The twelve surrounded him in a tight circle, hands clasped, chanting in unison. The hoods of their cerulean robes were pulled down over their faces, placing the emblem of their order directly over their foreheads. The dozen enormous eyes rolled upward as magic swirled around him in dizzying currents.

It was a pity he hadn't actually seen whatever it was they thought he'd seen; it must be something really good if they were willing to kill him for it. He should have listened to his father. He should have stayed away from the Builders.

He was five years old the first time he saw them. An ancient oak had toppled over during a violent summer storm, taking out part of the east wall of the manor, destroying the sitting room and the library above it. He could still vividly remember waking to the sound of shattering glass and cracking stone. The next afternoon the Builders arrived. His father allowed him to stand in the garden as the line of men filed through the front gate. Their robes were the colour of the ocean in fairy tales. As they drew closer, he saw that their hoods obscured their faces; on the front of each was a picture of a great unblinking grey eye. He'd never seen anything more fascinating.

"Those are Builders, Draco," said his father. "You must stay away from them while they are working. It's very important. Do you understand?"

Draco nodded, but of course did not obey. His mother found him just as he was about to open the door to the library -- the chanting on the other side made him feel like spiders were crawling down his back. His father was very disappointed.

"Do you know what they would have done to you had they discovered you?" he asked. His eyes were cold and furious. Draco shook his head and tried not to cry. He hated getting caught.

The family stayed at their summer home in the south of France for the next two weeks. Draco spent the first day in the garden with his robes pulled over his head, piling stones one atop the other to form elaborate multi-towered structures. He wished he had a hood. He drew eyes in the dirt with a stick and then on his forehead with mud. "Look, I'm a Builder!" he said to his mother, and she sent him to bed, even though it was the middle of the day. The next morning, his father gave him a new broom and Draco forgot about the Builders.

He hadn't given a thought to them since then, not until McGonagall summoned him to her office in late August to announce that a group of Builders would be arriving at Hogwarts that afternoon.

"Meet them at the station, please," she said, "and take a carriage."

Normally such a request would have irked him. Even though he was the Headmistress's assistant, he felt that many of his duties were beneath him. (Not that he ever refused to do something she asked; he knew he had nowhere else to go, thanks to the bloody Dark Lord.) But he remembered the way his father had treated the Builders -- clearly they were important people. Meeting them was an honour. In a way, he was acting as an emissary of Hogwarts.

He got to Hogsmeade Station an hour early. The air was sticky with humidity; beads of sweat formed on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He paced back and forth along the edge of the platform, occasionally glancing down at the silent iron rails and wondering if any first-years had ever fallen over and been shredded by the wheels of the Hogwarts Express. He saw the black plume of smoke in the distance and sat on a bench, back straight and hands clasped.

When the blue-robed figures exited the train, his heart leapt into his throat. He stood. For a moment, he was five years old again, in the garden with his father and watching a line of mysterious strangers approach. Then he reminded himself that his father was dead and the garden was likely nothing but a wild tangle of weeds that had steadily strangled any remaining vestiges of his former life.

The Builders stopped in a row in front of him. It was unnerving not being able to see their eyes. The first man lowered his hood, keeping his gaze fixed on a distant point. He was a barrel-chested, middle-aged wizard with thinning brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. His skin was coarse and tan, as though he often spent time outdoors without the use of a sun-protection charm.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," said Draco, extending his right hand. "I would like to welcome you to Hogwarts Schoo--"

"We are the Arcane Order of Builders," said the man. His voice was deep and resonant. "We have been summoned, and so we have come. We are Twelve, but which Twelve we are is inconsequential. Under the Eye we are all the same."

"Under the Eye," intoned the others.

Draco withdrew his hand and clenched it into a fist at his side. "Yes, well, welcome to Hogwarts. Please follow me." He walked across the platform and down the short run of stairs. "It's only a few minutes' ride," he said, pulling the carriage door open. "You may be interested to know that this carriage is pulled by Thestrals." He turned to see their reactions -- most people didn't know about Thestrals, but he enjoyed it when someone did and was suitably impressed. The Builders walked single-file past him, heading up the road towards the castle.

Not even the Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic had refused a carriage ride. No one had ever refused a carriage ride. Who did these people think they were? Draco caressed the handle of his wand, wondering exactly what one had to do to get their attention. He fought back the urge to cast a Trip Jinx … or twelve. An emissary, he told himself, did not hex his guests, no matter how much they deserved it.

He climbed up onto the carriage and clucked his tongue. The Thestrals, familiar with his presence, took off at once towards the castle. The Builders could fucking escort themselves.

A week later saw the school year begin; the Great Hall was filled with the clamour of students greeting old classmates and meeting the newly-sorted first-years. Draco was glad to be at the High Table rather than down in the chaos below. A few of the older students -- who had been at Hogwarts during Draco's sixth and seventh years -- eyed him warily. At least no one had shouted "Death Eater" at him this time. Although that had been worth it for losing Gryffindor House one hundred points before the term had even started.

"Finally," said McGonagall, after running through the usual announcements, "I am pleased to report that the Arcane Order of Builders has graciously sent a delegation to Hogwarts to perform the repairs that the castle has so desperately needed these past three years. Students and faculty alike are advised to stay away from the Builders while they work. I am assured that the magic they use to protect their secrets is not something to be trifled with." A murmur of whispers swept through the hall. McGonagall cleared her throat and silence returned. "I am sorry to inform you that the Great Hall will be closed as of midnight tonight. However," she continued over the cries of protest, "I have been promised that our ceiling will be returned to its former glory by Christmas."

Draco looked up at the cold grey stone, remembering how it used to sparkle and shine with stars at night.

As McGonagall took her seat, piles of food appeared on the tables and the students launched into discussion of the news. The sudden roar of noise reminded Draco of the time he had kicked a wasps' nest. He hated wasps.

He ate his meal in silence, ignoring the mindless prattle of the faculty seated around him. They never talked to him anyway. The buxom Potions Professor was flirting with the new Professor of Divination, but Draco was sure it was a lost cause: Professor Clark was obviously bent. He and Draco had exchanged a look when they were introduced the previous week. One always knew one's own.

He finished his strawberry tart and walked out through the emptying hall. He wondered where the Builders were; he hadn't seen them the entire week. Not that he cared.

One morning a month later, the first-year Hufflepuff girls woke to find an empty bed instead of a cheerful blonde girl named Savannah. The note left on her pillow explained that she had gone home because she didn't want to be magic anymore. It seemed reasonable enough to Draco -- after all, she was a Mudblood -- but the Headmistress was sceptical.

McGonagall went to visit the girl's home in Staffordshire that same afternoon; according to her report, which she made Draco file into the official school record, her parents were adamant that Savannah would be better off at a Muggle boarding school. They had refused to let the Headmistress even speak to their daughter, for fear she would "use her witchcraft" to steal her away. Apparently, she had arrived at home on a borrowed school broom; they had thrown it at McGonagall before slamming the door in her face.

Draco was of the opinion that they were better off without such people, and saw the event as a boon to the entire Wizarding world.

The disappearance of a fourth-year Slytherin boy three weeks later, however, gave him pause. The boy was a pureblooded wizard from a good, if unremarkable, family. His housemates hadn't yet reported him missing when McGonagall received the owl from his parents. Draco was in her office sorting through student misconduct reports when it arrived.

"Winston Needle has been withdrawn from Hogwarts," said McGonagall, frowning at the letter. "Apparently his parents are dissatisfied with the education he's been receiving. They say they sent him a Portkey hidden in a box of chocolate frogs. He used it last night." She looked up at Draco. "I will need you to send two owls as soon as possible. One to the Needles, and one to the Minister. Then, you will fetch the Slytherin Prefects and bring them to me. I fear that something is not right."

Despite McGonagall's misgivings, the Needles' return owl insisted that their son was safe and being educated at home by a private tutor. McGonagall sent the head of Slytherin house to reason with them, but he was rebuffed each time.

When Minister Shacklebolt replied that he would "see about finding someone to look into it," Draco considered the matter finished. He knew a bureaucratic brush-off when he saw one.

He was wrong.

It was past midnight; Draco stood just inside the gates of Hogwarts, hands in the pockets of his thick woollen coat. The air had a distinct crispness about the edges, heralding the inevitable slide of autumn into winter. He stomped on a brown leaf, relishing the crunch of destruction. Why did they have to send him?

McGonagall had called him into her office earlier that evening and he had known as soon as he saw her that she had news he wouldn't like.

"The Ministry has decided to send an Auror to look into the two unusual student withdrawals," she said. "He arrives tonight."

"An Auror? Is that really necessary?"

"It is not up to us to decide when an Auror is necessary. Apparently, the Auror in question was very adamant about this assignment." She gazed evenly at Draco, her lips quirking slightly at the corners. He experienced a moment of unwelcome premonition.

"Potter."

McGonagall sighed. "I know your history with Harry. I expect you to keep the past in the past and be courteous and civil. No matter what you may think of him, he sacrificed a great deal for us all."

Of course Draco knew that, but he wasn't going to admit it. Not out loud, anyway.

He had been waiting for the great hero to arrive since just after eight. Four bloody hours. It wasn't fair: sent to fetch a former classmate like a common servant. He should be the promising new Auror … well, no, not an Auror. That had always seemed like an overly dangerous position with not nearly enough prestige or room for advancement. He should be in the Ministry, though, using his superior pedigree to shape the world. That was what the Malfoys did. Yes. He should be an up-and-coming Ministry official. Perhaps he wouldn't be in a position of much power yet, but he would be someone the Ministers talked about when they got together behind closed doors, saying, "Keep an eye on that young Malfoy. He's going places for sure." And he would go places. Although it would never make up for what had happened to his family.

The pop of Apparition brought Draco back to the present. He walked up to the gates and looked through the bars. The moon was full overhead, casting everything in a silvery light. Potter's face was cut by harsh angles and shadows, and he appeared not to have shaved for several days.

"Potter. How thoughtful of you to be so prompt."

"Malfoy? Christ. Just the person I wanted to see right now. Look, I've had a long day. Can I just go inside and you can be snide at me tomorrow?"

"I'm not being snide. You were supposed to be here four hours ago. My bloody ears have gone numb. Or, they would have if I wasn't so good at Warming Charms."

"Four hours? What time is it?" Potter checked his watch and muttered a curse. "Sorry, I got tied up by something. I didn't realize how late it was."

Draco turned the large rusty key in the large rusty lock, smiling when Potter winced at the harsh sound. He shuffled through the gates, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder. They trudged up the path towards the castle together, not speaking until they were almost to the door.

"Why exactly are you here?" asked Draco.

"What? There are children missing!"

"No, they aren't missing, they just aren't at Hogwarts any longer. The educational choice of a couple of children is hardly the usual purview of the Auror Department. Unless one of them was the world's youngest Dark Wizard?"

"Something's wrong." Potter shrugged. "I knew as soon as … I don't know how to explain it," he said distractedly, pausing on the staircase leading to the castle. He looked up at the ancient stone edifice. "I haven't been here in years. Not since …"

Draco was in no mood for reminiscing. Especially not about that. He continued up the stairs and opened the heavy wooden door. "It's late. I'm sure you'll have time for sightseeing later."

Potter followed him into the entry hall. A pulsing purple light glowed around the edges of the door to the Great Hall. Draco stared at it, feeling a strong compulsion to go in.

"What the hell is that?"

"Builders. They're fixing the Great Hall. The ceiling was damaged during … it was damaged."

"Right," said Potter quietly. He stared at the light; Draco watched it reflect in the round lenses of Potter's glasses. "Can I go in and see what they're doing?"

Draco wanted to cackle with delight, but instead he made his face go thoughtful. "Hmm. Well, we're not supposed to bother them when they're working. But I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you had a peek. You are Harry Potter, after all."

Potter rolled his eyes and walked towards the Great Hall. Draco dove behind a suit of armour as soon as Potter touched the door. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but if they had magical protection in place, he didn't want to get caught in any sort of backlash. After a few seconds of silence, he peeked over a metal shoulder; Potter was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck!"

