Bad Faith

Chapter Two

Divide et Impera

For every hand extended, another lies in wait

Keep your eye on that one

Anticipate

* * *

'No, Henry, I told him about it well in advance. Yes, it's tomorrow. Well I frankly don't give a damn if he's not ready, he's known about this for weeks and I--yes, yes, that'll be fine, just as long as he is there at nine. Yes, you too, have a good night.'

He had barely dropped the phone back on the hook when there was a soft knock at the door. Withholding a groan, he said, 'Come in.'

'I'm sorry to bother you so late, Mr President,' said Marcy, his secretary, as she entered the Oval Office. She adjusted her glasses and glanced briefly at the clipboard clutched in her hands. 'The United Nations representative has been waiting patiently, do you have time to see him before you turn in tonight?'

'Again?' Here to try and persuade me into backing the Youth Education bill again, no doubt, he thought bitterly. 'If it'll be quick; I have a long day tomorrow.'

'He informed me that he didn't require much of your time,' she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. 'I'll send him in. Have a good evening, Mr President.'

'Thank you, Marcy.'

He slowly gathered his papers, filing them into the folders on his desk. Several minutes went by quietly in this way, the only noise in the room the shuffling of paper. And then came another knock, so quiet he nearly missed it.

'Come in,' he said absently, tucking away the last of the files and folding his hands on the desk. 'Sorry to keep you waiting so long.'

The man who entered was not the representative the President had met earlier that week, though he was adorned with the same uniform, identification-tag style, and approached with the same rigid posture. He was a rather handsome young man, with short, wavy black hair and dark eyes, and was several inches taller than the President, who stood up to greet him.

'Mr President,' greeted the representative in a strong British accent. His hand had a firm grip and was extremely cold.

'Always happy to be of service; I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name-?'

'Riddle,' he replied with a charming smile. 'Tom Riddle.'

'Well, Mr Riddle, as you probably know, tomorrow will be quite an event for me, so my time tonight is limited.' The President sat back down behind his desk, gesturing to a seat in front of him. 'What can I do for you?'

Riddle took a seat in the leather chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together, looking thoughtful. 'Are you a God-fearing man, Mr President?'

'I beg your pardon?' the President offered, unsure whether he'd heard the question correctly.

'I want to know if you fear the wrath of a higher power,' Riddle reiterated patiently.

'This is hardly appropriate,' the President told him sternly. 'Unless you have business to conduct with me, Mr Riddle, this meeting is over.'

'The meeting will be over when I decide it is over,' Riddle replied calmly.

The President stared at him for several long moments before turning his attention to the pair of secret service agents standing on either side of the door at the other end of the room. There were always at least two of the agents in any room the President was in, short of his private bedroom and bathroom, and they were so quiet and stationary that they were easy to overlook unless you knew they were there.

'If you gentlemen would kindly show Mr Riddle the exit.'

The guards did not move; in fact, they did not even blink at the President's words. As far as he could tell, they weren't even breathing.

'Your security will not be disturbing us tonight,' Riddle informed him with a small smirk. 'Answer the question, Mr President.'

The tone in Riddle's voice had not wavered, but the President could sense the immediate danger he was in. Something was wrong--very, very wrong.

'What do you want?' the President demanded. 'If you think coming in here and threatening me is any way to get things done--'

'What I want,' Riddle said, cutting him off, 'is to be omnipotent.'

The President stared at Riddle, studying his brash yet serious expression, his narrowed eyes, and his rigid stature as he sat there, calmly threatening the President of the United States, and thought that the situation might have been funny if not for the cold grip that had suddenly affixed itself to his diaphragm.

'I don't understand,' the President said finally.

Riddle's smirk grew more pronounced. 'That does not surprise me.'

The grip on his diaphragm tightened again, and the President hit the red button on his speakerphone. 'Marcy, send in security.'

The machine crackled, and the President hissed as the button became scorching hot under his touch, burning him.

Nursing his hand, the President glared at Riddle. 'What the hell do you want?' he asked again, raising his voice.

Riddle, still smirking, stood up and moved to the centre of the office, where he finally turned back to the look at the President. He had a curious glint in his eyes and gesticulated with his hands as he spoke.

'I want life, Mr President. I want to control it, to own it, to choose when it is destroyed, when it is created. I want it to fear me, love me, to cower when it hears my name, to fall to its knees and grovel when I walk into a room... I want the world to recognise my power, and to submit to it. I want the preservation of my kind and the extermination of those I deem unworthy. Do you understand now?'

'You want to play God?' the President asked, incredulous. 'That's insane.'

'What is insane,' Riddle snapped, his smirk vanishing, 'is how avaricious men like yourself come to rule the most powerful country in the world.'

He approached the desk again at a quick pace. The President leaned back in his chair as Riddle shoved the desk back, hard, with the sole of his boot.

'What is insane, Mr President,' he said, snarling now, 'is how an arrogant Muggle like yourself commands so much power from a position he must scam his way into. Men like you buy power; you do not work for it. You do not earn it. You do not deserve it.'

Edging away from the desk, the President stood up, eyes narrowed. 'An arrogant Muggle like yourself'? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

'So is that what this is about? Another rebellion against democracy? I received my position as this country's leader by choice of the people, Mr Riddle, and I-- ' The President stopped abruptly as Riddle leapt over the desk in a quick, fluid movement and shoved something hard and pointed under his throat.

'Do not attempt to placate me with your bullshit, Muggle,' Riddle hissed in his ear. 'You are nothing. You are less than nothing. You are simply a puppet, a tool for me to achieve my ends.'

Riddle released the President as suddenly as he'd assaulted him, walking back around the desk, adjusting his suit jacket with a quick tug and a jerk of his shoulders. Breathing heavily, the President rubbed his neck where Riddle had shoved the--the what? Knife? No, it was too dull for that... gun? The shaft had felt too narrow...

'If you think I'm going to do a damn thing for you after this,' the President said, drawing a shaky breath, 'you're out of your mind.'

Riddle, his back still turned, began to laugh--a high, cruel laugh. 'Oh, I don't think there is any doubt that I'm out of my mind,' came the cold retort.

Tom Riddle whirled around to face him once more, his weapon raised.

'And I think you're going to do whatever I want you to, Mr President,' he said, dark eyes gleaming. 'Imperio.'

* * *

'I can forgive, but I cannot forget,' is only another way of saying, 'I will not forgive.'

- Henry Ward Beecher

* * *

Living with Draco Malfoy had to be the worst idea in the long, sad history of bad ideas.

Thinking back, Harry probably should have expected it, but at first it had made a lot of sense for Draco to stay with him; despite the fact that Harry was living in a flat in the Muggle part of London, his building was probably the most fortified home in the city. He had absolutely refused to move into Headquarters, no matter how safe it was--Snape, after all, could still access it, and it housed too many bad memories for Harry to be able to bear living there. He was still barely a stroll from Grimmauld Place, and reasonably close to the Ministry; part of the reason he had chosen this flat was its convenient location.

