The Black Star

Chapter 6

I know you’ll never stay the same
In time most of us lose it
But I’m hoping just the same
You’ll shine and learn how to use it 

--- Mike Oldfield, “Innocent”

*1995*

Harry hoped that talking about Stella would awake some happy memories Sirius had.

Unfortunately, this didn’t come true entirely. Even though Sirius’ eyes sparkled at some moments of his narration ( especially when he was describing what sorts of tricks they used to play on Slytherins together ), Harry got the impression that Sirius didn’t feel comfortable at all when he was forced to think about Stella. Quite the contrary, he rather focused on the adventures they had had when the Marauders had planned something with Lily and Stella after they had all overcome their ‘dislike’ of each other. Not that it wasn’t interesting to listen to. Harry had many opportunities to laugh, but still, he had hoped to find out more about Stella.

“But see it positively, if Sirius focused on her now, you wouldn’t be hearing so much about your parents,” he told himself.

In addition to that, it wasn’t like that was the last opportunity to ask Sirius about the past. They were going to be together in Lupin’s Lair until the end of the holidays. Harry would have enough time to find out what he wanted to know. Only at that moment he had no idea how much he didn’t know.

It was nearly 11 p.m. when Sirius stopped talking. He had just finished telling Harry about the glorious Quidditch final in his 6th year where Slytherin had been blasted away by the Gryffindor Team. Harry wasn’t sure whether the expression ‘blasted away’ was meant only figuratively or not. However, he forgot that thought at the moment he slid into his bed. Suddenly he felt very tired. It had been an unusual day, after all. First the article in ‘Witch Weekly’. Then this invitation to spend the rest of the holidays with Sirius. The discovery of Lupin’s Castle - who would’ve thought? Harry smiled. He was glad for Remus that he had at least one precious possession ( that Harry knew of ). Switchers. Bicorns - Harry made a mental note to go and look at the bicorn in the morning. He was curious about its appearance. And then this talk with Sirius about times of long ago… Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face, thinking about a 16- year- old Snape singing Christmas carols at dinner in the Great Hall in the middle of May and being unable to stop it…

 

* * * * *

 

… he’s going to be a very valuable agent, trust me.”

Sean stood up and smiled. “You know I do.”

With that, he disappeared, using the Teleport to get back to his office.

A few seconds after his departure, the office door opened and Draco Malfoy entered the room.

“Hello boss,” he said casually.

Stella glanced up and remarked, smiling, “10 o’ clock sharp. Not bad, Draco. I appreciate your punctuality.”

“Thanks,” he replied, eyeing her cautiously. He hadmade the experiencethat after a praise Stella usually gave him something difficult to do.

“Wonder which part of the training will take place today,” he thought while Stella was gesturing for him to come closer to her desk and to look at a small object she was holding in her hand.

“Do you know what this is, Draco?” she asked, following his examining glance.

The object was a small whistle made of a silvery sort of metal. Draco, who was aware of Stella’s fondness of silver, both color and metal, grinned.

“A silver whistle, eh? How very much surprising that you possess a thing like that,” he said with amused irony. “Trust you to have even a silver toothbrush.”

Stella raised an eyebrow.

“You think so? Shows what you know, young Mr. Malfoy. The color of my toothbrush is green and this whistle isn’t silver, either. Do you notice the bluish shimmer? It’s made of cobalt,” she corrected him and asked again if he could tell her what it was.

Draco took a closer look at it. It seemed like an ordinary, 5 inch long whistle with 4 holes. But then he noticed faint lines on it. They looked like some sort of writing to him, although he couldn’t read it. The image was, however, familiar to him. He supposed that he’d seen something like this before... in a book, maybe. Draco narrowed his eyes in concentration. Suddenly, something occurred to him and he looked at Stella with surprise.

“Is that a ‘dragon whistle’?” he asked her.

She nodded. Draco eyed the small object respectfully. Stella cast him an amused glance. Seeing Draco with a respectful expression on his face was a very rare occasion indeed.

“Considering your reaction, I take it that you know what is its purpose,” she said serenely.

Draco nodded slowly, carefully taking the whistle with his left hand. He had a slightly wishful expression on his face when he answered.

“They are used to summon dragons. Depending on the melody you use, you can summon a whole herd of them, or a group of a breed your choice, or a single specific dragon.”

Then he added with a smirk, “But as dragons are untamable, people usually have some ... problems after using such a whistle. Dragons follow the command of its sound, but then they want to be rewarded as well.”

“Exactly,” Stella said, took the whistle and blew a short melody. She didn’t seem concerned about the result at all.

Draco shot her a skeptical glance mingled with worry. Did she know what she was doing? Because he certainly was neither in the mood nor in the shape of encountering a free dragon, let alone a whole bunch of them.

They both stood there in Stella’s office waiting and after some minutes Draco had the impression of hearing a distinct flapping of big, leathery wings. He had just started to feel very uneasy when suddenly an yellow eye as big as a dinner plate appeared behind the office window. Shocked, Draco took three steps back and nearly fell over at the sound of the sudden shatter of glass and the roar of the dragon that had managed to stick its head into the office and was now eyeing the boy curiously. Draco cast Stella a terrified glance and then continued to stare at her unbelievingly. Not only she hadn’t done so much as to flinch at the sight of the dragon, she even approached it calmly and stroke its flat nose! The creature seemed to like it and made a noise that sounded quite like the motor of a very big motorbike. Stella murmured something to the dragon Draco didn’t understand and then she turned to the boy, grinning. Draco didn’t consider the situation funny at all and scowled. Stella’s grin became even broader.

“Draco, meet Sandro!” she said, clearly enjoying the situation and gestured him to come closer.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I told him that you’re a friend, so he won’t harm you,” she said as Draco approached the dragon cautiously, his eyes now full with interest. He liked dragons, after all and because of his name, he always felt as if he was linked to them in a way. But dreaming about dragons and encountering a real one were two very different things.

“Don’t worry,” Stella told him encouragingly. “C’mon, stroke his nose. He likes that.”

Casting her a doubtful glance, Draco extended his hand reluctantly and touched the dragon’s skin with his fingertips. It was warm and dry, similar to a snakeskin. It was quite nice to touch and as the dragon didn’t seem inclined to bite his hand off, Draco calmed down, the tension that had been in his shoulders easing. Taking a closer look at the dragon he found that it was a beautiful animal. It had shiny scales in a dark blue sort of color and bright yellow eyes like torches. From the broken window, Draco could see the rest of its body. It didn’t resemble a lizard so much as the Hungarian Horntail did and it wasn’t so heavy-built like the Welsh Green, either. Sandro had a slender muscular body, shimmering horns lining his spine from the top of his head to the end of his tail and a wingspan of what seemed to be around 40 feet. The impressive appearance of Sandro the Azure Dragon deserved nothing less than the description ‘magnificent’.

“Wow,” Draco muttered.

“That’s exactly what I said when I saw him for the first time,” Stella’s voice from behind his back.

He turned around without stopping to stroke the dragon’s scales and asked, “How come that he’s so peaceful? How did you tame him?”

“I didn’t,” Stella replied. “Dragons are untamable, they always were and they always will be. But Sandro regards me as a friend and he won’t harm people I tell him not to out of friendship to me.”

“I see,” Draco nodded thoughtfully. He wondered whether he was able to make a dragon like him as well.

