Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter.

So, let's talk about changes. Again, this is a heavy re-write chapter. I added a big section about Quidditch practice in there. I like the idea of Draco having to practice at things. It keeps him a little bit more grounded and realistic, which helps off-set the huge power of his genius. I also show him putting more work into the code so that it feels earned and not too easy. I also threw in a little bit of Snape there. I think that Draco's confused enough that he would talk to Snape, but due to the scrutiny on him, Snape isn't able to have frank discussions with him, leaving the door open for Bill to fill that role.

Bill gets more development too. We see that he's not always in a good mood, and the Death Eater meetings are taking a bit of a toll on him – but he is a pretty resilient character. I see him as one of those folks that genuinely want to be happy, so he puts a lot of work into maintaining his hopefulness.

I admit, I am getting a bit disheartened with how much I'm re-writing. Like, I definitely want to do this and I am much happier with the work in general, but wow. It's a lot of work. And a lot of words. I think that's why this one took me so long; I just got a little down on myself. I'm hoping that the quality of writing goes up in later chapters so I have less re-writing to do, lol.

OoOoO

Chapter 8

Rule number six: Never take action directly. Wait and see how things play out before making your move.

"Run it again!" Warrington yelled to the Slytherin chasers.

His face was red. Draco could see it, even though Warrington was down on the pitch and the rest of the team was mid-air.

"And pass faster this time! Do you want the other team to intercept? You're throwing it so slow a first-year could grab it!"

Beside him in the air, the chasers muttered a few curses. They were just as sick of Warrington as Draco was.

"And Malfoy!" Warrington shouted. "What the hell was that?"

Draco sighed and yelled back. "A Wronski, like you asked!"

Warrington had been drilling him on Wronski feints all practice. Draco didn't understand why. The move, a sudden dive down to the pitch as if the Seeker had seen the Snitch, was flashy, but it was overused. It's original purpose was to lure the opposing Seeker into diving as well. The lead Seeker would get as close to the pitch as possible before pulling up, and hopefully his opponent would be caught off-guard and plow straight into the field. But the Wronksi had been over-used in the decades following its creation. No self-respecting Seeker fell for them anymore. They were just a juvenile way of showing-off. A game of chicken between the two Seekers – who could dive the fast and farthest without slamming into the ground?

The only reason Warrington wanted Draco to practice them was because they were difficult, required a lot of focus, and were a great way of getting into an accident. Draco knew that Warrington didn't want him to get into a severe accident, after all, Draco was Slytherin's best Seeker, but Warrington was a sadist. He enjoyed inflicting pain on others, and he got more satisfaction when it Draco.

Part of Draco wished he didn't have to wipe Warrington's memory of the duel after debate class, just so he could feel the shame of being bested by Draco.

"That wasn't a Wronski; it was barely a dip!" Warrington berated him. "Give me ten more, and I want to see your broom brushing the dirt on each one!"

Draco glanced over at the Chasers and rolled his eyes. They returned the expression. Warrington got back on his broom, his beater's stick in hand. The Chasers sped off into their passing patterns. Draco tipped his broom towards the ground and started his dive.

His brain tumbled over the numbers as he raced towards the pitch, speed, distance, trajectory. It was impossible for him not to calculate it – which was why Potter was the better flyer. It was instinctual for him. Draco thought too hard and then second-guessed himself. That was why when he pulled up out of the dive, there was still a gap between the bristles of his broom and the grass. The maneuver was originally called 'sweeping the pitch' before Adrien Wronski popularized it in the 1925 World Cup. His opponent – the veteran Wilfred Walkins – had fallen for the ploy and hadn't managed to pull up in time. He'd hit the grass so hard that his broom shattered. And half of his bones. He'd survived but had never flown again.

"Do better, Malfoy! Or I'll have you replaced!" Warrington yelled.

Draco sighed, took a quick lap around the pitch, and then dove again.

This time he got closer and Warrington said nothing. The third time was a rather decent feint, his bristles only inches from the grass. Draco could hear Simone Bellier, one of the Chasers, give a cheer.

The fourth time, the Bludger came out of nowhere. It hit his shoulder, sending him into a spin.

