Disclaimer: I wish it was mine.

The New Spy: Wrackspurts

Honeysuckle and new robes underneath a glowing moon. Their heads, like three bright beacons, bobbing through the streets. Even though he had spotted some hard-faced aurors loitering in different alcoves of the Alley, he couldn't believe the level of carelessness the Golden Trio had. They had pranced through the world as if they owned it. If only they understood who owned the world, now. Perhaps the Dark Lord wouldn't have felt the need to take such extreme measures as he was taking now.

Maybe Severus Snape would still be alive today.

Draco had lost his Father to Azkaban and his godfather to the hands of a mass-murder in the span of one summer. What had they lost? Nothing. Sirius Black, he'd heard, from Aunt Bella's mouth as it frothed about murdering her hated cousin; but he was just another soldier in war. Insignificant to Potter, Weasley and Granger. Their summer was lazy and careless… in fact, their summer was good. Wizarding Britain was no longer against Potter—the newspapers finally printed about the Dark Lord. He was at large. Like Black had been, not two years ago.

How much simpler life had been then.

Hoping Potter would be caught by this alleged serial killer and getting his Father to convict a hippogriff to death. Which, now that Draco thought about it, wasn't a particularly proud point in his life. But it was better than now.

The Dark Lord's lessons involved torture—that were heavily inspired, but not limited to, the Cruciatus Curse—as well as his expectations for Draco's Sixth Year. His grades were the least of his concerns… in fact, they were completely irrelevant. Befriend the Mudblood, the Dark Lord had said. She would trust him the easiest. Then, she would reel in the blood traitor spawn and Potter himself. Tell them about what he was forced to do. Dumbledore would get involved, of course, as he would dig his crooked fingers into an opportunity when he saw one. Aunt Bella had conducted her own sessions on Draco, which, if possible, were far worse than the Dark Lord's. She was intent on teaching him Occlumency; by the first of September, through excruciating trial and error, he had refined his ability to shield his thoughts.

Now Draco stood on platform 9¾, flanked by the ever faithful Crabbe and Goyle. His only regrets about leaving his home was the fact that his Mother was alone, where psychopaths could trot in and out when they pleased. If he hadn't known how skilled of a witch she was, he would've tried to convince her to run away or get some sort of protection. As it was, Narcissa Malfoy was perfectly capable of defending herself, which involved not getting in the way in the first place. She had been a Slytherin, after all.

The platform was nowhere near as cluttered, crowded nor hectic as he was dreading on his way here. It was when he watched anxious parents coveting their children into tight groups, while students, new and old, cast their eyes about wearily, that he suddenly wished it was cluttered, crowded and hectic. There was a heavy hum as people murmured, not daring to speak louder than they had to. Clenching his jaw, Draco advanced forwards, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind him. He had spotted some familiar faces: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson.

When his trio met the other trio, Pansy launched into him. Sneering, he pried off her fingernails digging into his shoulders; she gave him a pout, backing out of his personal space. Those long lashes of hers fluttered over her sharp eyes.

"Draco," she purred. "How was your summer?" The Dark Lord expected him to act weak in front of the Mudblood, but he never said anything about his own friends. So Draco smirked, straightening his back and brushing off his robes. From behind Pansy, Theo was grinning and Blaise was watching him cooly.

"It was successful," he drawled smoothly. "There's much to discuss. I've been offered an… opportunity." Pushing down the urge to gag at the word, Draco forced his smirk to grow wider. Despite the appearances that they gave (Pansy as an air-headed flirt, Theo as the class entertainer and Blaise as quietly unremarkable) all three of his friends were incredibly witty. As such, they all gave indications that they knew just what type of opportunity he was referring to.

Blaise's lips thinned.

Pansy pouted with simultaneously narrowed eyes: "Been playing with someone new, Draco?"

Theo was laughing nervously at her comment, his arms now crossed. "He never seemed the type, did he?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Draco asked coolly, adopting his Mother's favourite tone. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle reminded them that they were present by cracking their knuckles. Uncrossing his arms, Theo raised his hand and ruffled his sandy hair nonchalantly. Whatever anxiety he had before was gone.

"Nothing," Theo said simply.

As if on cue, the cry of the Hogwarts Express put an end to the conversation. As Draco turned to face the railway, Pansy had started chattering animatedly to Theo (who dove readily into the distraction). The Mark on Draco's left arm tingled slightly; initially he panicked and thought he was being called upon, grabbing it from over his long sleeve. But when his eye slid to the right, Blaise was the only of his friends not talking… he was, in fact scrutinizing Draco. More specifically, the arm he was gripping. Releasing it quickly, Draco snapped his eyes back to the train coming to a stop in front of them.

