Chapter 19
Good luck today, I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.
~ Hermione G.
Hermione stared at her own handwriting.
This is stupid, he probably won’t even see it, she told herself.
Yes, but what if he does? Theo said he was stressed aboutthe task, the stupid part of her brain kept pointing out.
He’s not stressed, he just doesn’t want to talk to you. The Krum boy wasn’t stressed about the task when he followed you around the library last night.
The voices kept warring in her head as she stared at the piece of parchment in front of her. Finally, she decided to go for it. “Harry, can I borrow Hedwig?” Bad idea. Bad idea.
Her best friend looked up from where he was leaning half asleep on one of the Gryffindor couches. “Yeah, of course. Need me to go get her now?” he asked.
“Yes, is that okay?” She asked. Harry just waved her off, groaning nonetheless as he shoved up from his seat and walked away. A few moments later he came back with his snowy owl on his arm.
“Good timing, she’s just woken up.” He told her as she followed him to one of the nearby windowsills.
Hermione told the last of her worries to shove it, and folded the parchment loosely down the middled. She signed his name and room number on one side and gave the note to Harry’s owl.
“Thank you.” She said quietly as Hedwig chirped before flying off through the opening and leaving Hermione to drown in her nerves.
When she turned around though, her nerves multiplied at the grin on Harry’s face.
“What was that?” He asked, elbowing jovially her in the middle.
Hermione shoved him off and shot him a glare. “Nothing.” It’s not a big deal, she reminded herself, you’re just wishing a friend luck.
“You just sent a letter to Malfoy.”
Pointedly, Hermione chose to ignore him, walking back to the sofa.
“Hermione,” He pressed. When Hermione crossed her knees in front of her as she sat, Harry made sure to sit against them.
“Go away.” She told him.
“Why’d you send him a letter?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did. It said Draco Malf—”
“Shut up” Hermione snapped, putting her hand over his mouth, and looking around. Everyone else in the room seemed to be minding their own business, but that was no guarantee they weren’t listening anyway. “Do you have to talk at the volume of a boombox.”
“I was not that loud.” He mumbled; his voice muffled through her palm. Hermione glared at him for another moment before removing it.
“I’m just saying. You don’t have to announce it to the entire house.”
“Geeze, someone’s touchy.” For that, she took the opportunity to shove him off by the shoulders, causing him to fall over and onto the floor. “Oi! Stop it!” he laughed, and Hermione scowled.
“Where’s Ron?” She huffed. “I thought he said he was hungry.”
Harry made a dramatic show of pushing himself back onto the sofa and letting loose an over-the-top sigh once he was seated. Then he straightened his face and glared back “He is. Which is why he left fifteen minutes ago.”
“What?” She gaped at him. “No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did.” Harry repeated.
“When?”
“When you were busy writing your letter to Malfoy.” Hermione jumped at Draco’s name again but this time Harry was prepared and raised his arms in defence.
“How is that possible? I would have noticed if he’d left.”
“We were talking about it for a solid five minutes while you weren’t paying attention.” He shrugged.
“No.”
“Yes. He didn’t want to wait but I told him you’d just be a second.”
Hermione gaped at him. “I couldn’t have been more than a minute! I wrote maybe eight words!”
“Well, they were very specific eight words I guess.” Harry told her, his lips tilted upward in a knowing smirk. She didn’t quite know how to respond, but in favour of not talking about it any longer, she dropped it.
“Fine. Well, can we go now?” She snipped and Harry’s grinned.
“Of course.” He nodded and stood. “I told Theo we’d meet him like seven minutes from now anyway, so it actually works out.”
Hermione followed him, confused as they walked out the portrait hole. “You told Theo?”
“Of course. I think he’s kind of nervous for Malfoy today, so last night I asked him if he’d want to eat with us before hand and he said yes.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Harry told her, shooting over a side eye that Hermione ignored.
When they got to the Great Hall, Ron looked to be engaged in a lively debate with Seamus and his brothers, and Hermione grimaced. She loved Ron, but it was still early in the morning and she felt too anxious about what was to come to handle his boisterous breakfast arguments. Luckily, she didn’t even have to look at Harry before he pulled her down to the opposite end of the Gryffindor table.
