Harrod Xavier Realgar sat at his post in the Ministry of Magic, humming happily to himself. The Ministry was practically deserted, as you'd expect on a Saturday, so he could actually get work done instead of simply running errands for the Assistant to the Undersecretary. Esmeralda Beery-Malbolges - said Assistant to the aforementioned Undersecretary - took perverse delight in ordering Harrod around during the week so he inevitably fell behind in his work. He'd volunteered to work Tuesdays through Saturdays, which not only earned him praise – and a fifteen percent shift differential! – but provided one sane day without other bureaucrats pestering him for minutia.

Harrod didn't think of himself as a bureaucrat, no! Harrod Xavier Realgar was a dedicated civil servant. When he'd been at Hogwarts (it seemed so long ago) even his fellow Hufflepuffs had commended his work ethic and his almost five years at the Ministry hadn't damped his spirit. He worked hard. Tasks placed in front of Harrod were more tedious than unpleasant, and it was for the betterment of society. And with the recent changes there were opening for promotions and he fully intended to grab one.

Harrod had been filling out the appropriate paperwork to allow for the import of several hundred Romanian Ivory-Plumed Chickens for the Haruspectors when he heard footsteps echoing down the hallway in front of the reception desk. During the week Harrod sat at his own desk, but when they were short-staffed, such as today, clerks worked in the hallways so that they could guide visitors. And also ensure that visitors didn't stray outside of the public areas.

A man in ill fitting robes, with wild hair and mutton chop sideburns that marked him as either a powerful Scottish wizard or doddering fool walked along side an immaculately dressed boy with slicked back blond hair. Harrod smiled as they walked up to the reception desk, carefully setting his paperwork aside, and said "Good morning" quite cheerfully to the pair.

To his surprise, it was not the man who answered, but the boy.

"Good morning to you, as well. This is Professor Isaac Asimov of Hogwarts, and I am Draco Malfoy. I'm not entirely sure, but I believe that our appointment is just down this hallway, can you let them know that we are coming?"

The boy had pointed to a room slightly down to the right of the hall, a non-public area. And at no point had he stopped walking. During his speech he'd made a small bow of introduction, but continued steadily toward the door. He gave no indication of stopping. The man next to him had stopped at the desk, but then quickly started after the boy. The boy's actions startled Harrod so much that he answered before the name sank in.

"Excuse me! Ah, pardon me Mr. Malfoy," now that the name had sunk in Harrod stood up from the desk. "I don't know exactly who you are meeting."

"I wish to be escorted to the Hall of Prophecy. It's past that door, I believe."

Harrod blanched inside, but didn't show it. He'd heard of the Hall of Prophecy, everyone had heard of it. During his first week he'd been sent to get a left handed wand, had to clean out Boggart cages, and been ordered to the Hall of Prophecy. All standard practice, hazing the new guy. Everyone gave him different directions and he'd never been let in. Visitors were not allowed in the Hall of Prophecy.

Perhaps they had been, once, centuries ago. Outsiders weren't even supposed to know it existed. Harrod knew about the Hall, every clerk knew that Merlin had built the Halls somewhere in the Ministry. But where? Well it must be in a restricted area and clerks with less than a decade's experience did not travel in restricted areas or ask about them. At least, not if they wanted to stay employed.

"Who did you say you are meeting again, Mr. Malfoy? We don't get many requests for that, and I'm not exactly sure what to do, if you'll forgive me."

"I'm not exactly sure how things are organized, now that Amelia Bones is running things. The Hall of Prophecy should be under the jurisdiction of the Secretary of Divination, Scrying and Prediction. Secretary Etain Levalsior."

This time Harrod blanched on the outside. He'd expected the boy to name Esmeralda, or some equivalent clerk. Maybe the Undersecretary herself. Because Esmeralda bossed him around, he'd gotten some face time with Undersecretary Laurensdotter, Technically she was five levels above him, in the Ministry's Organizational chart. The boy had named the Undersecretary's boss. The man shifted his feet but smiled broadly, and seemed genuinely interested in the conversation, but hadn't said a word.

