"You're late," alleged Potter, not even giving Draco the decency to look at him, the man's bespectacled gaze on the file in his hand.

"I know," Draco grumbled, leaning back in his chair and tossing his quill to the side. Mission reports be damned! Honestly, how in the hell was he supposed to write ten pages on nothing. The mission was a complete waste of time. Felix was not in Bremen like Potter's German source had promised, the lying twit! He and Weasley were forced to camp a quarter of a mile away from a cabin that was supposedly housed their suspect. For two days and two nights, they waited. For what, Draco wasn't sure. All he knew was that his ginger-haired partner brought pails and pails of food made by his sexy wife and wasn't partial in sharing, the selfish toad!

"Weren't those the clothes you wore yesterday?" Potter asked in revulsion.

"Of course not," lied Draco and kicked up his feet to rest them on the desk, giving the impression of laziness and cool composure. "Besides your allegation of my tardiness, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Potter?"

"No, I'm positive those rags were the ones you had on yesterday. Walk of shame, Malfoy? Actually spent a whole night with Hannah's new barmaid?"

Pursing his lips, Draco rehashed the memory of being slapped a good one from Whatshername who worked at the Leaky Cauldron when she invited him back to her place for drinks.

And she really meant for drinks.

Like coffee because ironically, she doesn't drink alcohol.

The moment Whatshername and Draco entered her cozy little cottage, he cupped her face and kissed her passionately. This led him into discovering that she also didn't put out unless someone bought her dinner first. Yes, Whatshername was one of those chits Draco was almost unable to afford.

After that humiliating adventure was when he apparated to Theo's place, and then things got sadly sobering. He still stood by the unfair notion that his mate got to Granger before he did. Gods, he didn't even know the man fancied her.

"Jealous, Potter? Does the missus boot you out of the bedroom when she's done defiling your manky body? Can't even bask in the sunrise together?" he smarmily inquired, using his jealousy to fuel the disgust in his tone.

A not so lovely sneer morphed on his boss's face. Potter then closed the file he had in his hands and shook it pointedly, growling, "You results came this morning, Malfoy, as did Ron's."

Draco stilled and then hastily stood up, smoothing out his wrinkled tie. "And?" he urged, his voice trembling.

Please, please, please! he chanted internally, wanting very much to hop up and down like the floor was on fire.

"And it's going to Thomas," finished Potter coolly and tossed the file on Draco's desk.

"Thomas?" Draco barked incredulously and seized the discarded file. "You've got to be joking." He flipped open the folder and skimmed his tests results and muttered, "Shit," underneath his breath. He missed one question concerning a theoretical situation and what his instincts would have been to ratify the problem.

"The board and I discussed it carefully, Malfoy. Off the record, Thomas' score was perfect, so he will be getting the position as the Head of Field Division."

Closing his eyes, Draco leaned his head back and whispered, "Bullocks."

"You should be grateful, Malfoy. Ron was one right answer away, too. Imagine if it had been him. I doubt you'd be so quiet and practically passive." Potter took of his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his white-button up shirt. "But am I sorry. I know how badly you wanted that position."

Potter went to leave, but Draco had to ask. "Before you go, I want to know if the reason I didn't get the job was strictly upon my answer and not my past transgressions."

The man cocked his head to the side and leaned his side against the doorframe of Draco's doorway. "Would you believe me if I said no?"

"I guess not," Draco said softly, inwardly cursing the man's existence. Even if Harry Potter were to die an unfortunate death, there would still be the bloody Board.

What did it matter, though? It was only a job. A higher paying job with more benefits and control.

"Besides, Malfoy, you're good in the field. You are my best Auror. You don't hesitate which is great, and you know when a fugitive isn't worth bringing in alive. But you're not ready to call the shots yet."

"Spare me of your uplifting nonsense and give the rest to Weasley," Draco bitterly spat, unable to bear more of Potter's condescending speech. "He'll be more peeved, I assure you."