Besides, his flat was just as heavily protected as Headquarters, the only difference being that the Fidelius Charm did not protect his home; Harry had outright refused to make anyone his Secret Keeper, lest they become a target. This decision, however, had not gone down very well with the Order--or his friends, for that matter.

'I am not going to put any of you between me and Him!' Harry shouted. 'What if he got to one of you? Do you know what he would do?!'

Ron was nearly the same colour as his hair as he shouted back in Harry's face, 'I'd do anything to protect you; I don't care what he would do!'

'But I do! I care, dammit! Why can't you see that?!'

'We can, Harry,' Hermione reasoned desperately. 'We know you care. But so do we. And anyway, he wouldn't be able to kill us--if he did, then he'd never find you. And you know we would never betray you!'

'That wouldn't stop him from trying!' Harry snarled back at her, furious. How could they be so stupid? 'I am sick of people suffering for me, I am sick of being protected, and I am not turning any of you into targets. FORGET IT.'

Since then, he had called the flat home, and had yet to be the victim of an attack there. If Voldemort was after Draco, the safest place for him to be would be with Harry. Plus, if he was honest, Harry didn't like the idea of Draco going unsupervised, and he was as good a choice as any to keep an eye on him. After all, he had known Draco for six years during their time at Hogwarts, even if they had been on unfriendly terms, and so would be capable of noticing any changes in his demeanour.

Besides, they were no longer children. He wasn't sure how much Draco had matured during his four years of isolation, but Harry was convinced that he had, forced to grow up a lot faster than most of the students at Hogwarts because of his trials with Voldemort. He was nearly twenty-one, living on his own, a fully-qualified Auror, and had shaped up to be a damn good one, too.

He could handle--no--he could tolerate Draco, he had told himself, even if there hadn't been enough time and distance for the schoolboy rivalry to completely evaporate.

Harry understood that the man to whom he had agreed to give a second chance was no longer the same snivelling little prick he'd known at Hogwarts; he was admittedly still a prick, albeit a larger one, but there was something more... concrete about him now. Their confrontation at the Ministry had proven that much; he had planned to tear into Draco like never before, to rip down any hope the bastard had of redemption. He had begun by doing just that--and encountered a brick wall. He had beaten his fists against it, determined to bring it crumbling down, and the wall had bitten back. Hard.

'You've made mistakes too, you fucking hypocrite! But when The Boy Who Fucked Up gets people hurt, he gets forgiven!'

Harry never wanted forgiveness for what happened. He didn't deserve it. He had fucked up, and he had done it too many times.

Yet nobody ever said so. Not once--not until Draco. Well, except for Snape, but he tended to insult and blame Harry for everything, whether it was his fault or not.

Draco had actually had a point.

It was a weird sensation, to have someone be that brutally honest with you. For the past ten years, people had been treating Harry like something that needed to be protected, something delicate, something that could break if you breathed on it too hard. They walked on eggshells around him, watched what they said to him, and frequently twisted the truth to make it seem less painful, as if the real thing would be too much for him. It infuriated Harry no end, but he had stopped trying to make them realise that he could take it; they would never treat him like a normal person, and they would never admit that he, too, was just human like the rest of them, and made mistakes.

In the end, the Order had pulled so many strings to get the Wizengamot in Draco's favour that if anyone ever found out, they would lose all the credibility they had slowly built up over the past five years. It was such a huge, reckless risk for them to take, but they had done it anyway.

It was the right thing to do, Harry had told them. He told himself that, too. Dumbledore had shown faith in Draco, and the very least Harry could do was work from it and see where it led.

After all, he had seen the effect Voldemort had on Draco during their sixth year. Draco was terrified of him, and hadn't seemed as enthusiastic about the things he had to do once he actually had to do them. He had been all talk--threatening Harry, bragging about his task for Voldemort, even up until he cornered Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower. He had jumped in headfirst, and once he found out the means by which Voldemort achieved his ends, he panicked and wanted out.

This did not redeem the wrongs he'd committed, not by a long shot, but it did say something about his character. Draco was cruel, nasty, arrogant, and a multitude of other unpleasant things; but he was not a killer. As much as he claimed to hate Dumbledore, he could not bring himself to kill him.

Harry, at first, had attributed Draco's failure to cowardice. After all, Draco had shown time and again that bravery was not one of his distinguishing qualities (unless it involved provoking Harry to the point of violence, which he found the courage to do frequently). And at the time, the closest Harry had come to killing anyone was the accident with Draco in Myrtle's bathroom.

The first time Harry had been in a position to kill someone in order to protect himself, he had hesitated--and it nearly cost him his life. The next time it happened, he did not hesitate--but the cold, sinking feeling in his chest had lingered long afterwards, and the deed had haunted him for weeks.

He did not enjoy this power he had, to take someone's life so easily, with a simple incantation and a thrust of his wand. It had terrified him.

It still terrified him.

Thinking about it, it had probably terrified Draco, too.

Revisiting the memory in the Pensieve had provoked thoughts that unsettled Harry deeply. When he had witnessed the scene firsthand, he had been struck numb and terrified--and the trauma of watching Dumbledore being murdered had blurred the events together; he had hardly recalled any of the specific words exchanged between Dumbledore and Draco. The Pensieve had given him the opportunity to step back and calmly assess what was said, something he had never bothered to do--it had never mattered before. But one section of the memory in particular had stuck in his mind, and it was these words that kept repeating themselves, over and over.

'Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.'

'I haven't got any options! I've got to do it! He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!'

'I can help you, Draco.'

'No, you can't. Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice!'

'Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine...you are not a killer.'

'I got this far... I'm the one with the wand... you're at my mercy...'

'No, Draco. It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.'

And then Draco had started to lower his wand.

Now it was Harry's mercy that mattered.

Had they not been interrupted by the arrival of the Death Eaters, what would have happened then? It had driven Harry mad, trying to visualise an alternate ending. Would Draco have handed over his wand? Would Dumbledore have released Harry, and helped drive the Death Eaters from the school? Would Draco still be hiding, under Dumbledore's care? Isn't that what Draco ended up doing on his own anyway? With Dumbledore dead and the infiltration of Hogwarts a success, he could have returned to Voldemort and joined his father and Snape as a Death Eater.

Why didn't he?

Why?

Ok, Harry had thought, so maybe Malfoy isn't evil all the way to the core. He still did what he did. Am I just supposed to forget that?

'...no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody...'

Dumbledore would have given him this chance. Harry knew that. That's just who Dumbledore was... he'd given Harry a chance, and Lupin, and so many others that might well have died or turned against him or otherwise backfired, because Dumbledore believed that everyone deserved the opportunity to turn their lives around.

But he'd given Snape a chance, too, and look what good that had done him.

And on the subject of Snape, why didn't he kill Draco for wanting to pull out?

That question had been really nagging Harry's conscious, and he was desperately trying to ignore it. It doesn't make sense. He briefly recalled Sirius telling him about the Black family tree, and his younger brother Regulus, murdered on Voldemort's orders when he tried to leave the Death Eaters.

