The thick stack of documents that Rita had found was still sitting in the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters.
Back in June, a number of them had died.
But those who died weren't the only ones. The files contained too many names—Death Eaters who also held positions within the Ministry of Magic.
"At least the Auror Office is mostly clean. Kingsley is a trustworthy ally." Dumbledore tapped the table as a thin stream of honey water poured into his mouth. "Scrimgeour as well—though he has no interest in joining the Order."
"Thank Merlin. Now I finally understand that the Ministry is actually run by Aurors." Harry waved dismissively and took a sip of his drink.
"You're suspicious of Pierce?" Dumbledore finally caught on, looking at Harry in surprise.
Harry nodded.
"Why? Pierce was never particularly prominent, but he fought against Voldemort more than a decade ago. He was a man of integrity," Dumbledore said. "He doesn't seem like someone who would collude with Death Eaters."
"Professor, I don't trust anyone in the Ministry right now." Harry shook his head. "Something's wrong."
"When we arrived, there wasn't any magical interference around the Leaky Cauldron."
"But you said the area was warded against Apparition."
"That's beyond the power of the Death Eaters."
As useless as the Ministry might be in other areas, when it came to surveillance and magical restrictions, they were meticulous.
"It could be some official, or it could be him—it doesn't matter to me. You should keep an eye on him, Professor." Harry set his glass down and changed the subject. "Tom was wounded by my Basilisk Bone Sword. Basilisk venom is lethal, but this is Tom. I don't believe he'd die so easily."
"Of course, there are only a few ways to purge Basilisk venom. I'll have Rita keep an eye out. The Death Eaters will leave a trail soon enough."
"That thing—we need to move faster."
Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh.
Horcruxes.
The most troublesome problem. Even with Mundungus Fletcher helping, they hadn't found any useful leads.
"Harry, do you have any ideas?" Dumbledore frowned.
Harry tapped the table lightly. "I suspect there's a Horcrux inside Hogwarts."
Dumbledore hesitated. "But wasn't that just a misunderstanding—we thought it was connected to Sirius?"
Sirius, sipping his drink, tilted his head, his eyes narrowing sharply.
It involved him?
Harry explained, "At first, I thought so too."
"But something's off. An intruder in the castle, missing pets, werewolf attacks…"
He paused briefly. "In hindsight, every move the Death Eaters have made has revolved around Hogwarts. But then suddenly, they targeted Gringotts."
"Of course, they could have been creating distractions."
"But Barty Crouch Jr. is still missing. That makes me uneasy."
Sirius interjected, "Maybe he's actually dead."
Harry and Dumbledore had long believed that Barty Crouch Jr. was alive. But no one in the Order of the Phoenix had ever seen him—not last year, not during the Triwizard Tournament, and not this time either.
There were no traces of him at all.
Was he really still alive?
Sirius doubted it.
Harry looked at him for a moment but only shook his head slowly.
"There are still parts of the castle we haven't explored," Dumbledore mused, frowning.
"Should we ask Sir Gryffindor?" Harry flicked his wand and refilled his glass. "Maybe he has an idea."
The Sorting Hat poked its brim up. "That Marauder's Map—Godric has seen it. He doesn't know any more than you do."
Dumbledore and Harry both turned to stare at it.
The Sorting Hat wiggled its tip. "The castle belongs to Salazar. Rowena and Helga helped design some of it. **Godric, however, was too busy clearing out the dangerous creatures around Hogwarts."
"There were dragons living near the castle back then."
"Then it looks like we'll have to search for it ourselves." Harry sighed.
Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
They drank in silence, analyzing the day's events piece by piece.
At that very moment, in Hogsmeade, off to the rightmost corner, Draco Malfoy paced anxiously through the snow.
He hadn't gone home for Christmas.
Since his second year, he hadn't spent Christmas at home again—ever since his father's imprisonment, their grand mansion had stopped feeling like home.
But just now, his mother had sent an owl, urgently asking him to leave Hogwarts and meet her at the Hog's Head Inn.
The letter had been hastily written—rushed and panicked.
It made him uneasy.
The wind was icy, and he had been pacing for half an hour, but he didn't feel cold. His heart was far colder than the air.
"Draco. Draco."
Someone called his name.
A man's voice—both familiar and unfamiliar.
Draco slowly turned, following the voice, his disbelief clear in his expression.
"Father?"
