Chapter Four

It was a very ordinary day when Draco received a very unexpected phone call.

It was around one thirty in the afternoon, and he was stopping by a small art supply shop to pick out some new oil paints. He had just brought the tubes to the counter when his phone rang. It was an unknown number. Draco knew enough Chinese and was ready to tell the telemarketer that he was most definitely not interested in whatever was being offered, but when he heard the voice at the other end… god, how he wished that it was just a telemarketer.

"Potter," Draco said coldly.

"Malfoy," Potter sounded just as pleased as he was, and was clearly struggling to sound polite. "How have you been?"

"Well enough," Draco said dryly. "How about you? How have the last three days been? Also, how the hell did you get my number?"

"The last few days have been difficult, thanks for asking. As for your getting your number, I have my resources." Potter paused. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "Would you happen to have time this afternoon?"

"Oh? What for?"

"I have a proposal for you," he actually sounded as if he was in pain.

"Never thought I'd hear that coming from you," Draco smirked. The cashier at the counter finished bagging the paint. He paid, picked it up, and stepped out onto the street. "Last time I saw you, you were ready to expose my liaisons with the criminal underworld and have me tossed into prison."

"Yeah, well, circumstances changed. Do you have time this afternoon or not?"

Draco's sneer wavered. He hesitated. He could still see Harry's disgust towards him in the club three days ago, and remembered how easily he had lost his temper in the bar the first time they met. Nothing good was going to come out of that meeting. It was only going to end in them hating each other more, and honestly, hating was exhausting. But Potter was surely aware of it too. He knew just as well as Draco did that any confrontation was going to end in enmity, but yet, he still called. What could possibly be important enough to force him to reach out?

"Fine. Does two o'clock work?"

"Great." Potter exhaled in relief. Or it could have also been disappointment. It was hard to tell over a phone call. "I'll text you the address on where to meet."

With that, the call ended. A moment later, his phone dinged as the message was delivered. Draco glanced at the address. It was a short fifteen-minute walk away. Hoping for the best but at the same time keeping his expectations very, very low, he went on his way.

Draco arrived at the Cipher Café. It was an artfully designed shop, where the entrance was modern and trendy with its neon signs, purple and yellow walls, and steel tables and chairs. However, after crossing a short dark hallway illuminated by strips of flickering white light tucked at the back of the café, Draco found himself standing at a lovely open-air European-style terrace surrounded by a small grove of trees. It was decked with checkered wicker furniture straight out of a Parisian street, and there were even fresh flowers placed at every table. Despite himself, Draco hummed in approval. The fusion of modern and classical, and east and west was impeccable.

Potter was seated at a table at the edge of the terrace, smoking a cigarette, but he wasn't alone. Ginny Weasley was beside him, dressed nicely in a sleeveless black dress, and upon seeing them, Draco hesitated. Seeing Potter was bad enough, but with Weasley being there, sober...

"Malfoy!" Ginny saw him and waved, beaming.

Forcing a smile, Draco headed over. He took a seat opposite to them. "Potter. Weasley."

"You came," Potter said stiffly. He snuffed out his cigarette on the ashtray, but based on the remains inside, he had at least chain-smoked a packet.

"Don't sound so disappointed," Draco muttered. He crossed his arms and glanced to the side at the trees surrounding them, purposefully facing away from Ginny. Just because he'd forgiven himself for what he did in the past didn't make it any easier to meet her eyes. However, she didn't look angry. In fact, she looked rather pleased to see him. Was that a good thing? He wasn't sure. The sooner he could get this over with, the better. "I always make it to my appointments. Speaking of which, what is this about?"

Harry took a deep breath, and looked as if he was grappling with the words in his throat. After a long while, he finally groaned and managed, "Well, it turns out that I work for the MI6. And we need your help."

"Pardon?" Draco stared at him, shocked. "You work for the MI6? First of all, aren't you breaking protocol by telling me that you're working for British intelligence? And second of all, what the fuck can I possibly do to help you? And-"

Harry was in visible agony, but Ginny was positively shaking with laughter. Draco glared at her, his confusion overriding his determination to avoid communication with her. "And why the fuck are you laughing? What's so funny about any of this?"

