Blue-Eyed Angel
Chapter Five
It was unusually cold that early June night.
The street was quiet, unusually quiet, like something greater than the night itself had silenced the city.
Narcissa Malfoy, barely twenty years old, was wrapped in a headscarf trying to disguise her easily recognizable hair, while dressed in common Muggle clothing in hopes of blending in. Her red dress was knee-length and lightweight, offering no warmth on that cool night.
"Shh," she soothed, looking around in panic, knowing the wailing of her newborn would compromise her to those she was trying so hard to hide from.
Her heart hammered in her chest, threatening to bruise her ribs. Her whole body ached from her never ceasing terrified tremors.
"Hush little one, please, please..." she begged the infant as she moved through the Muggle city.
Why was it so quiet?
Where were the people?
The Muggle traffic lights still shifted despite the absence of the vehicles.
Lights shone from inside businesses, but no people were inside.
She was in Frankfurt, a city in Hessen Germany, and it was a large city.
She had stuck to large cities for the safety large numbers of people offered. She wanted to get lost in the crowds, her tracks covered by the traffic, the ambiguity of Muggle cities offered exactly what she was looking for…but where were the people now?
The tall glass buildings loomed over her, but there wasn't a soul to be seen or heard anywhere.
"Please, God, no," she breathed, knowing he had found her. He was the only one powerful enough to put to sleep an entire city as large as Frankfurt.
Narcissa held her son tight to her chest as she took off running, knowing that she was not alone on the street, despite what she had first assumed. Death Eaters were suddenly apparent, appearing as out of an illusion, having been there watching her the entire time she had believed she was being so careful.
Running as fast as her tired and sore body could, Narcissa fled the street in hopes of disappearing into the winding alleys and side streets. She hoped to get lost in the darkness, but knew he would find her.
He knew where she was every minute of every day.
There was no escaping his power over her.
There was no hiding anything from him.
Stepping out from a building as Narcissa passed, a Death Eater became evident in her eyes on the sidewalk, and she screamed, stopping dead in her tracks to stare at him, shaking.
"Narcissa, come with me. You are in enough trouble as it is. Give up before he kills you," the man said. She knew the man as a friend, and he was helping him? He was helping him find her?
"No, Severus, I won't let him kill my son!" she cried.
"That cannot be helped now. You have guaranteed it, even only as punishment for your actions," Severus Snape said sadly, sad because what he spoke was true, holding his gloved hand out to her.
Narcissa sobbed in hopeless despair.
She turned and ran from the man in the direction she had come, only to be startled backwards by a horrific black beast, loudly bursting forth from between the two buildings on her right. It reared back, feet from where it had appeared out of the illusion and she shrieked while stumbling.
It was a skeletal horse, its lipless mouth laid bare its gauntly teeth on a face that resembled a dragon. Red eyes rolled in wet, open sockets and bat-like wings spread from its bony back where a figure sat.
"Lord Voldemort," she gasped, looking up at her Dark Lord atop the Thestral.
Narcissa did not wait for his response. She turned left and ran from him, her son silent for that moment as though knowing the danger he was amidst.
Panting as her lungs clenched in her struggle to breathe, her legs burning like acid, Narcissa did not slow. She refused to, and with good reason; Voldemort was catching up to her easily enough as he was on the back of his Thestral.
Riding up along side her, he reached down and grabbed at her but missed. She stumbled and that only gave him opportunity to grab at something else, something far more precious.
He used his magic to rip the baby from her arms as he passed. Narcissa screamed and tried grab at the long ends of the cloak her child was wrapped in, but Voldemort turned his Thestral and kicked her in the ribs, causing her to fall and clutch her side, now crumpled on the ground.
Slowly, Death Eaters started to appear in the street, little by little encircling the scene. They were like shadows; their white masks all that stood out in the dark so that it almost seemed at though they were bodiless, heads just floating in the air weightlessly.
"Narcissa, how you disappoint me so," Voldemort said, certainly sounding disappointed, holding the once again wailing infant in his left arm while looking down at Narcissa as she gasped for breath and clutched her side. He was acting as though the baby was not even there screaming and crying.
