Chapter 16: Draco

Trap-Doors

"What the deuce does the fellow mean by getting trap-doors made without first consulting you? Trap-doors!" — Alexander Dumas, Man in the Iron Mask

Thursday, May 3, 2007
The Daily Prophet

RAMPAGE IN BRITAIN! VICIOUS WEREWOLVES ATTACK ACROSS THE COUNTRY!

Stacy Dunke
National Correspondent

During the power of last night's full moon, werewolf packs rampaged through magical villages near Norwich, Edinburgh, Brighton, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in an apparent coordinated effort to intimidate, injure, and infect.

Casualties and injuries were still being tallied just before sunrise this morning after the werewolves apparently vanished shortly after the stroke of midnight. No reported infections have yet surfaced, but the Daily Prophet will continue reporting and release a special issue if any deaths or life-altering infections come to light.

The Italian Ministry for Magic reported similar attacks in at least two magical communities last night. No other foreign ministries have added to the stunning and frightening reports on what is sure to be an infamous evening in the magical world with far-reaching consequences.

"We are approaching this as a prejudicial and coordinated criminal effort. Our Aurors will not rest until the leaders of this conspiracy against the European community are apprehended, in addition to anyone who aided and abetted this campaign of terror," said Gawain Robards, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"The Ministry made concerted changes after the werewolf incident in Montaroux, France, last month to reinforce our regulations and protect the citizens of this country," said Octavia Randall, head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

The Ministry imposed a curfew and restrictions on movement for all registered werewolves, which this paper reported at the time—though apparently to little effect.

"We are certain that the perpetrators of this terrorism are not any of those registered with this Ministry," Madam Randall added.

[…]

Friday, May 11, 2007
The Daily Prophet

WHAT TO DO ABOUT OUR 'VICIOUS LITTLE PROBLEM'

Wickford Leith
Staff Writer

Following the "Night of Terror" on the evening of May 2, when dozens of feral werewolves attacked magical communities on the night of a full moon—overshadowing the ninth anniversary of the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort and the Ministry's annual Victory Ball—industry experts and concerned magical citizens have weighed in on the social and political crisis.

"This is a vicious little problem that has escalated far enough," says Lucius Malfoy, a concerned citizen who previously wrote about his experience with feral wolves under the Dark Lord Voldemort's regime. "The ineptitude on display at the highest levels of our Ministry must be addressed. Why has not one of the werewolf criminals been caught?"

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has confirmed that no arrests have been made in association with the Night of Terror, though investigations are still ongoing.

"Who are these malicious creatures?" Asks the former Lord Malfoy. "Who are they when the sun is shining? I find it hard to believe that they are upstanding citizens. Are they even wizards? I was recently horrified to discover that there is a population of Muggle Werewolves at large in this country. The Statute of Secrecy prevents us upstanding wizards from sufficiently weeding out threats to our community from non-magical origins. Is the Muggle revolution finally upon us?"

"The Muggle government is our staunch ally and has fully cooperated with our inquiries," said Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt.

DMLE Head Gawain Robards added, "The Muggle Werewolf population is negligible. We ask the public to be patient as we exhaust all avenues of investigation."

Neither the DMLE nor the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would reveal the numbers of registered Muggle werewolves due to confidentiality concerns.

Junior Head of the DRCMC, Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin, First Class), has a very different view to the former Lord Malfoy. "Lycanthropy is a contagion with magical properties and thus falls under the jurisdiction of this Ministry, whether a wizard or a Muggle has been infected. Our responsibility is to provide Muggle werewolves the ability to remain alive and well within our world. The incidents over the last two full moons remain anomalies. The Ministry must prioritize peace and safety for all citizens, including those infected with lycanthropy. Investments in sanctuary space and the Wolfsbane potion are sorely needed. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going."

According to the former Lord Malfoy, "Wolfsbane is the biggest farce of this century. What was the character of the attack on May the Second? Calm, coordinated, precise! What enables these vicious monsters to act so directly against the peaceful interests of this government? Wolfsbane potion. It is my view that all werewolves should be incarcerated on full moons and perhaps all evenings that they may pose threats to ordinary people."

[…]

Saturday, May 19, 2007
Witch Weekly

POTTERWATCH: HARRY POTTER HARD AT WORK?

Romilda Vane
Senior Contributor

Where in the world is Harry Potter? Our dark-haired and stacked Senior Auror has yet to be spotted entering or exiting the Ministry for Magic since all that bad business the night of the Victory Ball. We can only assume that Harry is deep undercover, rooting out the werewolves responsible for the attacks.