"I don't know if I should bother Secretary Levalsior," Harrod said.

"Nor would I expect you to," Draco replied. "The Hall of Prophecy is open to anyone. Merlin himself established it so that anyone who wishes can listen to a prophecy about them. Some busybodies have restricted access in recent years. You undoubtedly learned that from Professor Binns when you were at Hogwarts. I'd expect that most Gryffindors would have forgotten, but a Hufflepuff like yourself wouldn't forget."

"I haven't, of course," Harrod replied. He didn't exactly remember that lecture, nobody remembered much from Professor Binns. It did sound vaguely familiar. He wondered how the boy knew he was a Hufflepuff, as he'd long ago given up the childish habit of wearing house colours, then glanced down and saw that he'd put his nameplate on the desk, since he was working reception. Members of Noble Houses knew people at the top of the organizational chart, not at the bottom. He looked back up and saw the boy's piercing grey eyes had never left his direction.

"I happen to know that even when it was officially closed it was still open to people in good standing who had valid concerns. I assume there are procedures in place. I don't expect you to contact the Undersecretary, merely follow protocol. No need to involve anyone in this at all, beyond the escorts and security. Whatever else is normally required. You do know protocol?"

"It's never come up," said Harrod.

However, there was a protocol for answering unexpected requests and Harrod knew that one backwards and forwards. "But I can look it up quickly, one moment." He dove behind the desk and found a large tome, not bound in leather but in wood, a soft wood that reminded Harrod of days he'd spent outdoors, especially during his summer vacations. The man and boy talked quietly amongst themselves, idle chit chat about something called Movings, and Harrod whispered "Protocol for Visiting the Hall of Prophecy" and the book flung itself open, pages hissing and howling like an angry cat fighting its bath, then there was silence as Harrod read:

Protocol for people requesting to visit the Hall of Prophecy

Revision 10, effective July 1, 1992.

Get rid of visitors using any excuse necessary, then file a confidential report directly with the current Secretary of D,S & P.

Harrod looked at the book, then realized he didn't have any idea how to get rid of these visitors. Any excuse would sound like ... well, an excuse. And he'd just admitted to not knowing about the Hall of Prophecy. "Show me revision 9, please." He looked up at Draco, made a shrugging motion and the boy nodded and continued his conversation about an exciting battle about a whip-wielding Wizard trying to recover a strange artifact. Harrod scanned Revision 9 - dated 1871 - which had a much more convoluted process, almost all of which resulted in the same outcome as Revision 10, but left a slight hint at entrance.

That would do quite nicely.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Unfortunately parental approval is required for minors. Professor ... I'm sorry what was it?"

"Asimov," said the old man, a bemused smile on his face.

"Asimov, right. As Professor Asimov is not your parent, I cannot let you in."

"Quite reasonable," said the boy. He made no move to leave and instead reached inside his cloak and pulled out a mirror. Harrod had seen Aurors using that model and he smiled as the boy held it up to his face and chatted into it. He then walked back to the reception desk, the first step he'd made away from the door, and his shoes echoed across the hard marble floor. He held out the mirror so that Harrod could see it.

"Good morning, this is Lady Narcissa Malfoy." The woman in the mirror smiled elegantly, her long blond hair draped across her shoulder. The family resemblance would be obvious even if he didn't recognize her from the articles last summer in the Daily Prophet. Despite her age she still looked more enticing than the clerk from Amulet Inspection that Harrod had been meaning to ask out. It would be easier to date if I didn't work Saturdays.

"Lady Malfoy. I am Harrod Xavier Realgar, clerk of..."

"Herbert Beery's Grandson?" she interrupted sweetly.

"Yes, Lady Malfoy, and as I was saying," he started but she interrupted again.

