Bride of the HP Dragon

Five years after the events of Bride of the Dragon.

On Sunday, that meant silence in the Ministry.

But the Ministry of Magic is still never closed, so someone has to be on duty for complaints, owls, Flooing and signing for packages.

Rosie Pinkerton, who is on duty on Sundays, is the receptionist in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

Rosie put down her quill and stared at the man who had asked to see Harry Potter, she had only been the receptionist of the Atrium for two weeks.Honestly, there's not much work on the weekends, which is why she's trying to do the Sunday Prophet's crossword puzzle.

Reception duties in the atrium meant that Rosie was dealing with the public, the wizards of the street, so to speak.

There's no way an ordinary old man can get all the way into the Ministry of Magic, you can try, but you won't get any farther than Rosie and the courtyard security patrol area.

You must be working inside, have a valid pass, or have an appointment.If you have any of the three, you also have to go through the elevator, which has all the other levels of security.

Much of Rosie's job involves simple people skills, and there's always plenty of dazed tantrums who party all night on Saturday nights and stagger home Sunday mornings to smash the Almanac of Irish Birds at "Damn it." Minister for Magic", as the legal age to apparate has been raised to 18.

Rosie was Muggle-born and basically thought wizards were weird, but the man on the other side of the counter was weirder than most.

He dialed in from a red phone booth like everyone else, giving the name 'George Joybone', but he wasn't wearing the silver visitor badge he had been issued.

He was indeed an odd man.

For starters, he looked as if he had trekked halfway across the Sahara (and with desert frost all over him), with an inch of dust covering him from head to toe.

No, not dust, Rosie corrected in her head, sand.

Little yellowish things were here and there, and Rosie guessed he might be blond, but she couldn't be sure, his long hair was extremely dull and muddy in places.

The man was filthy and must have looked like he'd just come from a hasty sandstorm, his clothes were ragged and his boots were the only thing on him that looked passable.

God, did he have a whip around his waist?She didn't see his wand, and for some reason Rosie was getting more and more nervous.

He said he had to deliver a package.

His face was covered with wind and frost, and the sun slanted, exposing the small pale wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, but the floating dust had no chance to get involved.God knows how old he is, maybe twenty, maybe forty.

But his eyes made Rosie press the panic button under the counter, even though she wasn't really in danger.She remembered her training, knowing that it was safer to call the police on something as embarrassing as it was to feel sorry and cursed.

The stranger's eyes were an appealing stormy shade of gray that stood out indelibly against a tanned face, adding to the tension.There was a clarity and intent in his gaze that you don't usually see in a drunken wizard who complains and has nothing to do on Sunday mornings.

Yes, it's Sunday, but where the hell is the security?She pressed the button 2 minutes ago.

"Is there a problem?"

He spoke again, and the stranger spoke, not sounding like a mad man, but actually like a man terribly agitated.

Rossi hurriedly opened a perfect customer service smile: "No problem, you mean you want to see Mr. Potter?"

"Yes," said the man, looking at her like she was an idiot. "I want to see Mr. Potter."

It might seem like a pointless question, but she's now making excuses: "So do you have an appointment?"

Those excellent eyes narrowed: "No."

"Do you have a pass?"

"What did you say?" he repeats, apparently already on the verge of breaking down a long time ago.

"A pass to the Ministry of Magic without an appointment." Rosie explained, she thought his eyes were not gray, but had too much metallic texture, they were silver eyes.

"Pass," he agreed earnestly, much to Rosie's astonishment, and the stranger smiled at her with startlingly white teeth on a tan face.

She unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.

Just like that, he turned and walked out of the atrium.Spencer, the tall, burly weekend security chief, finally showed up, completely unhurried.

"Who's that bastard?" he asked, Spencer looking mockingly at the slick floor where there was a lot of sand.

Rosie didn't know how to answer, "crazy" didn't describe the man, the man wasn't particularly irrational, just... disturbed, and she was glad he was gone.

Spencer told the other security guards who had rushed to the front desk to go back: "False alarm," he said, irritating Rosie with his secretly smug and slightly condescending attitude: "She's still new!"

"He said his name was Happybone and he wanted to see Mr. Potter." Rossi responded quickly.

Spencer snorted understandingly: "Fan club, huh?"

"I doubt it. It doesn't look like it looks like it."

Both Rosie and Spencer considered the possibility, and of course there was not a man, woman or child in the British wizarding world who did not feel awe of Harry Potter.

"Okay then, call us if you need to." Spencer winked at her, then staggered toward the security office, seemingly back to play games or hang out with the other security guards on Sunday. .

Rosie sighed, trying in vain to shake off the feeling of dread and resume Sunday's drudgery.Just when she was halfway through and satisfied with herself, things came up again.