The self-sacrifice and dedication consistently displayed by our savior shall not go unnoticed by this publication.

Coming up on Potterwatch this month: We dive deep into Harry's on-again-off-again relationship with Cho Chang, flying instructor for the North Hebrides Magical Primary School and former Hogwarts classmate of the Chosen One.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Malfoy,

Please keep up with the aconite supplies if you can. Also, can you manage four doses of the Wolfsbane potion? That would be helpful, but two or three are also sufficient. Thanks.

It's all a mess, as you've seen.

HP

Saturday, May 26, 2007
Malfoy Manor

Draco Malfoy was not someone who sweat. If glistening was appropriate for the scion of a magical dynasty, he would begrudgingly admit that sometimes he glistened—and even then, only in the most treacherous of scenarios.

So, when Draco wiped a thick stream of sweat off his brow with a hand caked in mud, he had quite had enough.

He rose from his knees and looked around, noting with disgust that the moist earth had saturated through his trousers. The green-blue buds of aconite surrounded him, and he was pleased that he had evenly separated the new blooms and distributed them through the rest of the greenhouse space. And then he frowned.

There were not enough.

Despite his—and Bob's—concerted efforts over the last month, the aconite had not aggregated significantly. The initial blooms he had discovered remained fruitful, but he had harvested a large chunk before the last full moon and an even larger chunk this week for the upcoming full moon on the thirty-first of the month. The crop should have grown to sustainably replenish itself, but something was wrong. In sum, he had slightly less than he initially discovered.

Draco hoped that spreading the bloom more evenly throughout the greenhouse would help.

Of course, he did not care about Potter or Granger or the werewolves, but he certainly cared about failure.

With a frustrated huff, he left the greenhouse and crossed the grounds to the Manor. Entering through the car terrace, he scourged his boots and trousers to the best of his ability before heading down the corridor to one of his favorite places.

The Malfoy library was two stories tall, the length of a quarter of a Quidditch pitch, and filled to the brim with volumes older than the home's foundation. When Draco was thirteen, his father had acquired permission to magically extend the space by bribing several clerks at the Ministry. Since then, the new row of stacks had already been filled with more contemporary volumes.

The hardwood floor was covered in floral-geometric rugs that his forty-five-times Great Grandfather Claudius imported from a Safavid merchant centuries ago. The silk and wool wefts remained soft to the touch. When Draco was a child, he loved running barefoot through the rows of books, finding the darkest corner to lay down, and then imagining flying off on one of the rugs to a far-off land.

Draco approached the Master Catalogue, a thick leather-bound tome with a clear-as-glass crystal embedded into the cover. It stood on a marble plinth with delicate fluting tuning down to a heavy square base. Draco touched the stone, closed his eyes, and thought about aconite, gardening, propagation, and the moon. The crystal warmed, and when Draco opened the book moments later, a list of books filled the first ten pages.

After skimming the list, Draco chose four promising titles: Indigenous British Weeds, Their Uses, and Maintenance; How to Grow Sunlight-Averse Plants; Venenum Hortus; and the most promising of all, ACONITE.

Draco tapped each name with the tip of his wand, shut the Catalogue, and a yellow glow emerged from the crystal. Draco followed the hovering glow through the library, pausing when it did to pluck the relevant book from the shelf.

Soon after, Draco exited the library to descend down to his cellar. Unfortunately, the path brought him past the dining and drawing rooms. Or rather, the area that had once been a functional drawing room, which Draco had not seen, entered, or thought about for years. The doorway was covered with a thick tapestry that entirely concealed its existence.

A crack sounded out as he approached the foyer, and two familiar figures appeared before him.

Theo's long drawl was suspiciously mischievous, "Draco, my darling, I have returned." He was holding Muffy's hand. His house elf was clad in a blush pink babydoll dress and ballet slippers.

"Hello Master—"

"Just Draco, Muffy," interrupted Draco by force of habit. He was unusually conscious of being called Master so close to where the Dark Lord had tortured him and others.

Muffy blushed. "Draco …" a deep breath, "Mister Lord Theodore is here, sir."

"I can see that," replied Draco, who quickly set his four books to hover next to him before approaching his friend and reaching out his hand. "Happy birthday, mate."

Theo smiled pleasantly, clasped Draco's hand, and then the two shared their twice-yearly hug, which occurred on their respective birthdays. When they parted, Theo's nose contracted in distaste. He sniffed slightly.

"You're dirty."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I wasn't expecting to see you until later."

"Well, hop in a vat of acid or whatever you need to scour that filth off of you because we have places to be," declared Theo with arms outstretched.