There was no way to avoid the crash, but Draco was experienced enough to know how to soften a fall. He let his broom barrel roll. He waited until he was closer to the ground, and then let go, tucking in his arms and legs. He hit the pitch and skidded across the grass. There were soften charms on the field for this very reason. Still, the impact jolted him. He hit on the same shoulder that had taken the Bludger. His teeth clacked together and his neck flashed with the brief fire of whiplash. He rolled to a stop and lay still for a moment, taking stock of his body. He didn't think there were any serious injuries, but there would be bruises. Lots of them.

He heard shouts from above, and then the vibration as members of his team landed. He gingerly pushed himself to his feet, keeping his back to the team for now because he was trying to compose his himself. He knew what had happened. Warrington had deliberately shot the Bludger at him.

Adrenaline thrummed through his body, both a delayed effect from the fall and due to his blossoming anger. He felt his hands curl into fists and he forced them to relax. He couldn't react in anger, not now, that's what Warrington wanted. He wanted Draco to tantrum. He wanted him to lose control.

Draco pulled in a breath and shoved all his fury down. He turned to the team, who were racing over, concern on most of their faces.

Simone, the lead Chaser, stepped forward. "Are you okay?"

Draco looked at Warrington. The captain laughed. "You have that much trouble staying on a broom?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "You have that much trouble keeping control of a Bludger?"

Warrington shrugged. "Accidents happen."

"As I'm practicing a Wronski?" Draco asked, letting his disbelief show. "And the Bludger just happens to come my way?"

"It was a bad toss," Warrington said.

Draco looked over at the other beater, Millicent Bulstrode. She shook her head and backed up a step. It wasn't an admission of guilt. She was signaling that she didn't want to get pulled in as a witness. And the team was looking just as torn.

"Alright," said Draco. "It was an accident then." He picked up his broom, checked it for damage, and then turned for the gate.

"Where the hell you going, Malfoy? Practice isn't over yet?" Warrington demanded.

Draco turned. "Which is it, Cassius?"

"What?" Warrington asked.

"Was it an accident that the Bludger hit me, or was it on purpose?"

Warrington stalled a moment. He'd been in this position before, challenged by Draco, and he knew that it never ended in his favor. He thought hard about it now, wondering which was the right answer. But there wasn't one.

"If it was on purpose, then you're unstable and dangerous to play with. If it was an accident, then you're clumsy and dangerous to play with. Either way, my safety can't be guaranteed, so I'm done with practice."

Warrington scoffed. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. You still got six Wronski's to go."

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not practicing while you're in the air."

Warrington's face turned even redder than before. He pointed his finger at Draco. "Get back on your broom."

"No."

"If you don't get on your broom, I'm pulling you from the game."

"No, you won't. Because if you do, I'll explain to Professor Snape exactly what happened here and he will have no problem handing me the team." Draco took a step forward. "This is your senior year, Cassius. The only reason you are captain is because I am being generous. Don't make me regret it."

Warrington blustered more. "You still have to complete practice. That's a team rule."

"Then I'll wait for you to finish."

Draco shouldered his broom and walked to the stands. He could tell he had the team on his side because it took Warrington three tries to convince them to return to practice. Draco took a seat on the bleachers and gingerly rolled his shoulder out. No broken bones, no torn ligaments. Just a lot of bruises.

Draco watched the team practice and yes, he could have been captain, but he'd never found any joy in coaching. Other people were hard to deal with. They had their own ideas, their own plans and schemes, and they were never as good as Draco's ideas. But they were convinced of their own brilliance. Or they got offended or upset when given a harsh critique. Or they didn't try hard enough or pick up on instructions fast enough. No, Draco didn't want to be captain. There was no point in pulling it from Warrington now.

Draco watched as the sky gradually grew darker. Warrington was keeping the team out late on purpose. He wanted Draco to be out late, in the cold, in the dark, while practicing. He all but grinned as Draco when he finally called the team in.

That was fine. Draco didn't mind flying in the dark. A few light spells were all he needed. He flew a couple of laps around hoops, just to warm up again, and then dove. This time, instead of pulling straight up out of the dive, he wrapped his knees around his broom and flipped over backwards. He sped off the opposite direction, upside down and hanging from his broom, in what was known as an Andy's maneuver. This is what Warrington should be asking of him. It was a harder move, and technically illegal in a school game, but if Draco tried to out-Wronski Potter, he'd fail.

