Ch. 4: Old Friends, New Games

The next morning was overcast and windy as Hermione and Harry made their way back to the investigation site in the Forest of Bowland. Hermione had noticed that Malfoy hadn't come back to the tent after their argument the previous night, and presumably he had spent the night elsewhere. That suited her just fine. The less time she spent in his general vicinity, the better.

After they had let the healers cast their protection wards over them, Harry and Hermione made their way into the site. Malfoy was already inside, mumbling a series of incantations under his breath as he waved his wand in front of a particular stretch of a rune-covered wall. He glanced over as Harry and Hermione stepped through the threshold into the underground structure, and his expression pulled into a scowl at the sight of them. Hermione shot a glare in return and swept past him, making her way over to the stone altar in the center of the room. She wanted another look at the rune that she had shown Kingsley. After all, it was the same one that had appeared in the sky after the attack.

They worked in silence until midday. Hermione was half-tempted to keep working, but her stomach gave a loud growl in protest, so she closed her small pocket notebook that she had been copying runes into and informed Harry that she would be taking a lunch break. He pocketed his wand, deciding to join her, and the two made their way out of the ruins and into the forest.

The sun was high overhead, shining through the tree branches and dappling the ground with spots of light. They settled against a large oak tree and Hermione drew two paper bags from the beaded bag that she carried with her practically everywhere. She handed one to Harry, who took it with a mumble of thanks.

She reached into her magically-enlarged beaded bookbag, her hand probing for the familiar worn leather texture that belonged to the tome she was looking for. After their initial exploration of the site, she had resigned herself to studying this particular to appease the voice that was nagging her at the back of her mind. "Rites and Rituals of Ancient Pureblood Society" the tome's cover read in large gilded letters. She cracked it open to the page she had left off on, which was marked by a Gryffindor-themed bookmark, complete with a full-maned lion that was presently napping soundly. Hermione read in silence for a few minutes, occasionally taking a bite of her cheese and pickle sandwich.

Her eyes stopped at the paragraph in front of her, her finger tracing a faded rune.

"Harry, look at this," Hermione murmured suddenly, pushing the book towards Harry, who gave her a questioning look. "I've been doing research, trying to find the connection between the symbol found at Purum Sanguine attacks and the rune found at this ancient site. I found an interesting bit about the rune." Her fingers traced the words under the rune.

"We know this rune translates to 'Pure Blood', but it's more than that. This rune wasn't just a symbol to convey meaning. It was discovered in the burial site of an ancient wizarding family named Blackwood. The family believed that magical strength came solely from pure magic bloodlines," she explained.

"So, it's more than a signature. It's a declaration," Harry noted. Hermione nodded.

"But what if they're not just sending a message?" Hermione wondered aloud. "What if they're invoking something?"

"If they're using this rune, they might believe it amplifies their cause in some way, whether through fear or magical means," Harry added. "Like the Dark Mark."

"But older, more primal." Hermione shivered. Images of the destruction of Hogwarts, of her dead and dying friends flashed into her mind's eye. "We can't let history repeat itself, Harry." Harry's green eyes met hers.

"We won't."

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Draco sat underneath a spindly elm tree, absentmindedly turning his letter to Theo over in his hands. He hadn't sent the owl yet, and he was debating whether he even wanted to or not. He and his mother had worked so hard to distance themselves from their Death Eater pasts and now Shacklebolt was asking him to once again step foot into a circle of wizarding society that had objectively made his family's lives worse.

He glanced over at two thirds of the Golden Trio, who were lounging underneath an oak tree, eating sandwiches as they talked in low voices.

No matter what I do they will never trust me, he thought bitterly. What did he have to lose by accepting Shacklebolt's request, really? Certainly not the trust of wizarding society, it seemed.

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Later that afternoon, after they had finished their daily inspection of the archaeology site, Draco stood in one of the lifts at the Ministry of Magic. It was a short ride down to level one where Shacklebolt's office was, but he couldn't help but wish it was a longer ride. His insides felt twisted with trepidation at the prospect of the conversation he was inching closer to with every passing moment.