She smiled at him appreciatively as she sat and the two filled their plates. It wasn’t long then before they were joined by Theo and he took the seat beside Harry.
Hermione noticed he looked different today, but not in a bad way. All of the Durmstrang students took it upon themselves to look professional whenever they were around the grounds, but this was different. Theo’s robes were perfectly pressed, and though they looked to be day-wear, Hermione could tell every inch of them seemed to have been custom tailored and made. Additionally, his hair was different. Where normally it was combed through and relaxed, today it looked as though someone had professionally styled his waves to hold their place. In short, he looked really fit.
“Good morning.” Theo nodded to them both before a plate appeared in front of him and he filled it. Hermione smiled, she was about to reciprocate when a gruff sound came out of her best friend and she glanced over to see his face was bright red.
“Morning,” She was fairly certain Harry had attempted to say. She couldn’t be sure though, because he’d just taken a rather large bite of toast, and it seemed to have gone down the wrong end, right as he’d spoken. Harry’s eyes bulged slightly and he started coughing as he looked anywhere but at the boy beside him. For a second Hermione worried if he was alright, but Theo patted him on the back a few times and after a moment he seemed to pull through. When he finally looked up again, it took a great deal of effort on her part not to laugh at the embarrassment written all over his face. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed their Theodore’s new look.
“Are you alright?” Theo asked, one of his hands still rested on the back of Harry’s shoulder blade and his tone was laced with concern. Hermione watched as Harry briefly stared at the point of contact before facing forward and just nodding. Rather than risk speaking again, her friend reached forward and began chugging a glass of water.
Hermione decided to take pity on him and smiled at the other boy. “Good morning, Theo. How are you feeling today?”
His eyes were still trained on Harry, watching him nervously, but Theo turned towards her then. “Alright. Exhausted from waking up early, but ready for this all to be over, I suppose.”
Hermione frowned, trying to understand, “Why did you have to be up early?” She asked.
Theo seemed to consider his words for a moment before he spoke, this time his eyes met hers. “I wanted to see Draco off. He woke up before dawn to train and I knew he wouldn’t be coming back to the ship before the tournament, so I had to catch him then.”
“To train?” Hermione’s eyes widened at the idea. It had been a number of days since she’d seen Draco, but she was quite certain he was still in pique physical condition. “Surely there’s not more he can do to prepare before the task? Why would Karkaroff risk a potential injury?”
The boy’s lips seemed to twitch just the slightest, but he looked down at his plate and spun his fork. “Karkaroff wouldn’t. Draco would. And he had a meeting at eight he needed to arrive early for, so he wanted to be ready.”
“Oh.” She answered. Hermione pondered that for a moment before something hit her and her stomach sunk. “You said Draco had a meeting at eight, so does that mean if I…” She bit her lip, not really wanting to know the answer, but Theo didn’t need to hear the rest of her question.
He grimaced, his shoulders rising for just a moment as he looked at her with pity. “It was a terribly thoughtful note. I left it on his bed when the owl arrived. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it when he returns tonight. But sorry, no.” He shook his head. “He was already gone when it came.”
“Right.” Hermione tried to ignore the part of her head that said she’d look like a fool now. What’s done was done. She’d just have to grin and bear it. Maybe Draco would find it sweet and not creepy that she’d tried to contact him despite his many attempts to avoid her in recent days. Great. She sighed. There was no point stressing about it, so Hermione changed the subject. “So, what do you think the first task is going to be?”
----- ----- ----- -----
A while later, after they’d finished eating, the three of them decided to make their way outside. The tournament wouldn’t start for another fifty minutes or so, but Hermione wanted to make sure they got good seats. They’d been given a general location for where the task would take place, but because of the secrecy surrounding its themes, no one had been told for sure until that morning. For that reason, Harry insisted they stay within the warmth of the castle walls until they could actually see the tents outside. Which is how they found themselves wandering down a corridor that would open near the quidditch pitch, and how Hermione found herself spotting a head of blond hair as it turned around a corner.