If he had lost an Auror -- let alone this particular Auror -- within minutes of his arrival, McGonagall would never forgive him. She might even sack him. He could think of nothing more embarrassing than being sacked from a job that was beneath him. He walked the perimeter of the room, thinking. No one else had seen Potter come in -- could he get away with saying that he had never arrived?

Less than a minute later, the door to the Great Hall swung open and Potter walked out, grinning stupidly. "Wow, those are cool robes. And the hall looks fantastic! Have you seen it?"

"Of course I've seen it," snarled Draco. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"What's your problem?"

"Nothing. Everything is perfect."

"Right, I can see that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Malfoy. Where am I staying? I just want to go to bed."

Once Potter had trundled up the stairs on his way towards the guest quarters, Draco turned to face the door to the Great Hall, and after a moment's deliberation, opened it and walked through. If Potter could see the Builders at work, then he bloody well could too.

They had just been sitting around and laughing. That was all Draco had seen -- about a dozen wizards and one witch, sitting cross-legged on the floor having a friendly chat. An instant later, their hoods were up and they had him surrounded.

"No … I … I just wanted to check on the progress of the ceiling," whimpered Draco. The eyes on their hoods rolled upward as they began to chant in a language Draco didn't recognize. He could feel the magic gathering around him, washing over his skin and filling him with an exquisite fear. There was no way he could reach his wand in time. He was going to die -- or at least be grievously injured -- and there was nothing he could do about it. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable pain.

Instead, there was silence: the chanting stopped, and the surge of magic abated. Draco opened his eyes a sliver, enough to see that the Builders were still there. One of them stepped forward. It was the woman.

"You have a choice, trespasser. Be purged of what you have learned, or embrace the Twelve and join us forever."

"What … what do you mean, join you?"

"Become a Builder. Well, an apprentice Builder." The eye on her hood looked down. Draco wondered if it served any purpose other than being creepy.

"I can … become a Builder? Just like that? I thought you were a secret society."

She shrugged. Somehow the gesture made her much less intimidating. Draco noticed for the first time that she was more than a foot shorter than he was. "Sure we are. But we've got to get new members somehow. We'll try you out, and if at any time you're found lacking, you will be purged."

"That sounds painful."

"It's just a fancy kind of Obliviation."

"Oh." Draco began to suspect that he had overestimated the danger he was in. "What the fuck was all the chanting about, then?"

"Tsk. Are you joining us or not?"

The Builders were powerful and respected; as a member, he would finally be held in the regard he'd always deserved but had never attained. He'd show Potter he wasn’t the only one who could make a name for himself. Plus, he had no intention of being McGonagall's lackey forever. "Yes. I will join you," he declared.

"I thought you might." She grinned and flicked her wand, and it was as if a burning hot poker had been dragged down his spine. He groaned and collapsed to his knees as the pain flared through him.

"State your name."

"D-D-Draco Malfoy."

"… Don't you have a middle name?"

"Mm. Regulus. Draco R-Regulus Malfoy."

"Wow, someone's mum and dad fancied astronomy. Draco Regulus Malfoy, do you swear and avow to keep the secrets of the Arcane Order of Builders?"

"I do," he whimpered, and the pain vanished.

"That oath is bound to your spine, so don't break it," said the woman as she threw back her hood. "That's it as far as the ceremony goes. You're not going to be knighted or anything, so get your arse up." She was young and had a round face, straight, shoulder-length black hair, and a small flat nose with a silver stud on one side. So far it appeared that her mouth was set in a permanent smirk.

The other Builders pushed their hoods off while Draco willed his legs to work. He narrowed his eyes at the barrel-chested, middle-aged man who had ignored him at the train platform nearly two months ago.

"What do you think, Bob? Will he do?" asked the woman.

The man from the platform smiled widely. "I dunno, Bob. He seems a bit surly."

"You can't both be named Bob," said Draco.

"Oh, can't we? Bob, what do you have to say to that?" asked the middle-aged man.

"Bollocks," said a tall, scrawny man. He had a long nose on an even longer face and his ears stuck out nearly perpendicular to his head. He was perhaps the homeliest man Draco had ever seen.

"I see," said Draco. "This is some sort of initiation rite, isn't it? Trying to confuse me."

The woman chuckled. "When we're trying to confuse you, you'll know it. We are all Bob. It's a thing we do."

"Fine, Bob."

"No. You're an apprentice. Only true Builders use that name. You call us by our outside names. Mine's Mathilda Kim, and I'm in charge, so everyone does what I say, especially you. Over there is Doug Anders, a Stonespell expert," she said, pointing to the middle-aged man. "And that's Edgar Orr," she said with a nod at the homely man with the sticking-out ears. "He's our Linker. The rest are Donors." She rattled of a list of nine other names in quick succession. Draco paid little attention. It didn’t seem like they were very important.

"May we get back to the game?" asked the homely man -- Edgar, thought Draco -- in a thick Scottish accent.

"Sure, I think that's enough talking for now," said Mathilda, pulling a pack of cards out of her pocket; the front was decorated with the same large grey eye that was on the hood of their robes.

"You were playing a game when I came in here?"

"Yeah. Warren was about to win, too," she said, glancing at a heavily-muscled man -- one of the so-called Donors. "I'd look out if I were you, he might want revenge. Isn't that right, you nasty brute?" Warren's expression remained stoic.

"But," Draco said, trying to remain calm, "then why did you get so bent out of shape at my 'trespassing'?"

"Well … you saw our faces."

"So? I saw Doug's on the day you arrived here!"

"Sure, but he's the outside face of the group. Every Twelve has one. That's all right, you see?"

"But, Potter came in before me, and you didn't attack him!"

"Well, we knew we couldn't make him a Builder, so we didn't even give him the choice."

Draco smiled. "Potter's not capable of being a Builder?"

"No, of course he's capable," said Mathilda. "He's more than capable, I'm sure. But he's Harry Potter. You can't have the most famous wizard alive -- and an Auror to boot -- join a secret society."

"Would nae be a bloody secret then, would it?" said Edgar.

"But … I'm Draco Malfoy!"

A solitary cough echoed through the hall.

Draco sighed in disgust. "Just because he's 'famous', you let him waltz out of here with no consequences."

"Oh, well of course we purged him first," said Mathilda. "As far as he'll remember, he saw us all hard at work with our Eyes on. Now come on, let's play. The game is Rooster on the Roof. We'll see how long it takes you to pick up the rules."

Draco grinned and sat down with the others. He and the Builders were going to get along just fine.

McGonagall summoned him before the sun was even up the next morning. The house-elf who'd come to fetch him had been exceptionally good at dodging jinxes; Draco had eventually given in and hauled himself out of bed. He stumbled into the office, blinking blearily and rechecking that his dressing gown was tied properly.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, showing him a piece of parchment with a large red 'X' drawn over it.

Draco yawned. "That's the letter 'X'. It’s part of the alphabet."

She flicked her wand and the parchment flew at him. As he caught it, he realized what it was: his employment contract. More than three years ago, he had scrawled his signature across the bottom and become the personal assistant to the Headmistress. It had not been a happy day. But Voldemort had seen to it that the Malfoy fortune could no longer be touched by the Malfoys. He'd had to do it for his family.

"You didn't even have the courtesy to tell me in person," said McGonagall. She stood. "After all I've done, getting and keeping this job for you. You are well aware of the difficulty in employing someone with your history." Draco knew that "your history" was shorthand for "the remains of a Dark Mark". "I am very disappointed," continued McGonagall. "I'd hoped that you had matured in your years here, but if the presence of Harry Potter at the school is enough to make you resign after only one night, clearly I was mistaken."

"I didn't resign!"

"This is a magical contract. It has been nullified. Clearly you have done something to cause this. If not … " McGonagall looked ruffled. "It would take a powerful Dark Magic to sever … perhaps this is related to whatever caused Savannah and Winston to leave. I should inform Harry of this development. He will need to examine both you and the contract."

Draco crossed his arms. "I suppose joining a secret organisation could nullify an employment contract."

"A secret organisation such as the Arcane Order of Builders?"

"Perhaps, or something similar."

McGonagall sat back down with a mirthless snort of laughter. "Yes, that would do it. Were you aware that this would terminate your employment here?"

Draco shook his head.

"Oh, Draco. You went into the Great Hall, despite the warnings?"

"Only because Potter did first!"

"What? And you allowed this? Was he harmed?"

"No, he was fine! He just said, 'cool robes' and went to bed." Bloody git.

There was fire in McGonagall's eyes. "I have heard many stories about the Builders in my years. In no case was anyone 'fine' after encountering them."

Draco scowled. "No one ever survived the Killing Curse either. Twice."

"I realize that you are no longer in my employment," said McGonagall after a small pause, "and therefore I cannot send you to check on him. But I would recommend that you do."

He didn't have to obey her every whim anymore! Excellent. "I don't think so. I'm going back to bed for, oh, maybe four more hours."

"If anything has happened to him, I will be unable to protect you from the consequences. You know the thin edge on which your freedom rests. Unless you vow that you were in no way responsible for Harry going into the Great Hall, I suggest you do as I say."

"It's not as if I carried him in there … he bloody walked in," muttered Draco as he stomped out of McGonagall's office.

Draco was pulling his fist back for a third knock when the door to the guest room flew open. Potter stood there, naked, blinking, and clutching a wand awkwardly in his left hand.

"Wazzamatter?" he croaked. "Malfoy?" he said, squinting. He wasn't wearing his glasses. "Is something wrong?"

So much skin. Draco felt the beginnings of a physical response. Young, fit, and … Potter. No. He kept his eyes on Potter's face. "You sleep in the nude? In the winter?"

Potter's gaze flicked downward. He shrugged, his face reddening. "It's still autumn."

"I was just checking to see that you were all right," said Draco carefully. "After last night."

"Last night? How did you know about that?"

This wasn't good. "I was there, you … Merlin, if I take the blame for this … it was your bloody idea!"

"What are you talking about? You were at my flat?"

"No," Draco said slowly. "I was at Hogwarts, where we are now. Hogwarts is a school for magic in Scotland."

"OK, clearly you've lost your mind. I know what Hogwarts is."

"Then why would you think I was at your flat?"

"Because you seem to know what happened last night!"

"I met you at the fucking gates and escorted you into the building! How could I not-- you're the one who's lost his mind."

"Oh, you mean last night," said Potter. "What about it?"

Draco wanted to strangle him. That was what he'd said, wasn't it? Last night. "Are. You. All. Right? That's all I want to know."

"I'm fine, thanks. Except I'm a little tired, because someone woke me up before dawn for no apparent reason."

"It wasn't for-- I just need to make sure that the Builders didn't harm you."

"The Builders? There are Builders here?"

"Oh, fuck."

"God, I'm kidding. I only looked around at the Great Hall. They ignored me entirely. Why?"

Draco relaxed. It seemed like the purge had worked perfectly. Clearly McGonagall had been misinformed. "No reason. Just one of my many new duties as apprentice Builder." He looked meaningfully at Potter, waiting for an expression of admiration or possibly jealousy.

Instead, Potter laughed. "Yeah, right. You, a Builder? I think not, Malfoy."

"Fuck you," Draco said. "Just because you think I'm worthless doesn't mean that you're right. I am worthy of being a Builder, you'll see." He could feel his blood pressure rising. "And will you put on a fucking robe or something? I'm sick of looking at your cock." A startled expression flitted across Potter's face. "I didn't mean it like that!" called Draco as Potter turned from the door and disappeared from sight. "I wasn't looking at it at all, I … fuck."

Across the room, the window revealed the beginnings of sunrise. Fingers of orange poked tentatively into the blackness above the horizon.

Potter was back a minute later with his robes wrapped tightly around him. He pushed his glasses up on his nose.

"Look. I'm sorry you were offended by what I said. It's just I can't really see you doing any sort of manual labour."

"The Builders don't do manual labour. They're a powerful magical society!"

"I saw them working. They were carrying these huge slabs of stone back and forth. They weren't even using magic to do it."

"They're fixing the bloody ceiling of the Great Hall!" yelled Draco. "It's a magical ceiling! Of course they were using magic!"

"You yell a lot."

