Tangled in the Ashes

Chapter Three: Boundaries and Burdens

He was halfway through his second mug when the owl arrived. The Ministry seal glared from the parchment like a threat.

Draco broke the seal, eyes skimming the summons.

Mandatory review. Rehabilitation oversight. Attendance required.

He crumpled the letter in his fist. "Perfect."

Blaise sauntered in, catching the look on his face. "Ah. They've decided to play nice again, have they?"

Draco downed the rest of his coffee. "If by nice you mean dragging me into their farce of redemption, then yes."

Blaise leaned against the counter, smirking. "Maybe you'll run into her."

Draco froze. For one fleeting moment, his pulse jumped in his throat. He crushed it down immediately, sneering. "I couldn't care less."

"Of course not," Blaise said smoothly, plucking the crumpled letter from Draco's hand. "Which is why your ears just turned pink."

Draco ripped the parchment back, teeth clenched. "You're insufferable."

"And you're transparent." Blaise grinned, stepping back. "Go on then. Run along to your little Ministry appointment. Try not to undress Bennett with your eyes if she happens to be in the room."

Draco's fist twitched at his side. But instead of responding, he grabbed his coat and apparated with a crack, leaving Blaise's laughter echoing in his ears.

⸻

The Ministry's atrium was crowded, voices bouncing off marble and glass. Witches and wizards bustled past in tidy robes, eyes flicking his way with barely concealed disdain. Draco kept his chin high, mask firmly in place, every step deliberate.

He told himself it didn't matter.
He told himself he didn't care.

Draco had faced Death Eaters, the Dark Lord himself, even Potter's insufferable speeches. Yet somehow, walking into the Ministry's rehabilitation offices managed to feel worse.

Until the lift doors opened on the rehabilitation floor—
The air smelled faintly of parchment and disinfectant, the kind of false-clean meant to disguise rot. Portraits of stern-looking officials lined the walls, their gazes following him with varying degrees of suspicion.

And then there she was..

Elena Bennett, standing near the reception desk, arms folded over a stack of files. Her eyes snapped to his the moment he stepped off the lift. Bright. Unyielding. Annoyingly difficult to ignore.

"Malfoy," she said coolly, voice slicing through the chatter of the atrium.

"Bennett." He gave her a curt nod, as if they were strangers meeting at a chessboard rather than reluctant orbiters of each other's lives.

Her gaze swept over him, assessing, unimpressed. He hated the way it made his skin prickle.

"Here for your review?" she asked.

"As riveting as that sounds, yes."

Her lips twitched—just slightly. "Try not to sneer at the officials. They don't like that."

"Noted." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Though I imagine you'd be disappointed if I behaved myself."

The faintest flicker of heat passed through her eyes before she turned away sharply. "Don't flatter yourself."

Before he could answer, a sharp-voiced witch called his name. Draco followed her into an oak-paneled office, leaving Elena behind, though the air seemed to cling to her even after the door shut.

Inside, a grey-haired wizard with half-moon spectacles rifled through parchment. "Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for attending."

"As though I had a choice," Draco muttered, dropping into the chair opposite.

The official cleared his throat. "Given your history and... complicated reputation, the Ministry is requiring your continued involvement in our reintegration program. This will involve supervised assignments under a designated liaison."

Draco's jaw tightened. "How thrilling."

The wizard ignored him, scribbling notes. "We'll inform you of your assignment shortly. For now, consider yourself on-call. You'll be expected to report when summoned."

Draco rose smoothly, every inch of him polished arrogance despite the coil of irritation in his chest. He bowed his head slightly. "A pleasure, as always."

The door opened, and there she was again—Elena Bennett, stepping inside with more files, her eyes flicking from Draco to the official.

Draco's smirk curved before he could stop it. Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

Elena did not believe in fate. She believed in work, in logic, in things that could be organized into files and stamped with a Ministry seal.

But as she stepped into the oak-paneled office and found Draco Malfoy standing there—smirking, no less—she began to wonder if fate believed in torment.

"Bennett," the official said briskly. "Perfect timing. You'll be serving as Mr. Malfoy's liaison for his rehabilitation assignments."

The words hit like a Stunning Spell. Elena blinked, sure she'd misheard. "I'm sorry—what?"

The official adjusted his spectacles, oblivious to her horror. "You'll oversee his case. Reports, evaluations, assignments. You're familiar with the protocol."

Her mouth went dry. "With respect, sir, there must be someone better suited—"

"On the contrary. Your record is impeccable, and your... ability to handle difficult personalities is well-noted."

Behind her, Draco's low chuckle rolled through the room. "Difficult personalities. I like that."

Elena shot him a glare sharp enough to cut. "This isn't funny."

"Oh, I disagree," he murmured, voice silk and smoke. "It's hilarious."

The official shuffled parchment, oblivious to the tension that thickened the room like storm air. "You'll receive your first assignment tomorrow. Until then—welcome to the partnership."

Partnership. The word scraped against Elena's ears. She felt the burn of Draco's gaze on her as if it were physical, as if he were already enjoying every ounce of her discomfort.

She forced her chin up, spine straight. "Fine," she said tightly. "But don't think for a second this means I like it."

Draco leaned closer, his smirk widening. "Merlin forbid."

Her pulse betrayed her with a sharp, traitorous flutter. She told herself it was fury. Just fury.

But deep down, Elena knew the truth was far more dangerous.