'He panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. It's a lifetime of service or death,'--that's what Sirius had told Harry, years ago at Grimmauld Place. If Snape was Voldemort's right-hand supporter--as his murdering Dumbledore would suggest--then why did he help Draco to go into hiding? Why didn't he just kill him, too?

Harry sighed. It was as if he was trying to put together an enormous jigsaw puzzle, but the harder he tried, the more the pieces kept changing shape, so they never fit together properly. Nothing was black and white anymore, like it had been when he was a kid; when, simply, Voldemort, Snape, and the Malfoys were evil, Dumbledore, the Order and Harry were not, and that was that. The more he learned about Snape and Draco, the more things started to mutate into shades of grey until he could no longer separate them.

All of this aside, however, Harry really hadn't carefully considered the consequences of sharing close company with a former adversary.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy; they were perfect opposites in every way. Gryffindor and Slytherin, noble and deceitful, courageous and cowardly, good and evil... the two of them even looked like night and day. The idea of Harry and Draco in the same room was comparable to that of a cobra and a mongoose forced into a cage, but Harry had somehow been too imprudent to see this.

Draco had been in his flat for exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds before the first argument started.

Harry knew because he had been counting.

'Oh, hell,' Draco had sneered in disgust after looking around. 'This is lovely; you're actually living like a Mudblood.'

'Don't you dare use that word around me,' Harry had growled back. 'Remember: you're on my terms now, Malfoy.'

'Am I?' Draco cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. 'As I recall, you signed an indenture with my terms on it, Potter.'

One part of the agreement that Harry had not wavered on was confiscating Draco's wand, just in case. Harry had it, locked away in the bottom of his old Hogwarts trunk under his bed, wrapped inside his invisibility cloak. Still, he had to remind himself several times throughout the first evening that Draco was unarmed. The urge to jinx the prat into oblivion built up against Harry like floodwater against a very feeble dam, and he had to retire to his room early just to keep himself from breaking. Draco hadn't been in his flat for more than two hours, and already he couldn't stand him.

Despite retreating to his room shortly after dinnertime, Harry hadn't actually fallen asleep until nearly two in the morning. It wasn't that he was paranoid; he wasn't the least bit frightened of Draco, and besides, numerous security wards had been placed around the inside of his flat, so that if Draco tried anything in the least bit suspicious while Harry was asleep, he would have more than enough warning to deal with it.

No, the real reason he couldn't sleep was because he was seething. Dwelling on memories from Hogwarts and reliving those last, painful minutes in the Astronomy Tower. Thinking about every time Draco had insulted the Weasleys, every time he had called Hermione that filthy name, and every time he had done his best to make Harry's life more of a living hell than it had to be.

He hated the bastard with every inch and fibre of his being.

'So why did you invite him into your home?' asked an annoying voice in his head.

I don't know!

Harry, furious at himself, had slammed his fist into his headboard, hard enough to break it. This had only served to make him angrier, and pure spite led him to neglect fixing the headboard. He hadn't fixed his fist, either, and regretted it immediately upon waking, because now in addition to being furious at Draco and at his own stupidity, the fingers of his wand hand were stiff and aching.

He also had a very sore forehead, but this was a common occurrence these days. Very rarely did he go an entire day without a dull ache pulsating behind the lightning-bolt scar, which only proved to make him more irritable.

Still, as meagre as it was, the sleep had helped calm Harry's mood considerably. Perhaps it had been too optimistic to think that the transition would be smooth--of course they would argue and be unpleasant to one another; that much should be expected. Harry could probably not expect someone like Ron to spend a minute alone with Draco without some sort of bloodshed taking place, but Harry wasn't Ron; he could control himself around Draco, even if the bastard was trying to be as insufferable as possible. Harry would not allow himself to descend to Draco's level.

Showered, groomed, clothed, and relieved, he wandered into the sitting room thirty minutes later to find Draco already lounging on the futon, playing with the remote. The scene was so bizarre that it took his brain, still slightly groggy, several long moments to grasp it.

'This thing is possibly the best Muggle invention I've seen yet,' Draco told Harry merrily when he noticed him. 'Check this out.'

It took Harry another long moment to register the raunchy lesbian action onscreen, and to realise that Draco had discovered the Playboy channel. Rolling his eyes, Harry Summoned the remote and turned the television off, ignoring the accompanied protests.

Sulking, Draco got to his feet and followed Harry into the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the table and watched with mild interest as Harry started the electric kettle with a quick flick of his wand, and asked, 'So, what does your glorious unit of Evil Defeaters have in mind for me today?'

Before Harry could answer, an owl fluttered in through the open window with a roll of parchment clutched in its beak. Harry paid for his Daily Prophet, finished making his coffee and sat down at the table. He took a sip as he unrolled the Prophet, then saw the headline and promptly spat his coffee all over it.

BOY WHO LIVED DEFENDS DEATH EATER!

Rumours abound that Harry Potter is under the Imperius Curse!

This cannot be good, Harry thought dimly, scanning the article.

Two days ago, the Wizengamot tried Draco Malfoy, son of known Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, for serious crimes committed four years ago while at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The gruesome leftovers of Lucius Malfoy had been found only a week before the trial took place, at which time Draco willingly turned himself over to the Ministry. Popular belief has it that Lucius' murder was at the hands of You-Know-Who, and many sources believe that Draco has replaced his father in the ranks of the Death Eaters.

Needless to say, the community was shocked to hear that the young Malfoy was acquitted of all charges.

Yesterday, the Daily Prophet received an anonymous inside report that none other than Harry Potter stood as a witness in defence of Malfoy's actions. Many Ministry personnel believe Potter was hoodwinked by Malfoy and single-handedly swung the court's decision with his testimony. 'I still can't believe [Malfoy] got away with it,' Ignacio Luigi, Undersecretary to the Minister, told Daily Prophet reporters yesterday. 'I hope the Wizengamot sees their error and calls Mr Malfoy back to be punished for his crimes.' There have also been suggestions that Malfoy was using his newly acquired inheritance to bribe many members of the court, although the Ministry refused to comment on such accusations.

We have been told that Malfoy is still in the company of Harry Potter, and many are speculating that Malfoy has placed him under the Imperius Curse in an effort to regain face in the wizarding world while working undercover for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...

'That is a terrible picture of you,' Draco commented over Harry's shoulder.

It was, too; but then, when had the Daily Prophet ever tried to make Harry look flattering? Scowling, he tossed the paper aside. Draco picked it up and quickly examined the front page.

'You know,' he said after a moment, dropping the paper and taking the cup that Harry had left unguarded on the table, draining the remaining coffee before finishing, 'they're really giving me too much credit--I mean, come on, the Imperius Curse?'

'Didn't you use it on Madam Rosmerta?' Harry asked.

'Did you pay any attention at all during the trial?' Draco asked with impatience, replacing the empty cup on the table. 'Rosmerta testified that it wasn't me, and that's the truth. I was supposed to perform it myself, but I couldn't do it. Aunt Bella thought it was because I didn't have the "right attitude", but truth be told I liked Rosmerta too much to put enough heart into it. I mean, she even used to give us free crates of Butterbeer for the holidays.'