"Well, you … you're …. Fuck!" Draco whirled away. Potter was the most frustrating person ever.

"Good morning, Apprentice," Mathilda said later that morning -- his first as a Builder. Doug and Edgar stood to either side of her. "Today you will be tested."

Draco was still irritated from his conversation with Potter. "How can you test me when you haven't taught me anything yet?" he snapped.

"The dodecagon is the source of our magical strength," she said, ignoring him.

"The what?"

"Dodecagon. The twelve-sided shape." She drew in the air with her wand, leaving a trail of white light behind. It almost looked round, but not quite. "Twelve points connected by twelve lines. We're the points. And here, here, and here," she said, circling three of the vertices, "are the Keys. There are three Key Builders in every Twelve. Doug shapes the stone. I put the enchantments in the stone or wood or what have you. Edgar links the parts together, making their magic work cooperatively. The other nine lend their magical strength to the Keys when we're in Shape. If you don't have the innate ability for any of the Keys, you'll be a Donor. You will now be tested for this innate ability."

Draco had never wanted anything more in his life than not to be a Donor. "What do I have to do?"

Doug threw a rock at him; he caught it easily. "Shape that into a sphere."

The rock sat dumbly in his hand. He knew no spell for this. Become a sphere!, he thought, pointing his wand at it and imagining the rough edges smoothing and rounding. A few pebbles fell away, landing with a faint plink on the floor. Other than that, it stubbornly remained the same. He looked up, frowning. "Is there some sort of hint you could give me?"

"No. Next test: make it glow," said Mathilda.

"Excuse me?"

She grinned. "Embed a Lumos spell in the stone."

Draco could hardly wrap his mind around the concept. He lit his wand -- that part at least was easy -- and poked it at the rock. He tried to envision the light moving into the rock. What would a glowing rock even look like? Like glass? The end of his wand dug into his palm.

"How long am I allowed to try?" he asked. Maybe if they gave him a few more hours he could work it out.

"That's long enough," said Edgar. "Throw the stane to Mathilda." Draco did so, despair beginning to creep over him. A Donor was practically a manual labourer. Potter couldn't be right. Mathilda ran her wand over the surface of the stupid unlit non-sphere and it began to glow faintly. It looked nothing like glass.

"That is so cool," said Draco bitterly. Mathilda winked at him and put the glowing stone on the ground.

"Magic it so you can turn the light on and off by stepping here," said Edgar, indicating a spot on the floor.

"What? That's impossible!" said Draco. Edgar shook his head.

"He's nae a Linker."

"No talent for Imbued magic," said Mathilda.

Draco wanted to cry and scream and maybe hex someone. "These are the stupidest tests I've ever heard of! There's no way you can judge--"

"Shows great promise at Stonespell," said Doug loudly, rocking back on his heels. He and Mathilda chuckled as Draco registered what he had said.

"Does that mean …?" asked Draco, afraid to finish the sentence.

"Looks like we'll be getting to know each other a bit better," said Doug, smiling genially. "I'll be your mentor for the time being. Well done, Draco."

Draco swelled with pride. From now on, his life would be different. No more menial tasks as McGonagall's errand boy. He would be learning secret magical arts from a master!

"All right. First lesson: know your material. Go move those from there," Doug said, pointing at a pile of broken slabs, "to there," he finished, pointing towards the other side of the Great Hall. "No magic."

Draco cursed under his breath and went to pick up the smallest piece he could find.

The days turned into weeks; they were among the most exhausting of Draco's life. Just before the start of December, Draco was finally permitted to stop dragging boulders back and forth and start learning Stonespell. It was about bloody time, although he did admire what the physical labour had done to his physique. In his quarters, he posed shirtless in front of a mirror and was pleased when it whistled at him.

It was strange to think that Potter had likely been in the castle all this time and yet Draco hadn't seen him since his first morning as a Builder. It wasn't as if he wanted to see him, of course. It was just that aside from the few hours that Doug allowed him for sleep, Draco was always locked up in the Great Hall, either practising his Stonespell or watching the Twelve at work. Unless Potter started loitering in the corridor outside Draco's room for some reason, they were never going to run into each other. It made Draco nervous. He was completely cut off from his old life, as dull and tedious as it had been. What was Potter doing? Who was he talking to? What sort of humiliating information was he learning about Draco? If any of the faculty told Potter about how Draco had screamed and crawled under the table that time when the curtains had accidentally caught fire …

The rest of the Builders had long since gone to bed. Doug was trying to demonstrate to Draco how to smooth and shape solid rock as though it were room temperature butter, but no matter what Draco did, the rock remained, well, rock-hard.

"Focus. You have to know you're better than the rock."

"Of course I'm better than the rock. Who doesn't think he's better than a rock?"

"You'd be surprised," said Doug. "Some people have no respect for the natural order of things. We are wizards -- magic is our birthright. And yet …" he shrugged.

Was Doug saying what Draco thought he was saying? "And yet what?"

Doug looked at him, and Draco was sure he saw understanding in his eyes.

"And yet," said Draco, "some think that magic means nothing -- that we are no better than Muggles." Doug nodded. "And that Mudbloods are just as good as Purebloods." It felt good to say it out loud. Since the whole business with Voldemort, anyone even breathing a whisper of such a thought was shunned. Using the word "Mudblood" was tantamount to saying, "I think that all non-Pureblood Wizards should be killed." Even the world "Muggleborn" was frowned upon, in favour of "born to non-magical parents". It was ludicrous. Draco didn't want anyone to be killed, but he wasn't going to pretend that all people were equal.

Doug looked nervous. "You will want to be careful with your words. Mathilda was born to Muggle parents."

The leader of the Twelve was a Mudblood. Draco realized that he may have made a mistake. He only hoped that Doug was a reasonable man. "I … thank you for the warning."

"The Arcane Order of Builders judges their members solely by magical ability. It has always been so." Doug dropped his voice to a whisper. "Even a Muggleborn can rise to become a great leader." He looked around the empty hall as if checking to be sure he had not been overheard. "Age is unimportant, as is blood status, social standing ... no one gives a toss who your parents were or what may or may not be tattooed on one of your limbs. All that matters is you. Your power, your talent. Once you've done your apprenticeship, if you are tested and found to be strong enough, you could be named a leader of your own Twelve, or even a member of the Inner Eye."

The Inner Eye was the Order's governing body. Draco had already decided he was going to be leader of the Builders one day. The fact that he could achieve that goal so soon was more than he had hoped for. He was willing to accept the presence of lesser witches and wizards if need be. "I will be strong enough," he said, dragging his wand along the stone in his hand. He touched the newly-made groove with his fingertips, expecting to feel warmth, but the stone was cool and solid.

"Excellent," said Doug.

The castle was quiet and deserted. Draco padded through the empty corridors on the way to his room, thankful yet again that he no longer had to worry about Filch's patrols. He grinned in the darkness. He had moulded solid stone! He had always known he was meant for great things. "Grand High Builder, Draco Malfoy," he said, testing how it sounded.

"Malfoy?"

Draco increased the intensity of his wand light. Potter was loitering in the corridor outside his room, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

"Potter. What can I do for you?" said Draco, not needing to force himself to maintain his smile. Nothing was going to break his good mood.

"Um." Potter frowned. "I need to ask you some questions about the Builders."

"I'm not allowed to talk about that," said Draco. "Top secret stuff, you understand." What a fantastic way to end the night: denying Potter.

"Well, Bob told me that I could ask you whatever I needed to know."

"Who?"

"You know, Bob. Big guy … bright blue eyes?"

"Oh, right," said Draco. "Sorry, I thought you said … Nob." Only Draco was supposed to know that secret name. And he wasn’t even allowed to say it. Why did Potter know it? Why was Potter saying it? Draco took a deep breath and Potter began to laugh. "What?"

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Nob? Ha!"

"Well, you shouldn't mumble so much."

"Nob," repeated Potter, shaking his head and still laughing. Draco scowled at him until he stopped.

"I'll have to speak with … with the Builder in charge. I'm not going to just take your word for it."

"Yeah, all right. I should have expected as much. Once you find out that I'm telling the truth, come and find me." Potter pushed himself off of the wall and turned away.

"I'm not going to ask now!"

"Fine, whatever. I'll see you tomorrow," Potter called. He faded from view as he left the circle of Draco's wand light.

"I have training!"

Potter's voice echoed down the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Draco was still muttering under his breath as he crawled into bed. Grand High Builder, Draco Malfoy, he thought over and over again, until finally he fell asleep.

Mathilda called out to him before he'd even gotten through the door the next morning. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be placating Harry Potter."

A few of the other Builders chuckled. Draco took a moment to bask in the presence of other people who did not think that Potter was a god. From the way the students and faculty members talked about him, you'd think he had personally saved everyone's puppies from drowning.

Draco looked at Mathilda and, for an instant, wondered who her parents had been. What had she been like before she learned about magic? "He came to see me last night. He was waiting for me. You did send him?"

"He knew the name, didn't he? I needed to get him out of our hair. Somehow he found out where our quarters are, and even though he can't break through our privacy spells, he's been waiting outside our door every morning and every evening for nearly two weeks now. We don't answer his questions, of course, but he seems to find the silence encouraging. Persistent bastard. Doug spoke with McGonagall and she seems to believe he won’t leave us alone until he's spoken to a Builder -- not that she's going to tell him to stop. You are a Builder, even if only an apprentice. Make sure he doesn’t bother us anymore."

This was just great. "When can I resume my training?"

"Once Potter is satisfied."

"Right, so never," muttered Draco.

"You know the oath that binds you. It shouldn't take long to reach the limits of what you can tell. He's not stupid; he'll realize he can get nothing from you."

Draco had finally started to get somewhere with more advanced Stonespell and now he had to stop for who knew how long. And all because of Potter. This was so unacceptable that it made having his testicles hexed off seem acceptable by comparison. He stomped up the stairs and was halfway to the third floor when he realized that he had no idea where Potter was. While he stood, fuming, the corridor filled with students on their way to morning classes, chattering and screeching and laughing.

"Do any of you know where Harry Potter is?" Draco shouted. Most of the children ignored him entirely. A few looked at him in fright and hurried away. One girl wearing Slytherin robes -- she looked to be in fifth year -- stopped and looked him over carefully.

"I heard he was looking around the dungeons again," she said.

"No, he's talking to Professor Clark today!" said a Gryffindor who was walking by.

The Slytherin girl shook her head. "No, that's tomorrow," she called out as the girl moved away. She turned back to Draco. "Tala heard him talking to Professor Sprout on Tuesday."

"You keep close tabs on his whereabouts." Draco was horrified when the girl blushed. "It doesn't seem like the boys pay him so much attention."

She looked at him evenly. "Some of you do."

Potter wasn't anywhere in the dungeons. Draco had even resorted to bribing a first-year to let him into the Slytherin common room. When he saw it was empty, he hurried out as quickly as possible. He hadn't been there for years. Memories had a way of suffocating a person.

After a long and uncomfortably familiar climb, he poked his head into the Divination classroom. Professor Clark was standing in front of rows of rapt pupils, holding a small glass orb in one hand. He caught Draco's eye and smiled, his teeth gleaming. Several of the girls sighed audibly. Potter was nowhere to be seen. The Professor turned and bent over a table, and Draco took a moment to admire the view before descending back down the ladder.

Where the bloody hell was he? Was Draco missing something?

He was.

Feeling foolish and more than a little angry, he made his way to the fourth floor guest quarters and knocked on Potter's door. It swung open a few inches.

"Potter?"

There didn't seem to be anyone home. Draco went in anyway, closing the door quietly behind him.

He'd expected to see an unmade bed covered with rumpled clothing, undergarments littering the floor, maybe a half-eaten sandwich on the pillow. Potter seemed the type not to keep his room neat. But in fact, the room was spotless. Of course, the house-elves must have seen to that.

Draco walked the perimeter of the room. A pile of papers was stacked on the writing desk in the corner. He picked up the first one.

Harry,

This shouldn't be so much work. I don't know what else to do or say anymore and I'm afraid that things are never going to get any better. I'm going to stay with Bill and Fleur for a few weeks. Maybe I'll see you around sometime.

