Past, Present, Future

Day Three

When his Tempus alarm went off, Draco sat bolt upright and wide awake. There was one thought on his mind as he scrubbed his long fingers through his fine hair. He needed to hear the rest of Dawlish's conversation with Buford without interrupting them and cutting them off.

He pushed away his expensive, high-thread count, white Egyptian cotton sheets and got up, padding straight to his ensuite for his cold blast of shower. He purposely didn't shave so the conversation would play out the same. This, he knew, would require careful timing as he began his day again.

Draco took his time over his coffee and buttered toast, contemplating everything that had happened from the moment he'd arrived at the Ministry for the past two mornings. It was key to arrive once Potter had started briefing the team, then Potter wouldn't be tempted into talking to him first. He had to leave after Dawlish and loiter in the corridor out of view.

When he'd finished his breakfast, he rose slowly, buttoned up his Auror coat and Apparated to the Atrium of the Ministry for Magic just as the eight o'clock meeting was due to start. He avoided eye-contact with Martin in his ghastly yellow beret and ugly lime-green tank-top and sprinted towards the lifts past the young cleaner wearing her pink platform sneakers and matching cat ears. He had timed it perfectly as he managed to catch the lift with barely seconds to go.

He stood next to Arthur Weasley again, who once more said, 'morning, Draco,' pleasantly.

'Good morning, Mr Weasley,' he returned.

'Nice day for it,' Arthur said happily.

'Yes,' said Draco, distrustful of what 'it' was. Maybe Arthur knew more about Draco's situation, he thought suspiciously. Maybe Arthur was the one who'd cursed him. Maybe this bland politeness was the curse...

'Have a nice one...' Arthur said as he got out at the floor for the Department of Muggle Artefacts.

'You too,' said Draco, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He turned slightly to inspect Arthur but, most importantly, there wasn't a wand in sight and he had little faith that Arthur Weasley could cast Wandless Magic.

Arthur walked away with his usual jaunty gate and humming to himself. There was nothing whatsoever suspicious in his demeanour at all. Besides, why on earth would Arthur Weasley want to curse Draco, they were supposed to be past all those petty Malfoy-Weasley rivalries that his father propagated. Draco had even apologised to Arthur and Molly and in return, Arthur had vouched for Draco on his application to the Aurors.

Perhaps he was going mad... imagine thinking Arthur Weasley had cursed him. It was ludicrous!

Perhaps he needed another coffee.

Draco sighed as he ignored everyone else in the lift until the doors opened. Then he rushed down the corridor to the meeting room and slipped inside to stand at the back feeling slightly flushed by the purposeful dash through the Ministry. Potter's gaze immediately rested upon Draco but, for once, Draco wasn't interested. Instead, he watched Dawlish for a sign of something... anything. There was nothing beyond Dawlish's usual pissed-off scowl that permanently adorned his face.

He decided that Dawlish looked older than his fifty-two years. His light-brown hair was visibly greying. There was a hint of rubicund nose developing and an overhanging paunch that was familiar in men of a certain age with a sedentary lifestyle that involved too much beer and pizza. He was turning into one of those cliché cops you saw in American films who turned into a donut-eating, coffee-drinking bully with a dubiously prejudiced and lazy attitude. Draco sighed to himself. Perhaps he was doing Dawlish a disservice, he knew life had been difficult for the man since Voldemort had risen a second time, partly because his wife was killed by Death-Eaters. It made him an unlikely suspect in all this, assuming it was connected to the Neo-Death-Eaters; Draco was suspecting it was, even though no official connections had been made been the threats on the Minister's family and the NDEs.