They were closed, and would not open for him. He pulled, he sent jinxes and hexes at the damn things, he swore in every language he knew, but they wouldn't open. Cursing, both at the waste of time and the bloody inconvenience (Weasley apparently hadn't gotten through the warding when the conversation had gone to hell), he spun and ran towards one of the side doors, yanking it open and sprinting through. He was lost embarrassingly quickly, doors and rooms and hallways spread out in every direction. After several turns, Draco paused. He knew what his own mission was. Had been reminded of it by every bloody person for the last three days. Records. Hela's office. Turret to the south.