The Other Way Around

The weather outside was dull, grey and quite overcast. The promise of torrential rain made by the ClimaWitch appeared to be coming true; in fact, a mere twenty minutes ago, Draco Malfoy had heard the distant rumblings of thunder, and as the black clouds crept closer to London, he fancied he saw a couple flashes of lightning in the distance.

He was sitting in his office at the Ministry of Magic, a steaming cup of the strongest coffee in his hands, several large piles of paperwork on his glossy oak desk. On his right was his bottle of ink, his peacock feather quill resting in its glass holder beside it. There was a small stack of books in the far left corner of his desk, all brown leather-bound books with gold lettering, and all relating to magical laws, law enforcement, forensics and criminology. There was a photograph in the opposite corner of Draco shaking hands with the Minister that took over after Kingsley Shacklebolt respectfully resigned the position.

His office was one of the grandest in the entire Ministry. Its walls were a deep burgundy with gold trimmings, with ornate torches hanging from each of the four walls that illuminated the room completely. On the right wall was a wide painting by a rather famous wizard artist from the seventeenth century, and Draco could proudly say that only a Malfoy would be able to obtain such a rare, extraordinary object. On the left was a bookcase that was filled with thick books and other objects, such as more photographs and tiny little collectables and memorabilia from the war. Behind Draco was a painted window that was magically bewitched, much like the Hogwarts ceiling, to reflect the weather outside since the offices at the Ministry did not have windows.

And now someone was entering his office, and Draco noticed with a frown that the person did not knock. He only knew of three people who entered without knocking first. He knew it wasn't Harry Potter, the Head Auror and saviour of the world, for he was on his honeymoon with Ginevra Weasley. Besides, Potter would only enter without knocking when he was summoned; despite the fact that he'd saved his life in the war - several times, Draco remembered bitterly - Draco's position in the Ministry was still above his, and he often would call upon Potter to do his bidding.

So that left two people, the Minister of Magic being one of them. He lifted his gaze from his coffee and looked up. Oh, so it was the third man he was thinking of. Blaise Zabini shut the door behind him before stepping towards Draco's desk, his long legs enabling him to take a mere two steps instead of the regular four that it took Draco, and sat down in the chair opposite him. He waved his wand lazily at a stack of papers in his way, making them levitate and move to the top of the smallest pile. Then, after he steadied the pile with magic, he tucked his wand away, placed his hands behind his head, and propped his feet up on Draco's desk. He sneered as he saw dirt fall from Zabini's boots and onto the clean, shiny oak surface.

"What?" he snapped at him. He hated the way Zabini thought he had the right to prance into his office as if he owned the place. Just because his mother's family had been considered royalty in Ethiopia didn't mean that he could strut about London with that attitude. "Get to the point, Zabini; I'm very busy with papers, as you can see."

"I'm sure you are," he said, his deep voice cold as he stared at the unsigned and unread paperwork with raised eyebrows. "Busy time, isn't it, Malfoy? It's almost as though Death Eaters were running about again."

Zabini and Draco had never been friends; Draco saw him as a threat, and hated the way that only he could call him on anything he tried to pull. Zabini always seemed to know exactly what to say to shut Draco up, and the worst part of it was that there was nothing that Draco could say to him to retaliate. Zabini, on the other hand, thought that Draco was rather boring and repetitive; he knew that he found it was rather amusing to listen to him preach about how marvellous he was, and then to cut across him with a sharp comment to disprove everything he'd said. However, Draco knew that Zabini had to admit that of the Slytherins, Draco had been his biggest competition for the top marks. He'd accepted in third year that he would never top Hermione Granger, and therefore focused on beating Draco. It had been easy to do in sixth year, and even seventh, when Draco had been too "distracted" to concentrate on his marks.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he said darkly, "Almost. There are rumours that there are a couple Death Eaters hiding in Germany." Even though it was nearly four years after the war, not all of the Death Eaters had been caught. There were still half a dozen in hiding.

"Well, you'd know." Any respect Zabini had held for Draco vanished the moment he discovered that Draco was working for the Dark Lord. He may have been a pureblood, and he may have hated the Weasleys, but Blaise Zabini was not a supporter of Voldemort. In fact, he saw Muggles and Muggle-borns as necessities. Without them, the purebloods would fight amongst each other for superiority. They'd end up killing each other off.

