Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

RESPONSIBILITY

Green flames swirled in their peripheral, fading away as they stepped into the emerald-tiled Ministry lobby. Their footfalls echoed throughout the undecorated hallway, accompanied only by the sound of the bubbling centerpiece fountain—a gothic tower with streams of water cascading from its springing arches, into the battlements.

Suddenly, panic assaulted Draco's nerves as he ducked behind Harry, trying to hide his face. "I changed my mind," he croaked diminishingly. "No one can see me!" 

"No one will," Harry answered calmly, stepping aside so that Draco could see the empty lobby. "It's nine o'clock. The only people still here are usually Hermione and Laverne."

Draco stopped dead in his tracks before following Harry to the elevators, "You're not taking me to her, are you?"

"Why would I take you to the Minister of Magic?" Harry asked, still walking.

Draco rushed to catch up with him. There was a hint of impressed astonishment in his voice, "Are you saying Granger is the Minister of Magic?"

Harry stiffened, "Yes, and if you could keep your racist remarks to yourself, that would be great."

Draco pouted as they entered the lift, his tone like venom, "I wasn't going to say anything, Potter."

They both turned to face the entrance in sync. "Oh, really? Hateful cat got your tongue?" quipped Harry as he pushed the elevator button engraved with a golden nine.

Draco glowered, "The only person I hate now is you."

"Charmed," Harry said with a fake sweetness.

The lift descended into the lower levels of the Ministry, and the entire time, Draco wished he ran away the second he had the chance. Though his father didn't work at the Ministry anymore, he was still anxious about running into someone who once knew him.

"This Laverne fellow," Draco began, picking at the skin around his fingernails, "Do you reckon he'll alert my father that I've stopped by?"

"You're an adult. We aren't legally obligated to disclose your location, so we won't," Harry explained simply. "That would mean a breach of privacy and a nasty ethics meeting. Besides, Laverne keeps to himself."

Draco nodded before following Harry into the Department of Mysteries. After hours, it was dimly lit and eerie. Harry didn't seem nearly as perturbed by it as Draco was, but that didn't necessarily surprise him.

Past a black door, several rows of cubicles littered the archival space. Laverne was sitting at his desk, tackling a stack of paperwork piled high beside him. He looked up and went pale, seeing the nervous face of Draco, who lingered several steps behind Harry. It surprised him to see such an infamous wizard, who most knew to be dead. The only heir to the Malfoy fortune now had an unmistakable look of loss and suffering in his eyes.

"Sir," Harry began, triumphantly, "I've found the source of those time discrepancies near the old abbey."

Laverne grumbled and sat back in his chair, wiping the overworked sheen from his gray salt-and-pepper stubble. His voice was like gravel from thirty years of smoking, "And so you brought it to the archival department?"

"It?" Draco parroted, thoroughly offended.

"For approval, yes. I couldn't just leave him there," Harry said, not backing down. "I have reason to believe he can manipulate time."

Harry's boss held out a wrinkled hand, stopping him from going on a tangent. "You're not an Auror," Laverne reminded him exhaustedly, "and yet you still seek out trouble like one!"