Harry, who was having a hard time imagining Bellatrix Lestrange as something as mundane as an aunt, scowled, snatched up his empty cup and stood up to refill it. 'Us?'

'My House,' Draco said, tilting his head back as he reminisced. 'And Rosmerta was the only person not in Slytherin that thought changing the winner of the House cup in first year was unfair. In fact, aside from Snape, I think she was the only adult who ever treated Slytherins on equal terms with the rest of the school.'

Harry snorted, returning the kettle. 'I would hardly call Snape's treatment of you "equal", Malfoy.'

'Yeah, well, somebody had to compensate,' Draco said bitterly. 'What with the Headmaster and the rest of the staff crooning over you stupid Gryffindorks-- not to mention the rest of the world with its Harry Potter predilection.'

'If this is your idea of favouritism, Malfoy, you can have it,' Harry snapped, with a sharp look at the Prophet.

'Oh, honestly, Potter, as if they wouldn't have found out,' Draco said, grimacing in mild disgust as Harry added milk to his coffee. 'You probably have your own department at the Prophet's hub.'

'I knew it was bound to happen eventually, I just wish it could have been later rather than sooner,' Harry said heavily, sitting back down and keeping a firm hold of his mug; he was aware that Draco was eying it hungrily. 'You know, if you want some, you could ask.'

Draco's lip curled in a sneer. 'Malfoys do not ask, we command.'

Before Harry could muster a retort, there was a loud 'Crack!' and a small, multi-coloured blur attached itself firmly to Harry's leg with a squeak.

'Mr Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is finished his holiday! Oh, it is so good to see you, sir!'

'Hullo, Dobby,' Harry said with a small smile, and gently dislodged the house-elf from his leg. 'How's Winky doing?'

'Winky is doing much better! Harry Potter's friend is very good to Winky!'

'Dobby?' said a voice tinged with disbelief.

Dobby spun around, saw Draco, and for the first time in quite a while, Harry saw that the elf seemed to be at a loss for words.

This only lasted about three seconds, however, before he leapt at Draco's feet and exploded into sobs.

'Young Master Malfoy, sir! Dobby has been so worried for you! Dobby isn't knowing where you is going but that you was in big trouble, but Dobby isn't know what to do about it! Dobby is being too scared to come home! Dobby is so very very very sorry!'

'Oi!' Draco recoiled from Dobby's sobbing, looking alarmed. 'Dobby, stop!'

Like a well-trained pet, Dobby stopped at once, looking up at Draco with wide, tearful eyes, his bottom lip quivering.

Draco gave Harry an incredulous look. 'Would you mind explaining to me why my ex-house-elf is working for you?'

'Er,' said Harry. 'Your father didn't tell you?'

'My father told me that Dobby'd dishonoured our family,' Draco said, looking down at Dobby again with suspicion, 'and that he dismissed him for his misconduct.'

Dobby began to wail again, this time beating his head against one of the table legs. 'Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! Very, very bad Dobby!'

'Dobby!' Harry plucked Dobby up by the back of his violet jumper and gently set him on the floor, away from the table. 'He's not your family anymore; you don't have to feel bad about it. What did I tell you about punishing yourself?'

Dobby sniffed and blew his nose into his jumper. 'Mr Harry Potter is telling Dobby not to hurt himself, sir, because he is the most gracious wizard Dobby has ever known!'

Draco was staring at the exchange with such a dubious expression that Harry almost laughed.

'After Lucius "dismissed" Dobby,' Harry explained, 'he worked at Hogwarts. Then after I moved out of the Dursleys', he wanted to come here with me. I told him I didn't need a house-elf but...' Harry shrugged. 'It made him happy. Do not start bossing him around.'

Draco blinked. 'Potter, he's a house-elf. They live to be bossed around.'

'And to be kicked, too, I suppose?' Harry said venomously. 'I don't care what abuse you give them at home; don't think for a minute you can do it here.'

Draco narrowed his eyes at the accusation. 'I don't beat my servants,' he said shortly.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Whatever, Malfoy.'

'Dobby, have I ever kicked you?' asked Draco.

'Young Master Malfoy has never hurt Dobby!' Dobby squeaked.

'Touché,' Draco said, smirking at the look of mild surprise that flitted across Harry's features. 'And stop calling me "young", you're making me feel eleven all over again.'

'Yes sir, Master Malfoy, sir!'

'Yeah, well, maybe if you stopped acting eleven you'd start to feel older,' Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

'Yeah, well, maybe if you stopped being such a prat we'd get along better,' Draco countered. Leaning over the table, he peered hopefully down at Dobby. 'So, Dobby, do you remember how Draco likes his coffee?'

Dobby looked positively delighted. 'Dobby remembers exactly how Master Malfoy is liking his coffee! Dobby is making some right away!'

Harry watched incredulously as Dobby tottered over to the bench and began waving his hands, using magic to brew up some more coffee while humming contently. 'I thought I told you not to boss him around?'

Draco looked pleased. 'Potter, do shut up and let the servant do his serving.'

'What kind of eleven-year-old drinks coffee, anyway?'

With a very dramatic rolling of his eyes, Draco replied, 'One that has to put up with foolhardy speccy pillocks whose mere presence put the school population in mortal danger on a daily basis.'

'I didn't--'

'Shall I make a list?' Draco interrupted, ticking each off on his fingers as he recited them. 'Mountain troll. Dragon. Sirius Black. Dementors. Bigger dragon. Polyjuiced psychopath. Not to mention Death Eaters and, on more than one occasion, the Dark Lord. Did I miss anything?'

'A three-headed dog, an Acromantula, and a Basilisk,' Harry told him, raising his eyebrows.

Draco rolled his eyes again. He didn't seem to realise that Harry wasn't joking until several moments passed and Harry still wasn't smiling.

'A Basilisk?' Draco asked, aghast. His eyes had gone freakishly wide, and he hadn't even noticed Dobby, standing to attention with a steaming cup of black coffee under his nose. 'A sodding Basilisk, Potter?'

'Also the dog and the spider,' Harry affirmed. 'Your coffee's getting cold, Malfoy.'

* * *

In my opinion, we don't devote nearly enough scientific research to finding a cure for jerks.

- Calvin and Hobbes

* * *

By the time Harry had been able to drag Draco out of his flat, Dobby had made him four cups of coffee, three pieces of toast, poached eggs, and a plate of bacon, sausages, and fried potatoes. It was revolting how Draco accepted the treatment as if he deserved it, and even more ghastly that Dobby couldn't seem to help but appease him.

Then again, Harry thought, Draco had probably been half-raised by Dobby, if house-elves really were as important to wealthy wizarding families as they seemed to be. This was probably the norm for the two of them.