Draco's nostrils flared angrily and he set his cup on his desk. "I am not a Death Eater, Zabini. If you remember, I stayed behind when the battle began."

Ah, Draco had touched his sore spot. Zabini's one regret had been abandoning Hogwarts during the final battle. He had fled with the rest of the Slytherins; his original intent had simply been to ensure the safety of the younger ones, but when Tracey Davis pointed out to him that he'd be killed immediately for being a blood traitor, he'd escaped with the rest.

"You stayed behind to hunt down Potter and his friends, you imbecile," he snapped. "He saved your life - twice."

"I still fought when I got a wand," he argued. "What do you want, Zabini? Why are you here?"

Zabini took out his wand and began to twirl it between his fingers. His cool, casual demeanour was irritating Draco greatly, and he rapped his fingers on his desk to signal him to get to the point. "Well?" he pressed on. "What's so important that you had to barge into my office?"

"I just thought that you should know something about Hermione Granger," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I discovered a secret about her last night that I thought I should share with you."

Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Why would I care about Hermione Granger? She's nothing but a--" He stopped himself quickly, remembering the law he had (grudgingly) co-signed a year ago that forbade any witch or wizard from saying the word, "Mudblood". "She's just a Muggle-born."

The dark wizard's eyebrows rose high on his forehead and he ran a hand over his shaved scalp. "Well, if you're really not interested..."

"Oh, go on, then. You're bursting to tell me, so it must be somewhat interesting. Or important."

"Or job-threatening?"

"Or - what?" Now Draco was interested. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" There was a pause as a solution came to Draco. His eyes widened and he began to shake his head slowly in alarm. "You mean...no...She's not! She can't be! Is she?" At Zabini's nod, Draco slumped in his chair. "No," he repeated dully. "No, she's not...She works with the house elves, why would she want to work here? Didn't she, herself, laugh at the idea?" He stood and began to pace behind his desk. "Well, this is it, then, isn't it? I'm finished. My job at the Ministry has ended. She'll fire me for sure...she hates me, she'll never want to work together, and I sure as hell don't want to work with her...What, Zabini?" He noticed the shoulders of the other wizard shaking with contained laughter.

"You're so stupid," he said in amusement. "She'll enter at the bottom, Malfoy. For the time being, you're her superior. But the thing that you should know is that she needs to go through orientation, learn the ropes, et cetera, et cetera."

"And?"

"Well, being the wonderful friend that I am, I volunteered you for the position of trainer. I said that it would be wonderful if you did it, since you're Draco Malfoy, the biggest egotistical bigot out there, and she's Hermione Granger, the Muggle-born who helped defeat the Dark Lord. I thought that it'd be fitting and it would demonstrate to the entire world that all prejudice has disappeared." He was grinning triumphantly, and Draco was trembling with fury.

"Get out," he hissed icily, pointing at the door. "Get out of my office, Zabini. GO!"

He was laughing now, and he stood to leave. When he was at the door, Draco said loudly, "Well, fine, then. But you're teaching her office work."

Zabini smirked. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you remember correctly, Zabini, we had two trainers when we entered this department. One taught us general field work for the cases when Aurors weren't necessary, or for investigations, and one taught us office work. I think we're both in agreement that I'm better at the field work, and you're better at office work."

"I beg to differ," said Zabini airily. "I rather think you're better at being lazy and unmotivated. You always did miss the little details, Malfoy. But, if you insist..."

Still smirking, he left the office, and Draco grabbed the photograph off his desk and chucked it at the door. Blaise Zabini was, once again, playing games. He'd done the same thing six months ago, back when Millicent Bulstrode wanted a position in the Department. Draco had turned her down with the excuse that she simply didn't have the marks required for the position. If Draco could manage to maintain an 'E' average in his last two years at Hogwarts, even with everything that was going on around him, then Bulstrode couldn't possibly expect to get a job at the Ministry with her 'P' scores. Zabini, however, had gone behind his back and hired Bulstrode, placing her under Draco's care. He'd received Howlers from her for a week after he'd promptly fired her.