“Now,” Stella continued, “What I want you to do is getting better acquainted with Sandro. I want you to find out how dragons think, what they like and don’t like, how you can get them to let you ride on their backs and basically, how you can persuade them to do what you want. Don’t worry, you can take as much time as you want and need. I know that it isn’t easy to become friends with a dragon, but it’s a part of your training and it might come in handy.”

She smiled encouragingly at Draco who gave her a much weaker version of her smile in return. He was starting to think that Stella overestimated him a little.

Spying, physical combat training, psychology lessons - okay, all that was manageable, but discovering how to become friends with a dragon without getting eaten or reduced to a smoldering little pile of ashes was a bit too much to ask of him.

Stella seemed to know what he was thinking because she smiled again and said gently, “I wouldn’t set you a task that you can’t master. Let your self-confidence work! Sandro likes self-confident people if they aren’t too smug.”

“Yes, I’m sure self-confidence gives a special touch to the taste of human flesh,” Draco said sarcastically, misinterpreting her on purpose. “And I’d love to see a person who manages to be smug when a 20-metre dragon is towering over them,” he added sourly, but Stella didn’t change her mind and just laughed.

“True. And now, you can go outside to the HQ grounds. Play with Sandro. Talk to him. He’ll understand you even if you don’t speak Dragonish. Have fun!” she said and opened the door to her office for Draco to leave. He left a little reluctantly, dreading the meeting with the dragon alone. But then, Stella wouldn’t put him into mortal danger intentionally, would she?

After the door had closed behind him, Stella turned to Sandro and said in Dragonish, “Better not breathe your fire at him, Sandro. It’s enchanted so it won’t do any damage, but he might get the wrong idea that he’s resistant to dragon fire and that wouldn’t be of advantage. Nothing is more dangerous for an agent than self-overestimation.”

Sandro made a grunting sound that could be interpreted as approval and then left to wait for Draco farther in the HQ grounds. The grounds were huge and contained not only the building and a large forest, but also lots of free space. Sandro and Draco were supposed to go to a clearing not far away from the building.

Stella mended the broken window with a wave of her hand and took place at her table. She put her chin in her hands and stared off into space for a moment, thoughts whirling her brain. Involuntarily, she recalled the day she had first spoken to Draco. Stella’s mind went 10 days back into the past…

 

*1995, about ten days before, quite at the beginning of the holidays*

 

Draco was lying curled up on the bed in his room and trying to forget the pounding in his head and the searing pain in his arm, but he hadn’t had success so far. You didn’t become resistant to pain even if you were used to it.

“I hate him!” Draco thought fiercely, closing his eyes. His father was getting worse from one day to another. That day had been the worst so far. Lucius Malfoy had been informed that the Ministry had given order to search the Malfoy Manor for Dark objects and similar things. The problem was that there wasn’t enough ´space in the room under the drawing room and in his rage, Lucius hadn’t even thought about enlarging it by magic. He had started a tirade against the fools at the Ministry but had been interrupted by his wife who pointed out coldly the very obvious: enlarging the room by magic and putting some Covering Charms on it. Her coldness and reasonability had shut Lucius up. It wasn’t commonly known, but he actually respected his wife. Draco had always thought about it as a miracle because Lucius usually had no respect for anything and anybody, well maybe except for the Dark Lord. After Narcissa’s interference he had seemed to calm down a little, but in fact he had done so only outwardly. Since he couldn’t have very well outlived his anger on Narcissa and the house-elves had been nowhere to find, there had remained just one target - his son. Draco was quite used to the bad temper of his father but he couldn’t remember seeing (and feeling) him acting worse than he had done that day. Lucius’ favorite way of unloading his frustration was to encounter his son with reproaches about his failures in general and at Hogwarts, specifically. Moreover, he liked to point out that Draco was a consistent underachiever and that he, Lucius didn’t understand how he could have such a loser for a son. The whole shouting and insulting usually ended with beating. Draco had stopped counting the times his father had hit him in the face and then had complained about Draco’s weakness when his son dared to let out a sound of pain. Draco had never tried to defend himself because opposing would’ve made his father only more furious. But this time it had been different. When Lucius had wanted to hit him, Draco had blocked him and landed a blow into Lucius’ stomach. For a moment they had both stood stunned opposite each other. Draco had been surprised by his reaction and so had been his father, but as soon as his shock had faded, Lucius had got so angry he almost couldn’t speak.

“How dare you stand up against me!” he had hissed so venomously that Draco had taken a step back involuntarily. But it had been too late. Murmuring something unintelligible, Lucius had pointed his wand at his son and the last thing Draco had seen had been a flash of yellow light protruding from its tip. Then everything went black.

After Draco had opened his eyes again, he had found himself lying sprawled in a corner of his room. The force of the curse must’ve blasted him against the wall, as the horrid headache and the pain in his arm had confirmed. It had taken Draco so much effort to stand up that for a moment, the thought of crying out for help had crossed his mind. But he had dismissed it immediately. None of his parents would have come and he hadn’t wanted the house-elves to see what state he had been in. Eventually he had managed to crawl over to his bed and lie down. That had been two hours ago and he still wasn’t in the shape to walk. Draco moaned. His head felt as if someone were striking a gong behind his temples. Draco was in his worst mood ever. He had never felt worse, not even when he had to witness that bloody Potter had always got away with everything in school, how everybody was crazy about him and how Gryffindor had won the House Championship every year since he was in Hogwarts, not to speak the Quidditch Cup in his 3^rd year. Yes, that was it. Potter was the reason for his misery. If he hadn’t survived that attack of the Dark Lord, everything would be different. And better, in Draco’s opinion. His father would be serving his Master happily and in security and he, Draco wouldn’t have to cope with the presence of people like Granger whom he considered so much under his niveau that he felt slightly nauseated every time he spotted her somewhere. In addition to that, she was adding another point in Lucius’ repertoire why his son was such a failure.

“That little mudblood is better than you in EVERY SUBJECT, boy! But you’re obviously too dim to prevent that big a disgrace. I was foolish ever to hold any hopes concerning you!” was what Lucius used to say on that topic.

After three hours of lying and sighing, Draco’s throat had become so dry he felt like having emery paper in the mouth instead of a tongue. He was just about to call a house-elf to bring something to drink when he remembered that he didn’t want to be seen in his current shape. So he sat up with great effort and tested if his legs could carry him. He was trembling slightly, but otherwise quite confident of his regained ability to walk. Slowly, Draco went over to the door, pausing there because he was still feeling weak.

On his way to the kitchen he suddenly heard two voices talking in a room at his left. Catching the sound of his name, he stopped dead and listened eagerly while he was only too well aware of the coldness coming from the stone wall he was leaning against to steady himself. It was his mother who spoke.

“You really shouldn’t hit him so hard, Lucius. I know you have doubts about him but in my opinion he still could be valuable to us,” Narcissa said with no trace of emotion in her voice that was melodious but as cold as ice.

Her words made Draco frown slightly. He was surprised because his mother never stuck up for him and usually let her husband do what he wanted to with Draco. Therefore he didn’t think it was of advantage for him if she started to defend him all of a sudden. He rather suspected that Narcissa had something in the back of her mind. A few moments later he was proven right.

“You’re right. He has always been a severe disappointment but he’s our only child and very good positioned when being in Hogwarts. I suppose the Dark Lord will have him spying on the Enemy at school if he doesn’t decide to kill Potter in the holidays. But seeing that the past few times the Master failed, I think that he will plan his next strike more thoroughly before acting,” Lucius replied to his wife. Draco could picture the sneer his father was certainly wearing at that moment very well. It was a haughty, unpleasant expression, the same Lucius always wore when he was telling his son what he’d done wrong. However, Narcissa seemed to be annoyed by something because there was a hint of anger in her voice when she went on.