Which meant annoying struggles in the field. Weasley was a decent Auror, but his biggest flaw was letting his own mistakes get the better of him. The humiliation stung his pride, thus, significantly lowering his confidence. A Dark Wizard isn't all that impressed if an Auror loses his cool and starts stuttering out lame threats.

When Potter left him to his thoughts, Draco considered losing his own cool and threaten resignation if he wasn't given at least a raise in salary for Salazar's sake. But if the sod didn't take the bait, then he would be without a job and would be financially crippled.

Maybe he could go back to school.

He snorted. Going back meant having gone before. Uni had not seemed like a pleasant idea after that eighth year repeat, but he could go now. It was all the rage for old blokes getting their degree, and Draco wasn't that old. Twenty-eight was still young-ish. Depending on who you asked…and where.

Plus, one needed finances when going to uni. Loans were a possibility, but Draco refused to be the laughing stock of Gringotts. He could just imagine those hideous goblins sniggering to each other in their low, ugly voices about how a Malfoy had to take out a bloody loan to go to school.

A knock on his open door roused Draco from his bad ideas. He looked up and saw a rigid, thirty something gentlemen dressed smartly in an expensively tailored suit with polished shoes. Smirking, he drawled, "Potter's office is three down and is partial being the bottom."

"Tempting," the bloke said in a Yankee, deadpanned voice. He entered the office and closed the door behind him, triggering Draco's fingers to reach for his wand in the holster underneath his desk. "But I'm here to speak with you. About your test results from the exam you recently took."

"Are you from the board?" Draco rushed out and the man shook his head no.

"No, in fact," he smirked lightly and stole a chair across from the other wizard, "I have nothing to do with the Auror program."

Eying the man curiously, Draco kept his fingers on his wand and asked, "Who are you?"

The man slid his hand into his coat pocket, and Draco yanked his wand out of the holster, wasting no time in pointing it the man's head. Unperturbed by the threat, the man fished out small rectangular piece of paper that resembled a business card and offered it to Draco.

"What is that?" he inquired.

"An offer," the man simply stated and then clarified slowly and knowingly, "A job offer."

"I have a job, thanks."

"That will take you nowhere, Mr. Malfoy." The man flicked the card on the desk and stood up from his seat, backing towards the door. Before exiting he requested, "There's an address, date, and time. Come alone."

Once the man left, Draco picked up the card and examined the lack of words, wryly whispering, "I usually do."

Sitting in front of the fireplace with a glass of century old scotch he nicked from the manor on his last visit, Draco studied the blank card wedged between his forefinger and middle finger. In the background, he overheard his girlfriends in the bedroom eagerly starting the party without him again which was fine. He'd become accustomed to not being resentful and adopted a mode of self-pity instead. How many blokes bragged about making two perfectly straight young women in becoming intimate with each other?

Touching the crisp, sturdy card to his lips, Draco whispered, "Ostendo."

A riddle appeared on the card, the words in Latin. He knew the answer to it halfway through the passage: a picture frame. However, he was unsure whether to announce it to the card as of yet. The man who came to his office that morning did not say who he was with, but from the sounds of it, he may be from Unspeakable Department. Getting all dodgy and purposefully vague was their style.

A job offer, the man had said which rung loud and clear in Draco's skull, and it was true that his employment with the Auror program wasn't taking him anywhere. Thomas had got Draco's ticket out from under the oppressing thumb of Potter and the Board. Unless the bloke kicked off soon, striving for bonuses was going send him to an early grave.

Either way, being an Auror for the rest of his life was not something Draco could tolerate.

"Picture frame," he said to the card. The Latin etchings shimmered away and was replaced with elegant cursive writing that stated,

9:38 P.M.

Hogwarts Astronomy Tower

Thursday, April 11th

Bloody hell!

Draco checked his watch and leapt to his feet. How was he supposed to make it to bleedin' Scotland in ten minutes? It was out of apparating bounds, damn it!

But if he could Floo…

Which he was unable to do from his flat. His Visually Charmed furnace was only to keep the ambiance of his humble abode pleasant in appearance. It was able to make calls, but no one could step in or out of the flames, that was for damned sure.