"Well, then you know who I am and this simplifies things. I of course grant you permission to escort my son Draco Malfoy of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy" and at this she rolled her hands to signify that she was dropping the rest of the tedious formalities, "to go listen to any and all prophecies concerning him in the Hall of Prophecy. There."

Draco turned the Mirror to face him, and said "Thank you, Mother. Although...," he peered over the mirror and spoke to both of them. "It occurs to me that someone may not believe you did this. We can hardly expect people to accept you word for so formal a matter over a mirror. Bureaucracy likes paperwork. Shall I have a formal letter sent? It wouldn't take but a moment."

The last was addressed to Harrod.

"No, that won't be necessary, I consider the parental release satisfied," said Harrod. Draco put away his mirror while Harrod read further down the list. "Ah, I'll also need approval from a member of the Wizengamot." He smiled apologetically. Not because of the protocol, but because of his deception. Harrod felt guilty stringing along the boy, who had been so polite.

"Do you really wish me to disturb the Lady Malfoy again?" said Draco Malfoy, reaching back into his cloak.

"Ah, no, of course not. I'm sorry, I should have been clearer. The visit must be seconded by another member of the Wizengamot. Technically the Lady Malfoy made the request for you, so she could not second it."

"Honestly, I don't remember any of that from the class, but I suppose they don't mention all the details you have to keep up with. And, if I'm being honest, I fall asleep in Professor Binn's class fairly often. He's not interesting, like Professor Asimov. But that does seem like the sort of thing they'd require, I mean who can forget the rulings of the third session of the one-hundred-ninety-ninth Wizengamot reforming Auror Interrogations?"

During this speech the boy had walked back halfway towards the door and taken out his wand, which set of a minor panic although that was silly. No twelve year old boy would attack someone in the Ministry of Magic, that would be foolhardy. Draco Malfoy made no move towards Harrod, he'd been talking to him at an angle, and he lowered his stance slightly and moved his wand with precise whipping motions and Harrod - who didn't know the one-hundred and ninety-ninth Wizengamot from the whatever number they were currently on - did know a bit about Auror Interrogations. He'd gone through one as part of his hiring and that boy hadn't just been spouting gibberish: Auror interrogations could be overruled - or at least delayed - by members in good standing, as long as you had a second and a Harrod felt a nervous dread. This boy, barely half his age, had a casual command of facts he shouldn't know. But once Draco started his spell Harrod's nervousness transformed to surprise. He can't possibly be...

And then Draco Malfoy cast "Expecto Patronum!"



A silvery snake – Harrod wasn't sure of the type, but it looked large and hungry – floated just above the ground in front of Draco, and Professor What's-his-name took a keen interest in it, too. He'd seemed surprised, and taken a shuffle step backwards before recovering.

"Please go to Augusta Longbottom, give her my respects, and kindly request her to join me in the Ministry of Magic. She should still be in Diagon Alley, where we met at that small gypsy bistro. She should be finishing up with lunch shortly, but if she is still eating she should by all means finish."

The snake nodded sharply and slithered away at astonishing speed. Draco put his wand back.

"What are the other requirements, Mr. Realgar?" Draco had pronounced his name correctly, Ree-Owl-Gahr. Most people got it wrong on the first time. "It occurs to me that we have ten minutes or so before the message reaches Lady Longbottom, and it might be another thirty minutes. It would save considerable time if you would kindly enumerate all the requirements now."

"Uh, Mr. Malfoy," Harrod said.

"Lord." The voice was still high, a boy's voice, not a mans. Draco hadn't dropped it into a false bass voice, like children sometimes did. The voice was no colder than before. There was no acting in it, no drama. But the word hung out there. Harrod cast his glance to the Professor, and the man was looking at both of them in open bewilderment. Harrod could press the point. Draco Malfoy was not technically of age and while some students had achieved their majority by appearing before the Wizengamot over the summer, he had not.

