Sunday, the most senior official at the Ministry. It fell to him to alert Harry.
"Get Moody," Harry ordered, toppling both sandwich and plate to the floor in his haste to get to the fireplace.
He made a quick call to Ron, who after accusing Harry of 'not being funny' no less than three times, of course demanded to know if they were going to tell Hermione.
"Not just yet," said Harry. He pulled on a coat and scarf and Flooed directly to the Ministry.
There were about a dozen people in the Atrium, including frightened looking custodial staff, several lower level officials and one distraught receptionist (she was new, Harry could not recall her name) being soothed by a portly security guard.
All began speaking at once, but Harry waved them off, promising to return after the most urgent business had been concluded. He took the lifts to the second floor where his office was located. Additional security personnel were standing guard outside the office.
The reason for this was soon apparent.
Zacharias and Malfoy were standing on the rug beside Harry' s filing cabinet; the former staring at the latter as if he was a toxic, explosive cream pie about to go off at any second.
Malfoy, if indeed it was Malfoy, was virtually unrecognisable in a nondescript coloured shirt and trousers that looked like they'd been sandblasted. He had about six meters of raggedy scarf wound around the lower half of his face. The man looked like an extra from The Mummy.
There was a tremendously long silence.
"Say something soon, Potter. The silence is making you uncomfortable," came that prickingly familiar drawl.
Harry knew that voice very well. It was deeper now, moremeasured. The whine was gone. It was Malfoy, alright. Harry was floored.
"You-" Harry eventually said, closely followed by "I" and then words seemed to fail him altogether. He ran a hand through his hair and sat down heavily in a fraying armchair.
Zacharias cleared his throat. "Right then. I'll leave you to it. I'm sure Moody will need my assistance. Call me if you need me, Harry."
Malfoy shot Zacharias a look that said he seriously doubted that Alastor Moody would require any assistance the likes of which Zacharias could provide.
Harry didn't take his eyes off Draco and spoke only when Zacharias' footsteps could no longer be heard in the corridor outside.
"We thought you were dead," Harry stated flatly.
One corner of Draco' s mouth lifted. "Not for lack of others trying, believe me."
"Where the hell have you been?!" Harry hadn't intended this to come out as a shout. As it was, the force of the question just about rattled the windows.
"That is a long and complicated story and one I'd rather not have to go into whilst I have about a kilo of sand in my pants," Draco replied calmly. And then, in a cheerful tone of voice, "Do you have anything to eat?"
Harry blinked at the change in topic. But hunger was something he understood. "Just wait here," he said, striding to the door.
Draco snorted. "Like I could leave if I wanted. At the moment I'm as much prisoner as dear Bellatrix." He waggled his fingers at the four guards that gawked into the room when Harry opened the door to leave.
Harry made a quick trip to the staff lounge, mentally cursing whoever it was who was last rostered to replenish the food cupboards. It was probably him. The women on Level Two were always on his case for eating the cupboards dry. There was hardly anything there.
In the end, Harry settled for a tin of ginger biscuits, a pasty of questionable freshness, two cauldron cakes and someone's untouched bottle of homemade pumpkin juice. Harry hoped it hadn't been sitting there for too long.
Outside, Harry nearly collided with Alastor Moody who was storming down the corridor in the direction of Harry's office. A breathless Zacharias Smith was jogging behind him.
Moody, who could never ever have been labelled as spry, was even less so. He was stooped and walked with a long, limping gait. Some of the grizzle had left him, leaving an old man who was less sturdy than knobbly.
"Is it true? The boy brought her in?" Moody wheezed. He paused to lean against the wall, mopping at his face with a Hagrid-sized hanky.
Boy? Malfoy was twenty-three, but then anyone under forty was 'boy' to Moody.
"She's in a cell," Zacharias confirmed for all present. "One of the older ones seeing as we haven't really finished the refurbishment upstairs. She's still Petrified. We haven't brought her