A Bond for the Ages

Chapter 51

Translations:
[Latin] Frater = Brother
[Latin] Paenitet, frater = Sorry, Brother
[English text] Moy drug = [Russian text] Мой друг = My friend

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Leif couldn't explain the feeling he had as he stepped out of the fireplace into the ever-bustling Ministry. Sure the busyness felt a bit more frantic than the normal, everyday busyness, but it wasn't something he'd never experienced before. Truthfully, it wasn't as though anything had really changed aside from Fudge and Lucius being gone, and that should have caused nothing but relief. Yet, relief wasn't what he felt. He didn't know yet what he felt, but he knew it wasn't relief.

He shook his head at himself and pushed aside the strange feeling, weaving his way through the rushing crowds towards the lifts. He drummed his fingers on the strap of his satchel as he waited, not even realizing the motion echoed the habit of both Draco and Harry to do the same thing, and his other hand unconsciously clenched in his coat pocket. He stepped onto the lift with the others waiting and pressed himself against the back, taking slow, deep breaths he didn't understand why he needed. He fought hard not to flinch when someone shuffled through the crowded lift to stand next to him.

"Marcus."

Leif looked to his right at the voice. "Barlow," he returned, feeling tense.

"Scrimgeour's got a lot of interest in you and Snape, not to mention those boys of yours," Barlow told him quietly.

"I figured as much," Leif replied. "Just here to get back to work."

"He'll not make it easy," Barlow said.

"Never is."

The lift came to a stop and people began shuffling to get off, Barlow following.

"Glad to see you back, Marcus. Come find me should you need anything," the Unspeakable said before getting off the lift and leaving Leif alone. He stared dumbly at the lift doors, exiting slowly when it stopped at Level Ten.

The closer he got to the Archives, the more the odd feeling grew and he drummed his fingers more spastically, still not realizing he was copying the boys. He felt a strange tightening in his chest, rubbing his sternum absently as he walked. Turning the corner, he found no one had bothered to fix the golden bars that were meant to protect the Archives and he could see some damaged shelves and scattered papers, telling him no one had cleaned either. He stepped over and through the disfigured golden bars, gazing around with a frown. There were no wards of any kind left, the podium where requests used to appear was in pieces, shelves were shattered and collapsed, papers were burned and shredded, chunks of stone lay everywhere from ceiling and walls, and the marble floor was cracked.

He wandered slowly through the destruction, brief memories of that day flashing before his eyes and the deep, encompassing feeling beginning to suffocate him. When he came upon the aisle where his own pool of blood was now dried on the floor, he stopped and stared, his chest tightening and his left side tingling, almost buzzing. He absently released his bag and rubbed at his left shoulder, at his restored tattoos, and he suddenly understood what the feeling was.

Overwhelming anxiety.

He was anxious being back at the Ministry, back in the Archives, back where he'd fought Lucius, back where he'd failed his family, where he'd nearly...

"Leif Marcus."

Leif turned at the voice, fighting not to jump, not having expected to have company, especially not that of the new Minister.

"Minister," Leif greeted, surprise clear in his voice. "Apologies. I did not expect any visitors to the Archives so soon."

"No, of course not," Scrimgeour said, his easiness putting Leif on guard. It was strange. "I thought I would come down and welcome you back."