Power Struggles

Chapter 2: The London Plague

Draco Malfoy never thought he would be in hiding. His father, Lucius Malfoy, had brought him up as the son of a king. In childhood, all Draco had to do was wave his hand and his every whim was answered. Draco had never experienced a moment of fear in his life, not a moment of terror, not a moment of desperation - until he entered Hogwarts, that is. Even then, the most Draco experienced was mild anxiety.

Lucius saw to it that Draco had full control of Slytherin House. Having control of the house of the ambitious was not easy but somehow Lucius managed it, though bribes and threats but most of all through his association with the Dark Lord. The house of the ambitious, the cunning, was easily warped and twisted to Lucius' desires. But loyalty so easily won is just as easily lost, for the Slytherins of Hogwarts had no sense of duty, even to their own.

The Malfoys were excised from Slytherin House during the Dark War. The family that had been an integral part of Hogwarts, even from the Founding, were ousted in a mere week. Every memento of the Malfoy family in Slytherin House was destroyed, every person who had associated with the Malfoys investigated.

Draco Malfoy had been complacent then. The Malfoy determination had been long worn down by centuries of power and all that was left of it was mere arrogance. But years of running, years of fleeing captors and years of hiding had taken its toll on his pride. Draco Malfoy was complacent no longer.

His grey eyes haunted the streets of London. Dressed in Muggle clothing with a telltale bulge in the hip holster area, none of his old classmates would have spared him a second glance. The trash of London: that was what Draco Malfoy had become.

But after five years of abandoning the wizarding world, something drew Draco back.

To anyone else, the assassination of the Minister was simply an isolated event. Regrettable, yes, but the world needed to move on. Security had been upgraded at the Ministry. A few small riots that had begun were quickly quashed. The Department of Security had a good lead. The assassin would soon be found.

Draco, however, saw something different. He could see, in this assassination, the work of the Certese Circle, the London plague. His father had done some wet work for some of the top Certese Circle members before - simple killings, done always with a Muggle murder weapon.

The Certese Circle was a clandestine organisation of the London underworld, known to few wizards and even fewer Muggles. Draco had never found out what exactly the Certese stood for, but his father had always stressed to him the power and danger of the organisation. Its symbol, a silver circle enclosed by a jagged green line, was always found at the murder scene, though usually placed at an innocuous place. There was one other thing that cinched it for Draco -- the fact the Certese always killed with one bullet, right through the heart.

His contacts within the Ministry had told Draco exactly what he dreaded to hear. "The Minister didn't suffer, just one bullet through the heart." "There was a curious object found at the scene: one of the Minister's buttons was ripped off and another button put in its place. The new button was strange - just a silver circle with a green jagged line around it, painted on plain enamel."

The wizarding world had abandoned him; the Ministry was trying to capture him, yet Draco Malfoy still couldn't let the Certese take over. He couldn't allow this to happen whilst he still had a breath in his body, for it was the Certese who killed Lucius, his father. They had killed one of their own.

But avengement of his father's death was difficult whilst Draco was still ostracised from the wizarding world. His contacts within the Ministry weren't enough. They were simple cleaners, secretaries... no, Draco needed someone in there who knew him, someone with real power. Someone like... Draco's eyes alighted on a picture in the papers, a picture of a very familiar red-haired man: the sidekick of the famous Harry Potter.