He flew a dozen more, just to get a feel for it. Another benefit of an Andy's maneuver was that it was less obvious if he didn't get as close to the pitch, meaning he could fudge it a little bit. As long as he didn't fall off his broom, he'd show Potter up. The sky was fully dark by the time he finished and turned his broom back towards the school.

It was far past curfew when he entered. Draco was a Prefect though, meaning the other Prefects would let him off – at least, if it weren't Weasley and Granger. He strode through the halls and nearly ran right into Bill Weasley.

They both paused, equally surprised to see each other.

Draco had been avoiding Bill over the past few weeks. Ever since realizing the professor was most likely a spy for the Order, he'd found it smarter to keep his distance. No more detentions, no more chats in the library, no more help with Runes. And either Bill was avoiding him too, or their paths hadn't been crossing as of late.

Until now, that is.

Bill's brow furrowed and his mouth tightened. "You're out late."

There was a note in his voice that Draco hadn't heard before. It was harsher, colder. There was an underlying irritation that Draco was used to hearing from the other professors. He hadn't heard it from Bill though, and it stung.

"What of it?" His own voice came out sharper than intended.

He watched Bill pause. A myriad of emotions played over his face, too quickly for Draco to name. When Bill spoke again, it was his usual tone of voice, friendly and calm, but somehow, it sounded fake. "Just pointing out that it's past curfew."

Draco didn't want the professor's insincerity or lies. He crossed his arms. "So go ahead and take points."

It was his preferred way of ending reprimands, jump straight to the consequences and skip the lecture.

Bill frowned. "Alright. Ten points from Slytherin. But not because you're out late, rather because you've been flying and obviously you took a spill." He gestured to Draco's uniform, grass stained and rumpled. "It's dangerous to fly alone at night. Be more careful next time."

It wasn't what Draco had been expecting. It was rational, and fair, and even gentle. It was the way teachers were supposed to discipline. Maybe Draco was being too hard on Bill. Maybe he was being too suspicious. Maybe –

But Bill had a coat and boots on. That meant he'd been outside. There was no reason for a professor to be outdoors this late. It meant he was probably coming from a Death Eater meeting, once again confirming that Draco could trust him.

He nodded to the professor, not trusting himself to say anything else, and continued on his way. There was one way to check if Bill had been spying, one way to be certain that his suspicious were right.

Draco swung by Snape's office. He heard movement inside, so he knocked and walked in. The Potions Master was currently scouring a pot while another cauldron was set over the fire.

He gave Draco a long-suffering look when he came in. "Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?"

Snape's voice was irritated, but that was standard. Draco would be more concerned if he wasn't irritated.

"I wrenched my shoulder because Warrington decided to hit a Bludger at me during a dive. Can I get a bruise-reducer?"

"We have a healer for a reason."

"She's in bed and it's not an emergency."

Snape tipped his head to the cupboard and Draco retrieved the potion. He gestured to the cauldron Snape was scrubbing out. "What happened?"

"Manticore hoof powder was expired. It ended up congealing the potion."

Snape said it easily, but Draco doubted the story. One didn't become a Potions Master and accidently use expired ingredients. This was another incident of Snape having to leave unexpectedly for a Death Eater's meeting. Bill Weasley was most definitely a spy. And that meant he'd give out another coded message in their homework assignment. At least, Draco was certain with a code. He just couldn't seem to crack it to prove his deduction.

Draco downed the potion, waiting for Snape to say something else, maybe about the potions he'd stolen a couple of weeks ago. He'd snuck a few others here and there. Snape must know it was him. And there were times when Snape had tried to start a conversation about Death Eaters and blood purity and the Dark Lord. Draco had pushed him away before, but now he had the itch to talk about it, to get it out in the open, to listen to another point of view. Snape played both sides, Draco knew that, and he was sure Snape landed more on Dumbledore's team. Draco wanted to know his reasons, wanted to compare philosophy.

"Professor," he started.

