PROLOGUE

The office that Draco was ushered into was small, boarded all over with dark wooden planks that smelled a bit damp and mossy around the edges. It was inadequately lit with a single naked bulb that descended from the ceiling, and a stubby candle affixed to the window pane that he suspected was there for effect more than anything else. The bulb cast a circle of light on the centre of the room, illuminating a rickety desk resplendent with ink stains and a few ball-point pens, a folder stuffed with sheaves of paper, a couple of chairs with faded upholstery and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey with a steel tumbler.

'This,' Draco said, a touch contemptuously, 'Is where you work?'

The man who had followed him into the room nodded. He was small and slight, with ginger-coloured hair under a plaid cap and a large overcoat drawn over dark robes. He shut the door behind them and gestured for Draco to take a seat.

'This is my office alright. I might not be one of them hot-shot lawyers up at the Ministry, but that isn't what you want, is it? I specialize in a bit of dirty work, done quietly, efficiently, with minimum fuss. If you don't need anything of that sort, you're welcome to leave.'

'I'm not leaving,' Draco said. He had taken a large handkerchief out of his coat pocket and was dusting at the chair that had been offered to him. 'You're perfect for the job I need, and I'm willing to pay any price.'

The ginger-haired man's eyes lit up and he swept his cap off his head. He sat down opposite Draco, and picked up a cigarette and lit it. 'Mind if I smoke?' he asked, once it was well-established in his mouth. 'Thought not. Now, tell me. What kind of work are we talking about?'

'Something of a delicate nature,' Draco said, refolding his handkerchief and replacing it in his pocket.

'Illegal, is it?' asked the ginger-haired man, nodding knowingly. To his surprise, Draco shook his head.

'Not illegal, no. Just something that I want done quietly and quickly. My partner gave me this and said you would help.'

He drew a business card out of his pocket and placed it on the table. On one side, the words Sinclair Avery was embossed, and on the other, an address and the name Peter Tahoe was scrawled with a wide-tipped quill.

The ginger-haired man's eyes widened.

'So, Avery sent you did he. Didn't realize he was in partnership with anybody. I'm Peter Tahoe alright. Avery's a well-established client of mine. We've been working together for years.'

Draco cocked an eyebrow. 'Have you now?'

'Well,' Peter conceded, 'To be fair I've only done a couple of jobs with him. Stuff of a standard nature- I'd tell you, but you know how antsy some people get about lawyer-client confidentiality. Let me just say it involved a couple of girls and pregnancy tests. Like I said, nothing fancy. But I was in association with his father for over ten years, right until- well, you must know what happened.'

Draco nodded.

'Yes, Avery Senior and me were very close,' Peter continued, somewhat reminiscently. 'Tell me, is it true his wife has taken to her bed and refuses to leave the room?'

Draco stiffened slightly. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Peter chuckled. 'Of course you wouldn't. You're blue blood too, aren't you? Secretive lot, all of you, and fiercely united when it comes to riff-raff like me, I've gathered. But I know it's true about Lady Avery. Talk spreads about town very easily. They say she's gone quite mad.'

'Tell me,' Draco said, quietly, 'is keeping up with idle gossip a part of your job description?'

Peter grinned broadly. 'You'd be surprised, Mr Malfoy,' he said, a faintly mocking quality entering his tone, 'Gossip has its own uses. You never know what one may pick up, and where it might come in handy. Take this little tidbit about Lady Avery for instance. I'd never use it against her, because the her son would be a part of me- what's the term I'm looking for- cliental. But there are other things- secret things, things that people would rather keep hidden that become vital to many of my operations. They might just save your skin this time, so don't look so outraged. Get back to the job at hand. What is it that you want me to do?'

Draco paused, as though collecting his thoughts.

'I want you,' he said, finally, 'To break a trust fund.'

Peter pursed his lips and placed his index finger against his chin. 'Tough,' he said, slowly, 'Very tough. I've worked with trust funds before, of course. Your lot has a bunch of them, I gather. But those have only been small fish- a hundred dollars or so here, perhaps five on loan. Breaking an entire fund would be goddamn difficult, because whoever owns it would have a bunch of fancy lawyers and bankers and financiers and god knows what other kind of crap guarding it with their lives. And you're wrong when you say it illegal, because breaking into someone's trust fund always is. You're siphoning off their money- sheer robbery. But that's never bothered me before, really. Let's get down to the details of it; was this trust fund established at birth?'

Draco nodded. 'That's right. A rather moderate sum that was supposed to compound to one million galleons when the owner turned twenty five.'

'How old is the owner now?' asked Peter, curiously.

'Twenty three.'

