fuels my theory," Ron pointed out.
"I was there, Ron; I'm telling you he's not on the lam. According to his letter to Trench, he's spending the day with his mother. Which, as far as excuses go, is fairly valid," Ginny conceded. "Anyway, it's official: Malfoy's a free man, and we'll just have to accept it."
Ron stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. "What is the world coming to?"
"Well," said Hermione, "I wouldn't worry about it too much. Voldemort's gone, and all the rest of the Death Eaters and their spawn are either in Azkaban or have fled the country in shame, so I don't see what kind of mischief Malfoy would get up to on his own, other than being a massive prat."
"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "Besides, what are the chances he'll cross our paths again?"
He was having one of those lucid dreams, where he could hear himself tell his subconscious not to awaken just yet. Having a warm, comfortable bed was just a little too good to give up for the time being; besides, the prison lights would soon jolt him into full consciousness anyway, and he'd just as well make the most of his illusion. Draco pulled the goose-down comforter up to his chin, taking a deep, appreciative breath of the freshly-laundered scent, a light floral perfume that reminded him of safer, happier times. He waited for the lights to flare and cut into his dreams.
Instead, there was a soft knock at the door, followed by a pop and the light patter of flat feet across the floor. "It is time to be waking up, sir," said Elba, gently tugging at the comforter.
Groggy and slightly confused, Draco pushed himself up onto his elbows and gazed blearily at the house elf. "What's that now?"
"Master Draco says Elba is to be waking him up at eight o'clock for his full day ahead," said Elba, parroting his instructions from the night before back to him and lowering her wheezy voice at the last few words as though she was in on some kind of secret.
"Oh. Right," mumbled Draco, dismissing the elf with a short wave of his hand. He folded the comforter back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet finding a cool hardwood floor instead of the concrete he had gotten used to over the past few years. He jerked his feet upwards before quickly realising where exactly he was, and why Blaise's elf had appeared. Rubbing a fist over one eye, Draco took in his surroundings, nodding to himself. Being free would take some getting used to, apparently.
Hurrying through his morning ablutions as usual, Draco suddenly slowed his movements with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He had no reason to rush; he was on his own schedule now, and he could brush his teeth for an hour if he wanted. He didn't, but knowing he had the luxury rather made his morning. By the time he dressed and made it out to the dining room, Elba had already laid out a large spread for him. Noting the single place setting, Draco asked, "Blaise still asleep?"
"Oh, no. Master Blaise left early," the elf replied, hovering as Draco picked up a rasher of bacon. "He is called out on emergency consultation," she added, referring to Blaise's freelance consulting work as a noted Potions authority specialising in Healing concoctions. Except for those who knew him well, his vocation frequently surprised people, which he found tiresome and had closed down his official practice to be a private consultant a few months ago so he wouldn't have to deal with such exasperations so often anymore.
Shovelling a forkful of runny egg into his mouth, Draco idly scanned the morning papers, wondering just how big a ruckus his release might have caused among the general public. He hadn't gone to the Minister's press conference the day before, of course, having spent much of the day in Normandy, so he wasn't sure what kind of reactions he ought to expect once people started seeing him out and about. He was both relieved and irked to find that his pardon warranted only a small, unobtrusive column on page three, next to an article about a lost cat that had found its way home hitchhiking by broom.
Having finished his breakfast, he took the paper with him into the living room and was startled to find Agents Williams and Webb standing at ease on Blaise's Oriental rug; Webb was, in fact, inspecting a glass case of priceless, exquisitely-made miniature figurines and clucking his tongue softly.
"Oh, good morning, Agent Malfoy," said Williams, coming forward to shake his hand while Webb straightened himself up and did his obligatory silent nod.
"Hi," said Draco, his handshake a little limper than usual.
"You were expecting to see us again, weren't you?"
"Yes. Although perhaps not in my friend's living room."
"We're very good at our jobs," said Williams, as if that explained everything. "Now, as was our deal, we got you out of prison -- you're welcome, by the way -- and now you work for us. We're in the midst of getting all the necessary parts moving so that you will be guaranteed a job at the Ministry, as we discussed, so in the meantime, we're here to get you settled into your artificially normal life."