At last, the lift came to a jarring halt and a cool female voice announced, "Level one, Minister for Magic and Support Staff."

The lift doors slid open, and Draco stepped out into mayhem. The corridor was filled with Ministry officials bustling about, the cacophony of their voices echoing off the walls around them. He knew instantly that something was wrong.

Shacklebolt's door was closed when Draco's feet stopped in front of it, so he rapped lightly on the wood using the Griffin-shaped knocker.

"Come in," came the Minister's voice from behind the door. He sounded weary. Ever since Purum Sanguinem's attack, he'd been practically living in his office.

Draco opened the door and sidled into the room apprehensively. The Minister for Magic's office was in complete disarray, with papers strewn everywhere. Two wizards in burgundy robes with gold detailing were standing in front of Shacklebolt's desk. Draco recognized them as aurors by the badges that were sewn into their robes.

"—got the muggles to safety, thank Merlin," one of them was saying as he entered. The auror fell silent, his eyes flickering toward the door and landing on Draco. He watched as the man's expression hardened in recognition, his face full of distrust. Draco was used to this expression being directed at him, but it still stung every time it happened.

"Mr. Malfoy, now is not the best of times, as I'm sure you can see," the Minister greeted him sharply.

Draco nodded. "Another attack?" he asked Shacklebolt. The older wizard sighed and seemed to age another decade as he did.

"Two, one this morning and another just now."

Draco's heart plummeted. Purum Sanguinem was ramping up their attacks. If they wanted to learn more about the group, they needed to put a plan into action, and fast.

"Minister, may I speak to you alone for a moment?" Draco asked, casting a sideways glance at the two aurors. The one closest to him scowled.

"Of course, but let's make it fast. I have to address the Wizengamot about this mess in half an hour."

The two aurors left Shacklebolt's office reluctantly. One of them even offered to stay behind to guard the Minister "just in case", to Draco's annoyance, but Shacklebolt waved him off irritatedly.

"Say your piece, Malfoy," said the Minister once they were alone.

"I'll do it," Draco answered simply. "I'll be your man on the inside of Purum Sanguinem and funnel information back to the Ministry."

Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair, studying the man in front of him.

"You understand what you're getting yourself into, Malfoy? Purum Sanguinem isn't just some old pureblood social club. They're dangerous."

"I grew up around people like them. I know exactly what they are," Draco said coolly.

"Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do, Malfoy?" Kingsley asked, and Draco couldn't help but feel a prick of annoyance.

"Did I have a choice?" he asked drily. Kingsley folded his hands together, looking at the younger wizard before him.

"You always have a choice. I'm not forcing you to do this. But if you go down this path, you need to understand— you might not come back the same."

Draco let out a humorless laugh.

"You assume there's something left of me worth coming back to, Minister."

Kingsley sighed and shook his head slightly. There was a flicker of something in his gaze— pity, perhaps, or understanding.

"If you want redemption, there are easier ways, Malfoy. Safer ways."

"I'm not looking for redemption," Draco lied. The Minister gave him a look that suggested he didn't believe that but said nothing more about it.

"Very well. We will come up with a plan of action to get you in contact with members of Purum Sanguinem," said Kingsley.

"About that, I might already have a contact I can owl."

"Who?" the Minister asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Theodore Nott. Theo and I…," Draco hesitated, unsure how to describe his past friendship with his housemate. "We were friends at Hogwarts. He's his father's son, and his father was deep in the old ways. I can almost guarantee that Theo's already in Purum Sanguinem or at least running in the same social circles as them."

"And you're sure he'll trust you?" Kingsley asked.

"My family has managed to wriggle back into the good graces of pureblood society once before. I'm sure we can do it again," said Draco wryly.

"Very well," answered Shacklebolt. "See to it that you send that owl sooner rather than later. The sooner we can get this operation underway, the better. The longer this group is at large, the more we risk the exposure of our world and the deaths of countless muggles and muggleborns."