Draco almost smiled, feeling his face crack under the effort. So be it, he would contact Ronald Weasley with his information and bring about the downfall of the Certese. But meanwhile - his stomach grumbled loudly - he was in need of food.

~~~~

Hermione Weasley was terrified when she felt the strong hand of a man grab her from behind. The dirty hand clamped itself on her mouth so that only a tiny frightened squeak could emerge, whilst the other hand was holding something, something cold and hard that pressed into her back.

The wand dug into her spine as a harsh voice whispered in her ear, "Well don't we have a prize here? The wife of a Ministry official. You'll fetch a pretty penny... when we're finished with you." Cold laughter shook through his body as Hermione struggled futilely.

I should have never ended up here; Hermione thought miserably, I truly am a witch. I can't even find my way around Muggle London without accidentally ending up in the slums. She shivered involuntarily as she remembered the mutilated body of the last witch who ended up in her situation.

"Walk!" he ordered as he prodded her with his wand.

Hermione complied meekly. She had only taken a few steps when suddenly she heard the voice of another man.

"Stop!" the strangely familiar voice said again. "Let her go."

"Well, well," the man holding Hermione sneered, "what do we have here? The knight in shining..." he never got to finish his sentence.

"Avada Kedavra!" the two words were hissed as a shot of green light hit the man holding Hermione. She immediately felt his grip slacken as she wrenched herself away -- only to be caught by the wrist by her unknown rescuer. Hermione lifted her eyes and stared into a pair of emotionless grey eyes.

"Not even a thank you for your rescuer?" his grip on her wrist tightened.

Hermione frowned, and tried to place the voice. She was positive that he was not one of Ron's colleagues. That was certain. Perhaps she had bumped into him briefly somewhere.

"Don't you even remember me?" the man cocked his head to one side, looking quizzically at her when there was no answer.

"Why should I remember you?" a frown creased her brow. There was something about that thin face, the dirty blond hair, and those detached eyes... Hermione felt as though her acquaintance with this man wasn't simply a brief one. They had known each other for a long time. But why couldn't she place his face?

"We went to Hogwarts together. We were in the same year."

That explained it. Hermione wouldn't have seen the man for over five years. He couldn't have been in Gryffindor, she had seen all her Gryffindor classmates only recently in their five year reunion. Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff maybe, but Hermione doubted it. That only left one choice: Slytherin. Suddenly, recognition dawned on her face. "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy, is that you?"

"The one and only."

"But why?"

Draco considered his words carefully. "Lets just say that I need something from you in return for this favour." A brief smile crossed his lips at these words. Let her wonder at their meaning. He offered his arm out to her. "Let me escort you back to your home."

Hermione didn't take the arm. "But why did you help me? I'm just the Mudblood Gryffindor, not even worth a second glance." Even after all these years, a wince escaped her at these words.

"I need your help," the words were out before Draco could think properly.

"My help?" If that was at all possible, Hermione looked even more suspicious.

"Your husband's help. If you'll allow me, I'll explain while I escort you home," Draco indicated pointedly at his arm, which was still being offered. His other hand was still gripped tightly on the wand, which a few moments ago, had erupted with the killing curse. With her eye firmly on his wand, Hermione slid her arm through Draco's proffered one. Polite bastard, she thought as they walked off together.

"What happened to you?" Hermione's inquisitiveness got the better of her after they walked for about five minutes in silence. They were now in a more well to do area of London, and she couldn't help seeing the passer-bys give her and Draco curious looks. No wonder, she thought to herself grimly as she surveyed him through the corner of her eyes, taking in his dirty and ripped Muggle clothes. Of course, Hermione reasoned, they could also be looking at the fact he's carrying a wand... but they don't know about wands, do they? So they'd think that he's carrying a stick. Oh gods, they probably think he's my husband or something and is going to beat me.

"I presume you've heard of the assassination," Draco began ignoring what she had just said. He didn't wait for a reply, but just ploughed on, "What if I were to say that I knew exactly who killed the Minister." He had spoken in a soft voice, so soft in fact that Hermione had to lean in to hear him. Her brown eyes widened.

"You know who killed the Minister?" gasped Hermione.

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered, and rolled his eyes. "Yes, that is what I just said."

"How? No... who? Why don't you go to the Ministry with this?"

Draco snorted, "How can I go to the Ministry when they still have a price for my head? Undeniably, it's a remarkably pretty head, but still." Hermione stared at him strangely as he continued, "No, I can't go to the Ministry because they have people planted there. Anyone I approach there could be Certese and they'd kill me on the spot."

"How do you know that I'm not a ... Certese?" Hermione asked the obvious question immediately.

