Chapter 2
Easy Way Out?
The Department of Muggle Liason, a normally quiet level of the Ministry of Magic, was today a bustling scene of mad chaos. For now, the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office found itself the temporary home of the Minuo Administration Board. Back and forth through the stone hallways, Ministry employees raced with alternating armloads of papers and glass phials, some empty, some filled with a ruby-red potion the could be heard hissing through the glass. Occasionally, people with hooded cloaks would slip in and out of doors, sometimes passing one another, but never speaking.
And despite the heavy wool hood covering most of his face, Draco could see all this very clearly from his seat on one of the hall’s cold stone benches.
The minimum of human contact made for an isolating atmosphere. Not that Draco couldn’t understand the reasons behind it. Anyone who fell under the ruling of the Minuo Act would more than likely be from proud, pureblood families.
“Number twenty-four,” a young woman’s called out into the hallway. “Number twenty-four.”
It was then that Draco remembered the number he had been given when he first stepped off the lift: number twenty-four; a relatively small effort of preserving what was left of his dignity. Draco rose from his seat on the bench and approached the witch. There was a glazed, flat look in her eyes, with the rest of her expression relaxed, but heavily bored. Her lack of response even led Draco to wonder, as he approached her, if she even saw him.
“Please give me your name,” the woman stated suddenly, startling Draco, though she showed no reaction to this either.
At first, Draco barely whispered his name, hoping that all the previous gestures of maintaining the dignity of the Minuo recipients would still be in place. But the young witch not-so-subtly demonstrated that Draco had no right to expect anything. “I’m sorry. Could you say that louder please?”
She said this last sentence loud enough that Draco was sure everyone on the floor had heard her.
“Draco Malfoy,” he repeated, this time at a reasonable decibel level.
“Thank you.” The woman scrawled Draco’s name onto her clipboard and then turned on her heels. “Please follow me.”
The witch did not wait for Draco before she started down the hall, nor did she even bother to glance over her shoulder to make sure he was following her. For a moment, Draco wondered what would happen if he didn’t follow her. What if he simply Apparated out of the Ministry and never came back? That zombie of a Ministry worker probably wouldn’t even notice him disappear, and even if she did realize he was gone, she would be too lazy to do anything about it. Who knows; she may even mark him down as having taken the potion anyway just to avoid all that paperwork.
Draco could run back to the manor and pack a small bag. He might even tell his parents what he did so they could go on the run with him. They would all go to some tropical country on the ocean where most of the citizens spoke no English and no one even knew what a Death Eater was. His father and mother would easily be able to live the rest of their lives on their savings in a country where a loaf of bread cost less than a Knut. And in countries like that, where superstition still ran rampid, Draco could use his magic to become a witch doctor (because he would still have his magic). One day, Draco would heal an old man to the point where he felt a though he were twenty years old again, and he would be so grateful, he would offer Draco his beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage. She would teach Draco her native language, they would live in a house built on the side of a cliff, and Draco would teach their children magic himself so they would never grow up to be ashamed of the Malfoy family name.
A crashing sound heard from behind the door of one of the private rooms brought Draco out of his imagined future and back into reality. And the longer he was there, the more he was forced to point out everything that was wrong with his almost-plan.
First of all, if leaving Britain had been an option, certainly his father, who had a lot more to lose from a guilty verdict, would have already considered it. And though Draco was only thought of as a reletivly minor war criminal for the time being, that would all change the moment he fled. As soon as he set foot out of the country, every Auror in the Ministry would be assigned the task of tracking him down, with Potter more than likely leading the cavalry.
And though Draco knew his mother would do near anything for him, deep down, she was still very much a Black. Narcissa had become accustomed to a life of luxury and pride, and up until now, she had never been denied anything less. So Draco knew his mother would hardly be able, even if she was willing, to abandon the life she had made here to live in a shack in some third world country.
Draco had to be becoming desperate, he realized, especially when he remembered his scenario future included him marrying a Muggle and having her halfblood children. He doubted his parents would find that little more honorable than having a son who had chosen the life of a Squib.
Draco’s thoughts ended just in time for him to watch the listless witch unlock the door to one of the private rooms, the latch clicking with an echoing finality to it. She held the door open and allowed Draco to pass in front of her. Inside the room was a small table with a lone chair sitting facing them, as though it had been waiting for the two of them to arrive. Resting on the table top was a cylinder flask containing the same crimson liquid Draco had seen being rushed back and forth through the hallway.