It's no fun at all, now, he thought bitterly. He couldn't even brag about being a servant to the Dark Lord to his friends because they were too bloody perceptive. And if their reactions were anything to go by, they didn't exactly seem to approve, either. Where was all that talk in the common room about becoming Death Eaters and conquering the Wizarding World? Of course, then, Draco was the only one privy to the Dark Lord's return. His Father was one of the inner circle—along with Crabbe and Goyle's fathers.

He remembered when that had seemed like a privilege. A month ago felt like so much longer.

Blinking, Draco followed suit of his friends and entered the opened door of the train. While they all lugged their trunks onto the train, he carried his small briefcase in his sweaty palm. Apart from some robes, quills and parchment, he hadn't needed anything else. It wasn't school that he was going to. It was a mission. A mission that, should he fail, could result in his Mother's death—nobody, regardless of how intelligent they may be, can outrun the Dark Lord.

This year, he needed to make Granger… feel sympathy for him. That should've been easy enough, except, in Diagon Alley, he had no idea how to approach her about his 'predicament'. As he shuffled behind Pansy's dancing silk of hair, scanning for empty compartments, he mused on Granger surrounded by books under the moonlight. He'd tried staring at her until she got pissed enough to interact with him, but then Potter took her place… so he realized that to get her alone would be easier. That had been easier than he'd expected. A simple tearing charm on her backpack, and instead of waiting for her like he expected Potter and Weasley to do, they'd left her staggering behind them with her precious books.

His plan had been perfectly set.

Except, he was at a complete loss of words. So as she gaped at him like a fish, he racked his brains for something to say. Without seeming suspicious. Because why would he, all of a sudden, start being amiable towards her? Even Weasley, who had less brain power than Crabbe and Goyle combined, would be able to sniff something out of him.

Diagon Alley had been a practice. He couldn't afford many more of those.

They went back and forth across the entire length of the train three times before Theo let out a triumphant laugh, opening a compartment that Draco presumed was empty. As Theo strutted in, Blaise cooly followed behind, though Pansy paused in the doorway. Draco's head twitched to the curtains drawn over its windows; as he approached behind Pansy, he looked over her shoulder and frowned. Loony Lovegood was watching them airily from the window seat, with a ridiculous pair of glasses on, from over her shoulder. Opposite her, the Weasley girl was glowering up at them. Theo had already made himself comfortable next to Lovegood, while Blaise hovered near Weaslette. She looked like she was just about ready to bite him.

With Crabbe and Goyle literally breathing down his neck, Draco's tone was icy. "Perhaps we should go somewhere else?"

"It's no bother," Lovegood said dreamily.

"It is," the other girl snapped, and for once in his life Draco found himself relating to a Weasley.

"It really isn't," Theo drawled, facing her fiery face. "Besides, there's nowhere else to go." Even though Draco had certainly recalled seeing several compartments with a few lone First Years. It was a power game, now. Slytherins liked those. Not being able to resist, Pansy threw her trunk into the other rack and plopped herself next to Theo; she tilted her head back and gave Draco a coy smile. Blaise, after another moment of hesitation, perched himself on the seat furthest away from Weasley.

Draco opened his mouth to argue again, but then Crabbe or Goyle shoved him into the compartment. Whipping around to snarl at them, Crabbe simply shrugged before him and Goyle shoved their trunks onto the bulging racks and then wedged themselves between Blaise and Weasley. Her face was now as red as her family's signature hair.

"We're tired, Malfoy," Goyle answered insolently. Faithful his arse. Scowling, Draco considered threatening to leave them here to find a suitable compartment—but then that would mean hanging out with the likes of Pucey and the Greengrasses, and he would rather undergo another of his Aunt Bella's sessions than endure that.

So he sat stiffly next to Pansy, his briefcase on his lap. The compartment was uncomfortably silent as students passed looking for places to sit, and while the train finally started up. Crabbe had started picking at his fingernails, much to the Weaslette's disgust. Blaise kept sneaking glances across Draco's goons, but when he saw Draco watching, he looked pointedly at his left arm. Sneering, Draco peered over at Pansy examining herself in a mirror; Lovegood seemed to be having a staring contest through her stupid glasses with Goyle, who blinked back like a gorilla. Theo, the right git, had retrieved a book from his trunk and was now reading it.

He wouldn't, however, be Draco Malfoy if he didn't seize an opportunity when it presented itself.