This game, however, was one that Draco was far less than thrilled to play. As much as he'd despised the way Zabini meddled with the Bulstrode affair, he knew that he would make it out of the situation alive. This time, with Granger, he wasn't so certain. She was undoubtedly dangerous; if Granger got her way, then Draco wouldn't have his current job in a years' time. A promotion was inevitable; her position would soon be above Draco's, and she would have the power to lay him off.

Draco Summoned the photograph to him and tapped the frame with his wand, repairing the crack that had appeared there when it struck the wall. Shock was now leaving him, and he found that anger was quickly replacing it. Zabini had had no right to recommend him for the job as Granger's field trainer; his position was just below Draco's, and the blonde wizard was certain that Zabini was pulling this stunt because he was after his job - or, worse, he was competing with him for a promotion and was trying to prove that he was better for it. Well, Draco wouldn't just roll over and take it. If he was going down, it was with a fight, and he was taking Zabini with him.

There was a gentle rapping at his door. "Come in!" he barked, and his secretary entered.

"Coffee, Mr. Malfoy?"

***

Blaise Zabini could say with dignity that he needed nothing and no one. He had a well-paying job at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and could say with confidence that he could easily become the Head of the department in less than five years. He had a spacious flat in the heart of Muggle London, and it was what they called a "sky view" apartment. He had no commitments to anyone other than himself, and he preferred to keep it that way. There were no Dark wizards around trying to spoil all the fun, and "Potter-mania" was starting to cease. His life was almost perfect.

But every silver cloud had a dark lining, and that dark lining was Draco Malfoy. The blonde wizard was always getting in his way; it was Malfoy's fault that Blaise lost evidence to a case that could easily have led to an instant promotion. Celestina Warbeck, the famous singing sorceress, had been kidnapped and Blaise was the lead on the case. After three days of searching relentlessly for clues, suspects and motives, Blaise had finally questioned a man who had, years ago, been a stalker of hers. After nearly an hour of interrogation, he'd confessed, and Celestina had been found alive. The fan was tried and sentenced to a short sentence in Azkaban; it appeared that Blaise had won the case until the kidnapper's lawyer pointed out that he had no evidence that linked his client to the crime scene. Blaise had attempted to disprove this, but found himself unable to: all of his evidence had vanished. While the confession was enough to convict the man, the sentence was shortened, and Blaise had been reprimanded for being "irresponsible" with important evidence and had been confined to office work for the next month.

There was no real reason to suspect Draco Malfoy of the crime, which was why Blaise kept his mouth shut about it, but he knew that he was behind it. Malfoy had expressed jealousy in the beginning of the case when Blaise had been assigned as lead rather than himself; that, coupled with the fact that he was still bitter about the Millicent Bulstrode episode, and his own blind hatred of Blaise, was enough to convince the dark wizard that Malfoy was completely guilty.

But he and Malfoy had been playing these sorts of games since he could remember. He wasn't sure how it had started, or why; but it became evident in fourth year at the Yule Ball that there was an unspoken loathing and rivalry between them. And at the heart of that incident was Hermione Granger, though she had no idea of the things she'd sparked. Blaise had chosen to go stag to the Ball, and it was no surprise to him that Draco had immediately asked Pansy Parkinson to be his date. Blaise had caught a glance at Hermione before she'd entered the Great Hall, and for a moment, he hadn't recognized her. After all, there was no crease between her brows, there was no frown tugging at the corners of her mouth, there were no books weighing her down - and her hair looked tameable. Up until noticing her hair, Blaise had been pleased with her transformation. But her hair was a part of her physical trademark; her bushy, easily-recognisable hair was what set her apart from all the other girls in the school. It represented a part of her personality: the fact that it didn't fall into perfect, straight strands and chose instead to fall in unruly, frizzy curls sent a message to others (or at least to those who weren't too daft to realise it, Blaise noted) that she herself would refuse to conform; Hermione Granger, like her own hair, was untameable and untouchable.

Upon realising this, disappointment had given way to curiosity. Yes, Granger had chosen to conform, but what's more was that she had managed the impossible: she had achieved control of the rat's nest. Was it possible, Blaise was forced to wonder, that maybe she herself was tameable? A low purr had formed in his throat, and as he watched her shyly smile at Viktor Krum as he kissed her hand, it turned into a growl. She could do much better than Krum.