“The Dark Lord can’t do anything in the school holidays. Rumor has it that the Head of Black Star has returned to England. She will certainly look after the Potter boy and you know only too well that she’s not someone to be messed with. Her organization has grown not only in the number of agents, but also in power. She has spies everywhere and she’s one of Dumbledore’s biggest supporters. We’ll have to be careful. Stella Decartier is dangerous. I hate to admit it but she is.”

Lucius tone became slightly amused and he laughed. Draco was baffled. Hearing Lucius letting out so much as a chuckle was very rare these days and hearing him laugh was about as disturbing as catching Crabbe or Goyle salsa-dancing in the hallway.

“Dangerous? Maybe, but so are you, darling. We can cope with Black Star. Decartier is not omniscient, after all,” Lucius pointed out with what should be a calm voice but he didn’t succeed entirely. Draco could almost see his mother raising her eyebrows in a doubtful way only she could master. However, as much as he would want his parents to go on with their conversation, they didn’t do him the favor but choose to retire to their rooms instead as his mother now suggested. Draco was suddenly aware of his dangerous situation when they could easily catch him eavesdropping. Concentrating on making as little noise as possible, he slipped into a room on his right just in time. Seconds later he heard his parents coming out of the room and going down the corridor. Draco made a faint sound of relief. Leaning against the door with his back, he sank down slowly, thoughts whirling through his head. So Voldemort was going to kill Harry Potter. That was no news seeing that he had been attempting to do it since Potter’s birth. It was also a fact that Draco had grown up with. But until now he hadn’t realized what it would really mean. No Boy Who Lived. No Gryffindor victories. Fewer Mudbloods. Rising authority of Malfoys and similar families. Power. Harry Potter, the source of Draco’s never-ending misery, would be only a memory. A few lines in “The Final Rise and the Ruling of the Dark Side”. And of course, an article in the Daily Prophet. Potter managed to get himself onto the front page whatever he did.

“Being dead at last would serve him right,” Draco thought mutinously. “All this fame and glory – for what? Something he can’t even remember properly and that he didn’t do anything to achieve!”

But the feeling of satisfaction Draco usually got at these thoughts didn’t come. Instead, they were disturbing him. He began to feel apprehensive. The full meaning of ‘Killing Harry Potter’ finally got to him and his stomach lurched unpleasantly. It would mean fear. Uncertainty. Mistrust. Hostility. Oppression. Dark Times. Draco shivered slightly, then scowled.

“Get a grip on yourself, Malfoy,” he told himself sternly. “You’re used to all of the above. Well, maybe the times aren’t so dark yet but everything has its disadvantages, even being rid of Potter. Live with it.”

But the cold, apprehensive feeling remained. For a brief moment Draco wondered how Voldemort was going to kill Harry. A sudden image of Potter being tortured by the Cruciatus Curse appeared in his mind, but he pushed it away quickly. It made him feel ill and that was alarming. He was not supposed to be concerned about Potter. He was Draco Malfoy and therefore not supposed to be concerned about anybody but himself!

“It must be the head injury. Makes me think weird things,” Draco said soothingly to himself. It didn’t help. He was still feeling uneasy.

Killing Harry Potter.

Draco wondered how it possibly felt like when you had to live in a constant mortal danger. Did you ever forget about it, in some moments of your life? Or was it omnipresent like… the smell of garlic that had always accompanied Quirrell? Draco had to grin. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a good comparison. One shouldn’t joke about things like that.

“Bad Draco,” he attempted to scold himself but nothing happened. Self-criticism apparently wasn’t his strength. Nor was it his ability of pushing unpleasant thoughts away. Another horrid image of Potter being dead and lying pale-faced and bloody among black-hooded people rose in his mind. Draco choked. He had never imagined Potter’s death. Of course, he had imagined what would happen thereafter, but never the actual killing. So why did he have to think about it just now? Draco drew his hands through his hair wearily. He didn’t know the answer. What he knew was that he didn’t like the thought of Potter being murdered. Point. But why?

Draco resolved to deal with that question on his way to the kitchen. By the time he got there, he had found an answer: He simply wasn’t enthusiastic about killing people in general, therefore Potter no exception.

“Another thing I unfortunately didn’t inherit from my father,” he thought ironically. “His passion for the extinguishing of lives.”

While he was drinking some water, Draco mentally went through the overheard conversation again. His mother had been worried when speaking about this other woman, Stella Decartier. That was unusual. Narcissa almost never showed worry or fear. Therefore that woman really had to be somebody to count with when planning to kill Potter. But who was she? Lucius and his wife had said something about the Head of Black Star and an organization gaining power. Also, they had mentioned agents.

Would that be a spying organization, Draco wondered. He could vaguely remember reading something about Black Star somewhere, probably in the Daily Prophet. And this Head of Black Star was on Dumbledore’s side which meant that she would surely do anything to protect Potter. Which was typical again. Whoever the really powerful magical people were (save Voldemort, of course), their highest concern was Harry Potter’s safety. Draco pulled a face at these thoughts. But on the other hand it meant that he didn’t have to think about Harry’s forced death. It probably wouldn’t take place anyway, with Dumbledore, the Ministry and this Black Star organization looking after the Boy Who Lived.

Having drunk enough, Draco decided to go back into his room. On the way there he was pondering whether Stella Decartier knew something about Voldemort’s exact plans for the summer and if so, how she’d come by such information. Draco supposed she was aware of the dangerous situation with Voldemort rising anew because as far as he knew, she’d been living on the opposite side of the Atlantic Ocean until now. Why would she have returned if not to help Dumbledore fighting the Dark Lord?

Having arrived in his room, Draco lay down on his bed again and glanced up to the ceiling preoccupied with his thoughts. He wondered how the agents of Black Star could possibly find out secret information about Voldemort. Did they have somebody infiltrated among the Death Eaters? It would be interesting to know, Draco mused. He was interested in spying in general, he’d always been. When he was younger, he used to observe his father to know the state he was in which made it easier for him to foresee imminent trouble situations like the one he’d experienced this very day. Also, when he had started to attend Hogwarts he had tried to find out as much as he could about the other Slytherins and of course about people he disliked, like Potter and co. It helped him to find the best suitable insults and threats. For instance, very few people knew that Marcus Flint’s sister was a Squib and therefore had been given away to a muggle orphanage. Back in the days when Marcus had attended Hogwarts, Draco had used this knowledge to make Flint letting him do what he had wanted to during Quidditch practice and in the Slytherin common room. Sometimes, Flint had been forced to play some kind of bodyguard of Draco’s in order to preserve his family honor. If Marcus hadn’t stopped the other Slytherins to go after Draco because of his annoying behavior, the younger boy would’ve told everybody about the Flints’ daughter. And this shame and disgrace had to be prevented. Draco considered himself quite able at gathering information. A bit of eavesdropping here, some bribing there... it wasn’t that difficult. He wondered how the spies at Black Star worked. Being an agent was certainly very interesting, demanding and dangerous.

“Exactly the right job for me,” Draco grinned smugly. Knowledge meant power and he liked power.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise at the door. Looking unpleasant, Lucius strode in and snarled, obviously still remembering the blow Draco had landed into his stomach earlier, “ Some of my colleagues will come to dine with us tonight. You’ll be there as well and you will be punctual. I do not want to have somebody search you when any of the guests might ask about your whereabouts.” With that, he turned around and left, leaving the door open on purpose because he knew that his son hated that.