"I have a pass." The voice sounded.

The man came back, but not alone.Beside him, a stiff, erratic... oh Merlin, he said he was going to deliver something, and he opened the package.

It was a human being, a gaunt, emaciated, stooped woman, wrapped in yards of dusty cloth.Her long black hair, streaked with white, was the only thing alive about her.She was petrified, with a hideous expression of hatred frozen on her face, the stranger gently pushed the terrible package, causing it to float forward about a meter and stop in front of Rossi.

This brings Rosie Pinkerton face-to-face with the petrified, levitating, wobbling Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort may be the ultimate never-show villain, but everyone knows what Bellatrix looks like, and the posters have been up for years.

Fuck training or something, Rosie screamed.

Spencer and the other security guards came a little faster this time.

Harry was taking an afternoon nap in the Grimmauld Place lounge, with half the leftover sandwich lying on a plate and the other half in his stomach, when the fireplace roared.

It took several minutes for Zacharias Smith, terrified and pale, to explain what had happened.Smith, who seemed to suffer from insomnia just like Harry, was scribbling away at the Wizengamot's administrative paperwork when the frenzied security guards nearly knocked down the door of his office to tell him what had happened in the atrium.

Zacharias, on that particular Sunday, was the most senior official in the Ministry of Magic, and he felt he should tell Harry.

"Go to Moody," Harry ordered him, and hastily shoved the sandwich and plate on the floor and headed for the fireplace.

He quickly called Ron, who then called Harry at least three times "You're not joking", before asking, as a matter of course, if they were going to tell Hermione.

"Not yet," said Harry, and he put on his coat and scarf and flooed straight to the Ministry of Magic.

A crowd gathered in the atrium, including terrified-looking custodial staff, several low-level officials, and a frantic receptionist (she was new, Harry couldn't remember her name) was being soothed by a fat security guard.

Everyone started talking at once, but Harry dismissed them, promising to come back after the most urgent matters had been dealt with.He took the elevator to his office on the second floor, where extra security guards stood guard outside the door.

The reason for this became clear quickly.

Zacharias and Malfoy were standing on the carpet next to Harry's filing cabinet, the former staring at the latter as if he were a toxic, flammable cream pie ready to explode.

Malfoy, if that was really Malfoy, was almost unrecognizable in those unrecognizable colored shirts and trousers that seemed to be covered in sand.The six-meter-long leather scarf covered half of his face, making him look like a chic mummy.

There was a terrible, long silence in the room.

"Say something, Potter, the silence makes you uncomfortable," the regular sarcastically said slowly.

Harry knew the voice well, but it was deeper now, more... measured.Complaining was over, this was Malfoy, and Harry was stumped.

"You..." Harry finally said, followed by "I...", and finally frustrated.He ran his hands through his hair and sank heavily into the frayed armchair.

Zacharias cleared his throat: "Then, I'll go first, I'm sure Moody will need my help, call me if necessary, Harry."

Malfoy looked at Zacharias as if he seriously doubted how Alastor Moody could ever need Zacharias' help.

Harry kept his eyes on Draco, and didn't speak until Zacharias' footsteps in the outer corridor could no longer be heard.

"We thought you were dead," he stated bluntly.

The corners of Draco's mouth curled up: "There are many people who think so, trust me."

"Where the hell have you been?" Harry didn't think so loudly, but the force of the question made the windows creak.

"It's a long and complicated story, and I don't want to tell it with a kilo of sand in my trousers." Draco replied calmly, and then his voice became cheerful again: "Have you got anything to eat?"

Harry blinked at the change of subject, but he knew the feeling of hunger: "Stay here and wait," he said, striding towards the door.

Draco snorted, "Speaking as if I could leave at will, and I'm as much a prisoner as dear Bellatrix at the moment." He stared blankly into the four corners of the room as he left Harry. The security guard shook his finger.

Harry was in the staff lounge in no time, cursing inwardly whoever was supposed to be restocking the cupboard, it should be himself.The woman who was a second officer was always saying that he emptied the cupboard so that there was hardly anything left in it.

In the end Harry found a tin of gingerbread biscuits, a possibly expired mince pie, two cold cakes, and someone's unopened Hogsmeade pumpkin juice, which Harry hoped hadn't been lying around for long.

Outside, Harry almost collided with Alastor Moody rushing towards his office, with Zechariah Smith jogging panting behind him.

Moody had never been so alive, he limped stooped and shuffled, and his hair was a little grizzled, which made the old man look less muscular.

"Is that true? The boy brought her?" gasped Moody, stopping to lean against the wall, wiping his face with a bandanna like Hagrid's.

boy?Malfoy was 23, but to Moody, anyone under 40 was a "boy."