"No Certese is Muggle-born, and no Certese would marry a Muggle-born. It is impossible that either you or Weasley are Certese."

"But what are these Certese?"

"I'm not sure," Draco admitted. "I just know they killed the Minister. It's their pattern -- they always kill the victim in a Muggle way and always through the heart. Then they leave their symbol at the scene. They're very powerful and far-reaching. The Circle consists of mostly wizards but there are a few Muggles."

"They have Muggles?" Hermione was amazed, "But you just said that they hate Muggle-borns."

"I said no such thing. I said that no Certese would be a Muggle-born or marry a Muggle-born. They fear Muggle-borns." Draco paused for a second. "I'm not sure why," he finished, but his voice didn't sound convincing.

They had stopped in front of a two-storey house, hemmed in close by the adjoining houses. Hermione strode to the porch, and to Draco's amusement, took out a Muggle key and opened the front door. As they entered, Hermione asked, "But why do you want to help us catch the Certese? As you said, the Ministry is still trying to catch you, and put you in Azkaban..." she trailed off and gestured silently towards the kitchen table for Draco to sit down.

He gratefully sat. Somehow, Draco knew it would quickly come to this... he would have to tell her. "The Certese killed my father," he said quietly. There was no need to tell her the extra little detail that his father was Certese.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Oh, Malfoy... Draco, I'm so sorry." She felt a twinge of discomfort at saying his name, but brushed it away. It was obvious that Mal... Draco had changed for the better. He was no longer that arrogant brat she knew at Hogwarts, but rather, he was now brimming with a quiet determination.

There was a sudden sound in the adjoining room, which made Hermione jump. Her husband's voice floated into the kitchen.

"Hermione-love, I'm home."

Draco watched, rather perplexed as a small twinge of annoyance crossed Hermione's face before being replaced with worry. "Ron, darling, we have a visitor."

The red-haired man walked into the kitchen, busy looking at papers and didn't see Draco sitting there. "Who is she? Is it Ginny?"

"He," a masculine voice corrected him. "And I doubt very much that I look like your sister Virginia Weasley." Ron gave a start and glanced up from his papers to see his wife and this strange man sitting at their kitchen table.

"Who are you?" Ron demanded angrily, shooting a suspicious glance at Hermione.

"Ron!" Hermione chastened, "Don't be rude to our guest. Anyway, you should remember each other from school." Like when Ron belched slugs? her mind taunted. "This is Draco Malfoy. We haven't seen each other for a long time. Why don't we all sit down and have a proper, civilised, grown-up conversation," Hermione hinted, non-too subtly. "Draco has something he would like to speak to you about."

"Oh! So you're on a first name relationship, are you?" Ron looked darkly at his wife before turning towards the blond haired man. "You do realise that as a member of the Department of Security, I have the full power of any Auror, and that includes arresting you." It was not a question.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, I do realise that. However, I must speak to you urgently," Draco's voice was polite but cold.

"I see you've learnt some manners over the years. I congratulate you," Ron said, matching his coldness while adding his own brand of sarcasm.

"Oh stop it!" Hermione burst out exasperated. "Ron, Draco, you should be more mature than that. Honestly Ron, don't you ever listen. He has something important to tell you!"

Ron fixed Hermione with a glare. "Fine," he snapped at Draco. "You have a minute, and after that, if I don't think that you have anything important to say, I will be escorting you to Azkaban personally."

Draco briefly considered demanding for an apology for the treatment he had received, but decided against it. There were more important matters to be dealt with. "Have you ever heard of the Certese Circle, otherwise called the London plague?"

To Hermione's surprise, Ron nodded curtly. "A ridiculous fairy tale told to every new Security Department employee. Don't tell me you believe it? Oh you poor sod."

Draco bristled at the sarcasm. "The Certese Circle exist. They killed the Minister of Magic. The entire Ministry is riddled with moles who will report every single activity in the Ministry, from important treaties signed to how much toilet paper each employee uses. They couldn't control the Minister - too strong I suppose - so they killed him. Tell me, you found a button ripped off the Minister's shirt and a replacement button in its place. Was the replacement button plain enamel with a silver circle surrounded by a jagged green line painted on it?"

"This proves nothing," Ron blustered.

"On the contrary, Mr. Weasley. It proves a great deal. It proves the existence of your so-called fairy tale. It proves that the Certese killed the Minister. And it suggests that the Certese already has control of the Ministry."

"What?" Ron exclaimed.

"How was a Certese assassin able to get in then, if not with inside help?"

"But... but... he would need..." Ron stammered.

"Help from the highest ranks. This doesn't just scare you, Mr. Weasley. It also scares me. I know what the Certese can do." Draco briefly closed his eyes. "They killed my father. They killed my father while he was next to Lord Voldemort."