“As if any of the Death Eaters were interested in my whereabouts. You just want to show them how well you can control me,” Draco thought bitterly while he was closing the door.

A gathering of Father’s colleagues was exactly what he needed. The last nail into his coffin. Draco groaned. If they just talked about something interesting! But no, usually they only complained about various things. On the other hand, maybe they would let slip some information about the Dark Plans today and Draco would know something that he could brag in front of Crabbe and Goyle jr. with.

* * * * *

The guests came and while they were all sitting in the dining room, Draco amused himself by imagining some important- and dangerous-looking agents striding into the Manor, accusing and convicting the Death Eaters of all the crimes they had committed and then taking them away to lock them up until Doomsday. The looks on their faces would be certainly worth to see. Draco allowed himself a faint grin. He wouldn’t miss any of them, his father the least. Come to think of it, the idea wasn’t so bad, even though it was highly unlikely to come true. If his parents were arrested – and for their crimes they would probably get a lifelong sentence when proven guilty – then he would probably get a guardian and live in peace at last. Still, Draco didn’t feel comfortable at the thought of Lucius and Narcissa in prison. True, they had never acted like they should have as parents, but a lifelong sentence in Azkaban? Draco wouldn’t have wished his worst enemy there. The problem was that should Lucius and Narcissa ever be arrested and proven guilty, Azkaban would be their unavoidable fate. Draco shivered slightly.

Suddenly the adults’ conversation caught his attention. They were complaining, of course – and their main topic was the Black Star. From what Draco had been hearing recently, he figured that that organization was something to be cautious with when you were a Death Eater.

An unexpected idea struck him. It was crazy, stupid and impossible… yet he couldn’t push it away. The idea remained in the back of his mind to be dealt with later.

Finally, after two hours of - in Draco’s opinion – pointless discussion, one by one the Death Eaters left and Draco was allowed to go back into his room, which he was eager to do. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes open during dinner. Fortunately, it was over now. Back upstairs, Draco locked himself up in his room and looked thoughtfully at the fireplace where a small fire was burning, because even in summer, the temperature in the Manor was quite low. He drew out his wand and pointed it at the flames while remembering the spell for communication through fireplaces without being seen. He found the word he had been searching for and wondered briefly if his brilliant idea was really so brilliant and whether it was going to work at all. Draco took a deep breath and spoke softly but clearly, “Auditor a Black Star!”

The flames seemed to grow bigger and then they turned light blue. Suddenly a pleasant but authoritative voice resounded.

“Here are the Black Star Headquarters. You’re speaking with First General Sean Wraith. State your name and business, please.”

Draco was speechless for a moment. He had had doubts that it would work, but this had been easy. Now there came the hard part. Draco cleared his throat.

“My name is Draco Malfoy. I would like to speak with Stella Decartier,” he said, trying to sound important and hoping that his voice didn’t sound so uncertain as he felt.

There was a short silence at the other end of the connection and then the speaker answered, “ Ms Decartier is currently not accessible. Do you wish to leave a message?”

“Er, no thanks,” Draco stammered, not quite knowing what to say and then frowned as the connection broke immediately. He was pretty sure that everybody who wanted to speak with Stella Decartier like this was told exactly the same thing the man had said to him, no matter if the Head was present or not. But Draco wasn’t going to give up so easily. He would try again.

Meanwhile, Sean Wraith was staring thoughtfully at the fireplace in his office. Draco Malfoy wanted to talk to Stella? Either it hadn’t been the real Draco or something strange was going on. Sean used the Vocatus- net to reach Stella.

Draco had been right. Nobody who wanted to talk to the Head of Black Star succeeded at the first try – some people never did – well, maybe except for a few special people like Dumbledore, Stella’s friends and some Ministers of Magic. There had been just so many insulting and threatening calls for her in the past that Stella had lost the nerve to deal with them and let other agents do it.

She was sitting in her office and pondering whether or not to meet the Egyptian Minister of Magic the next day. He had been boring her to death with his tirades about the wizards who kept putting curses on the Pyramids of Gizeh and whom her agents were supposed to find and take to prison.

“Maybe they should use the money they pay us to build up a special ‘Pyramid Police’ on their own,” Stella mused and then she shrugged. Dispatching those cursers wasn’t very difficult if you were skilled in Banishing Charms and Curse-braking and the Egyptian Ministry paid well. She got distracted as Sean’s voice spoke up.

“Hey, Silver. A certain Mr. Malfoy wanted to talk to you,” he said.

Stella was surprised. “Lucius?? Well, color me astonished. What did he say?” she asked.

Sean replied in an amused tone. “Not Lucius, chèrie. It was young Mr. Malfoy.”

“Draco Malfoy wanted to talk to me? Well, ain’t that funny. What’s going on? What might he want?” Stella was even more puzzled than before. Sean didn’t have a clue himself. He had been equally surprised.

“I don’t know. He didn’t want to leave a message. But I have the feeling that he’s going to try again. He sounded serious.”

“ Maybe your commanding tone just scared him,” Stella grinned. “Next time, I’ll answer the call, okay?”

“As you wish, boss,” Sean replied a little mockingly and broke the connection.

Stella leaned back in her chair and twirled her quill that she was holding in her hand absentmindedly. She touched her lips lightly with it as she often did when she was about to solve a problem or like now, trying to find out what that weird call meant. Suddenly Stella’s eyes widened.

Grimacing, she made a disgusted sound and took the quill out of her mouth, tasting ink. She’d sucked on it out of habit, forgetting completely that it wasn’t a sugar-quill.

“Wonderful,” she grumbled, eyeing herself in a small mirror she had taken out of her pocket. “I’ll have a lovely blue tongue to confuse the son of my archenemy.”

Just at that moment the flames in her fireplace turned light-blue, indicating an incoming call. With a quick wave of her hand, Stella gave her tongue its usual color back and seated herself in front of the fire.

“Audio,” she murmured, which opened the connection. “Mr. Draco Malfoy?”

Draco had been holding back his breath and exhaled quietly at the sound of her voice.

“Yes, it’s me. Am I speaking with Stella Decartier?” he asked, hoping that it was her.

“You are. Why do you want to talk to me?” she inquired, keeping her voice even and disinterested, although she was curious.

“I wanted to talk to you because it occurred to me that you might be interested in something I could offer you,” Draco said and was grateful that his voice didn’t show anything of his uneasiness. Being naturally arrogant had its advantages sometimes. However, Stella didn’t seem to be impressed. She wondered secretly for a moment if Draco had written what he wanted to say on a piece of paper and was now reading it out loud. His last sentence hadn’t sounded like something a 15 year-old would say. Then again, this was Draco Malfoy. Maybe that was his usual way of talking.

“ Now why would I be interested in anything you offer?”

“I assume you want the Dark Lord as well as the Death Eaters dead or in prison, don’t you?”

“I would say that’s common knowledge, yes. Why, has it something to do with your offer?” Stella asked and couldn’t help to feel even more curious. She just hoped she didn’t show it too much.

Draco had waited for that question.

“Yes, indeed. I’m offering you my help in that business,” he said, still trying to ban the nervousness from his voice. He heard Stella laughing quietly and scowled. That wasn’t funny. Not at all.