They barely arrived at the Ministry in time, as Harry had refused to let them Apparate such a tiny distance, causing Draco to spend the majority of the short walk recoiling from Muggles that walked too close to him. When Harry confronted him about this, Draco insisted that he didn't want to catch any strange Muggle diseases, thank you very much. Inside the phone booth, Draco received a silver visitor's badge (which he outright refused to pin to his robes until Harry threatened to attach it to his forehead with a Permanent Sticking Charm) and they had just stepped out into the main entrance hall when bright, blinking lights and an alarming amount of noise obscured their senses.

'It would seem that your fan club is here,' Draco remarked dryly, wincing at the onslaught of flashing bulbs.

Reporters clustered around them in a tightly packed group, Quick Notes Quills quivering and cameras snapping.

'Harry Potter! Could you tell us what made you decide to defend Mr Malfoy?'

'Mr Potter, is it true that you blackmailed members of the Wizengamot to get Malfoy acquitted?'

'Mr Malfoy, is it true you used your newly acquired inheritance to bribe your way through the trial?'

'The magical community wants to know why you are sheltering the son of a known Death Eater!'

'Are you denying the claim that you have Harry Potter under the Imperius Curse, Mr Malfoy?'

'Is it true that you are harbouring Draco Malfoy because of a secret love affair during your years at Hogwarts?'

'Yes, darling, it's true,' Draco drawled loudly, slipping an arm around Harry's shoulders. 'Mr Potter and I are deeply in love, and plan to hold the wedding next month.'

This declaration was met with a new surge of energy and questions from the mob of reporters.

Harry ducked out from under his arm, snarling. 'Malfoy!'

'Don't be ashamed of our love, Harry, we should let the whole world know how we--ow!'

Harry still had Draco by the neck of his robes as they managed to get past Ministry security, leaving the mass of reporters and clicking cameras in their wake. As they made their way down the hall to the lift, people in the corridor seemed to sense Harry's irritable mood and practically leapt out of their way.

'You really need to lighten up,' Draco said boisterously, as Harry angrily slammed the grilles closed with a sharp clash. 'I mean, what's the worst they can do? Report that, on top of being a lying, unstable, violent, attention-seeking, self-absorbed, overly dramatic martyr, you're also a raging pouf?'

Several other witches and wizards in the lift gave Harry rather alarmed looks.

Harry closed his eyes and willed himself not to hex Draco in plain view of numerous Ministry employees. 'Shut up, Malfoy.'

Harry had gotten quite used to overlooking people ogling his forehead, but it was still extremely irritating to have to ignore the stares from the assorted cluster of employees in the lift while Draco reclined, unperturbed, against the opposite wall. After several agonisingly slow moments of ascension, a monotone voice announced their arrival.

'Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,' said the cool female tone, and the grilles opened with a clatter.

Harry jerked his head, wordlessly instructing Draco to exit the lift ahead of him. Eyes coated with disdain, Draco paused only briefly before complying, more than likely because he had noticed how tightly Harry was gripping his wand. The trip down the hall was quick, and as the pair of them turned into the Auror Headquarters, Gawain Robards materialised out of nowhere and assaulted Harry before he could manage to get over the threshold.

'Potter, what the hell were you thinking?' A copy of the Daily Prophet fluttered briefly in Harry's vision before it was replaced by Robards's face, contorted so rigorously that it appeared even more narrow than usual. 'You know you should come to me before making any decisions that affect this department!'

Draco winced at the volume of Robards's voice and backed off to the side of the doorway, but Harry held his ground, blocking the entrance, and met his boss's gaze evenly.

'It was my decision to make,' Harry challenged. 'I don't have to check every aspect of my life with you, do I?'

*

It was mildly entertaining, to say the least, for Draco to watch Potter be assaulted by his superior in such a fashion. Especially considering the man was nearly a foot shorter than the both of them, and had a very long, rectangular face with far too many lines, so that he looked remarkably like the pipe of an organ--and shouted at about the same volume.

'Any decisions YOU make affect this department, as you can clearly see from the media party downstairs! Do you know what that means, Potter? It means that any decision of yours is also a decision of mine, and you would do damn well to remember it! I don't care how many times you've seen You-Know-Who and lived to brag about it; while you're in this department, you answer to me! If that means in every aspect of your life, so be it!'

Before Harry even had a chance to respond, the man whirled on Draco, who took an alarmed step backwards into the wall.

'And you,' he snarled, levelling a threatening finger at the blonde. 'You better be worth all this trouble, you arrogant little sod, or I swear I'll have your bollocks off and burned so fast you won't know what's happened, and we'll never have to see the likes of you on this planet again!'

Draco, for lack of a better response, coughed into his fist. He was very relieved when Robards curled his upper lip in a snarl and stormed away, leaving him and Harry alone by the door.

'Nice guy you're working for,' Draco said dully.

'Shut up,' Harry snapped again.

No doubt due to the scene caused by Sir Pipe Organ, gazes from every corner of the room followed the pair as they moved inside, Draco behind Harry by several paces. It was a very large, square room with a high ceiling and a chequered linoleum floor. The majority of the room was broken into workplaces by high, wood-panel partitions; to Draco, it looked very much like a haphazardly constructed maze, with Aurors and other Ministry personnel dashing in-between cubicles and aisles on hasty errands, bits of parchment and leaflets fluttering in their wake.

Along the back were a series of actual offices, several with opaque glass, obscuring the figures inside; the one to the far left had served the setting in which Draco first confronted Harry. Fixed to the sides of the partitions were posters with wanted witches and wizards, mostly Death Eaters and suspected Voldemort supports, blinking and sneering at them as they passed open cubicles. Draco grimaced at a particularly large poster of Bellatrix Lestrange that hissed menacingly at him when he walked by.

They followed the main aisle nearly until its end, at which point Harry gestured Draco into a spacious cubicle. The inside was, if possible, more chaotic than the whole of the Headquarters had appeared; every inch of wallspace was covered not in posters, but in large diagrams, maps, lists, and large clippings of text. Upon closer inspection, Draco noted that much of it was concerned with the theory of Dark magic, from spells to wards to extremely sinister potions.

There were two desks, side by side, both equally cluttered with piles of parchments, rolled and unrolled, amongst various Dark Detectors. The Sneakoscope on the right-hand desk was whirring quietly, rolling back and forth in small circles. The left desk was up against the wall, where there was a tiny break in diagrams to make way for a Chudley Cannons poster, in which all of the Chasers had gathered in the centre to avoid being overwhelmed by the mass of clippings overlapping the picture.

There was one item on the desk with the Sneakoscope, however, that grabbed Draco's full attention. It was an old edition of the Daily Prophet, almost completely obscured by the several other editions strewn on top of it, but the tiny portion of headline visible (Snitch!) caught his eye, and he quickly dislodged it from the pile, scanning the article.

Draco stared at it for a very long time.

*

Harry had not followed Draco into the cubicle. He was standing just outside, nodding a good morning to people he knew, several of whom were members of the Order. Kingsley Shacklebolt came over to ask him how things were going with Draco, and Arthur Weasley, snorting with mirth, had given Harry an updated Daily Prophet. To both Harry's slight dismay and his amusement, the headline boldly declared a wedding engagement between himself and Malfoy in large, flashing letters.