"I already have it written, just need to modify it and send it," Draco answered. "Casual enough— drinks, a catch-up between old friends. He'll bite."

"You'd better hope he does. If Nott suspects you, if any of them do—"

"I die, I know," the blonde wizard interjected stonily.

"We'll have eyes on you. If you get in too deep—"

"I won't," Draco reassured him.

"If you do, we'll pull you out," the Minister insisted.

"That won't be necessary," Draco drawled. With that, he turned sharply on his heel, strode towards the door, and disappeared into the dimly lit corridor beyond.

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Theo's reply came sooner than Draco had expected. It had only been an hour since he had sent the owl from the Ministry's owlery, after making some changes to the letter. He had made sure it was clear that he was asking to meet that night.

He unfastened the parchment from Archimedes' leg, ruffling the eagle owl's feathers affectionately as he did. Draco unfurled the small scroll, his heart racing as he read Theo's reply.

Draco,

Let's meet at the Gilded Wyvern instead. See you there at seven tonight.

~ Theo

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The Gilded Wyvern was a haven for old money and unscrupulous business deals. It was nestled in a remote corner of Diagon alley, practically hidden from view unless one knew where to look. The kind of place only those with the right name, the right money, and the right connections could enter. Low-lit chandeliers cast a golden glow over dark mahogany tables, and the air hung heavy with the scents of smoke and alcohol. In a secluded booth at the back, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott sat across from each other. Two crystal tumblers of firewhiskey sat between them, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the chandeliers.

"Well, well, well, Draco fucking Malfoy, "the brown-haired wizard had greeted him with a smirk. "Never thought the Ministry's golden boy would lower himself to speak to me again."

Draco rolled his eyes and took a drink of his firewhiskey.

"Maybe I missed your charming company, Theo. Or maybe I got tired of drinking alone."

"You? Alone? Somehow I doubt that." Theo scoffed.

Draco raised his glass in a silent toast, taking a slow sip as he used the pause to measure Theo's demeanor. They hadn't spoken properly in years, not since the war, but there was an unspoken understanding between them— one built on shared history, family expectations, and secrets neither would voice aloud.

Theo mirrored him, taking a sip of his firewhiskey before speaking again.

"How are things at the Ministry?" the question was almost mocking.

"The same as ever. The Ministry's all about reform and unity, but mostly they're just placating the media." He wondered for a moment whether he should further disparage the Ministry to gain Theo's trust, or take a subtler route, one that let Theo fill in the blanks with his own suspicions. He opted for subtlety.

"The world didn't change after the war— not really. It just dressed itself up differently."

Theo's lips quirked into a smirk.

"And here I thought you'd settled into that new image of yours. The reformed Malfoy. Civilized. Tamed."

Draco chuckled, taking another sip of his firewhiskey and setting his glass down.

"Hardly. I just got good at playing their game and now I'm bored of it."

Theo's fingers drummed lightly against his tumbler as he studied Draco. The pause stretched, tension humming beneath the conversation. Then Theo leaned forward and began to speak in a low voice.

"You know, there are certain circles that would find your change of heart interesting," the brown-haired wizard said, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "We have a gathering soon. You should come," Theo offered.

"I'm game," Draco answered. He met Theo's gaze, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Come to this address tomorrow, and don't be late," Theo said as he slipped a piece of parchment into Draco's hands.

They clinked glasses, the soft chime between crystal carrying more weight than any spoken agreement. As Draco took a measured sip, the burn of the firewhiskey did nothing to settle the feeling twisting in his gut.

He was in, for better or for worse.

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A/N: That's right, I haven't forgotten about this story! I had a big bout of writer's block for a while, but I have all kinds of ideas on where to take this fic now, and a rough outline. Part of chapter 5 is already written, and I'm slowly working on it a little bit every day. Hopefully updates will be more consistent! Thanks for your support and patience!

~ Acci0-Adventure