With his eyebrows furrowed, Draco grabbed his books from their floating perch and faced Theo head-on. "I thought we weren't supposed to meet until later? I have some things to finish up."

He turned without preamble to descend a stairway through a concealed entrance under the grand staircase, down into his cellar.

"Frankly," began Theo, who uninvitedly followed Draco to his home and lab, "you are being very un-generous on my special day."

Draco scoffed.

"And," continued Theo, "being the selfless and generous being that I am, I am here to give you a gift."

"Is that so?" Draco replied as they entered his sitting room. He closed the door behind them.

"Yes," his friend replied, standing by the fireplace and crossing his arms petulantly. "But I'm not sure you deserve it."

Draco placed his books on the coffee table with a thud and sighed. The truth was that he expected Potter to arrive at any moment to collect the four doses of Wolfsbane Draco had brewed over the last week. He supposed he could leave the doses with Muffy, but Draco had secretly hoped to press Potter in person about the attacks.

It was very rude of Granger not to send a note in apology for alarming him, stripping down without a word, and then fleeing in the middle of a conversation.

Draco sighed again, "Fine, just … wait."

Theo smiled and had the audacity to clap his hands. Draco glowered for a long moment, then turned to cross the room and enter his lab, heading straight for the large silver cauldron with the steamy metallic brew of Wolfsbane in stasis. Draco decanted the potion into the four large silver flasks he had prepared earlier that day.

When the cauldron was empty and the flasks full, Draco carried them into the sitting room, where Theo had grabbed the ACONITE book and made himself very comfortable, his patent leather loafer-covered feet rising on Draco's very expensive coffee table.

"I need that. No stealing."

Theo merely grinned and turned a page. "Planning to poison me, Draco?"

"Yes. At twenty-seven, I think you've lived a full life," Draco retorted. He placed the flasks on an end table before disappearing through the open door to his bedroom to pull out some clean clothes.

"Are you growing aconite? Is that what the unseemly layer of filth is for?"

"None of your business," called Draco from the other room. Theo was a nosy git. No boundaries.

After grabbing a change of clothes, Draco returned to the sitting room and was immediately shocked to see that Theo had uncorked one of his flasks and was sniffing the potion inside.

"Stop that!"

"Wolfsbane?" Theo inquired, not protesting when Draco snatched the flask and cork from his friend's hands. "I didn't know this was standard at St. Mungo's."

Draco considered not telling Theo briefly, but the better side of his psyche won out. Let this information be another birthday gift for his friend, and then Draco would have someone with whom he could commiserate.

"I'm helping the Ministry. Started last month after the extra regulations were put in place."

Draco had caught Theo off guard, and Draco memorized the look of surprise on his friend's face, which was a rare sighting.

And then Theo's shock morphed into delight. "Are you working with Hermione Granger?"

"No," Draco growled.

"Is it not Granger who's The Prophet's poster child for pro-werewolf agendas?"

"It's Potter," Draco revealed. "The bespectacled git practically blackmailed me. Forced me into a Muggle bar of all things—Poor John's Pub—as if a Malfoy belongs anywhere with the word poor associated with it, even if it was only a moniker. Sticky, disgusting place."

"True, you prefer your pubs magical, seedy, and disgusting, thank you very much."

Draco did not like the conspiratorial gleam currently emanating from Theo's eyes. "Yes."

Muffy suddenly appeared with a crack. "Ahem … Draco …" she breathed as if she had sprinted from miles away. "Mister Harry Potter is here, sir."

Could the day get worse?

"Is he now?" Theo beamed. Fate must have blessed my birth because I always have perfect timing. Let's not leave him waiting!"

Theo jumped up and bounded up the stairs before Draco could so much as take a breath to protest.

Cursing softly, Draco dropped his fresh clothing over the back of his couch, grabbed the remaining flasks from the end table, and hastened to follow Theo into the foyer.

As Draco approached the landing, he heard Potter's voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question, Potter. I've just heard the most interesting news."

Draco jumped the last three steps in a single bound. "He's here because he is a nosy wanker, Potter," Draco forced out through his thinning breath. He needed to exercise more.

When Draco finally reached them, standing opposite each other by the two-story double-door front entryway, his arrival formed an equilateral triangle. Theo stood with his arms crossed and an inscrutable expression on his face. Potter looked at the rafters as if calling some unknown gods for help.

"Potter," Theo began slowly, gesturing vaguely at the wizard, "don't take this the wrong way, but you look like absolute shit."

Draco's mouth almost opened, but years of etiquette lessons took over, and he maintained a neutral expression as he cursed his best friend in his head.