He had only been waiting a few minutes when a figure with a familiar head of bushy brown hair emerged from the bustle in the aisle, clutching a long roll of parchment and a quill under her arm. Hermione had remained a couple of inches shorter than Harry; he himself was a good half a foot short of Ron, and her height (or rather, lack thereof) was something Ron habitually enjoyed teasing her about.

However, petite though she may have been, Hermione had lost none of her austerity, and frequently reminded Harry of a tiny version of McGonagall. For once, this was a trait he was glad she possessed, because she was going to need it.

'Morning, Harry,' she said brightly, smiling up at him. 'Long night?'

'Could have been worse,' he admitted, shrugging. 'Was it hard to get the job?'

'Not really,' she said. 'Nobody wants anything to do with that snivelling, arrogant, grandiloquent prat, so--'

'You forgot "brilliant", "stunning", and "debonair",' said an icy drawl. 'Nice to see you, too, Granger.'

On cue, Draco appeared from inside the cubicle behind her just in time to hear the less than complimentary remarks; Hermione spun around so quickly she could have been fastened to a top. Draco was reclining against the edge of the partition with his arms folded, holding a rolled-up Prophet and looking down at her with obvious disdain.

'I can hardly say the same for you,' she snapped, folding her own arms, eyes narrowed.

'Yes, I'm sure it must be a slap in the face for unfortunate accidents like yourself to see wizards of real quality,' Draco drawled, smirking as her hands clenched into fists. 'I suppose that's why you latched onto Potter, here; hoping his assets would rub off. Unfortunately for you, you also partnered with Weasley, who negates any assets at all.'

'Well you would know what slaps to the face are like, wouldn't you, Malfoy?' she snapped back, feigning indifference, although his comments had left her slightly pink. 'Or would you like a reminder?'

'My skin has already suffered enough contact with yours, Mudblood, to befoul it for a lifetime,' Draco replied callously.

Hermione's jaw dropped open in disbelief and several people passing by stopped in their tracks, looking shocked.

Harry stepped forward, furious. 'Malfoy!'

Draco shrank back from the advance, back into the cubicle. Harry and Hermione followed, leaving the nosy, crowded aisle.

'Oh get out of it, Potter,' Draco snapped once the traffic in the aisle outside began to move again, but Harry was still looking homicidal. 'What? She can threaten me with physical violence like some malignant troglodyte and you're fine with that, but Merlin forbid I make perfectly valid point regarding her heritage. You can sod right the fuck off.'

Harry's lips twisted in a snarl. 'You vulgar sonofa--'

'Harry,' Hermione said desperately, cutting him off. 'This is really not helping. As for you,' she snapped, turning back to Draco, 'you'd do best to watch your mouth, you nasty, arrogant, self-absorbed little--'

'And this is helping, how?' Harry interjected.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, sucked in a breath, and closed it again, doing a very good impression of an angry blowfish.

'Sorry, Harry,' she said, exhaling heavily. 'I just... urgh... he makes me so--so--'

'Hot and bothered, this much we can see,' Draco finished derisively. 'But unless you actually have something constructive to do here, I suggest you carry on like the ninny you are and allow us to get to work.'

Hermione closed her eyes and took a long, steadying breath as she turned back to face Draco again. After a moment, brown eyes opened and glared reproachfully at him.

'As a matter of fact, I do,' she replied coolly. 'As a member of the Ministry's Inquisitorial Division, I will be the one interrogating you.'

With enormous effort, Draco managed to resist recoiling again. His eyes narrowed, darkening. 'Inquisitorial Division?'

'Sound familiar?' she asked, lips forming a rather nasty smile. 'You didn't think that foul woman's Inquisitorial Squad was an original idea, did you?'

He'd hardly admit it, but Draco supposed that this made sense; Dolores Umbridge was the kind of woman who would create a junior version of a Ministry department inside Hogwarts under her reign of power.

'Of all the sods they could have sent, they had to send their resident Mudblood,' he sneered, taking advantage of his height to glare down at her. 'Why am I not surprised.'

Harry's temper visibly flared at the use of the curse again, but Hermione laid one of her hands over his consolingly.

'It's alright, Harry,' she said, before turning back to Draco and adopting a much more professional tone. 'Mr Malfoy, if you are going to insist on behaving in such a loutish manner, I will be more than happy to produce the contract between yourself and Mr Potter, and further assist you in perusing the clause where it states, very specifically, that any unnecessary aggravation you cause is grounds for your immediate removal to a secure facility.'

Draco stared at her, struck speechless. Even Harry looked slightly taken aback.

'Oh, yes,' she said, smiling nastily at Draco's obvious disbelief. 'I have read the terms of the agreement very carefully. In fact, I was the one who edited and amended the final version accepted by you and your lawyers. I know it up, down, backwards, and sideways, and if you don't watch every step you take, then those are only some of the directions I can screw you in, and so help me, I will.'

Harry was staring at her with what looked like both awe and mild admiration.

Draco's eyes, if possible, narrowed further. He was well aware of the fine print--his father had been thorough in his legal training, and Draco understood the importance of understanding every statement made on a contract to the letter. Harry, of course, had been enough of a dunce to overlook the miniscule points that had to do with his behaviour; but Draco had not been expecting the Mudblood Granger to have access to it, much less have a say in the final amendments herself.

If Draco had known, he would have burned the bond and demanded a new one.

'Is there a problem?' Hermione asked him mildly when he didn't respond.

Draco inhaled through his nose, closing his eyes and willing the sudden torrent of rage tearing at his insides to subside. 'Why you?' he demanded, lip curling as he fixed her with a murderous glare.

Hermione smiled at him. 'Isn't it obvious? As a former acquaintance, I was the logical choice from my department. Our previous correlations not only provide me with a general understanding of your amiable character for this enquiry,' she continued, somewhat sarcastically, 'but provide a firm basis for our relationship as colleagues.'

'Colleagues?' Draco practically spat the word. 'I don't know what bloody version of our contract you're reading, Granger--'

'The version where it unmistakably refers to your cooperation with the Ministry as a professional union between two parties,' she persisted, re-adorning the overly professional tone. 'More specifically, a sanctioned trade between yourself and my department, which will process and disclose information deemed legitimate to Auror Headquarters, where they will handle any proceedings. Until you've upheld your end of the bargain, you're officially working for the Ministry, under my department and supervision, as well as Harry's.'

She paused, narrowing her eyes diminutively, letting her words sink in before taking a step closer to Draco and lowering her voice to a much more hostile tone. 'And just because he's been generous enough to see some prospect of you being useful, don't think for a minute that I won't have your right to breathe outside of Azkaban revoked the first opportunity you give me. Are we clear, Malfoy?'

'Irrefutably,' Draco snarled through his teeth. He had otherwise not so much as twitched at her words and his face had been impassive throughout her speech, but the earlier subsided rage began to boil dangerously.

Harry made a small 'Ahem' noise in his throat as the two of them continued to glare daggers at one another. He did not bother to remove the smug smirk he was wearing, however, still clearly impressed with Hermione's attention to detail. 'We should probably get started before Robards finds another excuse to lay into me.'