A waitress arrived, holding menus, and the three of them silenced, though Ginny couldn't stop giggling. They ordered quickly, and waited until she was out of earshot before speaking again.

"Yes, I am breaking protocol telling you this," Harry admitted, but there were no more traces of guilt or hesitation in his voice. It was serious. "Death Eaters are dying. They've been murdered, one after the other by the same person or organization. Quirrell, Nott, Yaxley, Rowle, and so many more. Let's not even get started on their seconds-in-command and associates. Some of them took place in England and others in the States, but nearly half of them took place here – in Shanghai."

"I don't understand." A chill raced down Draco's spine. The Death Eaters were Voldemort's closest followers and associates, but they weren't simply blind worshippers. Each and every one of them were not only dangerous and influential, but also ran massive networks of crime of their own. It would be nearly impossible to locate them, much less kill them. "Who could possibly be powerful enough to kill them? Why Shanghai? And isn't it a good thing for the world, to have them dead?"

"That is exactly what we're trying to find out," Harry said grimly. "We have leads, but not enough evidence to determine the identity of the killer. Admittedly, crime rates have gone down with their deaths, but we doubt that that was what the killer had in mind. After Voldemort's fall, there's been a power vacuum in the criminal underworld. People have tried to seize what's left of his empire, but never with much success, because to rule his empire, you'd have to rule the Death Eaters who now control what's left of it, and god help anyone who tried to cross them."

"Until now," Draco whispered. "If the Death Eaters are dying, their networks would become the killer's…"

"Exactly." Harry nodded. "A new Voldemort is rising, and we have no idea who it is."

There was a moment of silence as the news sank like a stone between them. The waitress returned bearing a tray of their drinks, and left after serving them. Draco stared glumly at his Waterfall Macchiato. It was easily the most beautiful coffee he had ever seen in his life, the aromatic blend topped with a mountain of whipped cream dripping with honey, but he couldn't bring himself to enjoy it.

"What role do I play in all of this?" he asked hollowly. He remembered that night at the club when Harry saw Mina Lee. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was after.

"We need your influence," Harry said reluctantly. He poked at his mocha. "You service to criminal clientele. You're on good terms with them, and we need your help to solve this case."

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't help you with that." Draco sighed. "Firstly, I don't actually serve the crime lords and mob bosses. They wouldn't risk exposing themselves in such public places when they have enemies at every corner. I serve their children, all of them teenagers or young adults that fit into the crowd and who don't have a target on their back. So, if you want me to schedule a one-on-one meeting with their mommies and daddies, sorry. Not going to happen. And secondly…" Draco smiled thinly. "Please forgive me, but both of you have lost your fucking minds."

"Pardon?" Ginny frowned.

"Have you both forgotten what happened that night when everything went to hell?" Draco felt his voice rising. A flicker of rage ignited in his chest. "Have you forgotten what I did to make it happen? What I did to your friends? Your family? Have you even considered the pain I must have felt about everything I did after the Fallout? There is nobody else in this entire fucking world that wants to leave that part of the past behind more than me!"

"Yeah, we get it," Harry scowled. "I don't want your help either, but we need it. You have no idea how hard it was to swallow my pride and ask you, Malfoy, but you still have more influence in the criminal underworld than any of us, and we need your help."

"Fuck off," Draco sneered. He felt his face twist with spite. "Poor little Potter, always needing to be the hero, even if it means dragging someone who clearly wants to stay away into his job so that he can get a promotion and a pat on the back."

"You know what?" Potter burst to his feet, teeth bared in rage and jabbed a finger furiously in Draco's face. "Fuck you! I never should have asked you for anything, and I never should have listened to Diggory's idea, because he has no idea that you are nothing but a fucking prick-"

"Both of you, shut up!" Ginny yelled.