"It's late, Mr. Malfoy."

Snape's voice wasn't irritated now; it was dismissive. He gave Draco a dark look, one that said he wanted Draco to leave.

Fine.

Draco set the empty vial on the countertop, not bothering to wash it, and stalked back to his dorm, feeling oddly lonely.

He watched Bill carefully in class the next day. He tried to see any kind of strain or stress or anxiety in him, but Bill seemed to be his usual friendly self, even though the class was being annoyingly thick. Most of the students were struggling with the concept that specific glyphs could be shared across dialects. They wanted full separation between them, even though all languages had soft barriers, where they bled into each other.

"Languages borrow from each other," Bill explained, "particularly when there's crossover in geographic locations. Can anyone think of English words we use today that were originally from a different language?"

Granger shot her hand into the air. "Chauffeur," she said. "And menu, premiere, liaison, hotel. All originally French words."

"Five points to Gryffindor," said Bill. "Who else can name a few?"

It started a chain effect, students shouting out all the words they could think of. It was the curse of a class that contained too many Ravenclaws. They were always ready to out-smart or out-debate each other.

"Alright, alright," Bill said, when a full half-hour of class time had been wasted away. "You're all very intelligent, I get it? How many of you actually speak a second language?"

Draco reluctantly raised his hand with six others. Some spoke Spanish or French. One girl spoke Mandarin. Granger spoke some Welsh; she'd learned from her grandmother apparently.

"And you, Draco, what's your second language?" Bill asked.

"English."

There were a few titters of laughter as his answer was taken as a joke. Draco rolled his eyes. "Je suis Francais."

It wasn't uncommon knowledge that he was French, at least, the Slytherins knew that the Malfoy family had strong French ties, but not many of the other houses cared that much.

"Ah, ma copine est Francaise," Bill returned in a passable accent. He grinned. "Some of you might know her actually, Fleur Delacour."

It was a rookie mistake Bill had just made. Young, attractive professors should never reveal that much of their social lives to their students because teenagers could get overly invested, especially in their professors' love lives. There was an immediate gasp in the classroom. A few exclamations rang out.

"How long have you been dating?" one student asked.

"Is it serious?"

"Is she going to visit anytime soon?"

Fleur Delacour had made quite an impression at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. She was smart, powerful, and incredibly beautiful. She'd made a few friends with the Slytherin girls, Pansy in particular, and as such, Draco had had a few conversations with her. She was, in his opinion, a little too refined for Bill Weasley. Then again, some girls really did like the bad-boy image. A top curse breaker definitely fit that criteria.

"I'm sorry I said anything!" Bill protested, holding his hands up as the onslaught of questions continued. "Here, have your homework assignment and leave, please!"

It was a good trade, as there was still fifteen minutes left of class. Bill handed out the pages, and as Draco expected, there was something off about the block of runes.

He glanced around. He was pretty sure the code was going to the new Ravenclaw girl – the one who had joined this year after being 'homeschooled'. At first, he'd suspected it was going to Granger, but after some study, she looked far too oblivious. And Granger had just turned seventeen. No self-respecting member of the Order would endanger a child. So that left the homeschooled girl. She was either poly-juiced, or it must be Nymphadora Tonks. Draco had never met the woman, even though she was his cousin. In fact, Draco had only met his Aunt Andromeda one, when he was much younger. The relationship between his mother and sister had quickly soured after the first wizarding war. He was betting the student was Tonks. He couldn't see any polyjuice on her, and Tonks was an Auror. No doubt the Ministry was trying to catch up to the threat of Death Eaters after being so far behind the Order these past several years.

He watched the Ravenclaw girl quickly stow the homework in her bag. She and the other students began packing up. Draco gathered his own things while he frowned down at the page.

Realization.

There were moments when things clicked into place for Draco – it'd happened when he realized Bill was a spy, and it happened now, looking at the page. It didn't hit like a lightning bolt or a runaway hippogriff, rather the information in his brain simply slotted into place.

French.

The code must be in French. That's why his attempts at cracking it had ended in gibberish.

"Draco?"

Draco started and looked up. Bill was standing beside his desk, his own bag packed. The classroom was empty.