He cleared his throat, and when Theo met his eyes, he stared intently as if to say: What the fuck?

Theo flitted his eyes to Potter and back as if to reply: It's true; just look at him.

Draco blinked slowly. Don't be impolite. This is my home.

Theo shrugged. It's just Potter.

A small nod. Fair enough.

Draco then angled himself to look at Potter. After only a moment, he realized that Theo had indeed spoken the truth. Potter looked like shit.

He had forgone his typical auror's uniform in favor of some slouchy Muggle denims and a cotton shirt that hung limply over his broad shoulders. The fact of the matter was that Potter looked tired.

His skin was paler than usual, sallow, and his eyes had bags so purple and deep that they nearly peaked out from under the bottom rim of his glasses. Potter's hair, which was usually offensive in its unruliness, merely flopped sadly over his ears.

Potter seemed too tired to argue because he simply said, "Okay."

Draco exchanged an alarmed look with Theo before Potter continued, addressing Draco. "Do you have the stuff?"

Draco nodded and wordlessly handed over the flasks to Potter, who nodded and then stopped back away. "Thank you, Malfoy. I mean it."

"It's no trouble for dear Draco here, Potter. An absolute joy, in fact," Theo interjected. Draco resented this comment. It was, in fact, heaps of trouble, attested to by the fact that Draco was still covered in dirt.

Potter noticed this fact at the same time that Draco remembered, and Potter's eyes roamed over Draco's mud-stained knees and sweaty hairline.

"What happened to you?"

"Gardening," replied Theo, and Draco shot him a sharp look.

"You mean …" Potter trailed off, half in thought, "you're growing aconite here?"

Draco thought this was a stupid question because how else would he have acquired such a substantial amount of a highly regulated and endangered species of ingredient? Then he recalled that Potter believed them, especially Theo, to be wayward deviants despite it being nearly a decade since the War.

"Yes, Potter, I am growing aconite in this foyer. Can't you spot it? Don't tell me you've finally gone blind after all these years?"

"It's just that everyone has said it's impossible," replied Potter. "How?"

"With great difficulty." Draco enunciated every word. He wondered whether it would be worth it to reveal to Potter now that the supply would run out in two months if he did not get the blooms to replenish and expand.

"Wow," murmured Potter. "Do you remember Neville Longbottom?"

Another stupid question, as if they all had not witnessed the Gryffindor slay the Dark Lord's nightmarish serpent after nearly a decade of bumbling foolery.

"Rings a bell," replied Draco.

"Well, he was the first one I asked for help with … all this, and according to him, he didn't have a stable sapling to start with or something, but if you do, then maybe we could make more, if supply is still an issue."

"I did not say that."

"He is having trouble, Potter," Theo interjected, horrifying Draco. "He's studying tomes on gardening like a great-grandmother fifteen years into retirement."

"Theo, what the fuck?" Etiquette lessons were for respectful people and strangers.

"I'll ask Neville," Harry offered, oblivious to the slow and painful psychological death that Draco was experiencing before him.

"I doubt that Longbottom would help a Malfoy, Potter, least of all me."

Determination showed through Potter's bodily exhaustion. "You, perhaps, but he would certainly help me and Hermione."

"Ah, Granger," commented Theo. "How is our favorite forest-dwelling do-gooder?"

"Fine," Potter responded, giving Theo an odd look, and Draco believed Potter must be truly at the end of his rope not to inquire about Theo's ridiculous forest comment. "Bit of a bad time at work, obviously."

"This Wolfsbane," Theo gestured at the flasks in Potter's hands. "For anyone in particular?"

"That's classified," said Potter, and for a brief moment, Draco felt ice down his spine. What if the extra dose of Wolfsbane was for Granger? What if Granger had been viciously mauled by a lycanthrope, and Potter was helping to cover it up? Draco was surprised to find that he did not like the thought.

Luckily Potter continued, "No one you'd know."

"Alright, well, it's a busy day, and the birthday boy and I have plans that I'm sure are appropriate and not at all frightening," Draco interjected, relishing in the slight act of revenge that was revealing an unknown fact about Theo to Potter.

"Oh," Potter commented. "Well, happy birthday, Nott, I suppose."

"Thanks, Potter," replied Theo. "Do try to contain your enthusiasm."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Goodbye, then. Thanks, Malfoy, I'll be in touch."

"Please don't," Draco called as Potter exited through the front doors and toward the apparition point. When the locks clicked shut, he glared at Theo. "If I ever find myself alone in the company of Longbottom, I will hold you personally responsible, and I'll have you know that I just spotted several manuals on blood curses in the library."