Both of them were on their feet, breathing heavily, glaring at each other, green eyes into grey. They shut up, took a step back, and sat down stiffly.

"You two are the fucking worst," Ginny hissed. "I get that you hate each other, but can't you see that there's a bigger problem other than your childhood rivalry? Someone's killing Death Eaters! There's going to be another Voldemort! Don't you want to stop that?"

"I do," Potter said pointedly. "He doesn't."

"With good reason!" Ginny turned on him. "He's been through just as much shit as all of us, if not even more. If I were him, I'd want nothing to do with that world either. If you want to work with him, you'll need to be more understanding. Do you understand?"

Potter scowled but nodded.

"And you," Ginny turned to Draco, but her voice was gentle when she said, "I forgive you."

Draco shook his head. "You hate me."

"I hated you," Ginny said. Her eyes were shining. "God, I hated you so much after how my brother died because of you. Every time I saw that empty seat at the table. Every time I heard my mother crying. Every time I saw George alone."

Every word was a bullet that tore through old wounds and sent them weeping again with pain, but what did he expect? He deserved it. He deserved all of it.

"But I forgive you," He glanced up. Her voice was startlingly gentle. "Because on that one day when I put down that hate for just one moment, I realized that you were so young when it all happened. Voldemort threatened you and tasked you with something that you couldn't possibly refuse without losing your life. What you did was wrong, but when the time came, you made the right choice, and it was thanks to you that we survived. Living a life holding onto hatred is a petty and selfish thing to do, and I forgive you, because Draco Malfoy -" Ginny reached over and held onto his hand tightly. "It's not your fault."

Draco lingered for a moment, savoring the warmth of her hand over his, but pulled it away.

"Thank you, Ginny," he murmured. The words were kind, the sincerity genuine, and a part of his heart was melting in gratitude. He was truly grateful that Ginny Weasley had forgiven him, but as much as he wanted to believe the last thing she said, he couldn't. Not when the damage he caused was memorialized in the gravestones of the innocent and the chains that bound a dozen men and women in prison. "I'm afraid you're the only person in the world that believes this."

"Then do something about it," Ginny said simply. "There is a new Voldemort coming. He'll put down anyone trying to expose him like Harry's parents. He'll kill more people like my brother. He'll threaten more people into hurting others, like what he did to you. You might not be the hero of the story, but you do have the power to help. Let the world know that you are not the antagonist."

Draco closed his eyes. His sins of the past would always haunt him, but he had forgiven himself. He had redeemed himself in his heart after years of repenting. He had found contentment in solitude and was at peace with his soul. He could walk away. Potter would never bother him again for the rest of his life. He would be alone again, as he was for the last eleven years, just as he preferred.

Or he could help. He could use what influence he had to stop more people from being hurt like he was. He could still remember Voldemort's cold black eyes, the delicately whispered threats, and that naked terror he could barely suppress when they held his hands down as ink burned into his skin… unconsciously, he tightened the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it lower down his left wrist…

"Fuck," Draco groaned. "Potter, give me your phone."

Potter looked up in surprise. He fumbled for his phone but hesitated for a moment, perhaps not trusting him with his precious device, but under Ginny's stern glare, slid it across the table reluctantly. Draco picked it up, punched in his Wechat and other contact information, and returned it. He turned to Ginny, "Whatever the MI6 is paying you, it's not enough."

"Actually, they're not paying me at all!" Ginny beamed. "I'm honored that you think that I'm British intelligence, but I'm actually not! I'm a professional jockey, and I just finished my last competition yesterday. I'll be flying back to England tonight."

"What?" Draco spluttered.

"You're now part of the case, so it's too late to back out!" Ginny sounded absolutely delighted. "Good luck, you two! Alright, I need to head off to talk to my trainer now. See you!"

With that, she kissed him and Potter loudly on the cheek, and headed off.

Draco glanced at Potter. He was glowering, arms crossed and jaw clenched and looking immensely displeased. Draco supposed he looked the same.

"Hope I don't regret this," he muttered.

Based off of: CYPER Café