"Please, my Lord, forgive me. Please…" she begged from the sidewalk.
"I always excused your tentativeness to my orders and desires due to your age, but oh how you surprised me, Narcissa, with this disgraceful turn. It's not fitting for a Pureblood to act this way. Look at you, dressed as a Muggle," he said in disgust.
"My Lord, I meant no disrespect…you have to understand…"
"SILENCE!" he screamed, his words so harsh they practically cut at her, making Narcissa flinch while on the ground. The baby's crying doubled.
"One would think, that upon hearing of a prophecy that depicts the possible downfall of their Great Lord, a faithful supporter would do all in their power to prevent it," he seethed.
"He's my son…he's my son…" Narcissa sobbed over and over again, rocking slightly as she sat herself up from the ground.
"A child born this July will rise against me. Do you understand that? I must do all in my power to prevent such…"
"My son was not born in July!" Narcissa cried, daring to cut the Dark Lord's words off. "Please, he came early; he is not the one of which the prophecy speaks. Please," Narcissa begged.
She had been just recently eight months pregnant. Learning of the prophecy she feared the Dark Lord's actions. He did not even exempt the Pureblood child of two of his followers from the perceived threat the prophecy foretold.
The Dark Lord's paranoia was great, and his ruthlessness greater.
He would kill an innocent child, a newborn infant, without batting an eye.
How could she stand by and bear him doing that to her baby?
Narcissa had fled, knowing the Dark Lord's intentions, knowing he planned to kill her child.
She could not allow that.
She served her Lord faithfully, she was an obedient wife to a Death Eater and supporter of the Dark Lord's ideals…but she could not let him kill her child…her son.
She had taken off in the middle of the night while very pregnant, foolishly hoping beyond hope that she could hide from the Dark Lord.
Though his reach was great, his influence vast, she had slipped by him on several occasions, evading him for nearly two weeks, but the stress and the strain of travel had gotten to her. She delivered her son alone, in a pub on the outskirts of that damned Muggle city just the night prior, a month earlier than was expected.
She never wanted, or imagined, her son to be born in the back of some dirty Muggle establishment, wrapped in nothing but her cloak, tiny, hungry, and cold…but what choice did she have?
"Yes, this child of yours…his birth falls short of the prophecy. He is clearly not the one I am looking for, leaving only two other possibilities," he said, looking over to two of his Death Eaters and without a word, sending them off to deal with the continued search for the other expecting families. He would not let this prophesied child elude him.
"Please, please don't hurt him. Please!" Narcissa begged, crying and pleading with the Dark lord to spare her son.
"This child, so new, so strange to you still…yet he means so much to you?"
"He is my son…" she sobbed, the Dark Lord not able to understand a mother's instant bond with her child, not able to understand how she could feel so strongly for the little stranger she had only met the night before.
He did not understand love, it was a mystery to him, something he saw as a weakness and an exploitable thing; something used to manipulate others.
"You are young still. You have time and opportunity to try again," Voldemort said with a cruel smile. Narcissa fell forward so it looked as though she was bowing to the Dark Lord, her forehead to the backs of her hands, but then she just cried loudly, helplessly trapped.
"Killing this child because of the prophecy is no longer necessary, but the matter of your punishment is, however, still at hand," he said, speaking calmly as though he were not talking about murdering an infant and possibly the mother, too. "Your utter lack of faith in me…tisk-tisk. I find it disturbing, Narcissa," he said, his voice light despite the dark seriousness of his words. "All I ask of you, of anyone, is that you serve me, and what do you do? You desert me…you insult me…you embarrass me… you disrespect me. You force me to seek you out, wasting precious days of my time, using up my resources."
"Please," she begged.
"I can only see one fit punishment, and that is to remove from you what has brought about this disgraceful turn," he said, drawing out his long wand from his robes and pointing it down at the baby that wailed in his outstretched arm, finally seeming to acknowledge it was even there despite its constant and frantic cries that had yet to cease since he had laid hands on it. He held the baby up awkwardly, like he had never held something like it before.
