Delay is the strongest form of Denial - Lucius Malfoy

"I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, Professor." Draco slid easily into the opposite chair of the Leaky Cauldron, then caught the eye of the barmaid that Isaac had been flirting with for the last half hour. To some avail, Isaac thought, and chuckled. Then the chair next to him skidded noisily and Augusta Longbottom dropped into the chair, loudly dropping a purse that could hold a medium sized cauldron onto the table.

"You know, there's something to this entire rejuvenation business. I would never have been able to deal with that arrogant snit's pleasant demeanor last year. I'd be too tired, and he'd be too respectful, 'Madam Longbottom, why don't you sit down?' and 'Can I get you any tea?' But now that I'm young, they just sneer and look down at me. And they underestimate me, isn't that delightful, Draco? Enjoy that while you can. It shan't last long."

The waitress Arianna came to the table, not as friendly as she had been a few moments ago. "I shall get simply plastered with all the wine you've got, dear," said Augusta.

Arianna looked dubious, and Draco ordered a butterbeer.

"No problem at all. Augusta dropped me off here and I've explored Diagon Alley all afternoon. I'd just ordered my dinner. So, your mission was a success?"

"They didn't let me in, if that's what you are asking. But yes, I think it was a success." Augusta stopped fidgeting to fix Draco with a look, which spared Isaac the problem of asking for clarification. "It was just a hunch. I don't know that there would be something important in the Hall of Prophecy, but I had a ... feeling. It may be important, Originally I just wanted to rule it out. But they are so obstinate about hiding something, they brought out the big guns to stop me."

"The clerk?" Isaac laughed. "That boy looked absolutely petrified. You can't mean him."

"No. They just kept stringing me along. He'd never define all the steps he had to fulfill. He just set up an obstacle, and when I passed it, he set up the next one. Always apologetic. 'I'm very s-s-s-sorry, Lord Malfoy' and 'Well, there is this other regulation, you see.' Why, if I didn't have to run by my vault for some business – thank you again Madam Longbottom for that. You didn't really need to stay for the whole day."

Delay is the strongest form of denial. Father taught that lesson yearly. If you told someone 'no,' they'd act against you. But if you could drag out the decision you may be able to placate them. Or they'd just lose interest or hope or find some other more pliable target. Sometimes they'd even just forget. You could eventually impose enough cost to make your adversary drop the matter. Father had also taught him the dangers, if you were ever uncovered.

Draco had been on the other side today.

And now you see just how dangerous it is to play that game, Draco heard in Lucius voice. They've confirmed your idle hunch, and even now you are planning to act. Not impetuously, I hope?

"You don't need to convince me that it's important, Draco. I want to make sure we are fully quit with that foul would-be-imperator. Voldemort, not the clerk." Her words had a harsh quality, and to Isaac could just imagine that Augusta Longbottom was secretly all three Greek Furies. She'd just changed from the Atropos - the crone that kills - into Clotho, who spins the web into life. But just as soon as she finished her words, practically spitting, she smiled and was a young lady again.

It was an odd effect, but Isaac had started to get used to it. Arianna came back with the drinks and Augusta took her wine glass, drained it in one motion, set it back on the serving tray, and leaned over to him and said "And what did you do today, hmmm?" she said, batting her eyes at him.

Headmistress McGonagall pulled her head out of the Pensieve and sat thinking for several moments.

Amelia Bones, hair brown with streaks of grey since her youthening last summer, had been sitting at her desk, quill scritching out memoranda, not wasting any time. She didn't look up as Minerva finished the memory, just kept writing. How Albus Dumbledore had done anything as Chief Warlock while also managing Hogwarts was beyond her. Actually, everyone felt either so afraid of him they didn't interfere, or so inspired by him that they did all the work he didn't have time for, she thought. But I inspire little fear or loyalty. She kept writing.

"Well, now I know why he gave up his cane so easily. He could summon it back at any time," Minerva's voice sounded resigned.

"The memory goes on for several more hours. Madam Longbottom comes back soon after that. She only left to be polite to your Professor and take him to Diagon Alley. We sent Aurors to confirm that. She returned quickly, along with Xenophilius Lovegood and the Lady Greengrass. Honestly if that boy had any idea where the Hall of Prophecy was, he'd have marched them straight to it by the end."

"Poor Harrod," said Minerva, "Always so eager to please. This must have been terribly trying for him."

"Well, Draco didn't berate him. If I'd gotten the run-around all day my temper would flair." Amelie Bones dipped her quill in the inkwell, flipped over to the next scroll, and scribbled corrections on the wording, then set down her quill. "You need to control your people, Minerva."

"Professor Asimov had no idea what he was doing. A student asked him a convenient favor and he agreed. Frankly, I got stir crazy my first year here, and I'm not a squib, but..."