Lucius stepped out of the shadows, wrapped in a worn bear-fur cloak. Fresh scars ran across his face, and his entire being radiated an air of defeat.
"It's me."
"You were in Azkaban," Draco said, gripping his wand tightly, inhaling deeply. His tone was calm.
"We escaped." Lucius answered. "I believe that ridiculous tabloid, The Singing Skeptic, reported on it."
"I don't read raving lunatic newspapers." Draco shook his head and stared at his father. "So you called me here—to meet?"
Lucius nodded. He noticed the bruises on Draco's face, the patched-up robes.
"You've had a rough time?"
"Trivial nuisances." Draco waved it off indifferently. "Father, why did you call me?"
Lucius hesitated. He stomped on the snow a few times before speaking.
"The Dark Lord has returned."
The Dark Lord?
Voldemort?
Draco frowned.
"The Dark Lord wants you to become a Death Eater." Lucius took a deep breath, forcing the words out.
"Me? A Death Eater?" Draco's grip on his wand tightened. "I'm just a fifth-year student. Why would the Dark Lord need me?"
Lucius shook his head. "I don't want this either. But this is his command."
He… couldn't disobey.
"Father, what happened today?" Draco asked. "I noticed Potter was gone all day. Dumbledore left during the feast. Voldemort's return must not have gone smoothly."
Lucius' expression darkened further. He nodded grimly and recounted the day's events.
"Potter is really that strong?" Draco muttered.
Lucius shook his head. "The Dark Lord was just caught off guard. He didn't know Potter could wield a sword, no one told him. And his magic hasn't fully returned."
"I don't—"
"But this is the Dark Lord's command."
Draco shook his head decisively. "I'm sorry, Father. I won't become a Death Eater."
"Then you're siding with Potter?" Lucius' tone was stern, but his eyes and mouth relaxed just a fraction.
Draco shook his head. "No. I won't be friends with Scarhead either."
Lucius stared at him.
Draco raised his wand.
"The only thing I've learned these past two years, Father, is that groups are unreliable."
"They will lift you up, hold you high in their hands, revere you as a leader—for whatever reason suits them at the time."
"And they will just as easily toss you aside, throw you into the mud, and trample you underfoot."
"Only power grants true control."
"Anything given to you by others is nothing more than an illusion."
"Whether it's the Dark Lord's favor, the title of the youngest Death Eater, or the leadership of Slytherin."
"Or even becoming one of Potter's so-called reformed allies, fighting for 'justice'."
"Everything I have—if it comes from them, then it isn't truly mine."
"The Dark Lord, Potter—there's no difference to me."
"I won't accept anyone's charity."
"I will belong to no one but myself."
Lucius stared at him.
A strange, complex emotion coiled in his chest, like a spider weaving a web around his heart—an itchy, tangled mess, yet layered with something thicker—something that wrapped around his old, rotting heart and held it tight.
Two years.
He had spent only two years in Azkaban, yet his son had changed beyond recognition.
Grown into something… unfamiliar.
Grown into exactly the kind of man Lucius had always hoped he would be.
"And so—you'll defy the Dark Lord?" Lucius asked, his tone severe, but his words were not entirely sincere.
"You'll defy me—your own father?"
Draco shook his head. "This isn't defiance."
"I am simply choosing my own path."
"Come, Father."
"I've grown a lot in these two years. Don't you want to see for yourself?"
Expelliarmus!
Lucius struck first—his spell shot toward Draco.
But Draco—who had been ambushed too many times over the years—was quick.
He dodged and threw out a Weasley-brand firework.
The duel was brief.
The fight ended quickly.
Draco stood tall in the snow, gripping his own wand—
And his father's.
Lucius' bear-fur cloak had fallen to the ground.
He stood there in nothing but a thin, tattered shirt, his arms covered in scars—
Some old wounds from torture, some fresh from Draco's slicing hex.
"Draco Malfoy."
Lucius bent down, picked up his cloak, and wrapped it back around himself.
"I will inform the Dark Lord of your betrayal."
"Enjoy your time at Hogwarts while you can."
"The moment you step out—the Dark Lord will make you suffer."
"I truly hope—"
"When that day comes, you don't end up crying to Dumbledore, to Potter, to the Order of the Phoenix—"
"Begging for help."
Draco Malfoy was a man.
He stood in the snow, watching his father curse under his breath and walk away.
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Powerstones?
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