"No, PLEASE! Punish me, punish me for how I have wronged you, my Lord, but please…my son…please," she begged, heavy tears flowing down her face rapidly as she crawled on the ground, hands clasped in front of her and held up to him.
"My Lord," a Death Eater suddenly said, stepping forth but waiting for permission to speak more. Voldemort looked over at him and the Death Eater took a deep breath.
"Please, my Lord. Narcissa is young, and foolish. She deserves to be punished for what she has done, but please, sir, please leave the child," he said.
"Ah yes, Lucius…" Voldemort said with a twisted smile, his wand still pointed at the infant. "You wish me to spare your child, your heir," he said.
"My Lord, the child will one day be a faithful servant of yours, you know this. He is my heir and son," he said calmly, careful not to look down at his young sobbing wife.
They had been married less than a year and though he had grown to feel great affection for her in that time, he did not love her yet.
Arranged marriages were like that; difficult at first.
Expecting a baby so soon had been what he thought would bring them together, not drive them so very, very far apart.
He had opted for Narcissa Black over her older sister Bellatrix simply because he had found Narcissa more attractive…but now he was feeling regret for having chosen a wife as young as her. She was but two years out of Hogwarts.
He had selected the youngest of the Black daughters because he had hoped that she, with her pale features, would complement his own and produce a fitting and fair son and heir. It was a terribly superficial thing to base your decision for your future wife over, he knew that, but both girls had been near-strangers to him and Bella just was not as attractive to him.
Narcissa's shame, however, was made his shame now that they were married, and he could not bear to look at her.
Her actions had brought dishonor and embarrassment to his family name.
"You would have me punish your wife? You do not stand before me in defense of her?" Voldemort asked, sounding amused. Lucius looked down at Narcissa for the first time through his cold and emotionless Death Eater's mask and then up at the Dark Lord again. He pitied her, and felt her pain, and longed for his tiny son he had yet to properly meet to be spaired, but that was not enough for him to forgive her for this scandal.
"She is foolish and needs to be reminded of her place," he said flatly, already intent on punishing her himself for the embarrassment she had brought him in front of the other followers. Oh how they all must laugh at him because of his foolish wife. There were very few times when hitting a woman was acceptable. He was a gentleman that respected women, but Narcissa needed to be reminded what it meant to be a wife…and a servant of the Dark Lord.
"Lucius, please," Narcissa begged.
"Silence!" Voldemort shouted again, Narcissa visibly recoiling.
"This child will serve me," Voldemort said, now speaking to Lucius Malfoy again, his tone utterly calm in an instant.
"Yes, my Lord, he will."
"That was not a question, Lucius," Voldemort snapped. Lucius bowed slightly in his apology. "Your wife's tretchury has enseeded in me some doubts, however. As such, I need a little, how you say, insurance…a guarantee if you will…that it will be so. I can't have Narcissa doing something foolish again in regards to him, though, I doubt she will want to ever cross me again once I'm through with her," he said.
"What will you have me do?" he asked, eager to prove at least his faithful and willingness to the Dark Lord.
"An Unbreakable Vow, done on your son's behalf," Voldemort said simply, a smile pulling at his slit of a mouth again.
"My Lord?" Lucius asked.
"You will make an oath of loyalty on your son's behalf, on your son's head, that he will serve me."
Lucius swallowed.
If his son should, for any reason, choose not to serve the Dark Lord, the vow would be then broken and he, Lucius, would die.
He could not allow that.
But he could not deny the Dark Lord his request.
He was in a very precarious position.
He would have to raise his son to believe all the Dark Lord believed, to desire the same the Dark Lord desired, so that he would be a faithful and unquestioning follower and servant of the Dark Lord.
If he failed in that, he would die.
"Do you not want to make the vow, Lucius? Do you not want your son, your heir, to serve me?" Voldemort asked, voice teasing despite the threat.
"My Lord, nothing would bring me greater honor than to have my son serve you," Lucius assured, his voice smooth, falling to one knee before the man on the black beast. He would have raised his son to uphold such ideals that he himself supported regardless of this proposed vow, but now, now he really had to make sure his son believed. "But, my son, he has no name. We cannot make a vow over him without a name to speak," he said.