“Please take a seat, Mr. Malfoy,” the woman instructed him, waiting in a near trancelike state for Draco to do as he was told.
Eventually, Draco complied. Though he made sure to take his time, all the same, as he walked towards the waiting chair. For a fair amount of time, he just sat there, waiting for instructions. ‘Drink up and shut up’ seemed far too simple fr that to be all there was to it. The woman’s foot tapped impatiently, her eyes continuing to shift between her watch and the doorway, as though she could not leave the tiny, cell-like room fast enough.
“What?” he snapped at her. “You’re going to watch me drink this?”
She nodded, as though the words Draco had put forth were a true question. “Believe it or not, the Ministry still doesn’t place a lot of trust in Death Eaters and conspirerers. Until that potion is gone, you’re still considered a threat in the eyes of the Minuo Administration Board.”
Draco stared up at the girl and sneered at her, the solution that had carried him all through his Hogwarts years. However, the girl sneer right back, locking them in a ridiculous sort of combat, until he finally realized how ridiculously childish the two of them were behaving. Warily, he unscrewed the lid to the flask. The humming sound he believed he heard before became much louder, the sound exploding in a single loud pop at first, from being contained, then softer, though still continuous.
Slowly, Draco took his first sip of the potion. The Minuo Potion had a heavy aste to it, but one that Draco couldn’t really distinguish as being sweet, bitter, or anything else. As Draco swallowed, he could feel the liquid cling against his teeth, the roof of his mouth, and eventually the back of his throat. He could even feel the potion humming from the inside out.
The young woman continued to stare at Draco, impatient yet apathetic, waiting for him to finish the potion. He had already taken one sip of the potion; there was no turning back now. She must have seen a dozen witches and wizards already drink this potion today.
Taking a deep breath, Draco quickly gulped down the rest of the Minuo Potion, the thick liquid clinging to his throat. And just like that first sip, he could feel the potion holding tight against the inside of his body.
“Wonderful,” she droned once Draco had taken his first sip. “Now, if you’ll just stay here, a representative from the Ministry will be in to speak with you shortly.”
Confident that she no longer had to play Draco’s baby-sitter, she pulled the door open in a rushed manner, but then stopped to look back, the silver tongue hiding behind her pursed smile making a low strike.
“As though you are going anywhere.”
There might have been a time in Draco’s life when he never would have allowed a comment like that to go unanswered. Unfortunately, for Draco, he did not know that time had ended the moment he took that first sip of the Minuo Potion. He stood up with every intention of following that witch back out the door and giving her a piece of his mind, but soon enough found himself sinking back down into his seat under the influence of a very distinct lack of energy. The potion, so thin when it had first touched his lips, had begun to take on the consistency of paste. As with the first small sip, he could now feel every drop of it clinging to his insides, slowly absorbing his energy with the more time that passed.
And he felt it all.
If Draco would ever find himself forced to describe the feeling of the Minuo Potion taking effect, he would probably feel it akin to the flame of a lantern being doused with dripping candle wax”still able to burn to some extent, but slowly putting itself out as it fought to keep itself burning. And slowly, he began to feel a large portion of his energy slipping away. Not physical energy that kept one standing on his own two feet, but still, something Draco was slowly finding he had come to relay on all these years. As all this happened, Draco’s posture began to slouch more and more so until he eventually lay with his upper body slumped over the table top; his eyes beginning to glaze over, reminding him of all too many days in History of Magic when no one would find being in such a state alarming.
But now, the paralyzing feeling was spreading to every limb and every digit of his body. Eventually, Draco could not even twitch his fingers in front of his face or wiggle his toes inside his shoes. Part of Draco worried whether this was to be expected when taking the potion; no one had told him. He considered calling out to the witch he spoke to before to ask her, but soon found his voice to be quite useless as well when all he could manage were a few intangible hissing noises.
All he truly found himself able to do was lie there and think about how he may have rushed into all this, the kind of thoughts that always came to people whenever it was too late to put any of them into practice, just like it was too late for Draco. That bright red potion had already taken its claim on his future.
And then red became black.