'Yes, we should,' Hermione agreed, taking her eyes off Draco. 'They don't want Malfoy anywhere there isn't at least a dozen Aurors, as half of the staff is convinced he's a Death Eater, and tattoo or no tattoo I can't say I blame them. So we'll be using the offices up here, if that's alright.'

Harry shrugged. 'Yeah, that's fine.'

Hermione nodded and gathered her rolls of parchment, squeezing out of the cubicle and into the aisle.

For a moment, Draco actually considered Azkaban a small price to pay for saying what was on his mind. Sodding Mudblood filth. 'Are we clear?' About what? That you're a know-it-all, anal retentive tart who--

'Malfoy.'

Harry's tone was sharp; he was standing in front of Draco, arms folded, apparently trying to appear intimidating. Hermione had already moved ahead of them down the corridor, packet of parchment precariously balanced in her arms as she moved through the other Ministry busybodies.

'Potter,' he countered, his gaze settling back on Harry's, which was boring into him with a contained sort of fury.

'If I so much as hear you think that word again, I don't give a sodding piss who's around, I will make you regret it.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Very dramatic, Potter, but just the fact that you exist makes me regret that my breathing is involuntary.'

'You're an arsehole, Malfoy.'

'Go alert the media, I'm sure they're still waiting downstairs,' Draco said, bypassing Harry and following Hermione down the aisle towards the offices.

Draco smirked as he felt Harry's murderous glare bore into his back as he cut his way through the crowd. He found that most people moved immediately out of his way, throwing him suspicious, nasty looks, which served to increase the smug twist of his lips.

'In here,' Hermione ordered briskly, unlocking the closest office with a tap of her wand. 'Take a seat.'

The room was empty except for a long, dark table and four straight-backed chairs. Draco tried to position himself on the far end, as far as humanly possible from the other chairs. Hermione waited for Harry to come inside before following, closing the door and turning to the clear windows; a wave of her wand and a muttered 'Occulto' turned the glass opaque.

She and Harry took seats opposite Draco, side by side, not making an effort to close the distance he'd put between them. Hermione removed a small, corked vial containing a small amount of what appeared to be ordinary water. The sight made him grimace.

Raising her eyebrows, Hermione placed the vial on the table between them. 'You know the drill, Malfoy.'

'You do know that the belladonna in that is poisonous, even when diluted,' Draco said, eying the Veritaserum with distaste.

'I've carefully monitored your intake,' Hermione said nonchalantly. 'You can have a few more doses, as long as they're minimal. It's only a drop, it won't kill you.'

Draco's grimace became more pronounced. One drop of Veritaserum was enough for nearly an hour of use; several millilitres was enough to put the average person into a coma, and any more than that often proved deadly.

In the past, many prisoners had swallowed a fatal amount of Veritaserum in order to avoid being interrogated; therefore, it had become common practice to dilute the truth serum. Mixed with a mouthful of water, enough of the potion would enter the prisoner's system to do the job without the side effect of being lethal.

'Hearing that from you is not reassuring,' he told her, uncapping the vial and draining it. The dose was so small he couldn't even taste it. He had barely gotten over the flavour of stale water before Harry's patience wore out.

'So,' Harry offered.

When he didn't elaborate, Draco said, 'I suppose you want to know all my dirty little secrets about the Dark Lord.'

'Something like that, yeah,' said Harry.

'Anything in particular?'

'Everything?'

'Oh, is that all?' Draco asked. 'Well, for one, the man is a severe sadist. You should see what he does to Wormtail--he picks on him constantly, it's his favourite pastime. What's more, his preferred way of getting information out of people is by locking them in a basement with Greyback for a few nights; unless, of course, one of those nights happens to be a full moon, in which case they don't do much talking after that--' Harry cleared his throat loudly, and Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Well, you said everything. It's rather a broad spectrum of topics, Potter.'

'Fine,' Harry said. 'What do you know about the Horcruxes?'

Hermione glanced at Harry, looking worried, but didn't object.

Draco drummed his fingers on his lap. 'This might not be the best time or place for that,' he said finally.

'Oh, and why not?' Harry snapped, lips twisting into what was almost a formidable sneer. 'Because you're actually full of it and don't know anything about them?'

'No, Potter,' Draco said tiredly. 'Because considering we're in a building that even my father was able to infiltrate after you were screaming your head off that he was a Death Eater, I wouldn't exactly consider it a secure place to discuss a topic of such high calibre.'

'He's right, Harry,' Hermione interjected quickly before Harry could object. She was watching Draco very carefully. 'If you don't want the Inquisitorial Department all over it, like last time... It's something for... later.'

Slowly, something resembling comprehension dawned in Harry's emerald eyes.

This must be a rare occurrence, Draco thought. 'Last time?' he incited.

'None of your bloody business,' Harry snapped at Draco, before turning back to Hermione. 'Alright, fine, you handle it then.'

Hermione made a show of parchment-shuffling and dipping her quill in the open ink bottle before returning her gaze to Draco.

'Well, first of all, do you know or have any idea whatsoever where he is?'

'He?' Draco asked, exasperated. 'Do either of you know how to properly interrogate?'

'You know who I mean,' Hermione said calmly. 'Voldemort.'

Draco flinched violently at the name, his hands clenching.

'You know,' he said shortly, 'how uptight you lot are about the word Mud--'

'Don't say it,' Harry growled warningly.

'Then don't use his name,' Draco growled back. 'Or we can sod the bloody clause technicalities.'

Hermione nodded. 'Fair enough. Answer the question.'

'No,' he answered truthfully. 'He moves, and often. From what I know he's never in the same place for more than a month, and constantly in and out.'

'Why?'

'Because he's worked with enough morons to know that if you want something done, you do it yourself,' Draco said, rolling his eyes. 'Would you trust a bunch of power-hungry minions with anything of vital importance after all the disasters they managed against your teenage Boy Wonder here?'

Hermione blinked, and then made a note on her parchment.

'I suppose not,' she said, not looking up until she had finished writing. 'Do you have any idea why, after six years of attacks, he seems to have--for the moment anyway--lost interest in pursuing Harry?'

'Ah, what's this? Potter not getting publicity?' Draco sneered, and Hermione gave him a warning glare. 'Because he got what he needed from Potter, I'd imagine. I'm sure he'd just as happily kill your Saviour here if he had the chance, but he has much more important things he could be spending his time on.'

'Such as...?'

Draco sighed and folded his hands in his lap, leaning back in his chair.

'Do you even remember what his original goal was? Before killing Harry Potter?' he asked, annoyed that he was having to spell it out. 'Do you honestly think he's wreaking havoc on the wizarding world just to kill some speccy pillock who's nothing more than a thorn in his side? You all act as if Potter is the most important thing in this war, and You-Know-Who will stop at nothing to destroy him--he was counting on that, and it's working.'

'You're saying Harry's a cover?'

'He was from the moment the Dark Lord recovered his full power,' Draco said, ignoring Harry's narrowed gaze. 'You've all been giving attention to the wrong target.'