Voldemort looked down at the crying infant in his left arm.
It was such a tiny creature, so fragile. He had a desire to crush it in his hand, just to see how delicate it really was. It cried; its arms curled up under its chin, its face red from so much fussing. It was so innocent…pure…untouched by the world. The baby…the boy…he could be anything, he was a blank slate.
He could kill it, him, and it would serve Narcissa right, but he felt something odd deep within his cold heart. For the first time in years he felt something, fleeting but powerful, stir deep within him. Voldemort felt a pang of compassion for the tiny soul he held in his hand. He had not known that was still possible with his own soul in so many pieces.
"Draco," Voldemort said after a moment.
"My Lord?" Lucius asked.
"I wish for him to be named Draco," he repeated, looking up at the sky, "after the constellation…my favorite constellation. The stars are so bright tonight," he said, his voice distant.
The Death Eaters shifted with a murmur and Voldemort's attention was snapped back down to earth.
"It is my will that he be named Draco and my will is LAW," he said, suddenly harsh and biting with his words, his Thestral shifting in fright of its master.
"Of course, my Lord. The name suits him, suits a Death Eater," Lucius said, bowing with his right fist over his heart while still on his one knee, thankful that his son would live, even with such a name as Draco.
An Unbreakable Vow was made that night, and Narcissa was punished for many nights following. She would never cross the Dark Lord again.
She was able to keep her son. Though she hated that she had not been able to name him herself, a year later the Dark Lord was gone…and though that did not make her happy…she was finally able to call her son by the name of her choosing.
Though it was officially documented as his middle name, he would always be Angelus -Angel- to her.
Draco shot upright in bed with a gasp, his face slicked with sweat. His body was shaking as he tried to orient himself. He reached over and clicked on his bedside lamp. Its golden yellow light made his skin look the color of old parchment as his face shone.
"Shit," he said, pulling his legs up while still under his covers as he buried his face in his hands and knees.
Still plagued by memories, it looked like they were not limited to merely his own.
He regretted now the day (for many different reasons) he had used his Legilimency to see into his mother's mind, to see her past and try to comprehend her loyalty to the Dark Lord. He had been seventeen and unable understand her continued servitude to the Dark Lord…after all he had done to the both of them, and Lucius.
Why would she serve someone as cruel and duplicitous as him?
He found out why, he then understood; once he saw that night.
She served him out of fear, not loyalty.
His mother was a Pureblood supremacist…still was, though she had toned it down some for the sake of appearances and getting by in this world after the war…but that attitude alone was not enough to ever make anyone want to serve an insane tyrant hell-bent on taking over the world by any means necessary.
He had taken that memory from his mother, and by doing so he had made it one of his own. Now it haunted him, like so many other of his memories did, chasing away sleep from him when his body so desperately ached for it.
Draco rolled onto his mattress that rested directly on the floor and stared at the base of his lamp that too sat on the floor, along with his round clock. His alarm clock was the kind that he had to wind every night and it ticked softly in the otherwise silent room. He found it soothing, that's why he had it.
Draco shivered at the memory that was not even his own to begin with.
Would his mother appreciate a call from him in the middle of the night?
She was not aware that he was conscious of the events of that night. How was he supposed to find comfort in her, while trying to comfort her at the same time for what he knew she had been through, without explanation of what the late night call was about in the first place?
Draco felt someone shift beside him and he felt a calm flow over him and his thoughts shifted to another female entirely.
Smiling softly to himself, he rolled over and planted a kiss on her forehead, stroking her curling blonde hair affectionately, calmness now chasing away his anxiety that had woken him.
He supposed he could wait and talk to his mother in the morning. He needed to turn off the light before he woke his young guest.
-----------------------------
Draco entered the Ministry of Magic by the same means he did every day, but almost two hours later than usual.
He had had a rough night's sleep.
Upon entering the Atrium through the street entrance, and passing through the golden gates, he joined the masses of moving and jostling witches and wizards to the lifts. It was crowded and uncomfortable, and Draco was shoved into the back of the car while every inch of space was used to its full advantage as people packed in.