"She's in a single cell," Zacharias confirmed to those present, "It's the old cell upstairs that we haven't refurbished. She's still petrified, and we haven't released her." Zacharias said with He said in a questioning tone.

Moody muttered: "Let her stay like that until we know more about the situation. We don't know where Malfoy has gone. We all know that this may be some kind of careful plan to break into the Ministry of Magic."

Harry shook his head. "I doubt it. Capturing Bellatrix is ​​a personal mission for him."

"Personal mission as hell, don't you think? He spent four years on it."

"Five years," Harry corrected, thinking of Hermione again.

Moody said: 'I don't like the look on your face, boy. "

"What expression?" Harry asked.

"You look expectant," Moody reproached.

"No! We were never friends. If Malfoy ever really gained my trust, he has lost it."

"Very well, the boy disappeared, Potter. Remember, people disappear to cover up something."

Maybe to get away from something, Harry thought.

"Do you still need me to notify others?" Zechariah asked.

Moody yelled out a string of names, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupine and Tonks.Two Oros who had just arrived came down the corridor and stopped beside Moody to take instructions, and Harry waited for Moody to come back and speak to him.

"Very well, so you're in charge of Malfoy's interrogation, and he's asked for a private meeting with you, I guess he wants to tell you his exclusive story. Remember he's a suspect, and he's being held until the story is cleared, understand?"

"Yes."

"Don't leave your security, I know Malfoy is a jerk."

Harry looked at the aging ex-Oro coldly: "Oh, stop it!"

Moody laughed. Whatever happened, they had Bellatrix Lestrange now.It was a historic day, Moody's cautious enthusiasm couldn't be hidden, it was a big deal.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to see Lestrange. Use those old eyes and see for yourself," said Moody, his eyes quivering with excitement.

Harry turned to Zacharias after Moody staggered away: "Zach (Zacharias nickname), since we are on alert level [-] at the moment, can you do me a favor? call them up and tell them not to leave the Ministry now?"

"Harry, we're going to have a hard time keeping this a secret!"

"Try it," said Harry loudly.

Zacharias reluctantly left to carry out the order, and Harry returned to the office with a small stack of food.Draco sat cross-legged in Harry's old armchair, his hair so long that it covered a third of the back of the chair.

Harry closed the door, locked it, and handed Draco the food and drink.

"Thank you." Draco ate the big cake immediately after saying that.

Harry was shocked by the simplicity and sincerity of the thank you, the short sentence without any innuendo or sarcasm.

Harry waited a minute before speaking: "So you thought you could waltz back here with Bellatrix Lestrange in tow and everything would be forgiven?"

Draco raised his head, and he wiped the crumbs of food from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, but there was more sand than food: "Yes, Potter, I think this is a reasonable assumption." After swallowing a mouthful of cake, He said so.

"Why did you bring her here?"

"Why?" Draco repeated, old hatred flashing in his eyes: "I think the reason is obvious. My bitch aunt conspired to murder my mother, and after doing so many despicable and vicious things, And almost succeeded in causing my death."

Regardless of what he had been through, the fact that this sandy, filthy man was still the arrogant bastard he had been had reassured Harry that in many ways Draco hadn't changed.

But Harry had to let him say it, and he had to hear from Malfoy himself before he could decide whether or not to let the bastard get close to Hermione again.

"Very well, besides avenging your mother, then why are you here?"

"Did you get my postcard?" Draco asked politely, as if he was just on an ordinary holiday.He started eating the pie, which didn't look fresh, but the satisfied look on Malfoy's face showed it was edible.

Harry in disbelief: "Oh yes, we got you... what was that? You had three postcards the first year you left and nothing after that. Like I said, we thought you fell off the edge of the world fell to his death."

Draco stopped chewing: "I've seen the edge of the world," he said very calmly, in a tone that made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end, but the coldness quickly disappeared: "I don't recommend that places, it rains three quarters of the day."

"Then why would you come back here, Malfoy?" Harry insisted.

Draco swallowed what was left of the pie and took a swig of the pumpkin juice.He closed his eyes and savored the simple, familiar comfort.Harry wondered how long it had been since he last had a decent meal.

After a while, Draco reclined in his chair and looked at Harry defiantly: "I'm coming back for my wife."

The author has something to say:

Wow, the familiar Mr. Happy Bone is back~

But after the first five years, such bloody romance novel vocabulary made me soft for several days...

I think Harry is such a touching good friend. In order to protect Hermione from being hurt again, he even blocked the news at all costs~ This is true love...

Draco's cool, handsome, domineering look really wants to beat him up, but we can't beat the bronze-colored strong man...