Another possibility was illegally casting the Portus Charm on an object which would take him to Scotland. He wouldn't get arrested for it, though, just an angry Howler from a cubicle-dwelling sod in the lower division of law enforcement who took his job way too seriously. Also, an eye-roll from Potter was bound to occur.

Draco chose the card to become the victim of the Portus, but when his when his wand touched the paper, the familiar hooking sensation behind his stomach tugged and he was travelling through time and space, landing gracelessly on a stone floor, looking up at the semi-familiar scene of the Astronomy Tower. He hadn't paid a visit in nearly a decade, so it wasn't like it was affable to him.

Groaning, he curled up into a sitting position, his wand tightly gripped in his hand. His mind was on high alert. The business card acted as a direct portkey into Hogwarts grounds which was supposedly impossible. Since the fall of the Dark Lord, the school attained more protective charms than a UPA after a terrorist attack, thus, reminding Draco if he ever came across Felix Gérard again, he'd say the spell necessary to prevent that man from repeating the same horror that struck so many innocents.

"You're early," a voice stated melodically from the dark. Training kicked in and Draco gracefully climbed to his feet.

The hidden man's tone was older, deeper but like the bloke from the office, the accent was American. Though it wasn't unheard of that the Yanks sometimes worked with the Brits; indeed, it had been them who came in and took over after the war and purged the ministry, neutralizing any possible suspect holding on to the Dark Lord's beliefs. Their dominating dealing with the politicians and ministry employees were cold and aloof and downright humiliating. It was like having a flock of spry young offspring return home and fix the mess their estranged parents had let happen in the home.

Kingsley had given a quote to the new and improved Daily Prophet by saying, "We did the same for them many years ago. Their debt is repaid, and we shall move on with our new and improved Ministry of Magic."

Minister Kingsley was referring to the collapse of what was then called the Union Ministry where the entire magical government fell apart from extreme racial issues which had nothing to do with Blood Status but ethnicity. It had something to do with a bloody Muggle Civil War that seeped its wretchedness into the Magical community, thus, instigating conflict there, as well. The magical armies of both sides damned near wiped each other off the bloody face of the planet. When the Union Minster was offed, word got back to Britain and a battalion put a halt to the hostilities and threatened to take back the independence their Muggle ancestors unknowingly claimed for them if the fighting didn't seize immediately. The last remaining survivors of both American armies were enraged by this threat but saw it futile to argue. They had extinguished their numbers to the brink of extinction and were no match for a well-prepared army of perfectly trained combat wizards. The Americans had little choice but succumbing to the forced reform.

The reorganizing did little to soothe the hatred brewing between the two American parties. If anything, it angered the southern half of the States even further when the British and the Northern states outlawed human enslavement and prevention of all (with the exception of women of any origin) ethnicity from purchasing a wand and attending school. The minorities were ecstatic, but racism from then and currently were still issues the Yanks faced.

Much to the chagrin of the female population, ladies were prohibited from doing much other than lying back and thinking of freedom until the early 1900s.

Draco inwardly snorted at the thought. And those bastards called England 'old fashioned', the hypocrites.

"Yeah, well, I was excited," Draco said lightly, commenting on the hidden man's statement. He coughed uncomfortably and peered through the darkness, a small beacon of light from the moon shining through the Astronomy Tower. Wand still strained out in front of him, he watched for movement.

"Do you recognize where you are, Mr. Malfoy?" the man asked.

"It's the Astronomy Tower, obviously." Draco frowned and turned around, wondering if the man's voice was coming from behind him.

"Do you know why we are here?"

"To discuss a job offer, but I have to say your lack of etiquette is dissuading me. It's usually proper to face the contender when conducting a job interview, Mister…"

"The job is yours if you want it. I wouldn't have sent Todd to gather you if I didn't want you."

Whipping his head to the side, Draco swore the voice was coming from his right. He silently crept towards the darkest part of the tower and would cast a lumos if he wasn't keen on playing this bastard's game, but it had been too long since Draco played a proper game of snake and mouse.

Besides the money the Auror bonuses offered, the hunt was the second reason Draco thrived for them.