There was a reason why he came to work at five in the morning. Missing the experience of the morning rush was no loss in his opinion.
The lift ascended. Level Seven: Department of Magical Games and Sports, Level Six: Department of Magical Transport, Level Five: Department of International Magic Cooperation and where his little friend Reamann worked. Level Four: Department for the Regulation of and Control of Magical Creatures, Level Three: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.
Witches and wizards got on and off at every stop and Draco paid them no mind and was unmoving until they reached Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That was his stop.
As people piled on, Draco pushed his way through and passed the golden lift gates. A few people that had also gotten off the lift looked at him for a long moment as he made his way past them. He was not of the department, and he did not have a visitor's badge, so they were curious.
They saw him heading off towards the Hit Wizards Department, and their unasked questions were answered.
He did not work there; he was a criminal.
The Magical Law Enforcement Department was the largest department in the Ministry. It was divided up into two major offices: the Auror Headquarters, which handled major crimes and the tracking of Dark Wizards, and the Hit Wizards, who handled criminals and minor incidents. One could take a wager on which of the two got the better funding.
Draco was on his way to the Hit Wizards Offices. He was a criminal on probation, and like Muggles, wizards too had probation officers…er…wizards.
He was on his way to see his now.
Draco passed through the busy halls, hood up, head down, hands deep in his pockets. His shoulders were bumped as he moved against traffic in the hallway. That was how it always was in the Ministry. It always felt like you were the only one going in a particular direction and everyone else was flowing against you.
Draco turned and walked down a slightly less-busy hallway, offices lining the walls on either side as purple paper airplanes containing messages to other Ministry workers flew overhead. They did not use owls much anymore. The droppings were a mess and the birds tended to fight or get confused. The mess on level seven from birds coming into the Ministry from elsewhere was evidence enough to that fact.
There was a bustling noise, a noise that only busy offices had. Shuffling papers, buzzing pagers, footsteps, low talking…it sounded productive, but all too often it was only wishful thinking that work was actually getting done.
On the left was the office he was looking for. It was small and divided in two by a semi-permanent wall so that the office could be shared. It was one step up from a cubical, one step below an actual office. On that floor, that's about the best anyone got; it was just too crowded.
Draco moved to the desk on the right of the wall and flopped down in the chair set before it. He slouched, with his knees apart, hands between his legs so that his forearms were resting on his inner thighs.
"Morning, Draco," his probation witch said with a bright smile. She was far too pleasant to be working with criminals on a daily basis in Draco's opinion, but then again, he was one of those criminals.
"Good morning, Laura," Draco said, not looking as though his morning was all that "good" but he was being polite, even if his tone suggested otherwise.
"I was worried you were going to miss our appointment," she said, noting the time.
"The lifts were crowded and busy. I told you that this is a terrible time."
"I am not about to come in at the butt-crack of dawn to accommodate you, Draco. Next time, come on time, or I will be forced to issue a warning," she said, not looking like she wanted to, but was held to the requirements of her job.
Laura Madley was three years younger than Draco. He vaguely remembered her from Hogwarts. She had been sorted into Hufflepuff; that's all he remembered. She remembered him too, or remembered him like everyone else did: as a pompous git. She however did not seem to hold that against him. Her Hufflepuff ways seemed to draw out her helpful demeanor and forgiveness.
"Yes, ma'am," Draco said softly, knowing he could not argue on the matter.
Laura opened up Draco's thick file and flipped through the pages until she reached the one she was looking for. She started filling out the same-old paper work, and Draco sat there, saying nothing, letting Ms. Madley do her job.
Her mousy blonde hair was cut in a pixie style with a curling lock against either side of her face, pasted to her cheek. Her hair as a whole looked rather immovable in its careful styling and Draco did not like it much, but it was not his place to say anything. He just happened to like his women with soft flowing hair. Long was preferred, but if he could run his fingers through it, it was acceptable.
The vision of long, red hair drifted into his thoughts. Its silken feeling known to him, as he had run his fingers through it before…years before…as he held her close to him and…
Draco shook his head. He was not going to think about that.