"And what might that entail?"
"Well, we understand that you are looking to live somewhere other than Malfoy Manor," Williams began.
"How -- Does Weasley work for you, too?"
"Who?"
"Never mind."
Williams smiled, going on as though the interruption had not occurred. "Might we suggest taking up residence in a Muggle area?"
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Your unexpected early release has caused quite a stir among the wizarding community, you see."
"Has it? There's barely any mention of it in today's papers, and if there's anyone who's going to overreact to things, it's the staff of the Daily Prophet."
"That's true, of course, and given the time they've now had to mull the situation over, you'll find the evening edition telling quite a different story -- a page-long editorial, and quite a loud one, at that, devoted solely to you and how Trench has made the biggest error of his career in giving you an undeserved second chance," he said, his jovial tone somewhat inappropriate for the occasion. "I wouldn't worry about Trench, though," Williams added. "He'll bounce right back up in the popularity polls soon enough."
"It must be nice knowing things everybody else doesn't."
"Yes, sometimes it is quite satisfying," he said with a contented little sigh. "But let's get back to the issue at hand. We believe, that for our purposes and your interests, that you would be better suited to living among non-magical folk. For one, as I mentioned, you're a hot topic of conversation and debate at the moment, and attention will naturally draw itself to you in a wizarding area, which, we imagine, will get rather vexing, and just plain inconvenient. Living in a Muggle area, where most people won't recognise you, will significantly cut down on unwanted attention."
"If that's the case, then why am I going to work for the Ministry? Won't people there be just as -- if not more -- inquisitive and irritating?"
"Well, you ought to still have one foot in the wizarding world. Besides, I think you'll find that being in the Ministry's employ will make your real job quite a bit easier; it's amazing how much confidential information you can overhear in a government office. As for your other foot, some of your missions will be carried out in Muggle areas, using Muggle methods, and we want you to acclimate yourself to that kind of lifestyle, so that you move as naturally through the non-magical world as you do in the magical one."
"All right, fine," said Draco, who had a feeling their suggestions were less that than orders.
"We'll leave the house-hunting up to you; no mansions, mind. Muggles, just as wizards, tend to get nosy about rich people and their affairs sometimes."
"Indeed," Draco agreed, remembering quite well.
"Another agent will be in touch with you soon to begin your training," said Williams abruptly, and fished a thick roll of parchment out from somewhere inside his jacket. "You're allowed one Secret Keeper, who will be charged with not only keeping your identity safe, but also taking care of you should the Unit be unavailable to you for any reason. Choose wisely, and read the fine print."
Draco accepted the parchment, and Williams smiled brightly at him before taking his leave. Webb tipped two fingers to his head in a little salute, and the two agents let themselves out of the penthouse. When the door clicked closed, Draco found himself frowning. "Elba?" he called.
The elf pattered in quickly, ready for whatever orders he had to give.
"Did you let those two men in?"
Elba looked blankly at him for a second, and then followed it up with a slightly fearful grimace. "Elba did not see any two men, sir. Elba is busy with the washing. If Elba has done something wrong, sir --" She looked as though she was about to cry.
"No," said Draco firmly. "It's fine. Go finish your washing."
She slunk out of the room and popped herself in the head just in case she had done something wrong.
Reading the Secret Keeper contract carefully, Draco paced the length of the living room -- it was a fairly large area to cover, which made for satisfying pacing. Williams and Webb were clearly quite clever men, able to get in and out of places without anyone noticing if they didn't want to be noticed. He was sure they were capable of much more than that as well, and though it made him slightly uneasy, there was a part of him, too, that was more than a little eager to learn the skills they had to offer. Besides, they had kept to their word so far, and that went a long way.
The door swung open, snapping Draco out of his thoughts. Blaise stepped in, shrugging off his cloak and hanging it up on a gold hook next to the door. "Hey," he said.
Draco looked at the parchment in his hands, and then up at Blaise. It wasn't as if he was awash in options. Besides, if you couldn't trust your best mate, who could you trust? "Hey, Zabini. You're pretty good at keeping your mouth shut, right?"
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