"Then why go to such extremes? Why not have Todd tell me I'm hired right away and save us both an unnecessary trip to Scotland."

"Ah, but it is not unnecessary, Mr. Malfoy. In fact, it is quite obligatory, this meeting. Do you know why we are here?" repeated the man. "Why the Astronomy Tower was chosen for our meeting? Look around, son."

Draco surveyed the area behind him, positive the man's voice was coming from over there near the trickle of moonlight. Spryly, he slithered over and around the corner and came face-to-face with a man close to his sixties standing in front of the balcony. He wore a midnight black suit, perfectly tailored like the Todd bloke and was rather tall and broad shoulder for an aging gentleman. One hand was in his trouser pocket and the other was holding his wand loosely between his fingertips at his side.

"Once before you've been in the same position at this very spot," the man said knowingly, causing a paralyzing tremor to overcome Draco. Dread swept over him as he soaked in his surroundings.

Great Gods, how could he have forgotten?

Bile burned its way up his esophagus. When it licked at the back of his throat, Draco swallowed it with a glare and hoarsely confirmed, "So I have."

The man stepped towards him, the stream of moonlight capturing the features of his face which seemed carved out of stone. He dug his heel into the stone flooring and turned, beginning a pace.

"You, Mr. Malfoy, have a habit of hesitating at life's most crucial moments."

Brows cinching together, Draco frowned at the accusation, his wand wavering. Was the man addressing an event he wasn't even present for, the utter prick?

Appalled by the audacity of the man's words, Draco hissed out, "What are you saying? Are telling me I should've gone through with it? Killed him? It wouldn't have mattered. The war would have ended the same, bloody and unfair."

The man stopped his pacing and turned towards him, his hands resting behind his back. "Perhaps you are right, son, but the night you were up here, you hesitated. Changed history. Yours and maybe even all of England's. I've read your file, Mr. Malfoy, and we've been watching you for a long time."

"Who's we?" asked Draco, sharply. "The Unspeakable Program?"

The man chuckled throatily. "Not so much, no."

"Then who are you? I demand a straight answer."

"We are not part of one ministry…or of any government but all of them. We are an agency, if you will, formed as the result of non-magical attacks on international communities."

"I haven't heard about any of these attacks," protested Draco, considering the man could very well be a high-profile quack. If that were the case, then he'd gladly escort him to the law enforcement division at the ministry and catch a few winks before work tomorrow.

"They are silent. The English, French, American, and Russian ministers do not want the masses to know. It would cause an epidemic. An uprising. International wars between the Magical and the Muggle. If you want to talk about wars ending bloody and unfair, imagine one consisting of our people with theirs."

Draco's shoulder was growing tired. Confident the man wasn't going to hex or kill him as of yet, he lowered his wand and rolled his aching joint with a wince. "Say I believe you. Are you telling me that Muggles are trying to invade?"

"They already have."

Draco's lips twitched and he scoffed, shaking his head. "Muggles don't know about us, and they most certainly cannot get passed the Muggle Repel Charms."

"You may be unaware, Mr. Malfoy, but their leaders are required to know about us. Even your Muggle Prime Minister is aware."

"I know that, but I see little connection as to how that means those blithering Muggles are invading. What? Are they sending spies in to monitor us?" Draco chortled and shook his head. The man was a stark raving lunatic, and they said that Americans were sensible folk. No, the last thing Draco ever needed was to get mixed up in a paranoid infested group that was targeting a race. He did that once, and he was still paying for it.

"Yes," the man replied coldly. "They are."

The bloke seemed pretty convinced Muggles were dwelling among them, and Draco debated which spell would be best to incapacitate him, so they both arrived at St. Mungo's unscathed.

