The Ordeal Of Being Known

8

Draco straightened his tie under his waistcoat as he knelt in front of his fireplace. He didn't have to dress formally for a floo call, but it certainly wouldn't hurt, in this particular case. Timsy was shaking his head in disapproval on the other side of the room at the sight of Draco practically ruining the knees of his expensive trousers, when they wouldn't even be seen.

He threw the floo powder into the fire, and called out "Minister Shacklebolt's Office!" before sticking his head into the flames, enduring the odd, twisting journey sending his head and shoulders away from his body.

His face popped up in another fireplace, and Draco recognized the office of the Minister for Magic. Shacklebolt was sitting at his large desk, writing something with a long quill. Draco internally thanked him for the full floo access, and cheered that he'd got him at a time when he wasn't too busy, doing Minister things.

"Minister," Draco greeted. Shacklebolt looked up from his desk, a barely concealed look of surprise on his face.

"Healer Malfoy," he replied calmly. "Do you have news?"

Draco couldn't control his eye roll. Not a good start. "Even if I did, you know I can't relay it, Shacklebolt," he muttered. "I need information."

Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows. He lowered his quill, sitting back in his ornate leather chair and motioning for Draco to continue.

"I need to know what you know of the Unspeakables' current projects, as well as a list of who works there and their backgrounds," Draco said, and Shacklebolt stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before throwing his head back and laughing.

"You can't be serious," Shacklebolt mumbled between chuckles.

"Quite serious," Draco replied firmly, glaring at the Minister, who finally got himself under control, folding his hands in his lap, a disbelieving smile on his face.

"That is information I cannot provide, not because you don't have clearance-which you don't, by the way-but because I don't know, myself. The Department of Mysteries is not under my jurisdiction. No one knows what those swots get up to except themselves. I've only been there once, in '96, with the Order, fighting Death Eaters. I didn't understand a whit of what I saw, and we certainly didn't run into any Unspeakables."

Draco's mouth opened in shock. "Not under your... then whose jurisdiction are they under?"

"Their own," Kingsley shrugged. "Have been for centuries." Draco just stared at him in disbelief.

"So you, the Minister for Magic, have absolutely no idea what goes on on an entire floor of the Ministry, nor who works there... and you don't care?"

"Of course I care," Kingsley scoffed. "But it is beyond the limit of my power. The DoM is practically its own entity. They keep to themselves, they hide in their books and their mysteries of life, they bother no one. I simply sign off a budget approval for Level Nine, every year, and leave them to their studies."

"Kingsley, you don't know that," Draco urged, shocking himself with the use of the Minister's first name, but too utterly bewildered by Kingsley's indifference to care. "You don't know if they keep to themselves and bother no one, because you've never seen them. What you're telling me is that they answer to no one, they're not held accountable for anything, they might even be above the law."

"No one is above the law, Draco, but any time I tried to find out what goes on down there, I hit hundreds of dead ends."

"And that seems normal to you, how hard they're working to hide from you? Weren't you an Auror before this?"

"Why is this important, Draco?" Kingsley glared. "You think the bookworms down there had something to do with what happened to Harry?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He coughed softly, glaring back at the Minister, whose eyebrows were raising at what Draco's silence obviously meant.