- Ginny

There was no date on the letter, but it must be recent: the news hadn't made the papers yet. But it would, once word got out. The public apparently had an insatiable thirst to know where Potter and the presumed future Mrs Potter ate their meals and purchased their clothing. They would be even more interested to know they had split up.

The next few letters consisted of boring missives from various other members of the Weasley clan and one largely illegible one from Hagrid. Draco flipped through them in annoyance, wondering why exactly he was reading through Potter's post.

He picked up an unfinished letter written by Potter himself and found a reason why.

Dear Hermione,

How are you? I'm alright. I've been back at Hogwarts for a few weeks now. The parents got suspicious of me and won't let me talk to them anymore, so I'm here going over every inch of the castle. Very frustrating. I wish you and Ron were here to help. Have you made any progress in your research?

I went to the Gryffindor common room last week. It felt really weird. So much has changed and so much is still the same.

"Could you be any more trite?" Draco asked the piece of parchment. He skimmed down, looking for mention of his own name. He didn't find it. However, something else caught his attention near the bottom.

I guess you've talked to Ginny by now, so you know what happened. There's something I didn't tell her. I don't know how. I can barely tell you, and you're just my friend.

Draco flipped the page over, but there was no more. It was too intriguing. Potter had a secret. What was it? Draco had to find out. He--

"Malfoy? What the fuck are you doing?"

Draco whirled around, still clutching the letter. Shit. Potter was standing in the middle of the room with his wand out and pointed at Draco.

"That's private," growled Potter, flicking his wrist, magic wresting the paper from Draco's grip. It fluttered to the ground next to the bed.

"Your door was open."

"An open door doesn't mean 'please come in and rifle through my personal correspondence'! I can't believe you … no, I do believe it, but I'm still angry about it. You had no right."

Draco felt his face flushing. He hated getting caught. Then he remembered that he'd been looking everywhere for Potter after having been sent away from training. He called up the righteous anger he had felt earlier. "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

"Oh, that's perfect. Yes, Malfoy, it's my fault. You couldn't find me, so you had no choice but to read -- which one did you read, anyway?" Potter summoned the piece of paper from the floor.

"It was your fault," said Draco. "I was all over the castle looking for you. I was sent to look for you. You could at least have had the courtesy to be … what?"

Potter had gone pale. It made his eyes look even greener, something that didn't seem possible. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Rest of it? That was all there was."

"Don't fuck with me. Where's the second page?"

Draco held himself still. Was there really a second page somewhere on the desk? He had to read it. He turned, intending to grab the stack of parchment and run, but Potter was suddenly there and pushing him to one side with all his strength. Draco's fingers scrabbled against the wood of the desk. He fell to the ground, his shoulder banging hard against the stone floor.

Potter was shuffling franticly through his papers. "Fuck! Where is it?"

One thing Draco had learned from Doug was to be a specific as possible -- solid rock was completely unforgiving of ambiguity. He sat up and flicked out his wand. "Accio second page of Potter's letter to Granger that he is looking for right now!" A single sheet of paper whisked through the air towards him. Potter gave a cry of dismay and leapt at it.

Draco caught the letter a fraction of a second before Potter landed on him, knocking him onto his back. An additional fraction of a second passed before Potter tore it out of his hands. But two fractions of a second were enough for him to take in the first line on the page.

I think I might be gay.

The effect that line had on Draco was startling. For a moment, it seemed like the entire world stopped, and when it started again a moment later, nothing had changed, but everything was different. Oh great, thought Draco, I sound as banal as the start of that letter. He stared up at Potter, who was staring down at him, wearing a guarded expression.

"You saw," said Potter, tightening his grip on the ball of paper in his fist. He was pressing heavily against Draco, the full weight of his body bearing down on him. The coldness of the floor seeped through Draco's robes and into his skin. The second hand of the clock on the wall swung forward with a hollow click.

Then Potter kissed him.

It was the second most surprising thing that had happened that day, just below finding out Potter was possibly gay (although it was looking more definite by the second) and far above being sent to talk to Potter in the first place. Draco moaned as he realized that he was kissing Potter back, and moved everything in the list down by one spot.

The kiss was aggressive and a little bit painful, as Potter's chin was covered with coarse, dark stubble. It was also insanely hot. Draco grabbed handfuls of Potter's hair, bucking his hips reflexively as their tongues twined around each other. Potter hummed a little and opened his mouth wider. Gay Potter was much more interesting than straight Potter.

Draco pushed on the top of Potter's head, wondering how much of a hint would be needed to get him to move his surprisingly talented mouth about three feet farther down Draco's body. To his delight, Potter responded immediately, breaking off the kiss and moving away and … standing up. No, that wasn't right. Draco's cock was down there and Potter was up there and …

"Oh my God. I don't … I … fuck," said Potter. His eyes were wild and dazed and the skin of his neck was flushed crimson and why was he not back on top of Draco doing that thing with his tongue? That was obviously where he really belonged. "What are we doing?"

"That was kissing and now you're going to suck my cock," said Draco, rubbing at himself through his trousers. Merlin, he was hard.

Potter's eyelids fluttered as his body shuddered in a wave from head to toe. He turned and ran out the door.

"My cock is over here, Potter," Draco murmured to the empty room, feeling a few spikes of frustration poking through the hazy cloud of pleasure. He shut out the part of his mind that was demanding to know exactly what had just happened. He was sure he had a good reason for having kissed Potter; he just had to figure out what it was.

He undid his fly and stroked at his bare cock, which had sprung immediately from its confines. This was one of the most glorious hard-ons of his life; he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

Twenty minutes later, he waltzed into the Great Hall.

"Done with Potter already?" asked Doug.

Draco shrugged and hid a smile. "Not quite. He'd had enough for the day. We'll continue where we left off tomorrow."

By the cold, clear light of morning, Draco found that the events of the day before seemed completely reasonable. He was an attractive man, about to experience a meteoric rise in station. Obviously, Potter wanted him. He smiled at the canopy above his bed. There were so many ways this could work to his advantage; it was going to be hard to decide which approach to take.

Someone knocked on his door just as he was debating between ignoring Potter sexually, thereby rendering him a desperate wretch, and acting completely smitten, thereby luring Potter into believing that he had Draco completely in his power. He got up, shrugging on his dressing gown. He wasn't sure of the strategic advantage of the latter option, but it was more likely to lead to fucking, which was a definite point in its favour.

Potter was at the door, turning his wand over and over in his hands. "Malfoy. I need to ask you some questions about the Arcane Order of Builders," he said, " as part of an ongoing Auror Department investigation." The words ran together smoothly, as if he had rehearsed the line too many times on the way over.

"Good morning, Potter," said Draco casually. "Why don't you come in?" He opened the door more and stepped back. Potter's eyes went wide.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We should go somewhere more private. I mean less public! I mean, we should go somewhere else. Around people."

Draco wanted to laugh, and was pleased when he managed to keep his face even. "I'm not going to discuss matters pertaining to the Builders' organisation where I could be overheard by passing eleven-year-olds. My quarters are well protected."

It was too easy. Potter stepped into Draco's room, looking around as if he expected to be ambushed. He swept his wand around the room and frowned as bits of the walls flashed in various colours. "There are … fifteen … no, sixteen separate layers of … wow … I haven't seen a room this well warded outside of our holding cells. Why … ?"

Draco's stomach clenched. "After my parents … after they were … "

"Killed by vigilantes," finished Potter flatly. He almost sounded angry about it.

"Yes," said Draco. He'd been in the forest watching the Thestrals when McGonagall had found him, a line of Ministry officials trailing after her. "McGonagall was afraid they would come after me as well."

"But you're at Hogwarts. It's one of the most secure buildings in the world."

"Our house had fifty-three different protective spells in place. You'd be surprised at what an angry mob can accomplish."

"Not really, no." Potter's eyes were brilliant gems. Draco shivered and went to the window, blinking at the blurred outlines of the leafless trees.

"Didn't you say you had questions for me?"

There was a squeaking noise, and when Draco turned around, Potter was sitting in a high-backed leather chair by the fireplace. Draco walked over and sat down across from him. He just wanted to get this over with so he could get back to his training.

"Um. Right. So, according to my research," said Potter, pulling a small notebook out from his robes and flipping quickly through the pages, "the Arcane Order of Builders has been associated with a number of mysterious disappearances over the years."

"What?"

"Yeah, um, there's never been any solid evidence, but ... there are hundreds of anecdotes." He looked up at Draco. "You didn’t know?"

"It's not true."

"OK, Malfoy, fine. But if you get a chance, would you ask, um, what's-his-name about that?"

"What research?"

"Huh?"

"Where did you find the information about--"

"Oh, in the library. Various history books. The accounts go back centuries."

Draco was sure the stories were nothing but rumours spread by lesser witches and wizards jealous of the Builders' power. That was the way things were, and apparently how they always had been. "Any other questions?"

"Yeah. Do the Builders stay in a group at all times, or do individuals have freedom to, you know, go other places?"

"They stay together when they're working."

Potted jotted something down. "What about when they're not working?"

Draco felt his face heat up. He had no idea. He wasn't allowed to follow the Twelve once they went to their quarters. For all he knew, they could have orgies every night. He was careful not to allow any mental images to form in that regard.

"You can't tell me?"

"Sorry, no, I can't."

"Hmm." Potter wrote another note. "That's convenient."

"It's not like that," protested Draco. "They work hard all day. They probably just go to sleep at night, wake up, have breakfast, and go back to work."

"Probably?"

"… I don't actually know what they do. I'm an apprentice."

"Right. So can you tell me anything about any of the members of the group? Their histories or backgrounds?"

"Why are you targeting them? What about … I don't know, what about the professors, or the other students? Or maybe even the parents? If you're so sure they didn't leave of their own free will, shouldn't you be talking to their parents?"

Potter looked stern. "I'm looking into all the possibilities. I know what I'm doing."

"Sure, no pre-judgement on your part, I'm sure."

"Why did you leave that all over my room?"

Yesterday, after his orgasm had ripped through him, Draco had opened his eyes and seen a splattered line of translucent white droplets on the cold stone floor. On Potter's floor. The sight had satisfied him so thoroughly that he'd left it there. He'd assumed the house-elves would clean it up before Potter returned, though. Apparently not. A snort of laughter erupted out of him. "What, you didn't like the pattern?"

Potter was quiet for a few moments, which he spent studying the arm of his chair. "I wanked while standing over it." He looked at Draco. "The pattern was fine, but it was better once I added to it."

"Fuck," breathed Draco, his cock rising swiftly inside his trousers. In two strides he was in Potter's lap, straddling him and pressing into him and groaning when he felt Potter's hardness beneath him. Their tongues met before their lips. Draco wanted to swallow Potter whole, leaving nothing behind but a pair of glasses.

Potter slid his hands down Draco's back and kneaded at his arse. Draco pulled his mouth away an inch so he could lean to the side and whisper in Potter's ear. "Suck my cock."

"I've never … I don't know how," whispered Potter in return. His hands had stilled; he was motionless except for the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.

"You're clever enough; I'm sure you'll figure it out." Draco put his hands on Potter's chest, wanting to feel the frantic rhythm that he knew he must be causing.

"Um … Why don't you do it to me first, and then I'll ... do you?"

"I suppose," said Draco, biting at Potter's neck just beneath his ear, "that would be acceptable." If Potter didn't hold up his end of the agreement, Draco knew a number of appropriate hexes he could use. He slid to the floor, his hand following a trail down to the bulge in Potter's pants. When he squeezed, Potter threw his head back, making a dull thud against the firm leather, and pulled at his trousers, apparently desperate to get them off.

Potter's cock was sweet, salty silk on Draco's tongue.

Several hours later, when Draco sauntered into the Great Hall, the Twelve were linked together with Mathilda in the lead, silently focusing a wide beam of magical energy at the ceiling. Draco leaned back against the wall and watched, admiring the deft way she manipulated such a vast quantity of power. Her entire body seemed to be participating in the shaping and placement of the enchantments, down to the subtle movements of her pinkie fingers and eyebrows. How did a Muggleborn come to possess that much talent?