Hermione had left her quill poised, dripping ink on her parchment, as if she had forgotten about it. 'So what is the target?'

'Who,' Draco corrected, 'is what you should be asking.'

'If you're just going to lead me in circles, Malfoy--'

Draco sighed heavily. 'Look, Granger, it's really quite simple. So simple, in fact, I'm bloody astonished no one in the entire Ministry has been intelligent enough to notice that You-Know-Who lying low is much more worrisome situation than if he was marching through the streets casting Cruciatus on pedestrians.

'Thanks to Potter here, he lost more support than he ever anticipated. When he tried to kill Potter the first time, many of his supporters were thrown in Azkaban, and most of them died there, or went too insane to be of any use. When he came at him again while he was at Hogwarts, Potter not only publicly announced the names of those he knew were supporters, but also managed to thwart many of them long enough to land them in Azkaban again, or worse, kill them in the struggle. And as I'm sure you both are aware, he is not the most tolerant of overlords, and has killed many of his own supporters himself, both as punishment for failure and as a warning to those still in his service.'

'He needs to recruit,' Hermione said, nodding. 'We already knew that. So what?'

'So, gathering support takes time. He can't expect to take on the Ministry, much less Muggle forces--which, however crude, still have the ability of being troublesome if he's severely outnumbered. Furthermore,' Draco said, pausing to take a breath, 'he needs resources. Information. Blackmail. Ransom. That's how he works. And let me tell you, that sort of strategy is extremely efficient when put into play. It just takes a little more time and effort to set up.'

'Yeah, and you'd know all about blackmail, wouldn't you?' Harry said savagely, while Hermione scribbled furiously on her parchment. 'Lucius was pretty good at it.'

'My father was spectacular at it,' Draco corrected, unruffled. 'That's why I know he's doing it, and that unless you lot start interfering, he's going to make it impossible for you to get the upper hand.'

'You're saying he's breaking the foundations,' Hermione said, looking up. 'Trying to crumble the system from beneath.'

'Something like that,' Draco said, nodding. 'But I don't think you've grasped the severity of the situation.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'What do you mean?'

'Do you think he's going to stop with Britain? With Europe, even? Do you really think that America, China, and Russia, not to mention the multitude of other nations of the world, aren't going to notice that something's amiss? Mass genocide tends to be pretty hard to overlook.'

'We've already made contact with other wizarding governments around the world about the threat of Vol--sorry, You-Know-Who--'

'Other wizarding governments? Granger, are you all that bloody dense? His goal is pure-blood wizards prevailing, to prevent the magic in our blood from becoming diluted, and ultimately, lost. To end the persecution and seclusion of wizardkind by making us the majority--the ruling class, if you will--of this planet. There is only one way to ensure that, and that's to remove the pollutants.'

'Remove the pollutants?' Hermione repeated, quill forgotten again. 'You mean Muggles?'

Draco just looked at her; she blinked.

'He means to exterminate all Muggles?'

'Is it really that hard to believe?' Draco asked.

'It's beyond hard to believe,' Hermione said, shaking her head. 'To do something like that, he'd need -'

'An army,' Harry supplied. The anger at Draco that had been smouldering throughout the interview was gone, and he was looking at him like he'd never seen him before. 'And years of blackmail, spying, and recruiting.'

'It's absurd,' Hermione said, shaking her head. 'We're talking about billions--not millions, billions--of people here. And even if he had the means to attempt it, once he started here, other Muggles are going to notice. Like you said--Russia, China, the U.S.; they'd notice large numbers of Muggles being killed--it'd be like the Holocaust all over again. Other countries would interfere.'

'They would,' Draco agreed. 'Plebeian as they may be, even Muggles aren't that dense, and if I recall, they didn't take very kindly to Hitler, either. It's bound to be worse when they discover that it's wizards, not other Muggles, doing the massacring. Unless...'

'Unless?' Harry asked, eyes narrowed again.

'...they were distracted,' Hermione said, finally comprehending the gravity of Draco's words.

Draco nodded, acknowledging that, perhaps, Hermione may actually have a brain.

'Tell me, Granger, when's the last time your Inquisitorial Department ran checks on the Muggle leaders of the world?'

'Checks? For what?' Harry asked, looking at Hermione.

Hermione was still staring at Draco when she answered, very quietly, with, 'The Imperius Curse.'

Harry looked back at Draco. 'What? What good would that do him?'

'Harry,' Hermione said, as Draco rolled his eyes again. 'The only way Muggles wouldn't notice other Muggles being killed--'

'Is if other Muggles were the ones doing the killing,' Draco finished. 'Why kill Muggles when you can make them kill themselves?'

Harry stared at Draco, perplexed, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

'Are you saying he's going to start a Muggle war?'

'Oldest trick in the book, Potter,' Draco said. 'Divide and conquer.'

*

Just before noon, Draco's attorneys had turned up once again. Due to the head of the family passing, the Malfoy's Gringotts vault, assorted estates and all material possessions were technically Draco's by right as well as his Lucius's will, but Draco still had to hack through an enormous amount of paperwork in order to make it official. Arthur had volunteered to supervise Draco during the process, giving Harry the afternoon off, for which he'd been very grateful.

'Do you think Malfoy's right?' Harry asked Hermione. She had accompanied him for lunch, as usual, but had been oddly quiet. 'About him starting a Muggle war?'

Hermione idly tapped the tabletop with her wand, chewing on her bottom lip before answering.

'It's hard to say,' she said finally. 'It seems far-fetched, but... at the same time, it makes an unsettling amount of sense, doesn't it?'

Harry nodded. 'It would certainly explain why no Death Eaters or Dementors have tried to break down my door yet.'

'Still, I have to wonder how he knows so much, if he hasn't been involved with the Death Eaters since Hogwarts... I suppose his father probably knew about this, Voldemort would have had to have been planning it for ages, but it's still quite dodgy...'

She trailed off, draining the last of her tea before looking up at Harry with a slightly jovial expression. 'I can already imagine Ron having a go at this. When does he get back?'

At her words, guilt grabbed hold of Harry's insides and began twisting them violently.

Harry, having always excelled at Defence Against the Dark Arts (and no doubt with some help from his reputation) had completed his Auror training in just under three years. Ron had taken four years, like most Aurors, to finish and become fully qualified. As both an initiation and a reward for apprenticing and training for so long, all newly licensed Aurors were assigned to priority cases immediately upon graduation; Ron was still away on his, a rather secretive mission involving vampires in Russia. He'd written to both Harry and Hermione only twice during the month he had been gone, promising in his most recent letter that he'd be returning soon.

Although Harry had enlisted Hermione's advice and assistance with clearing Malfoy, he had been unable to find a way to break it to Ron. Hermione had told him to write anyway, because it would be better for Ron to hear about it from Harry, rather than on his own while he was away, from a less reliable source. Harry had agreed, and had promised he would write a letter the following day.

Hermione's smile faltered when Harry didn't answer. She suddenly looked very worried.

'Harry... you did tell Ron, didn't you?'

*