"Not him. I meant Malfoy. And Potter."

"Harry Potter," said Minerva, pausing. "I'm not in a position to order him around, and neither are you Amelia. I should think that after all you've seen..."

"I've seen plenty. He doesn't need to be ordered around. He needs to be controlled. Gently. Persuasively. I'm not sure how Albus managed him, but figure it out. We're in a precarious enough situation as it stands right now. Voldemort killed all the right people - thank Merlin for small favors - and that bought us months of time. But I ... no, not just me. We can't have this."

Minerva pursed her lips. "What exactly can't we have, Amelia?"

"We can't have it come out that Albus ransacked the Hall of Prophecy. We're in a tenuous situation, and if people lose confidence... They'd think Albus mad. Madder than they thought him. We need normalcy for years or maybe even a decade, before Harry can officially assume his position. Albus is only looked on favorably because he's a martyr. Imagine how they'll react if they knew. Or how they'll react when they discover he made that child Chief Warlock. Potter's plans..."

"Seem to be proceeding quite well," Minerva sniffed.

"Because they aren't his, as far as the public is concerned." The Chief Warlock got up and sat on her desk, looking slightly down at the Headmistress of Hogwarts. "Minerva, you know me. I'm not a politician. I never wanted to be. I didn't want this job and nothing would make me happier than running the DMLE. But you don't get to be head of any department, even DMLE, by ignoring politics. Young Malfoy stirred up a hornet's nest, and he did it well. If he'd been some foolish Gryffindor and charged into the Ministry firing spells, or even just snuck in we could write this off. But what he did ... Even Lucius couldn't have pulled this off, nobody would trust him. Draco doesn't have his father's baggage. Just like Albus, he's a martyr, but a living breathing one who never raved on about the mystical properties of licorice during a three day session of the Wizengamot. Draco almost died then renounced vengeance against House Potter. He practically owns the Prophet, the Quibbler is with him on this and he's been courting key votes. Imagine how this will play out!"

"Voldemort's dead, and I don't think..."

"He's already come back once. Even if we know it won't happen again, the public doesn't. Best case, we spin it that Voldemort destroyed the Hall of Prophecy, although that doesn't make us look good either and the timeline may not withstand scrutiny. I'm not sure which Unspeakables know the truth, but I suspect several do. Imagine if it comes out. Then people start to ask the question – what was Dumbledore hiding?"

"You give too little credit to people," said Minerva.

"The same people that voted to send Hermione Granger to Azkaban?" asked the Chief Warlock, cocking her head.

Hermione heard Draco walking through the stacks a few seconds before he sat down at her table. The disturbing part was that she wasn't actually sure how she knew it was Draco. Maybe I recognized his pace, he does stride around.

"Hi Draco. How are you?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Well, thank you." He shifted in his seat for a second as Hermione closed the book she was reading, and Draco read off the title. "The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Is it interesting?"

"Not really. I'd rather be studying potions, but that's my reward for finishing this."

Draco just let out a laugh, a real one, relaxed. He didn't even seem worried as Madam Pince glared at him, barely two aisles away. "Well, we all have so much to do. But I can offer you something much more interesting to do."

"And what's that?"

"Research. Can Xare transport you any place you want?"

"Trying to break into Peverell? I'm sorry Draco. I don't have time for that. But I imagine so, she's taken me everywhere else. They don't really have a defense against it, except that Xare wouldn't take anyone who wanted to steal the chalice."

"No, not Peverell." Draco leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially. "There's a room underneath the Ministry of Magic. According to legend its lit by the glow of souls and the sounds of the dead echo across time. In reality its probably lit by torches and guarded by Aurors and traps. Clever people who work for misguided fools feel that ignorance is safer than troubling knowledge, because in this room the greatest secrets of our day sit undisturbed and unheard by human ears."

He leaned back as Madam Pince walked by, and spoke in a normal, but still quiet tone. "Or they may not be important. I'll be able to get in once I pass my O.W.L.s and officially become Lord Malfoy, but I worry that may be too late. The knowledge that there may be something important. We need to know. I'm not really sure what else to do about it, but if a secret that may save lives bothers a Slytherin, perhaps the best way to discover it is to tell a Ravenclaw turned Heroic Gryffindor and ask for help."

Hermione closed her book. "What can these secrets reveal?"

"I don't know. Possibly how to save us all."

"I cannot believe you would do such a thing. A Professor at Hogwarts."

Minerva McGonagall stood behind her desk. On her head her hat sat, bolt upright, freshly stretched and starched. Not a single article of her robes gave any indication of sloth, lazyness, laxity, or casualness. Her voice hinted at deep disappointment. Not the disappointment of a hopeful parent, but of a betrayed party. "And I don't want to hear about the troubles you've had adjusting to the position. Of all people, you should have seen this coming, Professor Slughorn."