The afternoon passed into evening, and finally the circle broke apart. Warren, the large, burly Donor, helped Mathilda to a bench. Her face was pale, but she was smiling. Draco approached Doug, who stood next to Edgar, talking quietly.

"Potter wants me to answer more questions tomorrow. Persistent bastard," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "I don't think he has a clue what he's looking for."

"Nane can play the fool sae well as a wise man," said Edgar.

"Who are you calling a fool?" asked Draco.

Edgar nodded and ambled away.

"It's good that you're keeping Potter busy. We're almost finished in here," said Doug. "Once we move elsewhere, I think you'll be able to help out some -- take my place in the Twelve, perhaps. What do you think of that? I'm old, I could use the rest."

Draco thought that sounded excellent. He picked up a rough chunk of marble and rolled it between his hands, feeling the sides smooth.

Potter didn't show up at Draco's room the next morning. It wasn't as if they had explicitly made an arrangement or anything -- in fact, after Draco had come, Potter had swallowed, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and walked out without a word -- but still, Draco had thought Potter would be smart enough to realize they could use the investigation as a pretext for continuing their … whatever it was. After yesterday, Potter should have been jumping at the chance to be around him again.

He waited until ten o'clock, and had just put on his apprentice robes, when there was a loud rapping at his door. The smirk fell from his face when he opened it to see McGonagall, with Potter looming behind her.

"Another student has gone," she said, sweeping into the room. "I've just had word from his parents; they say they have sent him to America, but I am no longer willing to accept such explanations. I fear it's no longer safe here for the children. I've decided to close the school for the time being."

Draco wasn't sure why she had come to tell him this. "That sounds reasonable," he said. "There are only two weeks until holidays anyway."

"Precisely. Would you please inform the Builders of what is going on?"

"Of course," said Draco, suppressing a smile. So that was why she was here. It was good to be someone important again.

Harry put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Professor, I'll get to the bottom of this."

"I'm glad you're here, Harry," she said, patting his hand. She seemed to have forgotten that Draco was in the room; he no longer had to suppress the urge to smile.

Once she was gone, Potter sat down on Draco's bed. "I was worried she wouldn't want to send them home."

"You Gryffindors do insist on standing and fighting. Giving in isn't really your style."

"But it's not giving in to get students out of harm's way," said Potter. "They're just children."

"Right," said Draco. "Children shouldn't have to face that sort of thing."

Potter shook his head. "No, they shouldn't." He was looking at Draco intently. The weight of their shared past pressed down on Draco, making him dizzy. The years flipped through his head, fierce and relentless. "Malfoy? Are you all right?"

Draco sat down on the bed next to Potter. "I'm fine." He needed something to push the memories out. Fiendfyre roared in his mind. Potter's hand reached out to him, offering a way out. Then Potter's hand was on his back, and the flames were gone. "Would you like to ask me some more questions?" Draco asked.

Potter licked his lips and pushed Draco back onto the bed.

The students left the castle that afternoon, dragging their hastily-packed trunks behind them. Draco watched them through the window in the Great Hall, peeking around the heavy blue curtains while the Builders worked behind him. The students looked sombre; even the younger ones seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Their mood infected Draco, and he was unable to shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Potter came to his room that night, shaking with anger. He seemed fervent in his belief that there was something he could have done differently -- something Draco could have told him -- to stop the latest disappearance. Draco denied that assertion, of course, but Potter was unconvinced, and spent more than half an hour asking the same questions he had already asked and getting the same answers in return. He paced the room, not looking at Draco, fists clenched.

"He might actually be in America," said Draco finally, but even as he said it he doubted it was true. Potter rounded on him.

"I went to see his parents. I found a trace of magic … it was so faint, but it was there," he said, touching the back of his neck. "We got it unravelled. I don't--"

"We?"

"I called in a friend. An Unspeakable. Well, he's more of an acquaintance, really."

Of course Potter had friends in high places. Draco burned with envy for a moment.

"The point is, Malfoy," said Potter, "that his parents' memories were tampered with. Once the spell was gone, they were horrified at the mere suggestion that their child had been withdrawn from Hogwarts. He really is missing. They all are. It's my fault. I could have stopped it if only … if only you had actually helped me."

"I've answered every question that I'm allowed to answer."

"I know the Builders are involved in this somehow. I've known it from the beginning."

"And I've told you they're not. Why don't you leave them alone?"

"Why are you protecting them?"

"I am them!"

Draco was glad when Potter stormed out. He sat on his bed and put his head in his hands. Potter was a stubborn pillock. He wasn't going to give up. And he was unfortunately capable of ruining Draco's fledgling career by dragging down the Builders.

In the small hours of the morning, after failing to sleep for most of the night, Draco got dressed and made his way to the library. He was positive that Potter was wrong, but he needed to find out for sure.

Hours later, as the sun rose, filtering through the library in dusty beams, Draco closed A History of Wizarding Secret Societies and went to report to Doug for training.

"The movement is just like this," said Doug, slicing his wand firmly through the air. The brick split in two -- the break was perfectly clean and even. "Once you've mastered that, you'll work up to doing this." He turned towards the closest wall, which faced the outside, and made a similar downward motion, hooking his wand towards him at the end. A section of wall split open, the stones rotating inward. Snow and frigid air blew through the square opening. A bird alighted on the newly-formed ledge, peering into the hall with its head cocked to one side.

"That's like a simpler version of the entrance to Diagon Alley," said Draco.

"Ah, yes, that is a gorgeous bit of work, linking the spell to tapping with a wand. That was a powerful Twelve. The Duodecim, we call them. Many of the finest magical buildings in London were done by them."

"Bob, close the bloody wall up!" shouted Edgar from the other side of the room, where he and the others were sitting in a circle moving a rock around overhead with their hands held behind their backs. Draco still hadn't worked out how they did it. They couldn't all be adept at wandless magic; it was too rare a skill.

The bird squawked and flew away when the stones began to move back into place. Draco cleared his throat. "Potter keeps asking me … he said that the Builders were implicated in many disappearances over the years and--"

"You were wondering if it's true."

"No. I went to the library this morning. I know the accounts go back centuries, but there was never enough evidence to convict anyone …. I want to confirm that you aren't involved in these disappearances so I can tell Potter. He won't let go of the idea."

The hall was completely silent, and Draco realized that the others had heard his question and were now watching Doug.

"Our initiation rite used to be different. It used to be that when a trespasser was caught, he was given the choice to join or die. Not many refused, but … some did." He paused, as though expecting Draco to say something, then shrugged and continued. "It has been over a century since we changed our rites and were taught how to purge our secrets from the minds of those who had seen too much but did not wish to become one of us."

"I see. So the stories are true."

"Yes," said Doug. "That was our past, but it isn't our present. We did not harm those children."

"OK," said Draco. "That's all I needed to know."

Draco didn't get a chance to tell Potter that the Builders weren't to blame; he didn’t come back to Draco's room, and Draco certainly wasn’t going to go looking for him. It was better to focus on his training anyway. Days went by, and soon Draco was able to open small clefts in walls and seal them back up again.

The Great Hall was finished on Christmas Eve, just as the Builders had promised. As his gift, Draco was allowed to step in for Doug on one of the final spells, and was overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience. The magic swirled around him and through him, trying to link him into the others. He struggled against it until he couldn't any longer, then he gave himself over to the pull of the Twelve, submerging himself in the magic. Afterward, the link persisted for nearly an hour; they sat in a circle and passed a piece of marble back and forth overhead using nothing but the residual magic. It was one of the most intimate experiences of Draco's life. He wanted nothing more than to be around these people forever, doing nothing but this.

He was about to confess his undying love to Edgar -- he wasn't that ugly, not really -- when the last bits of magic dissipated. The stone fell to the floor in the middle of the circle. Draco's mouth hung open as he tried to reconcile the unsaid words on the tip of his tongue with reality.

"What the hell was that?"

Mathilda grinned. "I remember my first time as part of a Twelve. I nearly wet myself with the joy of it."

"I cried," said Edgar. "Like a wee girl."

Draco considered that maybe a confession of love wouldn't have been so bad. At least he hadn't wept or become incontinent.

That night, the Builders went to their quarters to "sleep for seven days straight," according to Mathilda. Doug had promised to resume his training on the first of the new year. Draco wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself for a week. He stayed in the empty hall, lying on his back in the very centre and staring up at the stars. He had helped to build that. He wished his mother was alive to see it.

Around midnight, grey clouds rolled across the sky, obscuring the constellations. Draco sighed and sat up, wondering if he should go to bed, and saw that Potter was standing in the doorway, watching him.

"Hello," said Draco. It felt like a year had passed since their last encounter. He was almost glad to see Potter.

Potter walked in, stopping next to where Draco was sitting, and looked up. "It's fixed."

"It is. I helped."

"Which part?"

Draco pointed up at the rolling clouds, surprised at how eager he was to share. "Right there. You can't see it, of course, but it’s the third square from the middle over that way." He could picture it perfectly in his mind, a grey rectangle with a vein of silver running through it.

"Nice." Potter sat down beside him. Draco could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"It was amazing. I've never felt so alive."

"What do you mean?"

"When the Tw--" Draco stopped, feeling a sharp pressure along his backbone. "I can't really explain."

"Right."

"I think I might die if I told you," said Draco, surreptitiously twisting from side to side to relieve the discomfort in his back. "Or at least be permanently crippled."

"They made you take an Unbreakable?"

"No, it's different. But similar idea."

"Wow."

Draco shrugged and lay back down on the floor. The room was cool and dark, with only faint, flickering light coming through the door from the torches in the entry hall. "So, Potter, where have you been the past couple of weeks?"

"Why? Did you miss me?"

"Of course not," said Draco. "I just noticed I wasn't being hassled and interrogated any longer and wondered if you'd disappeared as well."

"No, I was around for a week or so after the students left, and then I went to the Burrow for a bit, and now I'm back."

"You're back. On Christmas Eve," said Draco flatly. Potter sounded far too casual about the whole thing. "I see. You were at the Burrow? I thought you and the Weasley girl split up?"

"How many of my letters did you read?" asked Potter, but he didn't sound angry. "Yeah, Ginny and I got into a huge fight. Actually, it was the night I arrived here. Remember how I was a bit late?"

"Four hours late."

"Whatever. We got into a fight and I dunno, we tried to sort things out through the post but that never works, does it? I wish Hogwarts was still connected to the Floo Network. But that isn't ... whatever. I went back to see if there was any chance. I'm not sure I'm ready to give up on the whole 'normal person with a wife and kids' thing yet."

"How romantic. She must have been overcome with emotion at being told you wanted to get back together because you couldn't bear the thought of not being normal."

"I didn't tell her that! But yeah, that's about how well it went. I do love her, I think. I just … I don't know."

It's just that I'm as queer as a three-Galleon coin, thought Draco. "So, what did you fight about?"

"Um. Which time?"

"The time you made me stand in the cold for four hours."

"It's always about you, isn't it?"

"No, it's always about you, Potter. You just don't seem to realize." Although the room was nearly dark, Draco thought he could see Potter blush.

"What do you mean?"

"How often have you been in the papers?"

"Oh. I thought--"

"How many Orders of Merlin do you have? How many years of Auror training did you get to skip just because you're Harry Potter?" He could go on, but he didn't. His point had been made.

"Only one," Potter said, sounding annoyed. "And I didn't ask them to, they just did it. I told them I didn't want--"

"I never had anything handed to me, I had to--"

"You never … are you serious? Oh my God, you are the most deluded … you grew up in a mansion with everything you ever needed probably brought to you on a silver platter! Your father bought your way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team--"

"Don't you dare talk about my father." Draco sat up. "I was the best Seeker in the House, and he only did what he had to do to get the team to see that. Do you really think he would have ruined our chances for the cup?"

"I don't know what your father would--" Potter stopped abruptly and shook his head. "Oh my God. We sound like children." He was silent for a few moments. "I'm sorry about what happened to your father."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. And your mother."

"Right, I'm sure you mourned for them."

"Actually, I did. I cried when I heard what had happened."