“I’m serious,” he added.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she replied, not bothering to hide the amused irony from her tone. “ Give me one reason why I should believe you.”

Draco thought fast.

“Well, have I ever lied to you?”

Stella raised her eyebrows. “No, but considering that this is the first time you speak to me, you’ll forgive me if I say that it doesn’t mean much,” she pointed out.

“You’re awfully distrusting, did you know that?” Draco said resignedly, unable to stop himself.

“I’m the Head of an Information Service. It’s in the job description,” she replied dryly. “ Does this conversation have a purpose, Mr. Malfoy? Because I’m afraid I haven’t spotted it yet. In short: You’re wasting my time.”

“I’ve already told you everything I intended to.” There was a hint of anger in Draco’s tone. “It’s not my fault you don’t believe me.”

“Probably not,” Stella agreed. “No offense, but as a son of a Death Eater, you just lack credibility.” She sounded final and as if she was about to end the conversation. Draco became anxious. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to make her believe him!

“No wait!” he blurted out, his mind racing. He had to say something that would catch her attention, something convincing…

“Wouldn’t it rather be of advantage for you if you had the son of a Death Eater on your side? You surely have methods to find out whether I’m trustworthy or not,” he said and was suddenly swept over by fear. Trustworthiness. He surely was the right one to talk about it. If his father found out what he was doing right now, he’d be dead or worse. It was awfully risky to converse with one of Lucius’ enemies in his own house. If he knew that his son was just offering to betray his family and their allies, it wouldn’t matter that Stella didn’t believe him. Draco hoped that communication through fireplaces couldn’t be overheard easily.

Maybe Stella had sensed his rising panic or maybe her curiosity overcame her, in any case, she spoke up after a moment of silence.

“Okay, Mr. Malfoy. You’ll get a chance. Meet me tomorrow in the ‘Dancing Dragon’ in Diagon Alley at eleven o’clock. We can talk there.”

Draco restrained himself from exclaiming “You mean it?” because he didn’t want to sound as if he didn’t believe her. So he just nodded, but after a moment he remembered that she couldn’t see him and replied, “I’ll be there. Thank you.”

A second later, the connection broke and the flames resumed their usual color again. Draco stared at the fire irritably. Those Black Star people apparently weren’t fans of long saying-goodbye ceremonies. However, he resolved not to be indignant about this, because soon he would have to face the Head of Black Star and maybe complaining about the formalities wasn’t such a good topic to start with when you wanted to be accepted.

Meanwhile, Stella was musing over her meeting with Draco and certainly wasn’t in her best mood. She was torn between her opinion made long ago that a Malfoy – any Malfoy – wasn’t to be trusted because being untrustworthy was in their genes ( or whatever the Muggles called that ) and her wish to have somebody spying on Lucius and Narcissa like Draco would be able to. But lying, cheating and betrayal was the Malfoys’ only way to be, or so she’d experienced it over the years. She spent the following twenty minutes imagining horrible scenes that would happen the next day, including an image of Lucius arriving instead of his son and wearing his haughty sneer she’d always desperately wanted to hit and an image of Voldemort striding into the ‘Dancing Dragon’ – ( Could he still stride? Did he even have feet? Stella wasn’t sure. She used to picture Voldemort as a basilisk with a human’s head, although she knew that this probably wasn’t his current shape. ) – and cursing her to death. However, that wasn’t as disturbing as the image she got thereafter: namely featuring Draco ( looking like a shrank version of his father due to the fact that Stella had never seen him in person ) who came to her and said in a deadly serious tone that the value of the shares of the ‘Production and Trade of Yellow- rimmed Glasses Company’ at the Magical Stock Exchange was sinking rapidly and that she’d better do something really quickly because otherwise she would be ruined in 13 and a half minutes flat.

“Now where did the last image come from?” Stella wondered. It was really weird because she didn’t own any shares and even if she did, she most decidedly wouldn’t invest her money into a company whose purpose was the production and trade of yellow-rimmed specs. She pictured her old Hogwarts Potions Master wearing glasses rimmed with 2-cm canary yellow material and started to laugh hysterically, only to stop dead after a second, telling herself firmly to shut up and to quit thinking insane thoughts like those mentioned above. Instead, she decided to look through her schedule for the next day and make some preparations, if needed.

“Okay,” Stella muttered, “Eight o’clock, meeting the Egyptian Minister of Magic – wonder if that means 8 o’clock here or in their time zone. We’ll see. Nine thirty – meet Tim Robinson from the Daily Prophet for an interview… when did I agree to that? Well, he’s gonna have to ask for another time because the meeting with Draco Malfoy at eleven will be needing some preparations. One o’clock lunch, two o’clock until five – reading and answering mail. Five until seven: wandless magical training. Eight o’clock – watching the new Rosamunde Pilcher movie on TV. Well, that’s the single cheerful thing that awaits me tomorrow. Hm. It’s kind of depressing that I have nothing more to look forward to than two hours of grief, uncertainty, false love confessions and a big kitschy happy end.”

Sighing heavily, she stood up and left her office for the library that was situated in the Headquarters. It was a very well-sorted one, although it didn’t contain so many books as the Hogwarts or Salem Library. But there were all the books the agents needed and if they required one that happened not to be there, then it would be bought or come by in another way (legal, of course).

Right now, Stella wanted to look up some Lie- and Untrustworthiness- Detecting Charms for her meeting with Draco. Having arrived in the library, she told the librarian what she wanted and he recommended the book ‘I can see the lie!’ by Haru Spex. Stella took it and Teleported herself back into her office. She didn’t like Teleporting and wasn’t nearly as good at it as Sean was, but it was the quickest way of moving around in the Headquarters building and she didn’t have much time to spare. However, the Teleporting had some undesirable side-effects on her. She always felt slightly dizzy and disoriented afterwards. Back in her office, she flung herself onto the sofa and started reading. It was half past three in the morning when she realized that she’d been reading one and the same page over and over again for about ten minutes and hadn’t remembered a single word and due to this, she resolved to stop. She’d already made her decision about what to use anyway. Stella certainly wouldn’t use a Sneakoscope because those things were simply too visible (and audible) and she didn’t want to show Draco how she tested his trustworthiness. She had decided to put an ‘Examina fidem’ – spell on the doorposts of the room they would be talking in. If an untrustworthy person passed such charmed doorposts, then the doorposts would glow red for a brief moment. If the passing person was trustworthy, they would flash in a green sort of color and should they become yellow, then you’d better be careful as well because that meant the person could turn out either way. Stella would also put a ‘Detecto falsum’- spell on the whole room. This spell would turn Draco’s hair purple if he lied and it had the advantage that the person it would work on could be specifically chosen, so it wouldn’t affect Stella if she didn’t say the truth. She pondered for a moment whether to take a new sort of Sneakoscope that didn’t make the whistling sound but only vibrated, but then she resolved not to. After all, she had still her sense for foul things that only rarely disappointed her. With the other two charms, it should be enough.

* * * * *

After waking up in the next morning, Draco had to face the problem of how to get to London without drawing too much attention to himself. But he was lucky. His father wasn’t at home due to a ‘business meeting’ and his mother didn’t care what he did anyway. For once, he was grateful for that ignorance.

As 11 o’clock was approaching, Draco began to feel nervous. This seemed to happen quite often these days and that bothered him. He was a Malfoy and therefore had no reason to feel uneasy! On the other hand, maybe that was exactly the reason why he should be nervous. Stella Decartier was nothing if not a declared enemy of the Malfoy family. What if she kidnapped him and wanted his father to confess his crimes as an exchange for his son? Well, Draco thought with grim amusement, that would be a very unwise thing to do. My parents would probably send the Black Star their thanks for getting them rid of me in an easy way.