'Two years left then,' Peter said, slowly. 'Once it's in his hands, you won't be able to touch the money. Not that I'm saying breaking a fund is much easier than stepping right into someone's Gringott's Vault- that isn't my point at all. But when it comes to funds, there are so many lawyers and bankers involved that one never knows what the other's up to. It's got potential, I'll say that much. But it isn't easy.'

Draco sighed. 'You're rambling,' he said, coldly, 'Look, if this is about the money, let me settle your mind on that matter.'

He reached down to the knapsack he had been carrying and took out a a handwoven bag which he tossed onto the table. It had the Gringotts symbol printed on one side, and clinked invitingly as it landed. Peter's eyes lit up immediately.

'How much is it?' he asked, leaning forward.

'Five hundred galleons,' Draco said, carelessly. 'And that's only half the amount. You'll get the other half once you deliver the goods. I want this fund to be broken in one month's time, and you will be paid in cash because I don't want to have to explain to my mother why I'm siphoning off a thousand lawyer when our family's clamoring with legal teams of its own.'

'Sounds reasonable,' said Peter, who's eyes hadn't once left the little sack. 'Whose trust fund do you want me to break?'

The candle flickered suddenly, casting a sudden harsh light on Draco's face. It dissipated slowly and he smiled.

'Mine.'

Theodore Nott frowned as his eyes raked the letter his owl had just delivered.

He had been disconcerted when Maximus had flown in through his window this late in the evening; the letters generally came only in the hours between breakfast and lunch. He had been sitting in his library, poring over some copies of ancient maps unearthed in an Aztec loft that his uncle had sent him, when it had arrived. He was just finishing it, and making note of the neat signature at the bottom, when his mother swept into the room.

Lady Nott was forty-three years old, but still one of the most beautiful women that the social circles of London had seen. When she was a young girl, her father had been certain that her face would marry her well and he was right. At the tender age of nineteen she had been claimed by one of the most sought-after bachelors at the Pureblood debutante occasions. Aldrich Nott had been been instantly enamored by her porcelain skin, wide-set blue eyes and corn-coloured hair. Twenty years later, much of that charm had been retained by her face, although a few fine lines had appeared beneath her eyes and at the creases of her mouth. Her eyebrows were pleasantly winged, her nose elegantly sloped and her hair was tacked up above her neck with an amethyst studded claw-clutch She was wearing a white dress with a richly embroidered shawl thrown across her shoulders, and was looking pleasantly occupied with some task.

'Teddy my love, did you put that catalogue from Malkins somewhere? I have to ask them to replace that burgundy wrap they sent over last week. I looked at it a bit carefully this morning, and I'd afraid the edges are rather frayed. I don't know what the ladies at the Business Club will think if they see me dressed like this.'

Theodore frowned heavily, and tossed the letter towards her.

'I don't think you need to worry, mother. We won't be going to Moscow after all.'

His mother paused and turned her attention away from the search for the catalogue. Her expression was slightly bemused.

'What on earth do you mean, Teddy? The tickets are booked. I've told your Aunt Marsha to expect us in two weeks. What more could you possibly-'

'The Ministry,' Theodore interrupted, 'Doesn't approve. Have a look at that letter. It was sent here a few minutes back, signed by the Department of Surveillance.'

Theodore watched his mother's expression tighten as she heard the name. She held the Department of Surveillance in as much contempt as he did. She pulled a pair of pince-nez from a change around her neck and perched them on her nose as she glanced through the letter. Theodore marvelled how she immediately switched from social butterfly mode to the astute and capable lady that she really was.

'So,' she remarked, dryly, 'Hermione Granger's up to her nonsense again, is she?'

'As always,' Theodore said, the anger in his voice barely repressed. 'Of all the gall. That department's been keeping an eye on us for six years now, you'd think they wouldn't have waited until afterthe tickets were booked-'

'That isn't the point,' Lady Nott said, slowly. She glanced over the letter again. 'Hermione Granger isn't unreasonable, however completely a bitch she may be. There must be some reason behind putting us off Moscow.'

'Which there isn't,' Theodore said, obstinately.

'She's being rather foolish,' his mother agreed, thoughtfully. 'All our closest friends and relatives know that we're going there simply to meet papa's old Business Club relatives. If Granger's actuallypreventing us from going to Russia, there's something bigger behind this. She suspects us of something.'

Theodore's expression had altered slightly. 'What do you think that is?' he asked.

'Perhaps she thinks we're trying to network with your father's old friends. Maybe she thinks we're in touch with old Death Eater associates.'

'That's ridiculous!' Theodore spat. A trace of fear had crept in behind his anger.

'I know, Teddy. Don't worry. I'll go and see this horror of a girl tomorrow and try and knock some sense into her.'