"I heard you had a run-in with Harry Potter the other night," Laura said, not looking up from her desktop and paperwork, still writing. She was trying to make it sound conversational, but Draco knew it was not. It had everything to do with her job…
"Oh-no, please, don't lecture me…" Draco begged, letting his head fall back to rest on the back of the chair, his neck at an almost painful angle.
"You want to tell me about it?" she asked softly.
"Not really," Draco answered honestly, looking up at the ceiling still.
"Draco," she said in a tone that reminded him of his mother as she now looked at him.
"I just happened to be at a pub first where Potter chanced to stop in," he said, lifting his head to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose, a headache starting.
"That's not the story I heard."
"Potter clobbered Blaise Zabini in the face with an Infligo Charm," he said.
"Why would he do a thing like that?"
"Because he is a pretentious, self-righteous git," he said harshly.
"Draco…" Laura sighed.
"He thought Blaise was going for his wand -or so he claimed afterwards- and thusly, felt the need to `defend' himself," Draco answered harshly.
"Harry Potter would not think that, he was the one who helped pass the laws that prevent…"
"I'm only repeating what he told me," Draco snapped.
"Well, the incident normally would be overlooked as just tabloid fodder, but I'm being asked to submit a report on the matter," she said, looking apologetic.
"Do your job," Draco said flatly, waving the fingers on his right hand at her dismissively.
"Draco, stop with the attitude. I'm not your enemy here."
"Just my probation officer," he said darkly.
"All the more reason you should treat me nice. I'm the one writing up the reports on you," she said with a smile. Draco rolled his eyes. "So, you have not left the country?" she asked, looking back at her paperwork.
"No."
"Purchased any magical items such as wands, potions, or amulets?"
"No."
"Exercised any magic such as charms, hexes, or curses?"
"No."
"Brewed any potions?"
"No."
"Attempted to do any of the above?"
"No."
"Asked anyone or had anyone do any of the above for you?" she asked.
"No," he said just a dully as he had his other answers.
"You know, I'm supposed to be doing this after you have taken some Veritaserum."
"I know…thank you," he said, looking up at her with a soft face, a face he did not bare in front of many people. It made him look vulnerable, and he hated seeming vulnerable. In front of Laura it made him look sincere and appreciative, which he was, and he trusted her not to exploit moments like this.
"I trust you to be honest with me, Draco."
"I appreciate your faith in me," he said with a sigh, slouching more. He was lying to her, not mentioning to her that his mother had given him a potion.
"Have you been to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures yet?" she asked.
"No, not yet…"
"Draco…"
"Next. That is next. I came to see you first," he said, crossing his arms, looking and sounding a little huffy.
"I'm flattered."
"Don't be, I'm just putting that off for as long as I can manage," he scathed. She laughed.
"The Werewolf Support Services was put in place for people like you…"
"Yet it is run by the same wizards that are head of the Werewolf Capture Unit and Registry."
"Well, yes…naturally."
"That place is a malicious joke and a prison…punishment for those unfortunate enough to have contracted this disease, not a place for support."
"They just want to keep an eye on you."
"So I don't go beastie and gobble up some children?" he seethed.
"So you don't wind up at the wrong end of a nasty jinx one day because someone gets the impression that you are threatening them."
"Would I ever do a thing like that?" Draco asked mockingly innocent.
"Draco, a year after you were probated, you got dragged in here on the accusation that you threatened a Ministry worker, saying you would bite him."
"It was a figure of speech, and I told him to bite me," he said in an exasperated tone like they had gone over this already a hundred times.
"Nevertheless, the man was so upset over the perceived threat that he came here, saying you were going to hurt his family."
"And I thank you for clearing that up for me," he said with an inclined head.
"Draco, you need to behave yourself, and you need to stop making people hate you and want to mistrust you."
"I don't try to do anything…"
"Yes you do, because you like to be the victim, because it makes you feel justified in your bitterness and anger," she said, and Draco huffed as he looked away. He wanted to disagree, but she wouldn't believe him if he did…because it would be a lie and they both knew it, which made him grumpy. "I really think you need counseling."