"The Dark Lord is back," he announced, as if he was the only person with that information. The transformation was instantaneous: his friends stiffened and the Wealette's fists clenched. Only Loony Lovegood seemed undisturbed. "I wonder how long it will take him to get to Potter."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Weaslette growled. In this moment, she reminded him so much of her brother that he nearly rolled his eyes. "You talk like your daddy and his mates didn't get beat up by a bunch of teenagers—" Draco sneered, deepening when he noticed Blaise smirking in his peripheral vision "—and really, Voldemort has nothing on Harry."

The train rattled solemnly for a bit.

"I would be careful wagging that tongue about that name," Crabbe grunted, flicking a fingernail at her window. Weaslette scowled.

"Why should she?" All eyes on Blaise, now. Well, if anything, Draco certainly had leverage on him, if the time ever came. "It's just a name. We have them to be addressed, do we not?"

"Maybe you need to be taught respect," Crabbe grumbled.

"Why should anyone respect a mass murderer?" Weaslette snapped.

They let the train talk some more, before Theo decided he would stop pretending to be interested in his book. "I think there's a reason he's afraid of Potter." They were supposed to be his friends.

The compartment door slid open suddenly. When nobody emerged, Draco frowned… the train had never done that before.

"Wrackspurts," Lovegood cooed. Draco got up and roughly closed the door again. Nobody else seemed particularly curious about the door having a mind of its own, so Draco pushed it out of his thoughts.

"He doesn't really have a sense of style, does he?" Pansy inputted.

"Yeah, lemme grab my purple coat for when I kill this bloke." Weaslette scoffed. She looked suspiciously in Blaise's direction when he chuckled. It was the slightest movement, above Weasley's head, that caught Draco's attention. Had he not been looking at her, he wouldn't have noticed it; the trunk on the rack shifted. Putting a facade on, he casually let his gaze slither across to the scowling Crabbe, the clueless Goyle and a not very subtle Blaise, eyeing Weasley in equal measure, now.

"Ginny, you have so many Wrackspurts floating above you," Lovegood murmured. It was all Draco could do to not look back at that spot.

Also, the conversation had gone completely awry. It had not been veering in the direction he was hoping for. It was time for him to do that: "Perhaps he's not perfect. But he's good at getting rid of Mudbloods like Granger—" A flash of red was his only warning before the Weaslette had pounced on him, snarling.

He hadn't been expecting such a violent reaction, but then he supposed he shouldn't expect much more from a Weasley. His aim had been for her to start defending Granger and potentially dropping some useful information about her. Now that his lip was split open and his cheek was stinging, he realized how he really had no clue how to carry out his plan. As Blaise somehow managed to start dragging Weaslette off him, thrashing and kicking, he tried to fight off the despair in his chest. If he failed, then his Mother would die. He would die. His Father would probably die.

The entire compartment was a blur, now. Draco was half-aware of Blaise pulling Weasley out of the compartment, screaming all the way. Someone else was standing up; someone had a hand on his shoulder. Loony Lovegood mentioned something about too many Wrackspurts. Breathing heavily through the tears he was violently fighting off, Draco blinked several times.

"Draco?" Looking up, he took in the compartment. Crabbe and Goyle were shifting nervously, and solitarily, on their seats. From beside him, Theo was watching him anxiously and Pansy was standing while rubbing her thumb against Draco's shoulder. "Why did you do it?" she asked.

He swallowed heavily.

"I didn't have a choice."

This. This was how he was supposed to act. It wasn't really much of an act, now, was it?

Pansy had offered to heal Draco, but he liked the pain. Of course, he had only sneered at her and brushed her off in answer. Some time later, Blaise had entered the compartment, giving no indication that anything had even happened. They spent the rest of the trip in relative silence. It was because of this that Draco's ears pricked at the little scuffle, above where the Weaslette had been sitting before. When Crabbe grabbed his trunk down from the rack, Draco glimpsed a pale flash before it disappeared into thin air.

There was no doubt about it, now. Allowing his earlier fear to melt into white, hot fury, Draco clenched his jaw. He tasted his dried blood on his lips.

Making some half-arsed excuse, he told his friends to go on without him. Ignoring Pansy's furrowed eyebrows, Theo's concern and Blaise's lingering stare, he watched their retreating backs as they followed Crabbe and Goyle down the train's hallway. Then, he slammed the door closed.

For a few moments, he stared at the curtains over the door's window. Crossing the compartment to draw the curtains of the window to the platform, he watched that spot from the corner of his eye.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

A rough tumbling onto the floor confirmed he had been right, and not paranoid. Sneering at where it had landed, Draco thought of narrowed green eyes as new robes were pinned onto him. "Nice cloak, Potter." He snagged the watery material and whipped it off.

Then it slipped from his fingers.

Hermione Granger's frozen face stared back up at him.