Draco. Her mind practically shouted and something in her seemed to jump. She didn’t have time to think what it was though, because the hair disappeared from her view.
A part of Hermione knew that Draco had been avoiding/ignoring her for days now and that, really, she should take the hint that he didn’t want to see her. But another part remembered Theo assuring her that it wasn’t her, but the task that had him anxious and she shouldn’t take it to heart. So, Hermione started walking a little faster, and when they rounded that same corner, her eyes scowered the grounds for Draco’s familiar blond. She found him, his back facing away from her and walking slowly near the champion’s tent. Hermione broke off from where Harry and Theo were walking and strode towards him. That was when she noticed it though, he wasn’t alone, and neither was his striking blond hair.
There was another wizard beside him. This one was only slightly taller than Draco, and he had the same hair, though his was significantly longer. When he turned his head to look over at Draco, Hermione got a full view of his profile and was startled by the similarities between his face and Draco’s. This must be his father.
Perhaps a wiser person would have taken into consideration the challenge Draco was about to endure, and the obviously serious conversation the two of them were having— if the firm set of both their jaws and expressions were anything to go by— and walked away. But Hermione wasn’t a wiser person, because instead she kept moving towards them, at least until she could hear what was being said.
“—Is that understood?” The older man seemed to snap.
Draco’s posture was perfect, and his hands were clasped behind his back elegantly, but there was something wrong with the way he answered, “Of course, father.”
Hermione froze as the older man's arm wrapped around Draco’s shoulders and she didn’t understand. On anyone else the gesture would appear loving, conciliatory even. But here, it was different. Hermione felt the insane urge to pull him away, to make it stop, as if Draco was in need of some kind of protection.
Instead, she watched as the man cast a wave across the green towards a group of wizards who waved back. When she looked at him again, the mans grip had visibly tightened on Draco. “You have one job to do today, and I expect you to not disappoint me again.” His voice was like ice and Hermione’s skin prickled as he spoke. “I know the games you think you’re playing, Draco, but I swear on Salazar’s grave that you will lose each and every single one of them if you so much as think of stepping out of line again.”
“Yes, father.” She heard Draco speak again and Hermione hated it. His voice wasn’t normal, and he wasn’t Draco. It was like some robot had replaced him as answered and nodded his head.
Then his father spoke again, his voice lower so that Hermione was forced to step even closer to the pair, though she hardly noticed herself moving, her attention rapt on their conversation.
“Do not forget what rides on your behaviour this year. What you imagined was so genius in your little plan of coming here. Your plan to embarrass me in this fucking tournament. You will remember your place Draco. If you’d like to return to the manor this summer and see your mother again, then you will do well not disobey me. Have I made myself clear?”
The last words were spoken slowly, and Hermione found herself holding her breath, waiting for his response. She couldn’t see his face, but she could practically feel the heavy pause before Draco’s head dipped and he answered almost quietly, “Yes, father.”
“Good.” His father snapped. “Now get away from me. I will speak to you later.”
This time Draco didn’t answer with more than a nod before he walked away. Hermione wanted to follow him, but when she tried, she couldn’t move. Hermione turned around to find Theo gripping her arm tightly, his expression stern as he put a single finger to his lips, telling her to remain silent. She frowned and Theo tilted his head behind him. He began walking, not releasing her even slightly and only stopped when he’d pulled her into the nearest empty classroom.
Then he waved his wand in front of her, “finite incantatum.” He ordered and Hermione’s jaw dropped.
“Wha—”
“Disillusionment.” He answered before she could even properly ask what he’d done. “Was it caught up in the moment, or are you really that daft as to go eavesdropping on people’s conversations while you’re standing out in the open?” Theo snapped and Hermione’s brows jumped.
“Pardon?” She asked.
“I said are you actually daft, or did you just forget.” When his hands flew out beside him in frustration, Hermione realized he was actually glaring on her.
“What just happened? I—I didn’t mean to, but then he— who was that man?” She demanded.