"You're staring pretty hard at that homework."

Bill's voice was light. Deceptively light. Draco could see the pinch of worry in his eyes, so he made a show of blinking and then looking around him, like he'd been lost in thought. "Oh, I must have drifted off for a minute. I had a late-night practicing for the game. Warrington's pushing us all hard."

He was giving too many explanations, and his excuses sounded lame to his ears, but it seemed to set Bill at ease.

The professor smiled. "I'm looking forward to watching the game. Good luck."

Draco nodded and left with a quick step. He diverted for his room, to grab the other homework pages, and then all but ran for the library. There were private study cubicles off the main room, nearly all of them empty at this hour. Draco found an empty one, shut the door, and quickly cast several privacy charms. Once secure, he pulled out all the homework pages and set them out on the table.

He took in a breath. This was it.

The homework pages were, supposedly, translations of ancient texts that were done by an auto-translation spell. But there were mistakes, because the spells were notoriously prone to errors. But there were times when there wasn't an error. Draco started by highlighting all the errors and non-errors. There was a pattern between them, one that he could quantify with a numerical value. Once he had the numbers, he began looking for repeating patterns within the digits. These would help him decipher which number-sets corresponded with letter-sets. French had several common word endings, and he tried a few combinations now. It took several hours. He made progress with several sets, only for the code to spit out nonsense words. But with each failure, his motivation grew. As did a grudging respect for Bill.

Draco took a break three hours in, running to the kitchens to grab something to eat, and then he went right back at it. It took another hour of work for him to stumble upon a replacement that worked, and then it all fell into place. He scribbled out the de-coded messages, his usually neat handwriting losing much of its legibility as he sped through the code. He deciphered all the homework sheets and then say back at scanned through the information.

Bouchers in France hosting DE meeting.

Sympathetic players in French cabinet – unclear who.

R growing restless. Would like to see more raids and revels. M is urging caution and secrecy.

Push for fewer travel restrictions between countries to allow for DE training in France.

S is suspected, but safe for now. Suspicions turning to new recruits.

The messages were simple, but detailed. There were names, places, and a good deal of financial information, which was to be expected. Lucius was trying to form a coup, instead of following the Dark Lord into outright war. Draco knew his father thought the Dark Lord's tactics were too aggressive. Lucius was a subtle man. He relied on manipulation and coercion instead of outright aggression.

Bill had used a couple abbreviations in the code. R was used for Riddle, aka Voldemort. S was Severus Snape, and by few lines dealing with him, Snape was under a lot of scrutiny. That explained why Bill was spying now, to give Snape some credibility in his lies. M was for Malfoy.

Draco read through the messages again. Apart from the financial information, there wasn't much that was truly harmful. But Bill had just started. What sort of damage could he do as the year went on? And what was Draco's responsibility?

A spectrum of possibilities flashed through his head, many of them ending with a target on Bill's back. But Draco didn't necessarily want to turn Bill in. As much as he hated to admit it, Bill was a good person. A fair person. And a damned good translator.

Besides, if Draco did turn Bill in, it'd turn a good deal of attention in his direction. How was he supposed to explain how he'd discover the code? It would expose him as a genius and that was something Draco was not willing to do.

So he'd wait.

Rule number six: Never take action directly. Wait and see how things play out before making your move.

With that decision made, he incinerated his pages of scribblings and left the room.

OoOoO

Bill watched Draco leave, his jaw clenched and his footsteps just a feather too light to qualify as 'stomping'. Guilt rose up, warring with the anger that had been twisting at his insides. He'd been snappish with the boy, and Draco had responded in kind.

It was hard, going to Death Eater meetings, and it was hard coming back. Hogwarts had always been something of a haven for him. As the eldest of seven, the Burrow got crowded fast. He knew his mother did her best to keep him from becoming a full-time nanny, but she had been pregnant for a significant amount of his childhood. Add into the mix an overworked but underpaid father, the chaos of the first wizarding war, and a lot of chores had fallen on his shoulders. Going to school had been a welcome relief, a taste of freedom and independence. It had been a place of safety and growth.