"Charming. Now," announced Theo, clapping his hands. "Shall you get into that acid bath, and then we can away to my gift?"

One hour later—
Knockturn Alley

"Oi," Draco hissed, quickening his pace to catch up to Theo, who was strolling jauntily as if it were Easter Sunday. "Where are we going? I think those two hags were mating back there." He shuddered.

Draco was familiar with Knockturn by necessity, but even he rarely ventured into the dank and dismal side roads and alleys that Theo was currently leading him through.

"Oh, those two?" Theo replied, unfazed. "That's just Hax and Lug setting up their stall. If you ever need newt eyes, just ask me. Best in the business."

Draco winced in disgust.

"Almost there," Theo said, patting Draco's shoulder cheerfully as they continued down the road.

Draco retched as they passed the rotting corpse of something feathered, but moments later, Theo was coming to a halt at a large, rusted iron gate. The three-story buildings on either side of the gate were made of weathered brick, but Draco noted that most of their windows were intact. The gate itself was densely designed in a geometric pattern of crosses and triangles, and he could see nothing but a wet, dripping darkness beyond. Above the gate, a filthy striped cloth awning obscured any other view.

"We're here!" Theo smiled, gesturing to the gate.

Draco eyed the gate, his friend, the gate again, and then the pile of dung down the road. "Where?"

"This is my secret project."

"A rusty gate in the most gods-forsaken part of Knockturn," Draco stated. "Congratulations, this is certainly something. Now, care for a spot of whiskey at the Wyvern?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "It's inside. I'll show you around, but you must promise to be nice."

"Be nice to whom, exactly," asked Draco skeptically.

"Everyone and anyone. Myself."

"Rejected," said Draco.

"Oh, shut it and come here." Theo turned to face the gate, tapping the lock with his wand. He swung the door open with an echoing, creaky groan and gestured for Draco to enter.

"You're lucky it's your birthday," Draco grumbled, approaching the dark opening with apprehension.

"I am," Theo agreed, gesturing broadly with his arm for Draco to step through.

When Draco stepped through the gateway, a surge of magic washed over him, and when he blinked, the darkness abated into a brightly illuminated courtyard. The stone-paved square enclosure had a marble fountain at its center, with a bronze sculpture of two crossed wands floating at its peak. The wands spurted water, which flowed down the three tiers of the structure. Draco gaped as he looked around. Above him, sunlight and a blue sky were visible, and across from where Draco entered was a sandstone-colored facade, clean and new, with obsidian double doors at the top of a ten-stepped entryway.

Draco could not see any other entryways or windows. Three stories above the doorway, a black-thatched roof overhung it, and several glass lanterns hanging down promised illumination at night.

Draco jumped when the loud click of the rusty gateway closing behind them sounded out, and he turned to face Theo, who was smiling at him expectantly.

"What is this?" Draco asked incredulously.

"You'll see!" Theo exclaimed excitedly, grabbing Draco's elbow and leading him around the fountain to the obsidian doorway. "The fountain was my idea. No one appreciates art and design nowadays if you ask me."

Draco was too confused to reply. Theo opened the doors and pulled Draco up the steps, firmly pushing him into the building and closing the doors behind them.

Inside was a two-story open vestibule large enough for a dozen or so people. The only light came from a small crystal chandelier. A dark wooden desk sat opposite the door, though no one was behind it. Beyond that was a solid black marble wall and staircases leading down to a lower level.

"You need some imagination. Picture this," Theo began, hastening behind the desk and holding out his arms. "A lovely young, blond, buxom receptionist," he winked, "and behind here," he turned around to face the wall gesturing broadly, "The Dueling Arena."

"The Dueling Arena?" Draco repeated.

"I'm a business owner! Well—part owner. Welcome to Britain's most exclusive private dueling club! You're one of the first to see it. We're not officially open yet, obviously."

Draco blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry for all the secrecy, but getting off the ground was a bit difficult. Unfortunately, galleons only get you so far, so I joined with some partners."

"Who?" Draco asked, interested but still dumbfounded.

"Ernie Macmillan, who has major contacts in magical real estate and construction—I can't wait for you to see the downstairs—and then Oliver Wood, who had great ideas about some sporting endeavors outside of dueling and can bring in the big-money former athletes." Theo hesitated, looking a bit pained before adding a bit more quietly, "Some Weasleys."

"Weasleys?"

"George and Angelina," Theo continued hastily, "and she was married in, so it barely counts! They were interested in expanding outside their joke shop business, and we talked…"

"How did you get to talking in the first place?"