Theo watched her for a moment and for the first time Hermione found herself rather intimidated by him. Not scared, she wasn’t sure she could ever be afraid of Theo. But he was visibly cross with her, and she knew she’d done something really wrong.
“Lucius Malfoy.” Was all that he said.
“So, Draco’s father.” That’s what she’d assumed.
If she wanted more information, it seemed she’d have to work for it because Theo wasn’t giving much.
“Yes.”
“Why was he so angry with Draco? What could he have possibly done?”
“Why is Lucius ever angry with Draco?” He wondered aloud. “Because the weather’s changed. Because his food wasn’t cooked well enough. Because his bill at the ministry failed. Because he can be.” Theo looked at her pointedly.
“But—”
She didn’t get a chance before Theo cut her off. “But Lucius is an arsehole. That’s all there is to it. And if I hadn’t realized where you’d run off and disillusioned us both, you have no idea the hell he would rain.”
“What does that even mean? He was talking in an open space. He’s not some emperor who has control over everyone.” Hermione told him. If that was Lucius Malfoy, then she was sure he was a bastard in great need of humbling. No one had the right to speak to anyone the way he did, much less to their own child. “And it’s not like he can punish me for overhearing a conversation!” She threw her arms out in emphasis, but Theo just shook his head and glared down at her.
“Not on you, Hermione. You’re right. He can’t control everyone, and he may not be able to touch you. But he can control Draco. And he’s most certainly not afraid to lay his hands on Draco.” Theo’s voice was cold, and Hermione’s eyes bulged at his words, fury mounting within her.
“Excuse me? What the fuck does that mean?!” She shouted.
Theo shook his head like she was an idiot and shouted back. “It means you can’t just act without thinking!”
“I’m sorry?! What!”
“You can’t just act without thinking.” His gaze was serious as their eyes met and Hermione couldn’t look away, despite her petulant want to. “I know you can’t understand the extent of this, but Lucius Malfoy gets what he wants. Every time.” He raised a single hand between them. “He controls everything and no one looks twice at what he does to get it.”
Hermione scoffed at his meaning, “that’s ridiculous! Doesn’t the ministry care?”
“Hermione, Lucius is the ministry.”
“It shouldn’t matter! You can’t just abuse someone and get away with it!”
Theo laughed. He actually laughed. But it wasn’t a kind laugh, or an amused laugh. It was an angry one that gave her chills. “That’s called being a pureblood, love. Dynasties that are more ancient that the government have liberties the government can’t encroach.”
She couldn’t believe him. “And you’re just okay with such bullshite? Draco’s just okay with that?” She spat and Theo took a step back, his lips disappearing for a moment as he thought.
“Why do you think he’s been gone all weekend?” He asked. “Because he found out ol’Lucy was paying a visit to watch him. To watch him fail….That’s why he’s been so focussed. Why I’ve been so focussed. Hermione he can’t fail this tournament.”
“What do you mean?” Her thoughts were moving a thousand kilometres a minute yet she could barely think. She watched as Theo watched her for several moments. But before he could open his mouth to answer, they heard the sound of trumpets coming from outside and Theo sighed.
“Well, I think it’s time we go and find Harry.” He said, making for the door. Before he could though, Hermione grabbed his arm and stopped him.
“Theo—”
“We can finish later.” He told her. Then he turned around and held her by the shoulders, his hands careful. “But Hermione, you have to promise me, you can’t share this with anyone. You’ve no idea what it could do.”
This was wrong. It was so wrong, and she knew it. Everything her muggle teachers had ever taught her said that she needed to tell someone. But there was a desperation in Theo’s eyes that somehow told her he was serious. This was far bigger than she could understand right now. So she nodded, “I promise.”
She could feel his scrutinization of her as they stood there, but after a few seconds he released her. “Thank you.” He said, and then he took one of her hands in his and led her outside.