But now there was a was a monster lurking outside the walls, just waiting for the right time to strike. Many of the students that walked these halls were prey. If they left, they could find themselves in the jaws of that beast. Other students would leave Hogwarts and walk to the beast, taking their place by his side. They would enact horrible atrocities and violence on other children that had once sat next to them in class.

When Bill had first seen Draco tonight, he hadn't seen the teenager. He'd seen Lucius Malfoy. Maybe it was the cold look in his eyes or the scowl on his face. Maybe it was the way he was growing his hair out. Bill was beginning to hate Lucius' hair, always brushed to shining, always falling down his shoulders to rest against silk and satin robes. He flaunted his wealth and privilege as he talked about using his ill-gotten monies to topple the government. The system he would erect would criminalize and punish a quarter of the population just on the basis of their birth.

Draco looked too much like Lucius, although a lot less polished, coming in from a hard Quidditch practice by the look of it. Was it fair, that he got to play Quidditch while his father plotted treason and war crimes? Was it fair that he was spared the fear and terror his classmates felt, simply because he was a Pureblood? Was it even fair that he lived a life of leisure and excess while others struggled to scrape by? Bill had seen the broom on his shoulder – new, shining, expensive. He remembered his own first broom, bought second-hand, several makes out of fashion, and that was passed down to his brothers.

Bill squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He was an adult, for Merlin's sake. He knew life wasn't fair. While his family hadn't been blessed with wealth, he knew he'd been fortunate in other ways. He had a loving family, supportive parents, a sharp mind, and a healthy body. He'd take those things over money every day.

And just because there was a monster outside of Hogwarts, that didn't mean it couldn't be defeated. He was helping in the fight against Voldemort. He would do his part to make the world a safe place so that no one needed to be scared when they left school.

His pep talk buoyed his spirits. He headed back to his room in the teacher's wing. It was a good room, large, comfortable, and overlooking the lake. He took a seat at his desk and called a house-elf for tea and biscuits while he got to work. This was the tricky part.

He started by writing out everything he could remember about the Death Eater meeting, even the most minuscule detail. Then he identified the information that the Ministry would want. That information needed to be distilled into simple sentences, translated into French, and then carefully coded into the runes homework he'd pass out in class tomorrow. It was a long process; the code needed to be complex and foolproof. The original page of information was pressed into a memory book, one that was paired with a book in Dumbledore's office. Often times the Headmaster gleaned more information from these smaller details.

He finished in the early hours of the morning and gratefully lay down to sleep.

Sleep fought him, as was typical for the nights following a Death Eater meeting. He skipped breakfast, choosing the have the meal delivered so that he could take extra time getting ready for the day. Bill was sometimes accused of being a vain person, mostly by Charlie, the twins, and Ron. They had never really cared about their appearance. Bill liked looking good. He'd gotten the best blend of features from his parents, Arthur's tall, lanky frame and his eyes. Molly's smile and nose. He'd received a lot of positive attention for his appearance, and it'd given him the courage to be more daring with his fashion. His rocker-style had only developed with age, much to his mother's consternation. And Fleur often said a bespoke suit would do him wonders, but, well, Bill just didn't feel confident in a suit.

He grabbed his comfort clothes today, his favorite pair of black jeans, his brightest gold-button up, and his dragon-scale jacket on top. Thus armored for the day, he headed to his first class.

Teaching put him in a better mood. Bill genuinely liked teenagers. He liked their energy and their passion. He liked that they were curious about the world and that they were still cultivating their persona and developing their interests and passions, careers and hobbies, values and priorities. It only took half of his first class for his mood to shift into the general contentedness he usually felt, although, he did feel a pang of anxiety anytime he saw the stack of coded papers in his bag.

But the code was ingenious. No one could crack it. No one would even discover it.

And yet, it still felt so obvious.

Tonks was in the last class of the day, still holding her disguise as a student. She had a couple of friends, some of the quieter, more studious students. Bill knew it must be hard for her. She was louder than that, boisterous and rowdy. But she played her part well, blending in with the 'invisible' Ravenclaws that were too caught up with books to join social events and the like.

