The chill of early morning crept through the stone corridors of Hogwarts. The castle was quieter than usual, the aftermath of Cedric Diggory's death and Harry Potter's wild accusations weighing heavily on students and staff alike.
Draco Malfoy, however, walked with measured confidence. His sharp eyes scanned his surroundings, every step deliberate. He ignored the stares from his classmates—some in awe, others in suspicion. The unease in the castle wasn't his problem. Not yet, at least.
Draco slipped into the empty library, where rows of dusty books stretched into the shadows. He moved with purpose, his mind replaying fragments of the vision from the night before. The World Will's words echoed faintly in his head, but Draco wasn't ready to process their full weight.
He pulled a random book from the shelf, pretending to read as footsteps echoed down the corridor.
"Draco," Pansy Parkinson's voice cut through the silence. She appeared moments later, flanked by Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.
"Not now, Pansy," Draco said, not looking up.
Pansy frowned, her arms crossed. "Not now? Half the school's talking about Cedric Diggory, and you're hiding in here? What are you up to?"
Draco snapped the book shut and looked up. "Unlike most people, I don't have time to chase rumors and sob stories. I have priorities."
Theodore chuckled. "You always have priorities, Draco. What are they this time?"
Draco smirked but didn't answer. Instead, he stood, brushing past them. "If you're done pestering me, I have business to attend to."
Later that evening, Draco sat at his desk, quill poised over a piece of parchment. His room in the Slytherin dormitory was quiet, the faint crackle of the enchanted torches providing a soothing backdrop.
The letter was short, and calculated:
To Andromeda Black Tonks,
Family is more than blood, but blood is a bond that cannot be severed. I have come across information regarding Ministry movements that may interest you. Consider this a gesture of goodwill from one Black to another.
Draco Malfoy.
He read the letter twice before sealing it. It was a simple move, but one that served multiple purposes. Andromeda and her daughter Nymphadora were deeply entrenched in the Order of the Phoenix, but to the world, they were still family. Helping them would appear as a personal gesture, driven by his supposed family loyalty.
In truth, the move was far more deliberate. Andromeda was a link to Dumbledore's faction—a faction Draco needed to keep strong if the balance demanded by the World Will was to hold.
Andromeda Tonks sat at her modest kitchen table, the letter from Draco resting in her hands. She frowned, rereading the lines.
"This makes no sense," she said aloud, handing the letter to her husband, Ted.
Ted, a kind-faced man with a calm demeanor, glanced over the parchment. "Draco Malfoy. I didn't think the Malfoys acknowledged your existence anymore."
Andromeda shook her head. "Lucius doesn't. Narcissa… perhaps. But Draco? He's never had any reason to contact me."
"You think it's genuine?"
"I think it's strategic," Andromeda replied. "The Malfoys always have a reason for their actions. But this..." She tapped the letter thoughtfully. "It doesn't feel like Lucius. This feels like... Draco."
Ted shrugged. "What do you want to do?"
Andromeda hesitated. "I'll look into it. If it's a trap, I'll find out soon enough."
The next morning, Draco's usual smirk was firmly in place as he strolled into the Great Hall. Pansy and Blaise were already seated, their conversation halting as he approached.
"Have you heard?" Pansy said, leaning toward him. "Potter's been telling everyone You-Know-Who is back. Honestly, he's gone completely mental."
Draco gave her a bored look. "Potter's always mental, Pansy. It's his defining trait."
Blaise chuckled, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Still, it's bold, isn't it? Accusing the Ministry of lying, claiming Diggory was murdered. It's either bravery or stupidity."
"Or both," Draco said, reaching for a piece of toast. "But let Potter play the hero. It's what he's good at."
The conversation shifted to other topics, but Draco's thoughts lingered. Potter's claims, though exaggerated, were true. Voldemort's return wasn't just another of Dumbledore's eccentric warnings—it was the beginning of something far larger.
That night, Draco sat by the window in his dormitory, staring out at the moonlit grounds. The World Will was quiet, but its presence lingered, a reminder of the task ahead.
He wasn't naive. Every move he made had to be deliberate, every step calculated. The balance demanded subtlety, not recklessness. His letter to Andromeda was just the beginning—a small ripple in the vast ocean of change.
Draco leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He would maintain his public persona—arrogant, cunning, and loyal to Voldemort's cause. But beneath the mask, he would weave a web of alliances and manipulations that no one could unravel.
For now, he would let the world see what they expected: a Malfoy loyal to his family, a pureblood supremacist following in his father's footsteps.
But beneath the surface, the real work had already begun.