"You still don't believe me," he said and then ironically chuckled, tilting his head back lazily. "Fair enough, but what if I told you Muggles aren't sending Muggles to spy on us. What if I said they're sending in witches and wizards, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I've done my best in staying polite, but now I'm at my limit. You need help, and I highly suggest you get yourself a psych evaluation. Good night. I must be leaving. Thank you for the job offer, but no thanks. What it sounds like to me is that you have bigotry issues that I'd rather not get caught up in, so good night, sir. I'll even do you a favor and not alert the school about a strange man inside the boundaries…that is if you leave within in the next thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds?" laughed the man, making no move to leave. "Always hesitating…even though that Potter said differently. For a war hero, that boy is certainly too kind. It's goddamn miracle he hasn't died yet."

"Leave." Draco aimed his wand, targeting the man's forehead. "Or I will make you leave."

The man stroked his beard and said, "I apologize for boring you, son. You obviously want me to get to the point of this conversation. Fine. Muggle-born witches and wizards are being tracked down and recruited by their Muggle governments. Then they are ordered to come here, spy, report, and eliminate if necessary."

"Eliminate?" repeated Draco, the corners of his mouth twitching in mirth. "Bullocks, I tell you. At first I thought you were insane, but now I'm afraid you may be contagious. I think you are far past help, my friend. Muggle-borns? Really? No Muggle-Born would ever agree to spy for the Muggles. They are a part of the magical community, and it would be-"

"Treason," finished the man, nodding solemnly. "But you are wrong. Muggle-Borns all over the world are agreeing to put their Muggle heritage and loyalty in front of their natural magical right. They are putting in danger the people of our world."

The morbidity of his tone caused Draco to take a step back. As an Auror, it was common in coming across radicals who believed in unimaginable things. They were often dangerous, and sometimes it was better, safer, to put them down rather than take them in to custody.

Draco's training told him to gain the man's trust by letting him talk before actually shooting a hex or a curse at him. It seemed best to catch the man off guard. The blond then asked, "Like I said, no Muggle-Born would do that. But if by chance I'm wrong, why would they do that? Why bite the hand that feeds them?"

"Why does anyone become a traitor? Because they found a more giving hand. It's all politics and money, Mr. Malfoy. Things I'm sure your father taught you to appreciate."

He made a valid point. Nothing talked louder than gold and power, and together they were intoxicating things to behold.

"Say what you want about Muggle-Borns, Mr. Malfoy. They're not that much different from the older magical families. All you've got to do is give them a good enough reason to work in your favor, and they will do it."

Draco nodded, half-listening. "So my job would be what exactly? Pick out the spies and report them to the ministry and have them sent to prison for treason?"

"We know the spies," the man said loftily. "Most of them anyway. It would be your job to neutralize them."

Draco stilled at his words. Was this barmy codger actually asking him to kill people?

"Tempting, isn't it?" The man smirked and fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting the tip with a finger before placing it in his mouth.

"Not really," Draco murmured and used his free hand to scratch his forehead. Yes, by becoming an Auror, there were certain decisions he was obligated to make. To put it plainly, yes he had taken lives, but always out of self-defense in the field. What this man was asking him to do was murder. Or perhaps a less vulgar but much more dangerous term—assassinate.

"Come now, Mr. Malfoy. Imagine all the good it would bring. Safety for your family, your friends, your allies. These spies are committing serious offences. They are killing and betraying the system. Both of these crimes are worthy of capital punishment."

"Then they should be brought in and put on trial for their crimes. I'm not a hit wizard. I don't kill unless the enemy forces my hand."

The man sucked in sharply and then exhaled the rancid fumes of his fag. He nodded pensively and shrugged. "Well, I thought I had to at least give it a try. I had thought you would have more balls, kid. Smart-mouth brats like you always trying to prove how tough they are."

"I'm afraid I'm not like that anymore. If you'll excuse me, I plan on returning home."

"Of course. Do me a favor, please. Don't mention our meeting to anyone."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Draco said. No one would believe him anyway. The last thing he needed was to go yammering about murderous American wizards and Muggle-Borns spies. He'd look like a raving lunatic, and that'd make Mother upset and Father sniff in dismay.

"But if you change your mind," the man handed him a card similar to the one Draco was given before. He lowered his wand and accepted the offering hesitantly. "Contact me."

A/N: Read and Review, please! :)