"I've been working with Triple-W for a while, designing some objects and helping with some spellwork. I frequent the Diagon Alley shop and have run into George a bit over the years. Their products are quite good, some of them. I like to consider myself a refinement consultant."

Draco turned around to look back at the doorway, slowly returning to face Theo. "Why did I not know about any of this?"

His mind was whirring. His best friend stood before him, and Draco wondered if he truly knew Theo at all. He could not follow how this happened without him any the wiser. Was this all Theo was hiding? How had he accomplished all of this? And Draco's gut twisted at his next thought. Why didn't he tell Draco?

"I was a bit embarrassed for a while, actually. And I didn't think it was so serious, you know? This really only came together over a couple of months. But mate," Theo came out from behind the receptionist's desk and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, "I want you to see everything, come on."

Theo ushered Draco downward to the leftmost of the dual staircases. Draco descended the spiral structure for a long while until the bottom opened to a massive sight.

The space was as large as a Quidditch pitch, at least, and the ceilings were twelve meters tall. A cloakroom extended on the wall to the left of the staircases; to the right was a bar-top with stools and about ten round tables with chairs. But beyond that were rows of massive dark metallic boxes, long rectangles about four meters tall and wide and four times as long. In the distance were more things that he could not make out. He did not quite understand what he was seeing.

"Cloakroom, bar," Theo gestured, walking ahead and leaving Draco to follow. "And here are the semiprivate dueling spaces." They walked to the nearest giant box. Draco saw that the metallic walls were covered in runes, and he realized that they were almost identical to the panels that he saw in Theo's workshop."

"You worked out the magic shields?" Draco asked, running his finger along one of the bronze inlays.

"Not completely," Theo admitted. "But these definitely—mostly—work! They will absorb the majority of spells, just not exceptionally dark ones. And the contract for this place prevents the use of dark magic, anyway. They'll also stop working if you hack at them physically long enough. Which is why I think I'll be replacing these fairly often. Just not sure how often. It's a work in progress. I'm still experimenting, too."

Draco nodded. He was overwhelmed.

"Each room is the size of a professional dueling arena," Theo continued. "They're closed off on all sides except one, a door on the short edge of the box here, with a window for people to look in. All other surfaces are magic dampening panels—that's what I've been working on. We still need to test them out, and I have a few prototypes on the floor, but they've been holding up pretty well if I do say so myself. My children," he said with pride.

"Wow," Draco murmured, looking into the box to see a bright interior perfect for two wizards to face off. The rows showed at least a dozen of these spaces lined up on either side, leaving a giant causeway for foot traffic. "What's down there?"

Theo giggled with excitement, "It gets better." He started jogging down the rows, and Draco rushed to follow.

Draco could finally see the rest of the cavernous space at the end of the dueling rooms. Three huge elevated platforms extended down, and Draco recognized them as even larger than true professional dueling spaces. Beyond that, the rest of the space was separated into four huge sectors by floor-to-ceiling spans of Theo's metallic panels.

"So here are three exhibition spaces. No magic dampening here, so spectate at your own risk," he chuckled. "But Weasley is going to supply complimentary shield cloaks and hats for people who are concerned by wayward spell-fire. Over there," he pointed to the four sections beyond, "spaces for flying games."

"Flying games?"

"Wood's idea! Broom dodging, tossing a Quaffle around; one will be a contained space for catching snitches, special ones charmed to be contained in those spaces, and then maybe even elevated duels—duels on a broomstick, that is. We could even clear out this whole space and make it a regulation pitch! The ceilings are just high enough for the hoops. It's Bring Your Own Broom for now, but once we're established, we could get sponsorships or invest in some nice models for the arena."

"Theo, this is … so much," Draco replied, gobsmacked, as he wandered around the exhibition spaces.

"You like it?" Theo asked apprehensively, keeping his distance. Draco realized that his friend was nervous.

Draco was a bit angry at the size of this secret, but he was mostly impressed that Theo and his band of Gryffindor and Gryffindor-adjacent misfits pulled off something so massive. He was overcome momentarily by a wave of loneliness, being left out of such a huge project by his closest friend. Draco wondered if it was his own fault for being so closed off. At the sight of Theo's wanton expression, though, Draco decided, like he did with most things outside his potions lab, that it was not worth caring about, and only the basics mattered.

Draco returned to Theo and grabbed his friend's hand, shaking it. "It's incredible. Congratulations, mate."

Theo beamed back and pulled Draco into a fierce hug, using the breath from Draco's lungs.