Dimly, Draco became aware of the room around him, the same private room that the Ministry witch had taken him to when she had first given him the Minuo Potion. Then it all came rushing back to him. Before, he had been resting in a comfortable daze where he didn’t have to remember what had brought him here.
When Draco returned to full consciousness, he became very aware of a pounding in his head and a weakness in his legs. Although, the problems with his head may have had something to do with the fact that his head had slammed against the table when he had surrendered to the blackness. He rubbed his forehead, certain that it was either red or bruised.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of the door unlatching brought his attention back to the front of the room. He watched, trying to focus his eyesight, as a magenta-robed figure squeezed her way through the cracked door opening. As soon as she turned her head to see Draco, she nearly jumped seat the sight of the young man somewhat awake and staring right back at her.
“Hello, Sleepy Head,” an irritatingly bright voice shattered through the silence. “I trust you had a good nap.”
She was a squat witch with folds of fat bulging out all around her middle, her voice sweet like a rotten peach. Her sandy hair was cut into a stylish bob, but it did little in the way of improving her appearance. Draco suddenly found himself thinking of his former teacher, Professor Umbridge, minus that annoying little giggle of hers. However, he had only just met this woman, so who was to say there would not be something about her that made her even worse.
“You must be Mr. Malfoy,” she said, taking a seat across from him, the chair screeching painfully as she dragged it across the floor. “Nobody told me you would be so handsome.”
Draco sneered at the woman who apparently believed he was so dim as to not see right through her. In the back his mind, he thought to tell himself that he was right; this woman was worse than Umbridge.
“Let’s take care of a few technicalities before we get into all that,” she remarked, drawing out a clipboard much like the one the bored young witch had been carrying before. “Please draw you wand, Draco.”
Not taking his eyes off the clipboard, as though he hoped he might be able to read the small type upside down, he pulled his wand from his coat pocket.
“Now, I would like you to attempt a simple spell for me just to make sure the potion has truly taken effect. Oh, I know!” she said, gesturing with her index finger. “A simple levitation charm, please.”
She set her red-tipped quill on the surface of the table, right in front of Draco. “Well, go ahead,” she prompted, sounding slightly impatient.
Blinking his eye rapidly, in an effort to shake away the dream-like state surrounding him, Draco pointed his wand at the quill, feeling a slight involuntary twitch in his fingers.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” he spoke, flicking his wand in the well-practiced movement.
Nothing. The quill remained very much on the surface of the table, the soft edges of the feather not even drifting from the draft.
“Excellent!” the woman cheered in a tone far too happy for what had just happened. “The Minuo Potion has taken full effect. Your magical abilities have been effectively suppressed.”
Draco glared up at the woman, knowing full well that a sneer was spreading across his expression. He didn’t care. He had never met a more tactless person in his life. He had just lost his magic, for Merlin’s sake! One did not go into a hospital and ask someone who had just had their legs and clap for joy! Draco felt his hands clench and his fingernails scrap across the table top. He wondered to himself if he was leaving marks.
“Now, I suppose we should introduce ourselves,” she said in that same painfully cheery voice. “Well, I already know who you are, but you don’t know me.” The woman took her quill back, but left her clipboard resting in her lap as she focused all her attention on Draco. “My name is Clemence Vaughan. I am the Ministry worker who will be in charge of overseeing your case on a personal level.”
“Pleasure,” Draco answered dryly, a triumph consider he was fighting the urge to strangle this woman with his bare hands. He had no other means of doing it now.
“Let me just explain what that will mean,” Clemence continued along pleasantly. She made herself extremely comfortable in her bare wooden chair, as though what were taking place was just a relaxing conversation between old friends. “I will be checking on you personally once a week. I’ll be able to take you out to dinner, and the best part is the Ministry is paying for it.”
Draco grimaced painfully, hoping it came across as looking somewhat like enthusiasm. The woman kept on chatting, so he assumed she sensed no animosity between the two of them.
On and on, the Ministry employee, Clemence, spoke to Draco about his brand new future. He fought the urge to allow his mind to wander the way it always had during long lectures in school. What was being said here was far more important than the Great Goblin Uprising of 1233. For all he knew, he could miss one vitally important piece of information and because he didn’t know it he”he might not be allowed to use any of the lavatories out in the Muggle world.
