Oh I feel overjoyed
When you listen to my words
I see them sinking in
Oh I see them crawling underneath your skin
Words are all we have, we'll be talking
These words are all we have, we'll be talking
And I hear you calling in the dead of night.
You lean towards the spell
Any given opportunity
But what is there to gain?
When you're always falling off the fence that way?
The Minister sat behind his desk, rubbing his sore eyes. He had been awake far too long, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more but to go home, sit down and have a Butterbeer.
"How many more?" He asked his secretary tiredly before looking out the window in his office. Outside the sun had already set and the streets came alive with the lights of buildings and streetlights.
"Just one Minister," the secretary replied before placing the parchment in front of him. He pushed his round spectacles up his nose before running a hand through his ever messy black hair. He never could tame it no matter what he did; it landed him in Witch Weekly more than once that was for sure. He picked up the parchment, his eyes almost falling out of his head as he read the name on it. He turned back toward his secretary, his eyes narrowed skeptically.
"Are you sure? There must be some kind of mistake." It had to be. Harry bent down, pulling open the bottom desk drawer, rummaging through all the papers stuffed in there. He really should get that cleaned up and orginised.
"No mistake Minister, it's been ten years to this date." She sighed, almost as if she felt sorry for him, but she couldn't decide if she should feel sorry because the Minister couldn't accept that it's been ten years or because it meant that he would be released from Azkaban. Harry found what he was looking for, pulling out an old piece of parchment. He squinted at it, looking for one name in particular. Once he found it he checked that the dates on the old and new parchment matched up perfectly. She was right, it's been ten years.
"Merlin's beard…" He ran his hands through his hair, this time because he was worried. "Why am I seeing this? This is a matter for the Department of Justice."
The secretary leaned forward, turning the parchment over. Harry's eyes widened as he saw what was written on the back. He would have no choice, he had to do this.
"Well then bring him in." Harry stood up, walking to the table that stood next to the window. He reached for the bottle of Fire whiskey that Kingsley gave him when he became Minister, Kingsley's last words to him ringing in his ears.
"Do not drink this when you feel like it or when you're just plain thirsty. Drink it when you absolutely have to Potter."
Now was as good of an occasion to drink it as any then. He unscrewed the cap before pouring the bright liquid into one of the glasses that accompanied the bottle, all the while listening to the door of his office opening and closing. There were footsteps and he could hear the air leave the pillow on the chair opposite his desk as someone sat down. He took a large gulp of the Fire whiskey before turning toward that person.
"Oh please Potter, stop being such a Drama Queen, it's not like you're about to release Voldemort from Azkaban." Draco Malfoy smirked, looking at the Minister of Magic.
Harry had to suppress the urge to role his eyes at Malfoy, but he gave in. It was either that or hexing the bloke. He put the glass down, walking back to his desk and taking a seat. Ten years in Azkaban did not do Malfoy any favours. His light blonde hair had grown two shades darker and there were dark circles under his eyes. He had grown taller, but he was pale and skinny. The effects of the Dementors could clearly be seen on him, not only in his physical features but emotionally too. Harry always thought the eyes were the window to the soul, and right now he was not wrong. Malfoy's eyes were a light grey, haunted by everything he had seen and by everything that was done to him.
The Minister of the time had no choice, Malfoy and his father had to go to Azkaban like all Death Eaters. He was 18 at the time and he had the dark mark, there was nothing to be done. When Harry became Minister he reviewed Malfoy's case and reduced his life sentence to 10 years. That's why he was so shocked when Malfoy's document landed on his desk, had it really been ten years? He didn't exactly want to see Malfoy either, they were enemies after all. Ten years in Azkaban couldn't change that.
"I'm sorry about your mother, you have my condolences." Malfoy's face cracked for a second before it became perfectly blank again. He didn't need Potter's sympathy or pity, but he had to bite his tongue and control his temper. He was, after all, talking to the Minister of Magic. "I have here her last will and testament." Harry cleared his throat, not wanting to waste any time. "When your father died in Azkaban Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, inherited everything. Now that she has passed she has willed the Malfoy fortune in Vault 71110, as well as Malfoy Manor and everything in it to her only son, Draco Lucius Malfoy."
"Yes, yes, I know Potter, can I go now?" Malfoy asked impatiently, he didn't need to be told what he already knew.
"I'm not finished. There is one condition in your mother's will."
Malfoy raised his brows, this couldn't be good.
"To gain access to the fault and the Manor you must be married. The vault and the Manor will remain closed to you until you are married."