Harrod did not feel inclined to press the point.

"Lord Malfoy, I'm afraid there are extensive requirements."

"Understandable. You must follow protocol and I hardly blame you for that. Exactly how many requirements? If you would let me peruse them that would save time."

"I'm afraid that's against policy."

"Then please just enumerate them, it may be that I've forgotten something although I think you'll find I'm reasonably well informed about this. But if I did forget something, I'd like to know so that when I come back I possess a full and accurate list of what is required. It seems foolish to not simply show me the list, since I'll have to fulfill all of these requirements in any case. I can read it and let you do some useful work in the meantime. I have plenty of time, and your shift doesn't end for five hours."

Harrod's mouth felt dry, and he cast around his desk for his glass of water and took a sip.

"If I can ask, what's so important? Why do you need to go into the Hall of Prophecy?"

Harrod could see Draco considering it. He'd have never asked under regular circumstances. Harrod worried that something in his demeanor revealed that he was grasping at straws. He took another sip of water to hide his nervousness, and the Professor tilted his head. Now that Harrod thought about it, the entire setup was odd. What was a young student doing out of Hogwarts during term? How had he managed that? And trying to be the first outsider to go to the Hall in centuries (Was he the first? The protocol existed, and if any family could bend the rules and get access, a Noble and Most Ancient House certainly could). If Harrod could just slip away he'd send out queries or call in a senior clerk and make this someone else's problem, but he dare not leave. While thinking, he considered the Professor. The man must be the new Professor of Muggle Studies, everyone knew Gilderoy Lockhart and this man clearly wasn't him. Why did a Slytherin, and a Malfoy at that, associate with him?

And since when could a Slytherin summon a Patronus? Harrod gulped his water. Lord Draco Malfoy apparently made up his mind and strode back to the reception desk, his right hand held up in a fist. No, not quite a fist, his hand was slightly open, at shoulder height like a salute and spoke firmly, in a commanding tone:

"Sigil Prodi!"

And a cane appeared in his hand, a silver snake head peering over the top of Draco Malfoy's grasping fist.

"Mr. Harrod Xavier Realgar, this is the cane of Lucius Malfoy, son of Abraxis Lords of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy and even if you didn't recognize me I can tell by your eyes you certainly recognize it. I shouldn't be holding it. This Sigil should not answer my commands but it does because Voldemort murdered Lucius Malfoy last summer, and now I am Lord Malfoy. I was almost murdered last spring by Voldemort or one of his agents."

Harrod's eyes followed the head of the cane that Draco Malfoy had been slowly lowering to the ground, moving it gently into position as if it were not some relic of power, but just a normal walking stick. Harrod would later swear to everyone who would listen that the cane's eyes followed his and that they narrowed slightly, with growing anger, as Malfoy spoke. The dread that Harrod Xavier Realgar felt in his stomach increased as the meaning of the words and righteous indignation of the tone made Harrod draw into himself.

"And I know that there was a Prophecy about Voldemort's return, because I heard a part of it before Headmaster Albus Dumbledore prevented the student body from hearing the rest. The Wizengamot may have quietly ignored the Ministry's blatant violations of our laws for centuries, but it ends now. I am allowed to hear the full prophecy regarding the monster that tried to destroy my family. I am allowed into the Hall of Prophecy by the laws and traditions of Wizarding England set forth by Merlin himself and I will not be denied."

I'm the villain, Harrod thought. He could no longer meet Draco's gaze, which had never wavered from Harrod's eyes. He looked at the floor then saw Draco glance towards the soft footfalls, like a rustling cat.

Draco looked back to Harrod and said, softly. "And I am not alone. Ah, Madam Longbottom," Draco's tone shifted back to the pleasant boy he'd been a moment ago as he turned turning towards a witch who looked like she still belonged in Hogwarts herself, "I do apologize, but I require a second, or perhaps a witness, in order to comply with all these regulations."