“There will be no means of financial welfare, but I will help you find resources that will help you get a job and a place to live.”
Draco nodded, he might have thought as much. Luckily, the Malfoy name and fortune would still be able to offer him some means of monetary support, as long as he could get to Gringotts before anyone could inform his parents of what he had done.
“Do you have any friends or family in the Muggle community that would let you stay with them for a while?”
Slowly, Draco shook his head no. Clemence gave a high-pitched huff under her breath. With a flourished wrist movement, she flipped the first paper over the top of the clipboard and scanned down the second sheet.
“Do you know anyone else who has selected the Minuo option?” Clemence suggested. “We would like to try and keep good friends together if at all possible.”
“None of my old friends would have ever admitted that they took the Minuo Potion.”
Draco’s condescending tone must have become a lot more obvious in that sentence, because Clemence cast him with a disapproving look; the kind that mothers use on their children when they said a bad word without knowing what it meant.
“I have to tell you, Draco, you are not making this easy for me,” Clemence confessed, shaking her head like a disapproving mother, while still managing to keep that sickeningly sweet tone in her voice. “Before taking the potion itself, a lot of the recipients made sure they would have some kind of safety net out in the Muggle world. They either had friends among the Muggles, family, or had researched boarding houses. Maybe it you had not procrastinated so much with your decision, the transition would have been a lot easier…”
Draco groaned and leaned back in his chair. He was having a hard time believing he was getting an attitude lecture from a woman he had just met; a woman who, in theory, was supposed to be working for him.
“Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” Clemence said, as though trying to reassure him after having just insulted him. “I knew when I took this job that it would not be easy. People who were associated with the Death Eaters had…well, very little reason to make ties with the Muggle community. But excuses like that are not going to help you anymore, Draco. Life is only going to get harder from here. You’ll either stand or you’ll fall, and whatever happens, it will be nobody’s fault but your own. Help comes to those whom help themselves, Draco.”
Thankfully, the woman’s heinously annoying chatter was brought to an end by the room’s door opening, earning a sharp squeak from the unoiled hinges as it did. “Excuse me.” A man stepped out from behind the opening door.
It took a few moments for Draco’s brain to register recognition of the somewhat-familiar face. It was Arthur Weasley. He should have known in an instant from the graying red hair and the faint freckles hiding in a growing amount of wrinkles. Granted, Draco had only seen Mr. Weasley a handful of times in his life, and never for very long. Usually, it was only long enough for him and his father to exchange curt insults (and the occasional fist fight), and then they would be one their ways, both men still fuming long afterwords.
But this time, Draco had never been more happy to see anyone in his life.
“Mr. Weasley,” Clemence greeted him with some surprise, rising to her feet. “I didn’t think you would be in today. There really isn’t a lot happening, just the Ministry sifting its way through the Minuo recipients. I was just getting ready to take young Mr. Malfoy””
“That’s quite alright,” Mr. Weasley interrupted. “I’ll be escorting Mr. Malfoy out of the building.”
You are a saint! Draco thought to himself as he relaxed in his chair. Whatever taunting or ridicule Mr. Weasley had planned, it couldn’t be any worse that having to suffer through another moment with his new baby-sitter, Clemence.
“Mr. Weasley,” Clemence spoke in an annoyed tone, but causiously keeping her emotions in check. “I know that the Minister must have a great deal of confidence in you to place you as director of the Minuo Administration Board, but I do have some authority over my own clients and I believe””
“You’ll be seeing him every week for the rest of your career.” Mr. Weasley, however, seemed to have no trouble keeping his voice calm. “I doubt one missed meeting will jeopardize his transition into the Muggle world.”
Draco could tell that Clemence had a few choice words dancing on the end of her tongue, but in an amazing show of self-control, she bit them back and with a curt nod, excused herself from the room. With the door slamming shut, causing both men in the room to jump, Mr. Weasley turned to Draco and met him with an expression completely devoided of animosity or mocking. In fact, Draco wasn’t even sure he could identify the emotion behind the look Mr. Weasley was giving him.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Mr. Weasley said to the younger man. “Draco, please come with me.”
I Wish I'd Taken Muggle Studies by OliveOil_Med
Chapter Notes: Draco comes to a decision. One that will change the rest of his life.
Thank you, Nikki!