"It's still a work in progress," said Theo after Draco extracted himself from the embrace, "We're planning to open in July full time, but we're inviting an exclusive group to visit and use everything until then." Theo stuck his hand into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a small metal plate the size of a business card, handing it to Draco.

The card read:

DUELING ARENA
Draco Lucius Malfoy
MEMBERSHIP # 000001

He looked back up at Theo, who smiled. "You're our first honorary member! I was in charge of the cards."

"Thanks," Draco replied, stomach lurching. "Are you sure I'll be welcome around? I'm not exactly popular with Wesleys."

"Pish posh," Theo said dismissively. "Come along, a few more things to see."

Theo showed Draco around the rest of the facility, including a basic healing potions cabinet that also contained a few emergency portkeys to St. Mungo's—"just to be safe, of course"—matching locker rooms for witches and wizards on opposite sides of the arena, and at the back corner of the massive space, a nondescript doorway that was almost concealed in the way it blended into the wall.

"Since you're a friend of the entrepreneurs," Theo winked, "You get access to the club within the club. In here," he opened the door with a few particular taps of his wand on the ruined surface, revealing an upward staircase, "we have completely private dueling spaces. I'll teach you the code later."

At the top of the stairs was a hallway of ten metallic doors. Theo opened one of them to show Draco a space similar to the semiprivate boxes, just without windows.

"All the same," he commented, "and at the end, our offices and working space."

Draco and Theo made their way to the last door in the hallway, a slab of walnut with bronze fittings that opened when Theo turned the knob.

"Greetings, Theodore!" Someone called from inside as Theo walked in. Draco cursed under his breath and stayed in the hallway concealed by the open door.

"Gentlemen, lady," Theo greeted the unseen people inside. "I brought a guest."

"Shit," hissed Draco, who made to flee the way they came, but instead found himself being yanked into a wood-paneled office by his billowing robe sleeves.

Inside he found three blank stares, as Theo's arm slithered into a viselike grip around his shoulders.

"You all must remember Draco Malfoy," Theo proclaimed, "Draco, you remember Ernie MacMillan, George Weasley, and Angelina Weasley-formerly-Johnson."

Draco took in the familiar red hair of the Weasley before him, who was sitting behind a large desk covered in parchments. He was stockier than the Weasley that Draco was most familiar with, and Draco recalled the dead twin Fred and winced. Behind him stood a beautiful ebony-haired woman that Draco also recognized from Hogwarts Quidditch, and in the back corner of the room, with his arms crossed and a foul expression, was Macmillan.

No one spoke, and no one made to speak for too long of a moment, and Draco, for the umpteenth time in his life, cursed his circumstances for making Theodore Nott his friend. Then again, it was Theo's birthday, and Draco decided to make an effort. He could always force Theo to Obliviate him later.

Draco cleared his throat and nodded. "Hello Weasleys, Macmillan. You have a wonderful facility here. Thank you for having me." it was clear they were not having him, but sometimes situations called for blatant lies.

"I didn't know we were at the guests stage yet," replied Macmillan. At a pointed look from Theo, he added, "Malfoy."

Angelina waved, frowning. "Hi."

The male Weasley raised his hand to scratch the side of his head, jostling his chin-length locks and revealing a span of scar tissue where his ear should have been. Eventually, he also said, "Hello," and the awkwardness returned.

"Well, this is lovely," Theo said, a too-wide smile still plastered on his face. His dumb, presumptuous face.

"We have plans, I believe," Draco attempted, eager to leave. He let out the falsest laugh he had ever laughed, "Festivities and whatnot, birthday boy." He maneuvered his arm around Theo's back and punched him in the kidney hard. Theo exhaled harshly and coughed.

"Birthday?" Angelina spoke. "Happy birthday, Theo! Oh, we should have known—done something." She patted her husband on the shoulder.

"Happy birthday," Weasley added, and Macmillan followed suit.

"Thank you, thank you," Theo replied. "No doing of anything necessary. Although," Theo continued, pointing toward the paper-covered desk, "what are you doing?"

"Going over pricing," Weasley (George) replied.

"The membership structure needs work," Macmillan replied. I have our suppliers bringing more copper and tin for you, Theo. They should arrive on Monday."

"Much appreciated. Funds are available whenever," Theo replied. "I love spending my father's money, right, Draco?" He elbowed Draco in the ribs a bit sharply and laughed. Draco glared.

"The private access membership needs to be priced at a level to which it remains exclusive," Weasley (Angelina) said, "There are privacy concerns…" She trailed off, looking awkwardly at Draco and Theo. Draco suspected the issue but remained silent. Theo, in his persistent rejection of tact, did not.