"Are you trying to tell me that this... this... Certese is stronger than You-Know-Who?"

Draco nodded quietly, not saying a word, just watching as what he said sunk in. Ron's face had gone white, his hands were shaking... there was suddenly a tiny flicker of his eyes. Draco paled and lunged to one side, almost knocking Hermione over.

Ron had grabbed his wand, a wild look in his eyes and was attempting to attack Draco. Hermione ran over and slapped him on the face. "Ron! What's gotten into you? Draco's trying to help us?"

"How do I know that he's not lying? How do I know that he's not Certese himself?" Ron was breathing heavily.

"Well, you have just proved it yourself. I cannot be both at the same time. I know you believe me, Mr. Weasley." The air of calm that Draco was exuding took almost all of his energy.

Hermione looked curiously at him. "How did you know that Ron was going to strike?"

"It was in his eyes," Draco smiled wearily. "Living on the streets fine-tunes ones instincts. It almost makes us as good as the government's field agents... funny, huh?" But he did not laugh.

Ron finally looked up at him, into the grey eyes. "I'm not saying I believe you. But if I do, what can anyone do against these Certese? If they're so all-powerful..."

"I don't know," Draco admitted. "I honestly don't know."

"Then why come to me... us with the news if you are just going to tell us that it's hopeless?" There was no anger in Ron's voice, just resignation.

"Oh Ron, I'm sure there is hope," Hermione smiled bravely, "There is always hope. I'd never allow my children to grow up in a world controlled by the Certese." She fingered the pregnancy charm on her neck that glowed steadily pink. "Not my baby girl."

Ron gave his wife a fond smile, reaching out a hand to pat her on her stomach. "Don't you worry, Hermione-love, I would never allow anything to happen to you."

Draco watched as a flicker, this time more noticeable, of annoyance lingered on Hermione's face as her husband turned away from her.

"So Malfoy, do you expect us to believe you, without proof?"

"Proof?" there was an amused tone in Draco's voice. "Would you like the definitive proof when the Certese have full control of the Ministry? Would you like the definitive proof when all the Muggle-born witches and wizards are taken away and locked up? Would you like the definitive proof of more assassinations with the same evidence? Tell me, Mr. Weasley, which would you prefer?"

"They would lock up Muggle-borns?"

Hermione let out a small sigh as her husband missed the main point all together. She supposed that it was sweet of him to care about her... but not when the whole wizarding world was at stake. Hermione honestly didn't know why she believed Draco's words, there was no real proof in any of them... she just felt they were true, that's all.

"They fear Muggle-borns." Draco paused before adding, "If you really want proof..."

"What?" Ron demanded.

"If you really want proof, then you should go to Malfoy Manor. I'll take you, but we need to get past the cordons and the security. The Ministry suspects that I may visit it again someday and has taken precautions."

"But I thought your father was killed by the Certese, how would he know anything about them? Wait... how did you know he was killed by the Certese? How do you know so much about the Certese?" Ron's words were drenched in suspicion.

Draco stared into Hermione's eyes then into Ron's. "I suppose I haven't been entirely honest with you two. My father was not only killed by the Certese... before he was killed by them, he worked for them. My father was Certese."

"What?" Ron exploded. "Your father worked for these Certese? How do I know you don't work for them?"

"Yes," Draco looked defiantly at him, "So? I have nothing to hide. So what if my father worked there. They killed him. They killed one of their own. They killed my goddamn father!" he slapped his palm on the table making Hermione jump. "Why the fuck would I work for them?"

"I believe you," Hermione said softly, but both men ignored her.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," Ron said. "Anyway, we don't need to go past the Ministry cordons, I can just ask at work to have them removed while..."

"No!" Draco snapped loudly.

Ron was shocked. "Why?"

"How many times do I have to stress this to you. Anyone at the Ministry could be Certese. Anyone. Absolutely anyone. You cannot tell this to anyone."

"Not even Ginny?" Hermione's voice quivered slightly. "She's my best friend, she'd never..."

"No!" Draco roared. It was the first time Hermione had heard someone roar so quietly. His voice hadn't gone any louder than a normal speaking tone, yet he had definitely roared.

"How about Harry?"

"What part of 'You cannot tell this to anyone' do you not understand?" Exasperation filled Draco's voice as he responded.

"The part when I said that I didn't quite believe what you said," Ron retorted. "Besides, if you're so paranoid, anybody could have a listening spell..."

He stopped as Draco reached into his shirt and pulled out a charm on a silver chain. The charm was in the shape of a human hand in the classic: "Be Quiet!" gesture. "A silencing charm. It blocks out all listening charms as well as Muggle listening devices within a fifty metre radius and replaces it with small talk about the weather. Ingenious British design, isn't it?"

"You've never heard of being too paranoid, have you?" Ron asked, his voice civil for once.

"One can never be too paranoid where the Certese Circle are concerned."

