Breath-Drarry COMPLETE

Chapter 15

—Hermione POV—

"Here are the files for every employee we have." Kingsley levitated a pile of cream-colored folders up to my desk, where I set aside a pile of papers to make space for his stack. "Read up on everything, get to know them. Soon, you'll be in charge of them."

"Yes, sir."

That is a tall pile. I looked at it, grateful that it was at least organized by department. The first one was that of the unspeakables. I picked up the first folder. Does Kingsley not put these things in alphabetical order?

Rowena Rowle, 56

Department: Unspeakable

Status: Working

Working on what?

I flipped through the pages of her file, which began shortly before the war, in 1996. Odd that somebody in the Rowle family is actually working here.

Is Rowena even in contact with her relatives in Azkaban?

You can't judge somebody by their family name... but what's odder is I never remembered seeing her around in the ministry. The back page held details of the mission she was on, but it wasn't much. She's the British representative in the American Ministry and has been for the last fourteen years. She reports back yearly, it seems, each report attached as well. I furrowed my brows as I began reading. They were minimal at best, and she hadn't been back here since the first time she left, it seems. There was also no information about the kidnappings that had been occurring in America that Harry had mentioned. Even digging around for a year, I haven't found anything about the kidnappings. Odd.

Maybe their issues in America had been resolved? Maybe it wasn't as bad over there as it is here, where people are now going missing left and right.

Has Kingsley checked up on this?

————

—Harry POV—

The soft melody filled the room as I walked downstairs. Highs and lows and hypnotizing harmonies. A slow rhythm, thought-out, yet lovely. I turned the corner to find Draco sitting at the piano, body hunched over slightly. His eyes were closed as he played a certain chord, one filled to the brim with an emotion that I couldn't quite explain, dark and rich yet bursting with unspoken words and-

Draco's face looked a bit grim, and it somehow matched the tone of the beautiful music. I noticed he opened his eyes, scanning a sheet of paper in front of him before playing that same melody again, a bit more fluidly, then again, but with his eyes closed. Eventually, though, he paused. He didn't open his eyes or move his fingers from the keys they were pressing. If I didn't know better I would've said he wasn't even breathing. And, well, maybe he wasn't.

His hands stiffened a bit, then he played the section again, slower, louder. His fingers pressed the keys down more forcefully, with more of everything behind it. Draco kept getting closer to the piano, as though he wanted to become part of it. For someone who says music requires good posture, he really isn't showing it. I furrowed my brows, becoming concerned as the echo from the last chord dissipated, as Draco once again completely stilled.

"You're playing the piano... haven't done that in a while."

There was no response from him, not even an indication that he'd heard me. At least, not until: "I've been out of practice for far too long."

Slowly he straightened out his back, then opened his eyes, staring contemplatively towards the keys of the instrument. I made the move to sit down next to him, placing my hand on his knee.