Draco ran his palm over the front of his robes one final time. They were dark brown and red for his school’s colours and unfortunately a lower quality thread count than would have been preferred. He’d done his best to fix it, but to no avail. It would be fine. They were perfectly pressed, and he’d had an elf polish his dragonhide boots one last time the night before, so he’d be up to his father’s standards in the morning. Now he stood waiting.
It was a somewhat large room, filled with tables and snacks to welcome in the ministry officials arriving over the span of an hour by floo. The majority of the champions would be woken around seven-thirty and rounded up for their final meetings with their headmasters at eight. Draco however, had begun his process two hours earlier. He’d made sure he had gotten his normal training routines finished before he’d even so much as spoken to Karkaroff. And now, while the others had slept in, Draco had been escorted into one of Hogwarts professor offices and stationed to wait for his father.
Carefully, he ran a palm over his head, once more checking everything to be in proper form, though he stopped as the hearth once again roared to life.
“Draco.” His father’s words were clear even as the green flames still evaporated around him and he stepped into the office.
Draco’s chin was already downcast, but he tucked it even further as he gave a bow. “Father.” He answered before looking up slightly. When he did, Draco was almost startled by the image presented.
Like Draco, Lucius Malfoy’s robes were impeccable. But also, like Draco, they were sporting Durmstrang colours. Mother, he thought as he briefly examined the man before him. It was the only explanation for how anyone could have forced his father out of his usual uniform of 1,500 galleon suits. She’d no doubt found a way to convince him it would look good in the papers if he was seen supporting his son’s school during the tournament. If it wouldn’t have gotten him hexed, Draco might’ve grinned at her sense of humour.
When he met his father’s dark grey eyes though, there was something he didn’t understand behind them. Draco braced himself for whatever scheme might’ve come next.
Seconds later, a wide smile burst across Lucius’s face and Draco watched as his father took several steps forward, jovially clasping one of his hands around Draco’s shoulder and loudly asking, “How are you son?” The gesture was almost believable from Draco’s perspective were it not for the death grip his hand held him in.
“Well, sir.” He nodded.
His father ran his tongue across his cheek showcasing his annoyance to only him. But before he could correct his mistake and play his proper part, a second arm landed on him, and Draco turned to see Minister Fudge beaming.
“Ah the Malfoys! Truly one of my favourite pairs in England. How are you son?” He asked loudly, leaning into Draco and unfortunately overpowering his senses with the scent of onions from his breath.
Draco controlled his expression into a tight smile. “Very well, Minister.” He nodded, though after glancing at his father he added, “Ready for this all to begin.”
The man’s grin somehow managed to grow even wider. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure. Terribly exciting all of this is, don’t you think Lucius?” He leaned further forwards, and Draco could see the moment his father smelled the stench as well. He coughed lightly around his fist, taking a merciful step away from Draco for a moment. When he turned again, his eyes flashed a look only Lucius could perfect.
“Indeed Cornelius. I find myself with so many questions over all of it.” He spoke. Draco did not forget to notice the way his eyes landed on him. You better not have fucked me over, his glare conveyed most clearly. Perhaps his father would be reassured to know that Draco had nothing to do with his own selection. More likely though, Draco feared that would make it worse.
Luckily the minister was entirely oblivious to the exchange and continued on. “Yes. Yes, of course. And you and Narcissa must be incredibly proud of your boy, I am sure. Never been done before, this hasn’t. He is the first of this kind, to be our fourth champion.”
Lucius ran his tongue along his teeth in a show of distaste and looked to the side ever slightly. Something flashed in his eyes that had Draco’s back straightening. “Yes, we’re so proud of Draco. He truly is something. I’m sure he won’t let us down today.”
“Thank you, father.” He answered quietly.
The minister moved on to ask about a piece of legislation they must have been working on and Draco took the opportunity to focus on his mental walls. No one was quite as efficient at breaking past Draco’s mental walls as his father, but occlumency would be essential if he wanted to make it through the day unscathed. He’d just finished sealing his last doorway when his name was called.
Draco looked up to see Ludo Bagman, the gentleman running much of the tournament from the ministry, watching him expectantly.
“Pardon?” He asked, noticing then the many eyes focussed on him across the room.