Bill carefully did not catch her gaze. She would know it was the code by the homework assignment. Instead he lectured on dialects and variations. The kids didn't like that some of the dialect bled into each other. It added an additional complication to translating, but they took his explanation rather well, although he did inadvertently create a bit of a stir when he admitted to dating Fleur Delacour. It actually worked in his favor though, creating general chaos as he passed out the homework page.

With the promise of an early dismissal, the class quickly empty. All except Draco. He was staring at the homework page. Bill had one moment of panic – a vision of the entire operation being blown.

"Draco?"

The boy started.

"You're staring pretty hard at that homework," Bill said, keeping his voice light. But he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He watched Draco blink and look about the room, confused. "Oh, I must have drifted off for a minute. I had a late-night practicing for the game. Warrington's pushing us all hard."

Yes, Bill had seen him out late. And Draco spoke easily, honestly. Bill couldn't see any signs of comprehension on his face. He hadn't spotted the code; he was just an overly tired teenager.

Bill felt his heart rate start to slow. He smiled. "I'm looking forward to watching the game. Good luck."

Draco nodded and left the room.

Bill let out a sigh of relief.

But the paranoia crept back in at dinner. Draco spoke French, and he was good a translating. He'd told Bill as much; he'd said that translating made sense to him. There were people in the world who were preternaturally good at things. Things that just clicked. It was like that with Bill and codes. But even he wouldn't have figured out a code this complex in his sixth year. He wouldn't even had noticed it was there. It was slightly mollifying, but maybe he'd peek at Draco's file in the school, just to be on the safe side.

Minerva called his attention. "Excited for the game this weekend? You know, Potter's nearly as good as Charlie on a broom."

"I've heard rumor of it," Bill agreed, ready to distract his thoughts onto more light-hearted topics. "By all accounts, it ought to be a good game."

"That it should," Dumbledore said, overhearing their conversation. "It reminds me to grab some sweets from Hogsmeade before the game. I'm all out of Caramel Cremes, and I'm really craving them tonight. Nothing quite like a caramel after dinner."

Bill caught his gaze and nodded. The Headmaster had dropped the name of a candy and a time. He wanted to talk.

Bill headed to his office after dinner. Dumbledore had a dish of the candy on his desk and Bill took one. For some reason, having something sweet to chew on helped him mentally chew on tougher news.

"I've done some research on horcruxes," Dumbledore said. "I admit, I had not realized how powerful they were."

"How powerful?" Bill asked, although he was sure he didn't want to know the answer.

Dumbledore had given him a brief explanation when he'd first come across them. Horcruxes were a piece of a wizard's soul that splintered off from the core during the act of pre-meditated murder. The concept was already terrifying. If Dumbledore was admitting they were even more powerful than originally thought… well, Bill was admittedly horrified.

"I've been researching objects that Tom chose for his horcrux, or, as we've ascertained, horcruxes. I think he started with just one horcrux, most likely kept in Nagini. But once he found a measure of immortality, I think his focus changed to power."

"What do you mean?"

"One horcrux is all he needed for immortality. The fact that he continued suggests he was after another goal. When I began researching what items he most likely used for his other horcruxes, I noticed that he was specifically choosing powerful items, items that have their own magical energy. With his soul attached to these horcruxes, he can leech off that energy. That will lend him even more power. It will make him capable of great and terrible feats."

"So we need to disconnect him from these sources of power."

"If we don't, then I'm not sure how much chance Harry has against him, no matter what the prophecy says."

Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. It was dark news indeed. "Have you told Harry yet, about the horcruxes?"

"Not at this time. But I will be informing the members of the Order, and as Ms. Granger is now seventeen, she will also be informed. I have no doubt she will fill in the others."

Bill nodded. "We could really use some good news shortly, couldn't we?"

"Well, while we're on the topic of bad news, Severus found a bug in his office. He's leaving it be for now, but clearly we have a spy in our midst."

"Stevick?" Bill asked.

"Most likely."

"Do we think he's for the Ministry or Death Eaters?"

"Either prevents its own challenges."

"Isn't that the truth."

Dumbledore smiled. "Do take care of yourself, Bill. It's not an easy task you've undertaken."

Bill got up and snagged another caramel on the way out. He retired early to bed and fell asleep, completely forgetting his plan to check in on the school records of one Draco Malfoy.

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