~~~~

Molly Weasley was like every other person in the wizarding world. She too was surprised when The Daily Prophet announced the assassination of the Minister. In fact, she was so surprised that she almost forgot about the pain of Ron marrying Hermione. Almost.

Thoughts of her son and his wife crowded in her head each and every day. She thought about it every single morning as she woke up, and every single night as she went to sleep. Molly supposed that she was getting a little obsessive about the possibility... certainty of a squib child, but she couldn't help her thoughts.

A year ago, Molly had checked into St. Mungo's for a week but they had found nothing wrong with her. They simply told her that her worries that her grandchild would be a squib were unfounded. Of course, Molly hadn't told them about Hermione being Double-D.

Molly remembered when Arthur had first mentioned the words Double-D. She had actually laughed. It was a sadistic person who named the condition - for Molly persisted in thinking of it as one - that Hermione now suffered from.

"Now Arthur," Molly had said laughingly, "That sounds like a enormously big bra size." But Arthur had not shared her humour. He had told her exactly what Double-D meant in terms of the baby Hermione Emily Granger. And Molly Weasley had laughed no longer.

~~~~

"Hermione-love," Ron murmured in his wife's ear as they lay in bed that night, "are you sure we can trust him?"

"I suppose we'll know when we see his proof," Hermione said.

"We?" he was quizzical.

Hermione rolled over and sat up to face her husband. Even though she couldn't see him in the dark, Hermione knew that he was frowning. "I will be going too."

"No, Hermione. It's too dangerous," Ron sat up and tried to pull Hermione back under the sheets. "Come back to bed, love, it's cold."

"Too dangerous?"

"I mean with the baby coming and everything, we can't risk anything happening to you."

Hermione let out a slow breath of air, "And you think I will just sit back and watch you take all the risks?"

"Lumos!" The end of Ron's wand lit up and he looked at Hermione earnestly. "You can't go, the baby."

Hermione fought to control the bubble of anger that threatened to burst within her. "I will not have a fight with you now, Ron. We'll talk in the morning."

"We're not fighting," Ron looked perplexed.

"Oh? Then why do you persist in being so recidivist?"

"So what?"

Hermione shook her head and crawled back under the sheets. "Goodnight Ron." She felt a hand on her shoulder as Ron turned her around to face him. The room was dark again as he whispered Nox at his wand.

"Night, Hermione-love."