Ten minutes later Draco started to regret that he had eaten ham and eggs for breakfast. He hoped that they wouldn’t leave his body the way they had come in. At half past ten, Draco went over to his fireplace and took a handful of Floo Powder, noticing with irritation that his hands were shaking.

“Quit that,” he said to himself. “She needs you and therefore she’s not going to turn you into a rabbit and keep you as a pet!” Maybe not as a rabbit, but what about a ferret? – said an unpleasant little voice in the back of his mind. Draco decided to ignore it and threw the Floo Powder into the fire. He stepped in, muttering “Diagon Alley” and a few moments later he stumbled out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. He attempted to dust the soot off of himself but didn’t succeed entirely. After that, he went to look for the ‘Dancing Dragon’ . Diagon Alley was crowded by witches who were walking around in groups, chatting loudly and doing their week’s shopping. There were almost no wizards to see. Draco supposed they were at work. It took him a while to find the place he was looking for because it was small, stuck between ‘Madam Malkin’s Robes for Every Occasion’ and a newly opened shop for Magical Sports Supplies. For a moment, Draco was tempted to go and see whether there already was a broom that was better than Potter’s Firebolt, but it was 10.50 and he didn’t want to be late. So he turned to the small pub he was supposed to meet Stella in and examined the sign that bore the words ‘The Dancing Dragon’. However, it didn’t show a Welsh Green or another native dragon of Great Britain. The dragon on the sign was pearl – white. Just at that moment, it moved and fixed his shining red eyes on Draco who stared at it, fascinated. He wondered briefly what sort of dragon it was but then he remembered that he’d better go in. He pushed the door open and entered the pub.

And stared.

Whatever he might have expected, it hadn’t been this. The Dancing Dragon was like nothing he’d ever seen before and also nothing like its shabby outward appearance. It was too dark to see many details, but the first thing that caught Draco’s attention was the ceiling. Apparently, it was enchanted and it looked like the sky with swirling gray clouds moved by the wind. But it couldn’t be the same enchantment the Great Hall in Hogwarts had because it was a sunny, cloudless day outside. Draco realized that this gray-white ceiling was the only light in the Dancing Dragon. The room was immersed in a strange dim twilight that made everything look eerie and as if behind a wall of smoke. Everything save the ceiling was black: The walls, the floor, the chairs and the tables. The people looked like shadows with no faces. Draco would have been fascinated by this place if he hadn’t felt so intimidated.

Suddenly two tall shapes appeared at his sides and a voice said quietly, “Please follow me, Mr. Malfoy.” They had caught Draco off guard and it took him a moment to regain his wits. Who were they and where were they taking him?

“Who are you?” he asked sharply and wanted to say more, but the person who had spoken before interrupted him with a single commanding gesture.

“We’re members of Black Star and we will take you to the Head if you’re willing to come with us,” he (it was a man) explained shortly. He didn’t wait for an answer but just turned around and strode away. Having hesitated for a moment, Draco went after him, noticing that the other agent followed them both.

Draco was led through a narrow corridor where everything was black again, except for the ceiling. Then the man who had led him stopped beside a door. It looked normal but Draco had the feeling that in this room Stella Decartier was expecting him. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The sight of the room surprised him so much that he didn’t notice the brief light-green flash of light as he passed the doorposts. But Stella did notice it and was satisfied. The light hadn’t been deep green as it would have been if an entirely trustworthy person had stepped in, but light-green was better than she had expected. It meant that she could trust Draco – for now.

Draco’s attention was caught by the appearance of the room, so he didn’t notice Stella immediately. He looked around with wide eyes. The room was also dimly lit, but other than that, it bore no resemblance to the rest of the pub. It wasn’t immersed with the cold, smoky gray light but with a faint golden glow that came from the fireplace at Draco’s left. On his right, in the far corner of the room there was a small round table with two chairs. One chair was free and on the other one there sat a woman. Draco’s mind snapped back into reality and he looked at her with interest. He didn’t quite know what he had expected. An aura of power and authority, maybe. Or a radiant personality that would immediately catch the spectator’s attention. Stella had none of those, or perhaps she did, but just didn’t show it, Draco couldn’t say. What he realized was that there was more behind her calm manner than met the eye. It had to be because nobody could be the Head of a big organization when he or she were as normal and average-seeming as Stella was now. She stood up and extended her hand to Draco.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, smiling lightly at him, so that a little of his nervousness vanished. He was grateful for that and murmured something like, “Vice versa, Ms Decartier.”

Stella gestured him to take place and they both sat down on the chairs. For a moment, they did nothing except for surveying each other to get a first picture of the other one. For some reason, Draco didn’t fell awkward to look at her so openly, maybe because she was looking at him in the same examining way. He’d noticed before that she was a little taller than him and now he turned his attention to her face. It was surrounded by dark hair, shoulder-length, and had fine, regular features. Nothing outstanding, neither especially high cheekbones nor a crooked nose. Then their eyes met and Draco began to feel a little timid again. They were keen eyes, not unfriendly, but they sure could flash when Stella was angry. Draco couldn’t distinguish the color because of the dim light. All that he saw was that they weren’t completely dark. Stella was pretty, although not beautiful in a flamboyant way his mother had always been with her golden hair and bright-blue eyes.

Stella’s first thought at the sight of Draco had been, “He looks just like his father.” But by now, she’d corrected herself. It was true that Draco had inherited Lucius’ platinum hair and gray eyes, maybe also his pointed chin, but there the resemblance ended. Stella had known both his parents in Hogwarts and to her, Draco didn’t resemble Narcissa either, if you didn’t count the pale coloring that could also be the result of him never spending any time outside in the fresh air. One could also say that he’d inherited her way of moving, which was as graceful and elegant as a cats’. Narcissa had been known for it in school.

After they had been eyeing themselves for a while, Stella decided to start talking because it didn’t seem as if Draco was going to do that.

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy,” she began. “I think it will be the best if we talk openly. I do not need you. I came here out of mere curiosity, so I don’t intend to waste my time. If I like what you are going to say, I may stay long enough to hear you out. But be careful: Do not attempt to lie to me because then I’ll get bored. And when I’m bored, I become annoyed easily. You surely don’t want that.”

Draco shook his head. Stella’s voice had been calm and friendly, but he was well aware of the warning tone it had held. Of course, he couldn’t know that she did need somebody like him, otherwise he would have felt much less uncomfortable.

“Good. Then please tell me why you are so eager to betray your family and all of their friends and to work against them,” Stella inquired.

Draco winced slightly at the word ‘betray’. After all, he’d been raised with the opinion that family pride and honor always had to be primal. No matter how much the Malfoy family members hated each other, they would still stick together against enemies. Except for him. He was going to do the exact opposite. Draco took a deep breath.

“It will be a rather long story,” he pointed out.

Stella grinned. “Oh, I like long stories. Take all the time you want.”

So Draco launched into explaining. How he despised of Harry Potter and how he would do almost anything to have peace of him for the rest of his life. Only that he didn’t like the thought of Potter being murdered. That was why he’d come to her. She had the ways and powers to prevent that.

Stella, who had been listening carefully, interrupted him at that point.