Draco was genuinely surprised. "Why? They hated you."

"They're still people. I guess … I thought the war was over. But I realized then that it never will be. There will always be something. People killing and dying and kidnapping children and … it never ends."

"That's not war, that's human nature."

"There's a happy thought."

"What do you think, that if only you had killed Voldemort more dead, then the world would live in peace and harmony forever?"

"I didn't kill him."

"That's just a technicality."

"It is not. I hate that everyone so casually says that I killed a man … or, what was left of one. He cast the curse himself. It was meant for me, sure, but all I did was disarm him."

"Expelliarmus," muttered Draco.

Potter snorted. "God, I wish people would stop giving me crap for that. It's a very useful spell! Yet they barely even cover it during Auror training."

Draco would never admit it out loud, but he had always been impressed that Potter had disarmed the Dark Lord. Potter was obviously quite powerful. Draco studied him carefully as he continued to rant about the disgraceful lack of respect shown to Expelliarmus, taking in the square line of his jaw, the taut line of his neck running down to broad shoulders and arms which were sadly hidden but Draco knew to be strong and lean. His hands were splayed on the floor; his thumbs were broad and masculine. Draco had always had a thing for thumbs. He didn't know why.

He lay back down on the floor. He was checking out Potter. He shouldn't be doing that. Sure, they had exchanged a few blow jobs, but that had been more of an opportunistic thing, something that had happened because … because … Draco knew he had come up with a valid reason, but he couldn't think of what it was.

Delicate puffs of snow began to fall from the ceiling like hundreds of tiny feathers, floating softly down and disappearing about a foot from the floor. "Look," said Draco. He reached his hand up towards the tiny crystals, but of course they were just an illusion, mirrored from the outside world.

Potter watched a snowflake fall through his hand. "That's amazing. It never used to do that."

"No, we improved the spell a bit. It was an old one, needed an update." It had been entirely Mathilda's doing; according to Doug, the enchantment had never been successfully done on a room of this size. Draco hadn't actually seen the result of the spell before now, and in truth was as amazed as Potter. He tried not to look too impressed.

"It's brilliant," said Potter, lying back on the ground with his hands tucked beneath his head. His elbow was inches from Draco's ear.

"The trays were platinum."

"What?"

"The house-elves brought me whatever I wanted on platinum trays. Silver is too common."

Potter laughed, and when Draco looked over at him, Potter rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and hesitantly touching the side of Draco's face with the other. Before Draco could decide how to react, Potter had leaned over and kissed him. It was soft and gentle like the snow falling outside. Draco had no use for soft and gentle. He bit at Potter's lip and forced the kiss in a different direction. Potter seemed perfectly willing to change course, and soon was groaning and pulling at Draco's robes.

"Let's go to my quarters," said Potter, moving to nip at Draco's neck. Draco looked towards the ceiling and for a moment felt like he was flying through the night sky, with stars drifting lazily past. Anything was possible now. He was a new man.

"No," said Draco, "I'm going to fuck you. Right here in the middle of the Great Hall." Potter's hand tightened on Draco's shoulder.

"I don't think I'm ready for that." Potter's voice was muffled against Draco's neck. "Can I … um, can I fuck you?"

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, drowning in the desire that Potter's question had prompted. Yes, yes, yes, he thought. "I suppose that would be all right," he said.

A week off wasn't nearly long enough. Draco woke up on Christmas morning with Potter snoring beside him on the floor of the Great Hall. A pile of gifts lay at their feet. Potter seemed embarrassed at the thought of the house-elves sneaking in while they slept together beneath Draco's robes, but Draco was sure the creatures had seen much worse in their years at the school.

"Happy Christmas," said Potter, tracing a line down Draco's chest. Before they had fallen asleep, Draco remembered feeling Potter gingerly touch his left forearm. Potter hadn't said a word about the scar his Dark Mark had become, just as he didn't say anything about the scar on his chest now.

They crept sleepily up to Draco's quarters, where they stayed until the morning of the first of January, barely making it out of bed the entire week, except for that time in the chair by the fire, and the time on the rug near the window, and all those times in the shower. In between the hours of sex, there were hours of silence. It wasn't uncomfortable silence, though. Mostly they lay together, limbs tangled together and hands on each other. Potter seemed to like to twist sections of Draco's hair, winding them up tightly and then letting them go and then twisting them back up again. Draco didn't mind, since his hair never tangled anyway.

He didn't know what Potter thought during all that time. Sometimes his face would contort with emotion as though he were imagining conversations in his head, and sometimes he looked as though he were in a trance. But mostly he appeared relaxed and happy. Once, Draco had awoken in the middle of the night to find Potter staring fixedly at a piece of parchment. He hadn't asked anything about it. It seemed better for both of them, as a general rule, not to ask.

On the first morning of the new year, Draco put on his apprentice robes. Potter gave him a crooked smile and said he would see him that night.

"Will you?" asked Draco. He tried not to be pleased. He hadn't assumed this would continue past the holidays -- he wasn't even sure he wanted it to.

"Of course. Unless you don't want me to …"

Draco shrugged. "I'll never say no to a shag. No, that's not true. I suppose if it would kill me, I would say no. Or if it was with an ugly person. Or a woman. Not doing that ever again."

"It's not that bad," said Potter. "With a woman, I mean. Well … maybe it is." He looked startled. "My God … I'm gay."

"You're kidding. How'd you figure that one out?"

"Shut up."

"Make me," said Draco.

"Don't tempt me," said Potter, eyes full of mischief. "I'll use my cock to do it."

Draco reported to training fifteen minutes late. He rushed into the Great Hall and cursed upon finding it empty. He'd forgotten: they had moved on to the task of repairing some of the corridors in the dungeon. When he found the group, ten of them were sitting around looking bored. Mathilda was furious.

"Where have you been? Where's Doug?"

"He's not here?"

"Obviously not."

"Maybe I was supposed to meet him somewhere else," said Draco, trying desperately to remember what Doug had told him. His mind was blank. What if he'd forgotten everything he'd learned?

"No, he knows we need him here. These are too big for us to handle without him," she said, gesturing at the wall. There were several cracks over a foot wide, tinged black as if they had been caused by lightning.

"I can do it," said Draco. Mathilda laughed.

"You're not ready to control a Twelve. Not yet."

Draco was tempted to try it alone -- he could open and close divides bigger than that -- but Mathilda quirked her eyebrows at him, as if she knew what he was thinking, and he sat down along the opposite wall next to a twitchy red-headed donor. Draco could never remember his name.

"This never would have happened with Bob. He was as reliable as a … um … what's really reliable?" said Warren. He must have spent the time off lifting weights or possibly Hippogriffs; he looked even bigger than before. His neck was practically the size of Draco's thigh.

Mathilda glared at Warren and shook her head.

"Who are you talking about?" asked Draco.

"It's not important," said Mathilda.

"He should know," said Edgar.

"Know what?"

"All right," said Mathilda. "I'll tell him. Doug is not a usual member of our Twelve. He … we don't …" Draco had never seen her so flustered. "Our usual Stonemage, Barney, came down with some kind of exotic pox the week before we arrived here. The Inner Eye assigned Doug to replace him."

"Oh," said Draco, failing to see the significance of this information. "Does that make a difference as far as my training goes?"

"No, that seems to be fairly standard from what I've seen."

"But there's something that isn't?"

Mathilda shrugged. "The Builders are a small group. There are maybe five or six Twelves in all of the country. We have annual meetings and … I suppose it's possible we just missed him each time, but none of us has ever seen him before. Ever. He's definitely a Stonemage," said Mathilda hurriedly, probably noting the alarm on Draco's face, "but it's strange that he doesn't seem to be a part of a regular Twelve."

"And he's an odd fellow," said Edgar. "Disappearing in the wee hours of the mornin'."

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up. Potter had asked him if any of the Builders ever went off on their own. But Doug couldn't be involved. He was Draco's teacher. "Didn't you ask him about it?" He turned to Mathilda. "You're in charge, you have the authority."

"I can't. He's stronger than I am," said Mathilda. Draco remembered how Doug had explained that Builders deferred to those whose magic was more powerful.

"So, you're the leader but he's above you in rank?"

"Something like that."

Rapid footsteps echoed from the stairs leading to the corridor. They all fell silent, and soon Doug was hurrying towards them, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, I lost track of the time," he said, breathing heavily. "Oh, look at those," he said, noticing the cracks in the walls. He ran his hand along them, humming. Some of the blackness faded.

"Where were you?" asked Draco. Mathilda opened her mouth, likely to scold him for asking, but Doug raised his hand and smiled warmly.

"It's all right, it's a valid question. I popped into the kitchens this morning like I always do," he said, patting his generous gut, "and I got into the most fascinating conversation with one of the house-elves. Their magical abilities are really rather extraordinary and distinct from our own. I had no idea. I believe we might be able to adapt some of their techniques for magnifying some non-verbal spells using … well, you don't need to know the details right now." He laughed, looking pleased with himself. "I am very sorry for being late."

They formed their dodecagon; Draco sat to one side and watched. As Doug led the repairs to the dungeon walls, Draco felt cracks forming in his trust in Doug. The others seemed to have accepted his excuse, but Draco was sceptical. How could someone not know about the magic of house-elves? Everyone knew that.

"Can I ask you a question? This morning, did one of the Builders get to the dungeon after you?"

They were lying on Potter's bed with most of their clothing strewn on the floor in a semi-circle around them. There was only so far one could fling a piece of fabric while frantically kissing and attempting to touch every inch of someone's skin at the same time. Their shoes had flown quite far, however. Draco could see one on the writing desk in the corner and had been trying to locate the other three without moving his head when Potter asked his question. A frisson of dread shot through him.

"Why do you ask?"

Potter was silent for a moment, then heaved himself out of the bed and padded over the to desk. Draco watched Potter's nude form with appreciation. He had the most succulent set of buttocks. Potter picked up the shoe and turned to grin at Draco. "How did this get here?"

"I believe it was thrown."

"Oh, right. I think that was me." He dropped the shoe back on the desk and picked up a folded piece of parchment. After he had settled back into bed, he unfolded it in a manner Draco could only describe as reverent. Was that the same parchment he had seen Potter studying earlier? "This is a kind of special map of Hogwarts," said Potter. He stuck his hand under a pillow and pulled out his wand. "Um. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. I feel weird saying that now that I'm an Auror."

Lines began to appear on the parchment. Draco wasn't sure why he should be impressed by this -- nearly everyone in Slytherin had had a map of the castle. He had even charmed his to show him the path to take to get from one classroom to the next. Then he saw a set of moving footsteps labelled "Minerva McGonagall" and revised his opinion. "It shows people?"

"Yeah. But look, see how it gives their names? The Builders -- damn, they're in their quarters now, so you can't see it. Their quarters are more warded than yours. But when they're on here, it has the little feet, but the name is blank."

"That makes sense. Their identities are secret."

"OK, fine. But this morning, about ten minutes after you left, I saw one … right … here," he said pointing at to a spot on the landing between the first and second floors. "He just appeared there, out of nowhere, and then went and joined you in the dungeons."

"He said he was in the kitchens," muttered Draco.

"Who was it?"

"I can't tell you. Are you sure he didn't come from the kitchens?"

"Yes, and this isn't the first time I've seen this. The day the third student disappeared, in the evening, they all went back to their quarters, but then a few minutes later, one showed up near the wall over here, walked maybe fifty yards and then vanished again. I went to check, but by the time I got there of course no one was there."

Draco thought back to that day. "And then you came and interrogated me."

"It was evidence! But I couldn't do anything about it. I needed information somehow, and you were the only one they would let me talk to. It's so frustrating, I--" Potter pulled at his hair. "I watched this stupid map for weeks. Do you know how boring that was? But I never saw anything again, except for once, when I saw him leave the Builders' quarters at four in the morning. He was walking along here," said Potter, tracing the route with his wand, "and then he stopped and just disappeared the same as before, but in a completely different spot. I don't understand, even invisibility cloaks don't take someone off the map. The only place that does that is the Room of Requirement, and that's nowhere near there."