~~~~

The man walked with a pronounced limp. He was carrying a tattered old briefcase in his left hand, and in his right hand, he held an umbrella, shelter against the cold rainy London nights. To any casual observer, the man would have been innocuous against the background of workaholics making their way back home in the dark, just another product of a society grasping for economical growth.

To the trained eye though, the man was not what he seemed. His briefcase was swinging too fast from his fingers; there couldn't have been anything in it. His stride was too quick for a man worn out from a hard day's work. There was a bulge in his right coat pocket, possibly a mobile, or Game Boy, but also possibly a gun, positioned where it could be grasped easily. And from his eyes came the wary gaze of a hunter, waiting for his prey.

He was walking by a building with a sign proclaiming it to be the: "Housing board of England" when he suddenly disappeared.

In reality, of course, the man had simply slid into a small recessed doorway, but to anybody else, he would have vanished into thin air. But nobody was watching.

Footsteps sounded inside the building as the man made his way up several flights of stairs. He stopped in front of a door on the fourth level and knocked three times. It swung open.

"You're late." The man sitting on a massive executive chair - the kind you see in huge office buildings - slowly spun around.

The mild rebuke was ignored. "I have some new information. The Malfoy son has contacted a Ministry family," a slight pause, "some friends of mine."

"Oh?"

"He has told them about the Certese."

The man on the chair shook his head slowly and muttered, "This is not good."

"No shit," the standing man snapped, "they could now be in danger because of the stupidity of that Malfoy. Shall we place them under protection?"

The other man considered the words. "My friend," he said, "I think you speak too hastily, out of love for the ones concerned rather than out of necessity. There is no need to place them under protection yet. There is no sign the Certese even know of their existence."

"They will," his voice was a grim portent.

"And why?"

"Mr. Weasley is one of the ones tipped to become the next Minister. He doesn't know it yet, but he has some powerful friends. That alone will place them in the Certese radar."

"So young," the other man murmured.

"But with more experience than that fool Fudge ever had!" the voice was sneering.

"I trust you have more experience not to repeat that name out of this building without the strictest respect. Now about our friends the Weasleys, I suggest you watch them carefully. If there are any signs the Certese suspect they know, come to me immediately, otherwise don't do anything stupid."

"Ron won't just sit still with that information. He knew Jack personally. He'll try to avenge his death. Hell, he may even try to take down the Certese single-handedly. Without the information we have... even with the information, it is a foolhardy mission at best."

"Mr. Potter!" the rebuke was sharp. "Your personal feelings will have no part to play in this game. If you tell Mr. Weasley anything, you will be retired."

"I understand," Harry's mouth thinned in an unconscious imitation of his old Potions teacher, but he lowered his head submissively.

"Good. I don't want to retire you Harry. God knows you're the best field agent we've ever had, but your personal feelings are beginning to get in the way. Especially in this case. We can't risk exposure to the wizarding world. You know as well as I do, the Ministry is over-ridden with moles, the Aurors even the Unspeakables. The only reason why we are left alone is because we don't exist to the general wizarding population. And it will stay that way."

Harry nodded, then abruptly spun on his heel and left.