“You could’ve also gone to Dumbledore or to Fudge. They would’ve probably consulted me anyway, but in convicting criminals, Fudge has the last word. My job is to find out about them and their activities and take them to court. I can’t influence the judges,” she said, but it wasn’t entirely true. That was what the public should believe the organization’s work was. It was more then that, however, and Draco knew it from what he’d heard from his parents and the Death Eaters.

“I’m sure you have your… well, ways to make them do what you want,” he said slyly, wanting her to know that he wasn’t so naïve she apparently thought he was, feeding him with such a fairy tale. Actually, Stella had been pretty sure he didn’t believe what the public should believe. But it had been worth a try, especially because his answer had given her basic information. He could’ve come by such knowledge only through his parents. There was a high possibility that Draco knew more than the truth about Black Star. Perhaps he knew something about the Death Eaters’ plans as well. If he did, then he could be useful for her.

“Maybe I have my ways,” she said vaguely. “But still, it would have been more logical for you to go to Dumbledore or Fudge. You know them better than you know me.”

Draco snorted contemptuously.

“Fudge’s so dumb he refuses to see that Voldemort’s rising again and I don’t like the old muggle-loving fool Dumbledore, either. You seemed the best option,” he said, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to and saying exactly what he was thinking. He realized what he’s just told her as Stella replied sarcastically, “Oh, I’m honored, young Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco froze and mentally slapped himself. He should have known better than to insult Dumbledore in front of one of his biggest supporters. He cast a cautious glance at Stella’s face to see if she was very irritated.

Frowning slightly, she remarked, “When I said I don’t want you to lie to me, I didn’t mean that you could insult my friends freely. You’ll have to learn when to speak the truth and when you’d better keep your mouth shut.”

Draco was a little confused. Did she say that because she could actually picture him as an agent? If so, then she’d sounded awfully vague. But this seemed to be a habit of her. His train of thought was again interrupted by Stella who posed another question.

“What caused you to rebel against your family? Surely it couldn’t be only your pity for Harry Potter.”

I don’t pity him, I just don’t want him dead, Draco thought sulkily, but resolved not to say that out loud. Instead, he began to explain his situation hesitantly. How he and his father hated each other. How his mother didn’t care for him at all. Then he realized that it sounded really melodramatic and reminded himself that it wasn’t exactly like that. He told Stella that Lucius did have moments when he was almost nice. They had been getting rarer over the years, however. But Draco could remember the day when his father had brought him a little Hebridean Black to play with. He’d been eight years old then and absolutely delighted by the baby dragon. After a month it had gotten quite big, so McNair had slain it, but still, Draco had appreciated the fact that Lucius had thought of his son’s enthusiasm about dragons and had brought him one. Also, he’d got Draco onto the House Quidditch Team which was probably only to preserve the family honor ( a Malfoy simply had to be on the House Team, no matter if it was because of their skill or money ), but Draco was glad anyway. He didn’t consider himself as a bad Quidditch player, either. For one year, he’d even had a better broom than Potter, thanks to Lucius. But by now, Draco had discovered that even the little bit of affection Lucius might have felt towards his son had vanished. Now he saw Draco only as somebody to work off his anger on.

Stella nodded slowly. The situation was clear. Draco wanted revenge and he found that the best way to do that was to get Lucius, Narcissa and their allies into prison. But that was easy to say and hard to achieve.

“Draco,” Stella said gently and her tone startled him. “It won’t be easy. You’ll have to work against everything that surrounds you at home. And I can’t promise you that they all won’t find out. But this uncertainty isn’t the worst part. Do you really think you can betray your parents? Do you care little enough for them to help to put them into prison or get them killed? Are you sure you won’t regret your decision?”

Draco leaned back thoughtfully. He was betraying his parents at the very moment anyway and so far, it hadn’t been so hard. Did he care for his parents? He wasn’t sure. Sometimes he did. But most of the time he didn’t at all. Would he regret his decision? He didn’t know. What he knew was that after having started to work against his parents, there would be no return. On the one hand was the memory of the baby dragon, Lucius’ laughter ( yes, he could actually laugh and sometimes it even sounded pleasant ) and all the material wealth he had through his parents. On the other hand there was Lucius’ face contorted with rage, Narcissa’s cold voice and the hours spent on his bed in pain. That was the deciding factor. Draco hated pain. He was sick and tired of experiencing it over and over again. He looked up and met Stella’s eyes that were gazing at him expectantly.

“Yes, yes and yes,” he said firmly.

Stella nodded. “Good. I’m glad we’ve sorted this out. Now listen carefully, I’m going to tell you what I’m expecting you to do. I want you to tell me everything you can find out about the activities, plans and intentions of your parents, the other Death Eaters and Voldemort.”

Sounds really simple as she says it, Draco thought slightly desperately. There’s only one problem: I have absolutely no idea how to do it.

Stella had apparently guessed what he was thinking.

“It’s possible to do, believe me. Quite a few people are doing it,” she told him reassuringly. “Of course,” she added thoughtfully, “I’ve never employed somebody as young as you are, but I suppose that won’t be our biggest problem.”

Oh, really? Well, how comforting, Draco thought acidly, wondering what the other problems were. He got the answer straight away.

“Of course,” Stella went on, “You can’t do the spying just like that. You’ll have to be trained.”

Draco’s mood sank. It would be like having school! In the holidays! He frowned.

“You can’t work in the Black Star without having received and successfully completed the training,” Stella pointed out. “So, do you still want to work for me?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, but with a tone that couldn’t be termed as very enthusiastic.

Stella shot him a doubtful glance and cocked one eyebrow. It reminded Draco of Narcissa and he found it unnerving.

“Yes,” he said again, now trying to sound more convincing.

“Okay. I’ll meet you here tomorrow, same time. Then we can talk about the training and your payment,” Stella told him and raised from her seat. Draco stood up as well, positively surprised. He hadn’t thought about payment before (which was quite unlike him), but he liked the thought of getting something pleasant for his work.

Stella went over to the fireplace and murmured some Latin words Draco didn’t understand. But he could distinguish the two last words that weren’t Latin: Malfoy Mansion. The fire flashed white for a moment and Stella turned around to face Draco.

“I have created a safe connection between your room at the Manor and this room. It can’t be observed and nobody will know when you use it and where the other end is – this fireplace here. To open the connection, you have to throw a bit of this into the fire and say Aperio ductum!” she said and handed him a box full of powder of such a violent shade of pink that Draco had to prevent himself from staring at it openmouthed.

Stella laughed briefly. “Don’t worry. It works despite its color,” she said and gestured him to try it out. Looking at the powder skeptically, Draco stepped in front of the fireplace and threw a handful of the pink substance into it. He said the spell and the fire became white again. Draco turned around and glanced at Stella. For a moment, he was tempted just to leave without saying goodbye as she had done the previous day, but instead he said (surprising himself by doing it), “Thank you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Malfoy,” Stella replied cheerfully. “See you tomorrow.”

After that, Draco stepped into the fire and was whirled away to his room, amused by the fact that the Head of Black Star had actually said ‘see you’ to him. Now if this isn’t a definite improvement, he thought mockingly, in some time she’s gonna worship the ground I’m walking on.

After Draco had gone, Stella sighed deeply and drew her hand through her hair slowly, feeling suddenly tired. The last month had been exhausting and the weariness still lay upon her. For a brief moment, she was tempted to stay in the Dancing Dragon and rest, but she had to go back to the Headquarters where she would be holding a meeting. Stella drew her wand and concentrated on the spell she was going to perform to get to the Headquarters.