Even without this morning's sighting, it was obvious to Draco that the person Potter had seen on the map was Doug. There was no one else who could have disappeared into a wall. What Draco didn't know was what Doug was doing. Maybe there was a perfectly innocent explanation for this. Maybe he had found a shortcut to the kitchens that went through the walls. Or maybe he had kidnapped three students and modified their parents' memories for a legitimate reason. Draco was not going to leap to any conclusions.

"Look!" yelped Potter. A nameless set of footprints had appeared and was moving down the corridor not far from them. "Let's go!" He jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers before running out the door. Draco grabbed his robes, filled with trepidation. He didn't want to help Potter catch Doug. Things were happening too fast; he needed time to think, to consider his options.

He ran out the door and down the corridor, his bare feet slapping against the floor. Potter must have already gone around corner up ahead, because Draco didn't see him.

Potter was beating a section of wall with his fist when Draco caught up with him. "Damn, damn, damn!" he yelled.

"What happened?" asked Draco, trying to steady his breathing. He hadn't run that fast in a long time.

"I saw him! He ... he opened a hole in a bloody wall! I tried to Stun him, but I guess I missed." Potter looked confused. "He walked right into the wall and shut it behind him." He looked at Draco. "Is that a Builder thing, that magic?"

"You know I can't answer that."

"Can you do it? Open walls?"

Draco was silent.

"Open the wall, Malfoy." He pointed his wand at Draco.

"Are you going to slice me up again if I refuse?"

Potter brought his hand up to his chest; Draco wasn't sure if he was even aware of the motion. "No. But I am an Auror. Legally, you have to comply with my request since it's, um, pursuant to an active case. Ministry regulation … uh … forty-three. I think."

"Even if doing so would kill me?"

"Damn." Potter dropped his hand to his side. "No. Well, I saw his robes. They were bright blue with an eye on the hood. That should be enough to convince the Ministry to give me permission to investigate the Builders." Potter put his hand on the wall. "A real investigation. Of the whole organisation."

That would not be good. Draco's mind raced. He felt sure that even if the Builders hadn't killed anyone for a century, the Ministry would still see fit to punish the current members severely if they found out. It would be far better for Potter to get his answers now. Draco liked Doug, but if he had to hand him over to Potter, he would. "Close your eyes," he said. "Don't open them until I say so, unless you want me dead."

Potter smirked and closed his eyes. Draco took a deep breath and swished his wand through the air. The wall opened outward, revealing an unfathomable square of darkness a few feet high. Draco looked over at Potter, who was standing very still with his eyes shut. Despite his stillness, his entire body was suffused with tension, like a trap about to be sprung.

"You can open your eyes now," said Draco. Potter lurched forward, dropping to his knees and sticking his lit wand into the blackness.

"There's a passageway in here!" He crawled in, vanishing for a moment before sticking his head back into the corridor. "You're not going to close this up behind me, are you?" he said, sounding half-joking and half-serious.

"That would be a stupid thing to do for many reasons," said Draco.

"That's reassuring," said Potter. "Stay here. I'll be back." He withdrew into the wall and disappeared.

Ten minutes later, Draco began to get nervous. What was taking Potter so long? A sudden thought occurred to him; he cursed himself for not having thought of it earlier. Doug might catch Potter instead of the other way around. Draco felt ill. Doug would know that Draco had betrayed him. That would be bad. What would happen to him them? He had to make sure Potter was successful.

As he crawled through the square opening, Draco wondered how he had gotten himself into this situation. He just wanted to go back to his room and get into bed and pull the blanket over his head. But he had made his choice when he had opened the wall for Potter. There was no turning back now.

The passageway was surprisingly roomy. It began to slope gently downward almost immediately, occasionally turning a sharp corner. After fifteen minutes of walking, Draco sensed that he was now underground, possibly even lower than the dungeons. The air grew colder and the walls changed from smooth to rough.

Finally, he emerged into a small, round room. It looked almost like a cave. There were several chairs along the side and a small table in the centre. Doug was humming and pouring tea into a trio of teacups on a small tray. He was the only other person in the room.

"Hello, Draco," he said. "I've been expecting you. Tea?"

"Uh. No, thank you. You have?" Draco put his hand in his pocket and gripped his wand tightly.

"I was expecting Mr Potter to join us as well, though," said Doug, picking up a cup. "Of course, once I closed the wall up behind me, I thought I had escaped him. But then I felt you casting and I thought, oh, perhaps I was too hasty. Are you working with him?" He smiled politely, and Draco felt fear like he hadn't felt since Voldemort was alive.

"No," said Draco quickly. "He came to my room and told me that he saw a Builder go into the wall. I knew it must be you, so I got him to show me where, and then … I told him to meet me in an hour in McGonagall's office. I said I would explain everything. I came here to warn you that you'd been seen."

"Well, that was quick thinking," said Doug. Draco hoped he was referring to the lie he thought Draco had told, not the one he'd actually told. "But I am aware that I was seen. He tried to Stun me." He chuckled. "But my hood was up, so of course the spell slid right off of me."

"Is that what the Eye is for?"

"That's right, you don't know about that yet, do you? Well, now you do." He sipped at his tea. "I'm sure you have questions for me about all of this," he said, indicating the room they were standing in.

"Um." Draco didn't want to know anything. He just wanted to get out of there. "Not really. I assume you have your reasons for tunnelling out a room under the walls."

"It's a shame. You had such promise -- I've known it since you were a boy. Even starting as you did at a fairly late age, you would have made a great Stonemage."

"What do you mean? What are you going to do to me?" asked Draco. He felt his limbs begin to tremble. Not again … trapped with no way out. Not even Potter was here to save him this time. Fine time for him to shirk his hero duties. Draco couldn't even consider the possibility that Potter had already been captured.

"Although, I think you might actually understand the need for what we do," mused Doug. "You might have been a Recruiter one day. Oh, the irony."

Draco was silent. Clearly asking questions was not going to get him any answers.

"Do you know how few trespassers we get?" asked Doug. "There are too many stories about us. Only a few a year stumble across our path. And of those only one in a hundred are willing to join, and most of those are nothing but Donors. Edgar is the only Linker we have under the age of fifty." He waved his wand at the wall and a section slid open, revealing a small cupboard-sized room. There were three children lying in sleeping bags on the ground. A girl sat up and rubbed at her eyes.

"Is it time to practise again?" she asked. Draco was fairly sure it was the Muggleborn girl who had disappeared in September.

"Sssh, go back to sleep, darling," said Doug. The girl nodded and lay back down. Doug turned to Draco. "She is a Linker," he said softly, "as is one of the boys. The other boy has a knack for imbued magic that I haven't seen in a decade." He waved his wand and closed the children back into their prison. "They will lead far more significant lives as Builders than they would have as ordinary wizards and witches."

"You're going to force them to become Builders?"

"Force? No, they want to do it. Once I show them what they can do … and relieve them of the burden of their memories, of course. They are happy, Draco. We give them everything they need. You would have been happy, too. I remember the way you looked at us. What were you, five? Six?"

"What are you talking about?"

"My, how time flies. I was sent with the Twelve that repaired your home, and I nearly got you. If your parents hadn't taken you away when they did, you would have been one of us."

The library door had been ringed with purple light. It had called to him, beckoned to him. He shook his head. "I still would have been a Malfoy."

"Oh, of course, by blood," said Doug, "but you wouldn't have known it." He put down his teacup. "Do you think Mathilda is really a Kim, or Edgar really an Orr?"

"You said Mathilda was a Muggleborn."

"Muggleborns are the easiest to take. Their parents are so unsuspecting. Of course, purebloods are just as susceptible to our magic."

Draco frowned and looked around. "So, the Builders take children and raise them to be Builders. I still don't understand why you need all of this. Why not keep them in your quarters? They're well-guarded."

"No, no, no," said Doug. "The Recruiters are a secret within a secret."

"The others don't know? Oh. Interesting."

"You would have made an excellent Recruiter. You aren't weighed down by ethics. Such a shame."

The way Doug kept referring to him as though he no longer existed was making Draco uncomfortable. It didn’t bode well for his immediate future. "I could still become a Recruiter."

Doug shook his head. "The protocols have to be followed. You know too much." He raised his wand. Draco tensed, and suddenly, behind Doug, Potter appeared, a cascade of shimmering fabric falling to the floor. His trousers were low on his hips and the muscles of his chest and arms were taut. Draco had never seen a more glorious sight.

"Incarcerous!" shouted Potter. Ropes shot at Doug, wrapping themselves around him briefly before falling to the ground in useless pieces. Stupid Potter, thought Draco, weren't you listening? Doug raised his wand and his left hand flattened, palm down, and Draco knew: Doug was going to open a deep hole in the ground under Potter.

Without allowing himself time to think, Draco pulled out his wand. "Expelliarmus," he shouted, surprised at the loudness of his voice. Doug's wand flew from his hand.

"See?" said Potter. "I told you it was a useful spell." He pointed his wand at Doug. "You are hereby placed in the custody of the Ministry of Magic, with all--"

Doug whirled around and ran past Draco and up the passageway. Potter began to cast round after round of stunners after him.

"No," shouted Draco, "his robes repel-- augh!" he fell to the ground, feeling as though a giant hammer had hit his spine. Potter ran and knelt beside him.

"Malfoy! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Go," gasped Draco. "I think you'll need to use brute force."

"Stay here," said Potter. He ran his hand over Draco's hair before standing and running after Doug.

Draco pushed himself over onto his back, wincing. His legs were numb. "Stay here?" he muttered. "What the hell else am I going to do?"

Minutes passed and the pain increased. The room began to fade in and out around him. He weakly lifted his hand and cast a spell that he hoped would release the students from their holding cell. He needed help, and they were his only option. He heard the sound of rock scraping against rock, and then saw the dim outline of three heads above him.

"Is that Draco Malfoy?" said a young boy. It sounded like he was very far away, but he was standing right there over him. How strange.

He closed eyes and let the darkness pull him under.

Recovering from a broken back was not fun, Draco discovered. The Healers had explained how it wasn't like a normal fracture, showing him a model of a spinal column with strange spaghetti-like stuff inside. Draco didn't really care about the details; he just wanted to get out of St Mungo's. But after a month of intense hourly treatments with no effect, the Healers began to speak in whispers around him and stopped looking him in the eye. Draco still couldn't move his legs.

Potter tried to visit at least once a week -- it had been more often at the beginning -- but Draco had instructed the guard not to let him in. Each time, Draco would lie in bed with his hands clenched, listening to Potter explain that he was a friend and also an Auror and also Harry Potter and so should be allowed in. He wouldn't relax until he heard Potter promising loudly to be back again soon, his retreating footsteps audible even through the walls.

He would talk to Potter once he could walk on his own, and not before. He still had his pride. Sort of.

Midway through February, Potter was escorted straight into Draco's room. The guard stood on the edge of the room, nervously twiddling his thumbs. "He has official papers," he said.

"Useless," muttered Draco.

Potter shut the door once the guard had gone back to his post. "I know why you're not getting better."

"Who says I'm not getting better?" said Draco, struggling to sit up so as to look less like a helpless invalid. "Spinal injuries are complicated."

"Come on, Draco, I'm not an idiot."

"Really? How many times did you try to stun someone who was un-stunnable?"

"That's different. I got him anyway, didn't I?" Potter had apparently tackled Doug and forcibly removed his robes. By the time he got back to Draco with Healers in tow, Doug was already in custody and on his way to Azkaban. The Aurors were frighteningly efficient nowadays. "Anyway, the Wizengamot is meeting in an hour. I think they might be able to dissolve the Builders' entire organisation." Potter was beaming.

It was all over, then. Draco would have to go back to working for McGonagall. Of course, he might get lucky and have to spend the rest of his life in this bed. "Great," he said sullenly.

"That is great," said Potter, "because it's the Builders' oath that's keeping you in here. You told me one of their secrets."

"By accident!"

