Draco picks up his briefcase and the small package, wrapped in brown paper, that Constance Pickering, Clearwater’s intern, had fetched from a favourite shop in Diagon Alley. She’s already proved more useful than Abercrombie in a single afternoon, and he wonders how he could convince Clearwater to swap. The specifics of such a conversation flit through his mind, neither here nor there, and the rushes of fellow Ministry workers swarm around him as he approaches the giant wall of Floos, leading every which way across the United Kingdom. He stops, ignoring the disgruntled comments of witches and wizards bumping his elbows, and holds his breath for a count of three as the giant clock above ticks down to five o’clock.