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Draco Malfoy was tired down to his very bones. He had spent the last eleven years working his way up the ranks, at the Department of Mysteries. He had chased down every master willing to teach a former Death-Eater and devoured any scrap or clue he could find.
He was the most sought-after Curse Breaker in Wizarding Britain, the youngest and most qualified, surpassing even Bill Weasley, his mentor. But he was done. He had pursued a career in curse-breaking, a chosen passion fuelled by his need to get rid of his Dark Mark. But year after year, attempt after attempt, he had only failed, and now he was exhausted.
He could not bear even the thought of sitting down to figure out the inner workings of a curse, researching the more elusive ones, and applying his skills in undoing them and reversing any damage caused by them.
He had sent in his resignation to the DoM yesterday, followed up by a visit today to turn in his Ministry-issued ID and sets of Unspeakable robes. Though he wishes he could have held onto the latter, they had a surprising amount of pockets all imbued with undetectable expansion charms, that often handy.
Another matter that had him upset was that he would not be able to see Granger daily anymore, not without being labelled a creepy stalker. He enjoyed their morning banter as they walked from the atrium to the lifts. He loved catching glimpses of her throughout the day, and the snippets of conversation they shared whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Seeing the cafeteria up ahead, he resigned himself to having a last cup of sloppy coffee, for the sake of the nostalgia already crawling over him. Hovering over the counter, waiting for his cup of sad bean water as Granger had referred to the Ministry’s supply of caffeine, he heard her voice.
It was hushed, and dulled with pain he recognised. He stopped himself from turning to investigate and eavesdropped, albeit guiltily. She was talking in low tones, and he heard the rustle of cloth, maybe she pulled a sleeve up, he assumed. He listened intently, ignoring the cup slammed on the wooden top, coffee spilling over the lip.
He dropped a few coins into the waiting palm, not bothering to count as he sped back to the administrative office. He needed to make sure his resignation had not been processed. Knowing the delay in paperwork, he was confident he was still officially a Ministry Curse-Breaker, but there was no harm in hurrying to make sure.
His mind was reeling. he knew she ought to have had a scar from his Mad Aunt’s torture inflicted on her, but he had never seen it, and she never had brought it up — even when he had apologised for all that he had done to her in his past. And she mentioned that it was troubling her so much, that it was a cursed scar.
Draco ignored the slight twinge of hurt that pinched his consciousness, they weren't close enough for her to confide in him about something that made her so vulnerable, even if he was a curse breaker.
But now that he knew, he had overheard her talking about how the curse was spreading and she found it hard to move her fingers at times — he had to do something about it. He could not live with himself if he threw away the opportunity to take away her pain simply because he was done finding a way to rid himself of his.
He smiled to himself as he stopped before the doors to the Department of Mysteries. There was no better place than this to experiment on cures with all the resources he needed at his fingertips — and no better position that afforded him unlimited access to it all than the one he had nearly vacated.