"You mean a shrink," he said flatly.
"You just need someone to talk to…"
"I have you."
"I'm just your probation officer," she said, stamping his sheet with a thump and then holding his paper out to him. "I just handle your case. As your caseworker, however, I suggest you find someone who can give you better guidance and support than me," she said with a kind but sad smile. She really did worry about him.
"Yes, mother," he said, taking the paper from her without a smile and walking out of the office.
Draco left the Hit Wizards Offices, on his way back to the lifts where he stood and waited amidst some queer looks. He managed not to fidget under their gaze while waiting for the lift to come.
Malfoys never fidget.
With a clattering and then a screech, the lift's gates eased open and Draco found himself face to face with his new friend Reamann.
"Draco," he said, looking surprised to say the very least. Draco wanted to groan as the witches at his back gasped and started whispering to each other, passing him to dare a glance before jumping on the lift.
"Thank you for that. Next time, shout my name a little louder, so that way everyone in the general vicinity will hear," he said, glaring as the lift left without him.
"I'm, I'm sorry. What are you doing up here?" Reamann asked, caught completely off guard by seeing Draco out of the Hall of Records.
"I could ask you the same. This isn't your department," Draco quipped, reaching past Reamann to hit the button again and making it light up, now waiting again for the lift to come back.
"I asked first," Reamann said, watching Draco.
"I'm here to talk to my Probation Witch. You?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"Getting some more information on the case," he said, licking his lips nervously.
"Yeah? How's that coming along for you?" he asked, his tone bored and annoyed, and clearly uninterested.
"Good. Things seem to be going well. That report was excellent. I got a lot of good remarks on it," he said, fidgeting. Draco knew the guy was restless to begin with -having spent an afternoon or two with him in the library, watching him pace and fuss and talk constantly- but he seemed downright nervous now.
"Congratulations," Draco drawled.
"And I was thinking, I kind'a owe you now…so why don't I take you out to lunch or something," he said.
"That wasn't the agreement," Draco said with cool eyes.
"Yes, well, things are a little complicated now," he said, smoothing his hair flat, out of what looked like nerves.
"Really?" Draco asked flatly.
"Let me take you out to lunch and I will explain it all to you," he said.
Draco considered him for a brief moment. The lift would be back soon; he could not grill the twitchy Reamann for much longer.
"I have lunch at half noon," he finally said. Reamann visibly relaxed.
"That's good. I can take my lunch then," he said.
"Awright then."
"Yeah…"
Reamann did not seem too excited, even though the lunch had been his idea.
Draco kind of had that effect on most people.
--------------------
Draco was standing at the back of the lift again; it was less crowded, but no more comfortable than it had been an hour before. The morning rush had passed and now there was just the steady traffic between the offices that Draco was now a part of.
The lift descended slowly, past level three, stopping at level four. That was his stop.
"Excuse me," he muttered, pushing past a witch that stood in his way as he jumped off the lift. He got some stares from those on the lift, possibly recognizing Draco Malfoy: the Werewolf, before the gates closed to his back, taking the lift and all its wide-eyed passengers with it.
Draco hated this.
He shuffled off in the direction of the Being Division Offices where the Werewolf Support Services were located. It was better than having to stop at the Beast Division where the Werewolf Capture Unit and Registry were located…but not by much.
Somehow, fifteen years after being infected, it still irked him that he was not considered a human being anymore. He was a beastie. He was not human, but many did not even think him a person anymore. It was kind of harsh.
It was one of the many things in life that made him grumpy.
Passing offices like he had on the level above, he made his way to his support officer, his wizard that offered "support" and kind words…and Wolfsbane.
It was a potion concocted to offer relief for a werewolf during the night of the full moon. It was no cure, and it only allowed for the werewolf to retain his or her mind after transforming while relieving some of the symptoms, but it was better than nothing and all that could really be offered for "support." There was no "cure."
The potion was so complicated that it had its own taskforce at the Ministry to prepare it.
"Morning, Draco," his officer said, not standing from his desk.
"Morning," he said softly.