He was right behind Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle when entering the Great Hall. He saw Harry Potter, looking decidedly awkward as he trod on Parvati Patil's feet; he saw Fleur Delacour, and dozens of dirty thoughts that no fifteen-year-old should have had flashed through his head; Cedric and his date were hidden from his view, but he wasn't looking for them anyways. Hermione and Krum danced right beside the line, and Blaise found himself watching Malfoy as they passed. There was a moment when Malfoy's head even turned to keep looking at her as he walked by, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows higher than Blaise had ever seen them, and then his head snapped back to looking straight ahead.

That was all Blaise had needed. He'd tailed him all night, watching him closely whenever he neared Granger. Sometimes Malfoy would catch him staring, and would shoot him a hate-filled glare. Other times, Blaise would catch the blonde wizard shooting disbelieving glances at Granger. It was as though he really couldn't believe that the Mudblood he'd spent so many years degrading, especially on her physical appearance, could turn the tables so quickly and easily on him. It was quite satisfying to watch, really.

However, Malfoy had finally become tired of Blaise's spying. While the Ball neared its end, he'd confronted him as he was exiting the boys' loo. Blaise had barely had time to register the fact that he was in front of him before he'd grabbed his collar and shoved him against the wall. Blaise's head pounded roughly against the stone behind him, and for a moment he saw nothing but bright stars. Then Malfoy was leaning in to him so closely that he felt his hot breath against his neck, and was hissing furiously into his ear: "Enough with the games, Zabini. If I catch you watching me again..." and he began to list a number of horrifying things he would do with his wand.

From that night on, however, Blaise was obsessed with watching how Malfoy reacted around Granger. He noticed the way he would pause, if only for a moment, whatever he was doing whenever she spoke; it was especially noticeable when she lowered her volume and spoke in her bossy tones. He noticed the way Malfoy pranced around the Slytherin common room, proudly declaring that he'd managed to push Potter and Weasley's buttons by insulting the little Mudblood until they snapped. Blaise would then ask him, "And what of Granger? What did she say to you?"

His reaction was always the same: he would stop his parading, glare furiously at Blaise, and, with narrowed eyes, he would hiss, "I never got to find out. Her lovers" - and Blaise couldn't help but notice the bitter tone to his voice - "spoke before she had the chance to."

Blaise's obsession continued over the years. He couldn't help but notice how, in seventh year, Draco Malfoy was considerably less smug than he had been in previous years. He suspected that it was mostly due to his activities as a Death Eater, but another part of him was convinced that he missed Potter, Weasley and Granger. Without them to constantly harass, he was lost. Blaise would never forget the look of glee etched on his face on the night of the final battle when they'd received news that they'd returned to the castle.

But now he was in quite the pickle. He'd underestimated Malfoy: he'd expected him to, in his panic, overlook the fact that Granger needed two trainers. And now Blaise was caught; he'd agreed to it, which counted as a verbal contract in the Ministry. For the next six weeks, he was stuck with training Granger in office work. This not only meant time with her, but with extra hours with Malfoy as well as they were to discuss her progress.

Why did he have to be so bloody competitive? Why couldn't he have said that he'd put Perks on training Granger for office work already? Why on earth did he have an uncontrollable desire to be better than Malfoy, and to constantly prove it?

In frustration, he pounded on Malfoy's office door with his fist after he shut it behind him. He fancied he heard something hard hit it from the other side, but shrugged it off. He walked down the hall towards his own office, nearly knocking over Malfoy's tiny little secretary on the way.

***

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

Of course, Hermione Granger didn't want to say those words. Those were the last words she wanted to say to Draco Malfoy, coward extraordinaire, the twitchy little ferret that she - as much as she hated to admit - loathed. But as she shook his hand, she fought down the snarl that formed in her throat and resisted the urge to tell him how much he disgusted her; instead, she lied, and said, "It's a pleasure to see you again."

She'd expected him to squeeze her hand tightly in an attempt to break it, but nothing of the sort happened. He didn't seem to want to even touch her - which was also typical of him, she supposed - and barely even grazed her palm before breaking apart. "Likewise," he replied, his voice sounding sickly sweet. She noticed the Head of the Department standing a few feet behind him. Ah, so that was why he was polite.