“Per transitum clandestinum spatii me admitti et ad stellam atram me duc!” she said and the air in front of her wand began to whirl. It formed itself to a man-large vortex. Her spell had opened a secret passageway that always led to the Black Star HQ, no matter where you performed the enchantment. The reason for such a spell was the HQ’s location. Only a handful of people knew exactly where the building was. Most of the agents and even the employees that worked in the HQ building itself didn’t know the location and so the Crossing Spell, as it was called, was their only way to get there. For Stella it was the easiest and quickest way and she was grateful for its rapidity when the vortex spat her out at the HQ because it saved a lot of time. She shivered slightly which was understandable seeing that she’d come from a sunny, warm day in London to the HQ where it was freezing cold and where everything was covered with snow. But Stella wasn’t surprised at all. The weather never changed at that place in the North- west Territories, Canada, where the HQ were situated. To most people, that choice might seem strange, but it was actually a very well-chosen place. Due to the fact that in Black Star, security had always been primal, the HQ were highly protected. Enchantments similar to those of Hogwarts were put on it: It was unplottable and had various wards, including the Apparating- Ban. The founders of Black Star had also resolved to use the advantages the nature could offer to them and had built the HQ on a place where it was hard to locate and equally hard to access. So basically, the Crossing Spell was the only way to get there, but that wasn’t the end of the security precautions. The vortex didn’t take you inside the building, instead it spat you out in front of the entrance to the HQ grounds. That was where Stella was standing now. She glanced at the gate in the three-meter high fence that was made of steel. It was two-winged and at the top it bore the Black Star sign: In the foreground there was a black star with eight tips and behind it you could see the eight tips of the same star, only that this one was silver. Stella forced back the memories that always swept over her at that sight and approached the gate firmly. The two wings opened for her and Stella strode up the way to the building. It was almost as white and shiny as the snow that covered it and built in the style of the ancient Greek with Ionic columns and arcades. But that wasn’t the only thing that would catch a spectator’s attention. At the sides of the entrance door there were two huge statues made of gray stone: the Outer Guardians. They represented sitting wolves and they always made Stella smile, no matter how bad her mood might be. She stopped before entering and grinned up to the statues that were as tall as the entrance door itself (5 meters, that is).

“ Hello Oberon, hi Titania! What’s new? Snow’s still white?” she said, feeling somehow more cheerful than a minute ago. It might seem pointless to talk to stone statues, but a really attentive observant would have noticed the faint movement on the wolves’ stony expressions as an answer to Stella’s greeting. A twinkle? Maybe.

At last, Stella entered the HQ by stepping through the door into the Entrance Hall. The Entrance Hall was the exact opposite to the Dancing Dragon. Everything was made out of white marble, glass or shiny steel. At the beginning of the Hall there were two huge marble tables on each side of the door where two women with long, silky black hair were sitting. Isobel and Leticia were Banshee sisters and the Inner Guardians of the HQ. A special enchantment showed them every person that wanted to enter the grounds and if the person was permitted to pass, the Banshees would open the gate for them. The permission could be given by the Head or a First General and mostly, it was valid every time until that person was regarded as untrustworthy and dangerous. Now the sisters fixed Stella with the unwavering gaze of their black eyes that looked like bottomless wells of dark water and about as transparent.

“Buenos días!” Isobel said and Leticia nodded a greeting.

“Buenos días!” Stella answered with a smile and hurried to her office, making a mental note to learn Spanish some time in the future. She knew a few words, but she wanted to be able to converse with her Spanish employees in their own tongue. Plus, she liked the sound of Spanish. It was a beautiful language.

Having arrived in her office, she linked herself to the Vocatus- net and said softly, “ Sean, Amanda, I’m back. I suggest we discuss the Malfoy matter now, if you don’t have anything urgent to do.”

It seemed that they hadn’t because a few moments later, Sean Wraith and Amanda Latorre (who was Stella’s cousin from her mother’s side) appeared out of thin air. Stella gestured the two First Generals to take place on the chairs in front of her table and she sat down on her chair. Yes, there were indeed two First Generals. Intentionally. The Black Star hierarchy had some parallels to the old Roman Republic. When it came to the higher positions, there were always at least two people, mostly more. ‘First General’ was the second-highest rank and therefore double-filled. There had even been a second Head once.

Now two pairs of eyes were staring at Stella with close attention, one gray, one dark-brown.

“Well,” Stella began, “We’ve got a new trainee.”

The attention in Amanda’s eyes turned immediately to disapproval. Sean seemed to have much the same thoughts because he said, sounding severe, “ He’s a Malfoy, Stella. Do you really think it’s wise to trust him? He will probably double-cross us as soon as he can. I think we shouldn’t employ him.”

But Stella shook her head and told him and Amanda about the Trustworthiness Charms and Draco’s reasons to turn against his parents.

“He’s trustworthy for now. I think it will remain like that because his desire of revenge is great. That prospect of revenge stands and falls with Black Star and Draco Malfoy knows it. He won’t work against us,” Stella said, sounding far more convinced of it than she was. She still had her doubts about Draco but didn’t want to seem uncertain.

Amanda spoke her doubts out loud, however. “Maybe he wants revenge now but how can you know that it will stay like that? He’s a child, Stella. And like every child, he wants his parents to love him. They don’t do that, obviously, and so he wants to punish them for it. But what if he regrets his decision later?”

“He won’t,” Stella stated firmly.

Sean frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

Stella thought desperately of something convincing to say. Nothing came, however, so she said what had first popped into her mind.

“Because he said so.”

Both Sean and Amanda shot her such an incredulous ‘And you believed him?’- look that she would have laughed if it hadn’t annoyed her so much.

“There was a Lie-detecting Charm on the room he was in,” Stella pointed out sharply. “If he had lied, his hair would’ve turned purple. I didn’t, though. Ergo, he said the truth.”

Sean realized that for some unfathomable reason, Stella wanted to employ Draco Malfoy and so he refrained from saying that it had been the truth only because Malfoy had felt it at that particular moment. But his opinion could change and then he wouldn’t be reliable anymore. Amanda had the same thoughts but decided, too, to let Stella have her way. After all, both Sean and her knew Stella well and were aware of the fact that she was very careful in every matter that concerned the Black Star, even if that wasn’t her habit when it came to other things. They figured that she’d made precautions to notice if Malfoy’s trustworthiness would falter and so some of their worries vanished.

“But you know,” Sean said, sounding serious. “ If he turns against us, we’ll have to eliminate him.”

Stella gave him a broad, false smile that indicated she wasn’t taken to his idea at all and said with the same false friendliness that lay in her smile, “ Oh, of course. That will be your job, then.”

Her eyes flashed with irritation as she added, “Sometimes you have to believe people, even if it seems that you’ve got no reason to do that. But trust me, in some cases it’s worth to give them a chance.”

Amanda and Sean didn’t look particularly convinced, but they nodded and then disappeared to go after their own business. The next day, Stella met the silver-haired boy at the Dancing Dragon again.

The training of Draco Malfoy had begun.

*1995, present*

At that point, Stella’s mind snapped back to reality. There was a lot to do, so she’d better get a move on. Sighing, she pulled out a letter from one of her clients that consisted of three rolls of parchment.

“Probably full of complaints,” Stella thought, grimacing.

Ah well. Maybe she would go outside to take a look on how Draco and Sandro were doing instead. She could use something to cheer herself up.