"Right, by accident, but still. You'll never recover unless the oath is gone. Broken oath, broken back, right? Hermione did some research and … she thinks that if the Order of Builders no longer exists, the oath will have no more power. You can't keep the secrets of something that doesn't exist."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Well, it does when she explains it." Potter looked at his watch. "I have to go. I'm giving testimony at the hearing." He approached Draco's bed cautiously, as if Draco might bite. Draco wanted to. "I'll be back tomorrow to see how you're doing." He touched Draco's hand before Draco could pull it away and then strode out the door, looking like a man on a mission.

Draco lay back and tried to keep himself from hoping that Potter was right.

Three hours later, the Healers cast their usual barrage of spells and fed him the standard array of potions. Ten minutes after that, Draco wiggled his toes. An hour after that, thanks to an extra-strength muscle-restoring potion, Draco took his first steps in nearly two months. The Healers cried, but he didn't; he'd just gotten dust in his both of his eyes simultaneously.

"I believe you are ready to go home, Mr Malfoy," said a Healer.

"Home?" Where was home? The manor hardly seemed like home anymore. He hadn't been there since his parents had died, and without them or the money for upkeep, it must have long ago fallen into disrepair. Still, where else did he have to go?

It was dusk when he walked cautiously through the front gates. The garden was a mess of weeds and overgrown shrubs. The bleached bones of a peacock lay spread out on the path in front of him. He stepped around it and through the front door, which was hanging off one of its hinges.

The entry hall was like something out of a nightmare. The mob had splintered the furniture and burned everything that wasn't made of stone. Dust and dirt covered everything, dulling surfaces to a greyish brown.

"Welcome home," said Draco, kicking at a potted plant that had long since expired. Dried soil and brittle brown leaves flew across the room.

The next morning, Draco woke to the sound of someone calling his name.

"Draco? Draco, wake up."

He opened one eye. Sunlight streamed through the window of the guest room he had chosen to sleep in. He hadn't gone near the south wing, where his old bedroom was located.

Mathilda was standing next to his bed with her arms crossed.

"I found him!" she called. "Your house is a mess."

"Well, I wasn't expecting company," said Draco. "What are you doing here? Have you come to kill me for betraying the secrets of the Builders?" He found that the thought didn't frighten him as much as it should have. He was tired.

Mathilda laughed, and Edgar walked into the room, followed by all nine of the Donors. They stood in a crowd around his bed, staring at him.

"Oh, it's a reunion," said Draco. He sat up and stretched.

"Is it true what they say in the papers?" asked Mathilda. "Were we all kidnapped from our families?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know about all of you, but he mentioned you and Edgar. Your parents were Muggles."

"I always wanted a sister," said Mathilda quietly. "I wish I knew if I had one."

Draco was surprised to realize that he sympathized with Mathilda. It was hard to lose everything you'd ever had, even if you didn't know it.

"What do we do now?" asked Edgar. "The Builders were my family." They all looked at him as if expecting an answer.

"I don't know. What can we do? The Arcane Order of Builders is gone. The Ministry will never allow--" Draco stopped. He'd just had an insane idea. The Ministry would never allow the Arcane Order of Builders to exist again, but perhaps a different Order of Builders would be allowed, provided certain conditions were met.

"Never allow what?" asked the red-headed Donor.

Draco got out of bed. "Do you have a way to contact the remaining Builders? The ones that weren't Recruiters?"

"Sure," said Mathilda. "I can owl the leaders of each Twelve. What do I tell them?"

"Tell them there may be a way for them to become Builders again. I don't know how yet. But I will soon."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm … going to go see a friend." Calling Potter a friend wasn't as far from the truth as it had been at other times in Draco's life. Potter's connections would come in handy. He knew he had kissed Potter for a reason all those months ago.

"You going to see him in your pyjamas?" asked Warren, cracking a smile for the first time Draco could ever remember.

"No, of course not."

"They're nice pyjamas. They have golden snitches on them."

Draco pointed at the door as several of the Builders snickered. "Thank you. I am aware of what is on my pyjamas. Please get out now."

He looked down through the window at the front garden. Once the Builders had filed down the front walk, he left the guest room and walked to the south wing. His old bedroom was untouched by the destruction he'd found on the ground floor; it looked the same as the last time he had seen it, apart from the layer of dust. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that his mother was sitting by the side of the bed, singing him to sleep. He pushed away a wave of grief.

His parents were gone, but he was still here. It wasn't too late for him. He opened a closet and set a cleaning charm to work on a set of green silk robes.

He'd timed the party to coincide with the start of the new school year. Their agreement with Hogwarts had been finalized a few weeks earlier, so the event had dual functions: a house-warming and a celebration of a new era for the Builders. McGonagall was there along with all the other professors, rubbing elbows with various Ministry officials and other select guests. It wasn't a lavish affair -- Draco couldn't afford more than simple hors d'oeuvres and a selection of mid-range wines -- but the manor looked grander than it ever had before. He wove his way through the crowd, pleased at the turnout. Of course, he was the Ministry Liaison to the Benevolent Order of Builders now. Who would have turned his invitation down?

Even Ron Weasley was there, stalking after the waiter with the tray of bacon-wrapped prawns. Granger, soon to be Granger-Weasley, smiled at Draco when she saw him and pulled Ron to a stop.

"Draco, your home looks wonderful. Harry told us that the Builders had finished the renovations last week, but I'd no idea they'd done such extensive work."

It turned out that one of the perks of restoring an elite magical society to power was free services from said society for life. Whenever Draco wanted a room remodelled, all he needed to do was ask. He could do some of the stonework himself, of course, even though he technically was not a full Builder. As Ministry Liaison, he was too busy to finish the necessary training. It didn't seem that important, with the abilities of so many other Builders at his disposal.

"Yes, they did do a good job, didn't they?" said Draco, eyeing the marble arches appreciatively.

"And I also have to say that I'm very pleased that you don't employ slave labour. It's refreshing to see someone--"

"If I could afford house-elves, I'd have them," said Draco.

"Oh, I see," said Granger. She pressed her lips together and looked over Draco's shoulder. Ron was still looking forlornly towards the kitchens. "Come on, Ron, I think I see your parents in the other room."

"But the bloke with the bacon things should be coming back any minute now and … did you say my parents?" Granger nodded, and Weasley half-smiled at Draco and mouthed, "Code word," and followed her away.

Potter had odd friends. Draco was glad he hadn't seen much of them in the last six months. Aside from that one week when the entire plan had come together -- thanks largely to Granger's research -- he had managed to avoid them almost entirely. It seemed that Potter would rather spend time alone with Draco at the manor or in his flat.

When he was feeling cynical, which was most of the time, Draco assumed that Potter preferred them being alone because that way he wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of everyone knowing that they did spend so much time together. He'd had enough trouble when his break-up with Ginny Weasley had gone public.

Not that Draco wanted to deal with the repercussions either.

Mathilda skipped up to him, her Builders' robes flowing around her. The Ministry had let them keep the robes on the condition that they share the secret of their magic. The entire agreement had nearly fallen apart on that point. "Headmistress McGonagall says she's received fourteen owls already from sixth and seventh years interested in being tested!" she said, grinning broadly.

"Excellent!" said Draco. "I just hope some of them have talent."

She shrugged. "We'll see. We're bound to find some potential Builders eventually."

"With no kidnapping necessary," said Draco. "Amazing. Who would have thought it was possible?"

"I know! And all this time, I thought kidnapping was the only way to recruit people into the organisation. I mean, it's not as if we can do anything cool that a normal young witch or wizard would find interesting," she said, twirling her wand. The floor beneath them began to glow from within.

"An embedded Lumos? Please," scoffed Draco, "I could do those when I was a baby. In my sleep. Wandless."

Mathilda laughed. "During your testing, you looked like I'd asked you to make the rock fly. … I wonder if Edgar could do that?"

"Probably. I believe Edgar could do anything."

"Mmm," said Mathilda. "Oh, by the way, Harry was looking for you."

"Was he?" Draco hated how his heart sped up at the mention of Potter's name. "I haven't seen him in nearly an hour." Potter had come in flanked by friends and admirers, and had shaken Draco's hand just like everyone else. They were just friends in public, if that.

"Actually, he's down in … where the cellar used to be. He has a surprise for you." Mathilda looked up at the ceiling and bounced on her toes. "But don't have kittens, it's a good surprise," she said.

"I told you that I wanted that sealed up," said Draco. "There are reasons for things, you know. You can't go about ignoring a client's request. I can't--"

She shook her head, grinning, and shooed him away.

That had been the first thing to go into the remodelling plan: fill the cellar. He'd tried to do it himself, but always got stuck in the doorway, unable to move down the steep staircase. After the Builders had finished their work, he'd been relieved to see a wall where the door used to be, smooth and blank and showing no sign of the place where his parents' bodies had been found. But now, he saw that the wall had been opened up, revealing a brightly lit staircase.

"Potter?" he called, reluctant to move any further. There was no answer, but the longer he stood there, the clearer it became that this was not the same staircase. It sloped gently downward into the light, and not steeply into the darkness as it used to do.

"This had better be a spectacular surprise," said Draco to no one in particular. He followed the lights down, hardly able to breathe.

At the bottom he found a room that had never been there before. It was enormous and glowing, with a ceiling that looked to be as high as the manor itself. Potter was standing in the very centre, grinning like an idiot.

All around him it was snowing, a gentle fall of white that disappeared a foot from the floor.

"Hi," said Potter.

"Hello."

"I wanted to surprise you."

"I am surprised," said Draco, walking toward Potter.

"Good surprise?"

He arrived in the centre of the room and looked up. The snow floated down around him like petals from an impossibly tall tree. "Not bad," he admitted.

"It was really hard getting the request to the Builders without you seeing it. Everything requires paperwork, and it all has to go through you."

"It's not my fault that I'm so important," said Draco.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure you did that on purpose."

"I don't know what you mean," said Draco with a smirk. "The Builders unanimously selected me as liaison. It was entirely their decision."

Potter laughed and got that intense look that Draco knew so well, focused on Draco's mouth. He leaned forward. Draco stepped back.

"Why did you do this?"

"I told you, I wanted to surprise you."

"But why?"

"I dunno," said Potter. "It didn't seem right to just wall it up. I thought it would be better to change it into something good. Um. Actually, that was kind of Hermione's idea. But not the snow part. Just the part about making it into something different."

That sounded like the sort of faux-clever thing that Granger would say. A hundred different snide remarks came to mind, but Draco held his tongue. Potter was radiating happiness, and Draco found he disliked the thought of crushing his spirit. For fuck's sake, when had he gotten so soft? The room was quite nice, though.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Potter, looking vaguely apprehensive.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing. Just … Granger may have actually been right."

"Oh, good. Um. I was kind of worried you'd mind that I talked to her about stuff."

"What happened to my parents is public knowledge."

"No, I mean, other stuff …"

"Such as … ?"

"Well, you know … what's going on."

"You mean about us?"

Harry smiled. "Are you admitting there is an 'us'?"

"I … I never denied … it's not like you've been so eager to admit it!"

"Well, I didn't want to scare you," said Harry. "But, um, all of my close friends sort of know. I mean, they know that we're … seeing each other, I guess? I haven't told the Wizarding world at large, but really, it's none of their fucking business."

"I don't know that the 'Wizarding world at large' would agree with you on that point."

"Yeah. I guess … no, it makes sense that you wouldn't want anyone to know."

"Me? Why would I care? It's not as if public opinion of me could get any worse."

"No, I think it could." Potter averted his eyes. "People might think that you'd corrupted me somehow, or something."

"Well, if people thought that, you'd have to set them straight."

"Um. Yeah, I did. I mean, I would."

"Good," said Draco. It had probably been Weasley.

"It wasn't Ron, just so you know."

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind."

"OK," said Potter. "So, what do we do?"

Draco reflected on his guest list. Many of them were avid admirers of the great Harry Potter. Being envied by so many people at once sounded like fun. "Shall we go back up to the party?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"Right now?" Potter took his hand. "Could we maybe stay down here a while, and then go up? I kind of wanted to do more than talk to you in this room. We could … recreate last Christmas eve?"

Draco shivered. The memory of Potter, naked and on top of him, flashed through his mind. "I suppose we could do that."

This time, when Potter moved forward to kiss him, Draco didn't move away.

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