Beside the Head stood another man who she barely recognized from school. Merlin, he was tall. He towered over Hermione by at least a foot. He was darkly handsome, with high, prominent cheekbones and slanted eyes that were such a dark shade of brown they could just be called black. His jet black hair was cut short and it curled around his scalp. His expression was one of boredom, but his body seemed tense. Hermione looked at him questioningly, and he straightened his shoulders before taking a step towards her and holding out his hand. She took hesitantly, trying to put a name to the face.

"Blaise Zabini," he said in a deep baritone, and then it all clicked. He'd been a member of the Slug Club; he came from a wealthy family, and in his lifetime had nearly a dozen stepfathers. In sixth year, he and Malfoy had seemed to be close; she wondered why he was there to greet her, a feeling of dread building inside her as she realised that Malfoy and Zabini together meant nothing good.

"Yes, I remember you," she said, trying to sound cheerful as she shook his hand. "Oh, you solved the Celestina Warbeck case, didn't you?"

He didn't seem too flattered as he nodded. "It was nothing," he said.

The Department Head stepped forward. "You have two of the best men in the department training you, Miss Granger," he said brightly, not noticing the tension in the room. "Mr Malfoy here will be teaching you field work, and Mr Zabini will show you the ropes around the office, laboratory, courtroom, et cetera. I trust you are well acquainted with them from school, yes?"

"Oh, of course," Malfoy lied from behind her. "We were quite the chums back then." Hermione fought down a snort. "She's in good hands with us, Marvin. Go on now, go have some tea. We've got everything covered."

"Of course you do," said Marvin, winking at him as he left Malfoy's office. There was a moment of awkward silence after he left, where Malfoy looked ready to vomit, Zabini was staring determinedly out of the enchanted "window", and Hermione was biting her lip anxiously as she waited for someone to speak.

"So," she began, but Malfoy cut her off.

"Listen," he said coldly, facing her and Zabini as he spoke, "I didn't sign up to train you. If it was up to me, Zabini would have you all to himself. I would rather train some of Hagrid's Blast Ended Skrewts for the position than you, Granger. But we're stuck with each other, thanks to him" - he indicated Zabini with a nod of his head - "and now it's my obligation to train you properly."

Blaise Zabini did snort. Malfoy whipped around, his expression cold, and he hissed, "You have something you want to add, Zabini?" He folded his arms over his chest and tapped his toe impatiently.

"Oh, nothing," he replied smoothly. "I just thought it was rather funny that you intend to train her 'properly' when you can hardly do the job right yourself."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, surprised at the animosity between the two men she'd once thought were comrades. Malfoy inhaled deeply, and his eyes narrowed briefly, but he showed no other emotion. "Thank you for your input, Zabini. Why don't you talk to Granger now?"

"No, I think you're doing a marvellous job of entertaining her--"

"Excuse me," Hermione said, speaking up as she sensed a row between the two wizards. "I think that you should focus more on teaching me the job I've been hired to do than arguing over who gets to walk all over me in your childish games first. Yes?"

She felt a surge of satisfaction when she saw Malfoy's cheeks pale, recognising his version of blushing. Zabini, however, showed no reaction. She felt her lips twitch in a rabbit-like fashion, wondering what was going on in that head of his. Hermione cleared her throat pointedly as the awkward silence began to drag on for a few moments; when no one spoke again, she sighed and said, "So who gets to do me first? I mean...you know...train me. Office or field?" The more she spoke, the more the blushed, realising what she'd said. She tried to ignore it as much as possible, and noticed that the two wizards - ah, so Zabini blinked rapidly and stared at his shoes when he was embarrassed - were trying to do the same.

"Er...that starts tomorrow," said Zabini. "Today we're just taking you around the Department--"

"Yes," Malfoy interjected, his lazy drawl back, "and I don't understand why we both need to show her around. Clearly the one teaching her office work should do it."

"Oh, come now, Draco," said Hermione breezily, attempting to rid the office of the tension. "Clearly it's a way to get to know my trainers of the next six weeks, not to mention my coworkers for who knows how long. Don't be such a spoilsport." She smiled at him in what she hoped was a friendly way, hiding her true sneer, but he merely gave her a blank look.

"Well then." Zabini clapped his hands together and went to the door. "After you, Miss Granger."