Horace Slughorn blinked. "I consider myself fairly well informed, Headmistress. But I am not exactly sure why am I here."

"Because of Malfoy and his antics at the Ministry."

"Ah ... now that, I did hear about. After the fact, of course. Shouldn't your scolds be directed at Professor Asimov, who took him, or Professor Lockhart, who asked Isaac on Draco's behalf?"

"I can hardly blame a squib for being unaware when he's walking into a magical hornet's nest. And you and I both know that the new Head of Griffyndor isn't exactly renowned for thinking. But the three of you are the tangled bezoar, always chatting. You must have known. And you would understand that Draco's walk into the Ministry would be nothing but trouble. I'm getting owls from three under secretaries, what if they cut our funding? I don't expect you to know everything, but it doesn't take a subtle wizard to know the potential explosiveness of a student going to the Ministry. A potions master studies miscibility, some ingredients you just don't mix."

Horace Slughorn stood there, and bowed his head. "I apologize. Of course as the Head of his House I should be more aware of Young Malfoy's comings and goings and take an interest in his political tutelage. I will speak with him, and also gently correct my less experienced colleagues."

"I'm not being unreasonable," said the Headmistress, sitting down. "That's all I demand."

Draco knocked at the door, heard the grunting "Enter" and walked into Professor Slughorns room. It was just over the bridge and opposite the Potions classroom, technically not inside the Dungeon but he could stroll into it easily enough, just a minute from his House, and a minute from his classroom. A minute from Draco's room.

Draco entered and closed the door behind him. The furniture was sparse, just a desk and some chairs. There were bookshelves all around the room, mostly covered with autographed pictures that waved to Draco pleasantly.

"The Headmistress took away your Sigil," Professor Slughorn said.

Draco lifted it up and looked at it, then shrugged. "She returned it at Christmas, with the understanding that I wouldn't be bringing it back. And she did fashion me a replacement, to use as a bludgeon. That was nice of her."

"I take it as an honour that you feel I'm enough of a threat to warrant risking expulsion just to see to your safety. Sit down Draco. I've just spent a rather unpleasant hour being lectured by the Headmistress and as it happens I'm not in a mood to reenact the experience to someone else, even you. So, I'll just ask what you hoped to accomplish."

Draco stared into Professor Slughorn's eyes, and saw his surprise at the bold act. After a moment he lowered his gaze, submissively.

"Exactly what it seemed. You know there was a prophecy that Professor Trewlaney spoke, before the Headmaster took her."

"Yes," Professor Slughorn said, "I heard about it too, at the time. Of course."

"What if it wasn't about Voldemort? And what is he coming for? What will he tear apart?" Draco let just a hint of desperation from his voice.

Professor Slughorn picked up a small china cup and took a sip of tea. Draco noticed that he hadn't been offered any. A snub? Or recognition that I would refuse? Draco just sat as Professor Slughorn considered for a second cup of tea.

"What does the name 'Tom Riddle' mean to you?"

"I can't say that I've heard it," Draco said calmly, hoping it wasn't too calmly.

"No, I imagine you can't," said Professor Slughorn, chucking. "Well, let me tell about him. Riddle was my brilliant student, clever. Not just book clever, he would use spells in ways you wouldn't imagine in years. Even though he was raised by muggles his power grew quickly, and by the time he graduated ... well, I had no doubt he'd eclipse all of my previous proteges. I had such high hopes for him."

"And what became of him, sir?"

"If I believe the stories? Your friend Miss Granger killed him last year." Professor Slughorn put down his tea cup. "Consider yourself reprimanded and show yourself out, Draco."

Draco walked back towards his room.

If Professor Slughorn was right, Tom Riddle was Voldemort's real name. He finally had confirmation that his vision of Dumbledore had been true. Or at least contained new factual information. The vision predicted that Tom Riddle was Voldemort's name.

It was always possible that Professor Slughorn had pulled the information from Draco's head, but if so, why confirm it? And if not ... Draco had received a wholly unexpected bonus from yesterday's tedious adventure. The entire trip to the Hall of Prophecy had been a long shot, a gambit. Apparently it had attracted much more attention than he'd hoped.

Draco smiled. He'd gotten quite lucky. He'd expected to waste a few hours or an afternoon, but had apparently stuck a nerve. He'd rattled branches and a valuable piece of information had tumbled to the ground. And nobody at all seemed to notice that he'd stopped in his vault on a side errand.

Draco twirled his Sigil once before dismissing it, and it disappeared into the aether.

Draco had work to do and spells to master.