The man sitting in the chair sighed as he watched the famous Harry Potter leave. Having such a well-known face working for him was a bonus; nobody ever suspected Harry of doing anything else other than working for one of the most boring sections of the Ministry. He supposed it was because people thought that Harry was tired of action after the War. Little did they know that not only was Harry not tired of action, he thirsted for it. It had become a necessity to him, so when he was approached, Harry Potter had jumped at the chance to work for the second most clandestine group in the wizarding world. But now he was becoming a liability.

Reaching for the phone next to him, the man picked it up and dialled a London number. "The Gryffindors are losing," he said abruptly and hung up.

~~~~

"You bastard," Harry growled, as he twisted the collar of Draco's shirt so that his knuckles rammed into the other man's throat. "You absolute bastard."

Draco's eyes slowly bugged out of his head as he struggled to breathe in the other man's iron grip, "Why? What did I do?" he attempted at joking, the words wheezing out of his constricted airway.

Apparently, it was the wrong move. Harry's knuckles turned whiter as he twisted his grip a little more. "You-Told-Ron-And-Hermione-About-The-Certese."

"Let me go," Draco's voice came out as a mere croak, barely understandable.

Harry released his grip and watched as the other man crumpled to the ground against the wall.

Nursing his throat, Draco stumbled to his feet. "What were you trying to do? Kill me?" he exclaimed angrily. He had been waylaid in the streets of London as he attempted to find a night-time snack. At first, Draco had thought that it was simply a Muggle criminal but when his attacker had immediately removed his wand and thrown it aside, he knew that he was dealing with a professional wizard. Rule number one when dealing with an enemy wizard was always: Remove his wand.

Darkened green eyes narrowed at him. Draco noticed that Potter had taken up the offensive position, half-crouching with one hand hovering near a pocket. It was the attack position of Hit Wizards. He gulped. "Potter, I was just trying to warn them. It wasn't safe for Weasley to be in the Ministry with the Certese trying to control it."

A grim laugh escaped Harry's lips. "And you expect me to believe that Malfoy? I didn't think you thought so little of me."

"It's the truth!" Draco insisted.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry said calmly, "I'll tell you the truth. The truth is that you want to avenge the death of your father and you won't do the dirty work yourself."

Draco let out a forced laugh, "Don't be ridiculous, Potter."

"It's true. You know as well as I do. After all, if it wasn't, why would you have flinched?"

Spreading out his hands, Draco leaned against the wall and assumed a nonchalant position, "What then? Do you want to kill me?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry did an imitation of Draco's voice a minute earlier.

"What then?" the other man demanded. "What the fuck do you want with me?"

Harry ignored the question. "What did you tell Ron and Hermione about the Certese?"

"I..." Draco trailed off. "Wait a minute," he asked suspiciously, "how do you know about the Certese?"

"If I tell you then I'll have to kill you." The oft-used phrase from Muggle spy films took on a new chilling tone as they came out of Potter's lips.

Draco simply couldn't reconcile his image of the awkward teenager he remembered from his Hogwarts years and the man who now stood over him. It just didn't make sense. The last he had heard, the famous Harry Potter had been working for some kind of agricultural branch of the Ministry. Draco could tell when someone had training, and Potter had training. He held his weapons with the ease of a professional killer; a fact that was now frightening Draco though he would not show it.

"You are threatening to kill me?"

"Correct and you seem appropriately frightened. That bead of sweat slowly making its way down your cheek is a dead giveaway." Harry's voice was cold. "You won't be missed. The Ministry will be happy to receive an anonymous tip-off that the Malfoy heir is now dead. Nobody will care if you die."

It was funny how much the truth hurt. Potter was right; nobody would care if Draco Malfoy died. "You wouldn't kill me, Potter."

"Try me."

Draco gulped silently and began to slowly walk forwards. Click. Harry cocked the gun and pointed it right at Draco's head.

"Don't doubt my aim, Malfoy."

Pausing, Draco's voice had a slight tremor as he spoke, "You won't shoot."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he pulled the trigger.