Marcus Belby was his "Support Wizard." Draco also knew him from Hogwarts, but Marcus was older than him and had been in Ravenclaw. He had been a member of Professor Slughorn's Slug Club. His Uncle Damocles, so it happened, had invented the Wolfsbane potion back in 1990. He was also related to Flavius Belby, the only Wizard to ever survive a Lethifold attack.
His whole family seemed to have a fascination…to the point of unhealthy obsession…with magical beasties. Seemingly, it was nothing short of pre-destiny that Marcus should end up working in an office that dealt with such beasties.
Draco sat there, as one of said beasties.
"How have you been feeling?" he asked.
"Right bit worse than death warmed over," he said, sitting in the chair before the wizard's desk like he had an hour before in another office.
"Still dealing with the pains?" he asked.
"Every moment, of every day. Will I be issued a prescription for a potion that will help?" he asked, sounding as grumpy as he looked but still stubbornly hopeful.
"You know I can't do that…"
"It is not Dark Magic, it is not part of some evil plot to overthrow the Ministry…it's just me wanting some relief! A simple Doleolevo Potion would…"
"Draco, we go through this every week. I cannot give you anything without a Healer's consent."
"But they won't give me anything!" he said exasperatedly. Him and Marcus did not share niceties with each other like he and Laura did. There was no polite conversation or smiles, it was right to business and right into Draco complaining.
"Then you clearly don't need it."
"My family donated a substantial amount of money to build that damn hospital! I have a ward named after me for God's sake! The least they could do is fix me up with a potion that will sooth my pains," he said, outrage readable, and honestly understandable. Marcus understood Draco's feelings but was also able to understand the reasons he was denied such things.
"Draco, you're a pill-popping addict to anything that makes you feel a little better for however short a time. They won't give you anything now, not without you dying on the table in front of them, and even then that's debatable," he said. Draco pushed his hood back in his frustration, letting his hair tumble down out of the hood where it had been gathered to hang around him limply. He then let his face fall into his hands. He needed a potion, a pill, something to make him feel better, and no one would supply him and he had no means to go about it himself. He was too poor and lacking manipulative influence.
"Speaking of which, you seem to be moving about alright. Who supplied your fix?" he asked, knowing Draco too well.
"Don't," he warned darkly, voice muffled by his hands.
"You know, your mother could face criminal charges if she were caught slipping you potions and such," he said warningly.
"My mother, and this is not an admission, has nothing to do with it," he said, looking very intently into Marcus' eyes.
"Very well, Draco," he said with a sigh. He was not about to go out of his way to bust Draco for anything. That was what Draco's probation officer was for. "I have your Wolfsbane for the week, and your instructions for the coming moon," he said, getting right to business.
He held out an envelope to Draco which he took and pocketed immediately. It gave details on where he was to report on the eve of the full moon. He would be under the Ministry's watch and care during his transformation, as always. Draco hated it, but honestly, even with the Wolfsbane helping him remain in control, he would find it difficult to explain the ruckus to his Muggle neighbors.
Draco then accepted the large flask of potion. It had a Ministry seal and emblem on it, making it official. Draco, if caught with any potion other than that, in any container other than that, would be looking at Azkaban again. They were that serious about it.
"Thank you," Draco said, looping the strap attached to the large flask over his head so that it cut across his chest and hung at his side.
"You take care of yourself," Marcus said softly.
"It's what I'm best at," Draco said as he stood; signing his paperwork, glad to leave, even if that meant it was time to head down to the Hall and work.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note:
Narcissa Black was born in 1955 according to the Black Family Tree JKR wrote up in 2006. I wrote this fic/scene, having not seen that previously, so her age does not follow canon. In this fic Narcissa was born in 1960, (her father having died in 1979 so that still manages to work out) making her 5 years younger than she is in the book series.
Also, there was some reference to Disney's The Hunchback of Norte Dame in the opening flashback scene as well as a borrowed line of dialog. It is not meant to influence the whole scene, just the one specific portion of it where something inarguably similar happens. It's what I get for listening to The Bells of Notre Dame while writing.
-->