Holding her chin up high, attempting to show them that she was not going to back down to them simply because of their history (or lack thereof, in the case of Zabini), she stepped through the doorway and waited for them in the hall. There was a moment where she simply waited by herself while the men hung back in the office; then they came out, wearing identical expressions of frustration.

"This way, then," said Malfoy gruffly, walking by her with as much space between them as he could make. "The break room is down at the end of the main corridor, which is this one. The main corridor is also where the five main offices are located - that is, the offices of the top five witches and wizards in the Department. The Head's office is located closest to the break room - and don't ask why. Marvin made that change himself. And as you can plainly see, my office is located in this corridor." He made a motion as if to pop the collar of his robes proudly, but seemed to decide against it. Hermione wondered if it had anything to do with the unimpressed look she was giving him.

"As is mine," Zabini drawled in a tone very similar to Malfoy's. Hermione's heart sank; she had decided to reserve judgement on Zabini, but it looked as though he was more similar to Malfoy than she thought. "The other two offices belong to an elderly witch, Olga Mansfield - she's the Assistant Head of the department. The other office belongs to Jacob Lewis, who is our expert in everything to do with the lab. Olga is retiring in six weeks."

"Which means that the position of Assistant Head is open," Malfoy interjected. He didn't say any more on the matter, but Hermione couldn't help but notice the competitive glare that passed between him and Zabini. If they were trying for the position, then the job selection would probably be based on their most recent performance: training her. Well, she thought with a small sigh, she didn't care for either of them and they didn't seem to care for her, but at least she'd learn how to do the job fairly well.

"You're just starting, so you have a cubicle. We'll show you where that is later. And here's the break room. Very interesting, isn't it?" Zabini opened the door, and Hermione was looking into a room much larger than the break room in her old Department - Merlin, it was bigger than her office had been! - with countertops, a sink, and three steaming coffee pots on the right wall. Dozens of ordinary, white ceramic mugs were lined up perfectly in three-by-four rows, ready for use. The pots were clearly labelled "Decaf", "Regular", and "Tea". She looked at the coffee pot containing tea inquisitively, wondering why that sort of choice had been made, but when she looked to Malfoy and Zabini for an explanation, they merely raised their eyebrows and shrugged.

In the middle of the room were six small tables with three chairs at each. Sitting along the opposite wall was a large, brown suede sofa. Sally-Anne Perks, a Muggle-born and ex-Hufflepuff she recognised from school, was lounging in it, a steaming mug in her hands. She waved enthusiastically at Hermione when she looked over, and Hermione waved back.

"You're starting today?" Sally-Anne said, rising from her seat and nearly spilling her drink. "Oh, fantastic! You know, I had rather hoped that I would train you in office and lab, but Zabini got to you first. I work mainly in the lab," she added. "You'd be surprised to realise how similar the Ministry's forensics lab is to Muggle forensics. I think it's because the Muggles come up with the technologies to solve crimes and we just magically improve them, but don't tell anyone I said that." She spoke very fast, and had an annoying habit of pushing her too-long fringe out of her eyes on approximately every fourth word. "I'm Muggle-born too, you know, and I did want to be involved in forensics when I was little. I mean, before I found out I was a witch, you know? And when I found out that I could have a career in forensics in the magical world--! Well, I was ecstatic, as you could imagine."

"Yes, I guess that I--"

"Oh, and you're so lucky to have Blaise and Draco train you! We were trained at the same time, along with another bloke from Germany, but he had a nasty run-in with a vampire on his second mission. He's still in St Mungo's. Oh, he's all right, though! He just has to learn to control his taste for human blood. I tried my hardest, but those two were still at the top. But imagine if you'd been there! Well, none of us would have stood a chance compared to you!"

"Perks-" Malfoy began, almost twitching in irritation.

"Oh, hush, Draco, I know you need to get back to your training. Hermione, we must catch up! What time are you off today? Six, yes? I'm off at six. I'll meet you by your cubicle at six and we'll walk to a cafe, shall we? It's a date, then!" She shook Hermione's hand before practically skipping out of the room, leaving Hermione flabbergasted.

"She needs to switch to decaf," she said breathlessly, and she could have sworn that Zabini coughed to cover up a snigger.

"To the cubicles, then," Malfoy said, and he stepped forward to lead the way.