"Ah, you mean for illustrious figures such as Mister Order-of-Merlin-Senior-Auror-heartthrob-Chosen-One Harry Potter and such," Theo offered. "I completely agree."

"Yes, actually," Weasley (Angelina) replied with surprise, eyeing Theo skeptically. "You do?"

"I think we must go for invitation-only for everyone in the first year," Theo said, pulling out one of the desk chairs and sitting forward toward the Weasleys with his elbows on the desk. "It's the only way to ensure the facilities are up to par without bad press or anything if there is an incident. After year one, I think the private membership should be free and offered to only people we deem worthy of full access to this level. That's the only way to keep high-profile figures comfortable, and it would contribute to our reputation, especially in our first year. We should increase the daily pass to ten galleons and the weekly pass to twenty-five. Assuming we can get monthly members up over the first quarter next year…"

Theo picked up a quill and began scribbling a list of figures on the back of one of the parchments. Macmillan moved to look over his shoulder, and the Weasleys also huddled in.

Draco stood awkwardly by the door. Could he just slip out?

"Let's think about it. We still have some weeks before we need to ramp up marketing for the opening," Theo finished, handing the parchment to Macmillan.

Draco inched toward the open door, hoping to remain unnoticed.

"I like that idea," said Weasley (George). "If the numbers work. You've been footing the bill so far, Nott."

"Galleons are no issue for now, as far as I'm concerned," Theo replied. Draco wondered just how much money his friend was throwing into this project. Everything looked expensive, though Nott was obscenely rich even after post-war reparations.

"He's filthy rich," Draco reminded the others with a sickly sweet smile, slapping Theo on the back of his neck. "Don't feel bad for taking advantage—it's impossible."

"I am also happy to announce," Theo declared, turning around to face Draco. "That my best mate in the world is donating a full scope of healing potions to fill our first-aid cabinet supplies, free of charge, as a birthday present to me—us all, really. Again, thank you so much, Draco dearest."

Draco glared at Theo. Then he glared as the three others in the room reluctantly thanked him. "My pleasure."

"Brilliant! Some champagne to celebrate?" Theo asked. He did not wait for an answer when he shouted, "BOB!"

"Theo, I really think—" Draco attempted, cut off by a taciturn house elf popping into the room loudly, holding a gold-corked bottle of champagne. Oddly, Draco made alarmed eye contact with Weasley (George), who looked equally horrified.

"Bob has master's bottle."

"Birthday-slash-business drinks?" Theo offered. Bob snapped his fingers, and five cut crystal wine flutes appeared on the desk.

Draco groaned.

Two hours later—

"Your technique is rubbish, Macmillan!" Draco called up at his former classmate, who was hovering in the largest of the flying quads, as Theo called them, while the Weasleys pelted him with conjured felt balls. "Get your chin closer to the handle!"

"Piss off, Malfoy!" Macmillan replied moments before the prettier Weasley hit him in the nose.

Draco chuckled. "Ponce," he muttered, turning to pop another strawberry into his mouth. They laid out a picnic on the farthest of the exhibition platforms, and he and Theo sat with their legs dangling.

"You must tell Muffy how delicious this cake is again," Theo replied through a mouthful of frosting. "Her chocolate is truly my favorite."

Draco nodded. He had planned to present Theo with the cake in a private booth at Diagon Alley's most expensive restaurant, but their time and the DA devolved into an impromptu celebration. Draco had already tested the arena's charmed snitch and found the game pleasing. However, he still preferred a full pitch and the traditional sport.

"Happy birthday," Draco nodded, raising his champagne glass.

Macmillan slipped off his broom for the third time that evening, and Draco winced in sympathy as he smacked into the cushioned floor.

"You may want to require sober-up potions to access the exercise spaces if you're going to serve drinks here," Draco said. "Make sure it's all in the fine print for your membership contracts."

"I'll get my legal representative on it," Theo agreed. "Expect my owl tomorrow."

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed wearily, knowing he walked himself into more free labor.

"Dueling Arena, more like Desperate Affairs, if you need my help," Draco retorted.

"I like to think of it as the Devil's Arsehole—complimentarily, of course."

"Dancing Acromatula."

"Decidedly Average."

"Dummy Associates."

"Debonair Asshats."

"Dull and Asinine"

"Dickwad Afficionados."

"Disgraceful Arsewipes."

Theo flicked a blueberry at Draco's forehead, and Draco wiped the moisture from his forehead calmly. "You're going to regret that."

"It's my birthday!" Theo yelled, beginning to run away.

Up Next: The next full moon.