Alpha and Omega

Chapter 3: Fine Hair, Phoenixes, and Panties

Draco purposely ignored the scroll for the next two days. With an impatient curse, he picked up the furled parchment and had thrown it under the bed, where it lay forgotten, smoldering in dust. He slept fitfully on the second night.

Beams of moonlight shone on Draco's face as he slept, illuminating his tired, but smooth features. An observer would notice that he was having fitful dreams- his breath was being drawn up in gasps, his eyelids were twitching-

Suddenly, he awoke.

***

Draco couldn't exactly remember what he was dreaming about, but now, he had other things on his mind. He flung back the sleeve on his left arm. The imprint of the phoenix glowed brightly, its fiery colors piercing the back of his eyes. And it hurt like hell.

He tried ignoring it. Pacing up and down the sparse room, he debated whether he should run as fast as he could from the scroll lying innocently in the dust under his bed, but just as he thought this, the phoenix on his hand gave out a sharp burst of pain.

"Bloody damn," he muttered. The phoenix appeared to know his straying thoughts. Of course Dumbledore would think of putting a bloody, mind-reading pigeon on his hand-

"Ow!" His hand gave a more intense burst of pain. "Damn you," he said to his hand.

Sighing, he crawled under his bed and retrieved the dusty scroll. Throwing his cloak over his shoulders, he slid the rolled parchment into an inner pocket and went out of the room, securing it with a flick of his wand. As he meandered the freshly wet pavement (it had rained earlier that night), the huge clock tower in the distance chimed the hour.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

Three in the morning, he thought bitterly. The Ministry probably wouldn't be open at this hour, but another sharp burst in his hand made him continue on. Anyways, he reflected, I might as well die early than to wait for my death. Yes, they'll rejoice at killing Lucius Malfoy's big-bad son.

The night was unforgiving; the cold bit bitterly through his cloak, and he encountered no one except a drunk lounging on the doorframe of a dusty, old pub. He stared at Draco with wide, vapid eyes- interest lighting up in them. As Draco passed, he suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Draco's arm with a strong grip.

"I see 'im,' he hiccupped. "Run, run afore you 'et him kill ye!"

"I don't see anyone,' snapped Draco, and he kicked the man in the shins. The drunk staggered and slumped against the door, still hiccupping.

It was ten minutes or so when he arrived at the dilapidated phone box. Scanning the coast quickly, he stepped into the minimal space and closed the door behind him. He flexed his cold fingers before deftly dialing the appropriate numbers.

Whir. A cool female voice filled the tiny space.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. We request that you provide your name for security reasons and identification."

Draco grappled with the phone. "Draco Malfoy."

"Thank you, Draco Malfoy." Another whir and click came from the phone box, and with a ding, a pin bearing Draco's name fell into the empty slot.

The floor of the phone box broke away and smoothly descended, bringing Draco to the Atrium of the Ministry. He walked over the wands checker, who was deeply engrossed in Panties Unspelled! The sandy-haired man still did not look up as the young man's footsteps sounded closer. Finally, Draco stood in front of him, staring at an explicitly disturbing cover.

He let out an annoyed cough, and the man looked up. He immediately paled, and the magazine slipped through his fingers, landing near Draco's feet with a slight thump.

"Merlin," he said, hoarsely. "Mal-mal-"

"Spare the greetings," said Draco curtly. He thrust his shining left hand in the man's face, the phoenix burning bright.

The man paled even further, turning a slight tinge of green. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but he could only gape helplessly.

"Well? Can I pass?" Draco glared daggers at him, his silver eyes flashing green.

The wands checker gulped and nodded. "O-okay," he said, but Draco was already past him and had already gone into one of the empty elevators. With trembling fingers, he picked up his magazine and began reading once again.

***

The Ministry only had the appearance of being silent and empty during the night, but since the day Voldemort had infiltrated its security, there were additional wizards and witches there, keeping vigil.

A single purple plane was in the elevator when Draco entered, and it immediately drifted to his hair. Draco cursed. Every single time he entered the Ministry, those purple abominations would make a habit of following his hair around. It wasn't his fault that he had fine hair. He never managed to figure out how his parents managed to deter the planes- it was from his parents, after all, from whom he inherited his looks.

He glanced at the buttons lined up and hazarded a guess. Au. for Auror, I suppose.

With a tap of his wand, the button lit up, turning a faint yellow. On the 45^th floor, the plane finally flew out, trying to tug Draco's hair along with it. He continued on, and after a few seconds-ding.

He had arrived.