Fortunately, Bagman simply smiled happily at him. “Mr. Malfoy I said it is time for you to make your way to the Champion’s tent. Final preparations before the task will begin in just a little bit.”
“Of course.” Draco almost nodded apologetically, however the glare his father sent him stopped him before he could.
After following the directions given by a ministry worker, Draco and his father made their way out to the colourful tent outside the castle. It was a short distance technically, but that meant nothing to Lucius Malfoy who ensured they followed a much longer route, leaving the rest of his colleagues behind. In a surprise to no one who’d ever been Lucius’s heir before, the moment they were alone, his father’s real emotions were expressed.
If Draco had even for a moment hoped the tournament might turn things around for him, he knew then that it was pointless. As was intended, each of his father’s threats hit their mark perfectly. Though the majority of them Draco had heard before, a renewed sense of anxiety washed over him at the reminders. The warning about a summer away from the manor grated especially. It wasn’t a bluff. His father had done it before. Christmas of his second year at Durmstrang, he’d spent the holiday at a Malfoy chateau in France, confined to a single room while Theo had returned to the manor in England. Draco couldn’t remember quite what he’d done to anger his father then, but he could remember the wards which allowed only the lord of the house to enter or exit, not even elves had been able to reach him.
He'd gone nearly ten whole months without seeing his mother that year. It had been torture.
It was a relief when he’d finally been dismissed and allowed to leave. Though Draco felt his father enter the tent behind him, the man's attention was drawn elsewhere, and Draco relished in it.
The tent was large, even for a magically extended one, and it had high vaulted ceilings that must’ve been about nine metres tall. It was divided into five sections, one for each champion, and one for the healer. Draco supposed the use of a healer would likely be needed given the dangerous creatures they were about to face.
It was also crawling with reporters, each going from one champion to the next. He imagined their goal was to record their apprehensions or excitement before they met their fate. From the entrance, Draco could see the second Durmstrang booth across the way. He attempted to cross the tent quickly, drawing as little attention to himself as possible, but failed when someone grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him into the Beauxbatons section.
“How are you?” Fleur questioned and Draco rolled his eyes.
“Perfect. And you?” He answered back in French.
“Ready to start actually doing something once all of this is over.” She gestured around then flippantly, and Draco couldn’t help grinning at her annoyance.
Quickly he checked over his shoulder to ensure his father was still distracted before turning to her. “What? You’re not a fan of all the pompous fanfare?”
“All of this is a load of shite. Entirely unnecessary and a waste of resources.” She scowled at the light blue lace hanging around her area.
“I think it’s nice. Makes us feel all welcome and cheery before they go and try to burn us to bits.” He quipped. Though his joke seemed to merit him extra attention as the witch’s head jerked up at him with a smirk.
“Ah, so you know as well?” She asked. Draco had assumed he and Krum weren’t the only ones to have been informed of the task, but it was reassuring to know he’d been right. Fleur was looking at him like he’d offered her a jewel though, so Draco schooled his face and only raised a brow as if in question.
The half veela rolled her eyes playfully and finished. “I was hopeful it would be just me who got the advantage. But it seems the news of our task has reached everyone.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Draco told her.
“Of course.” She shrugged. “But I must say, I am offended that you would’ve known and not chosen to tell me. I thought we were friends.”
He laughed and shook his head. “Except of course that you’d done the same thing. Unless there was some kind of warning you sent that I missed?”
“Any advantage we can get, right?” Fleur smiled and Draco nodded in acquiescence. She was his friend and under normal circumstances he’d likely take a hex for her, simply because she didn’t annoy him, and she was a force. But he’d also met her sister, and Draco was fairly confident that what the Delacour’s had to go home to if the witch lost the tournament was very different than what he would.
Speaking of which, Draco glanced once more across the tent. His father’s attention was captured by a different wizard, and he hadn’t seemed to notice Draco. When he turned back to Fleur though, her expression had fallen, looking far more serious.
“Do me a favour today and try not to die.” She asked softly. Draco frowned at her change in tone.
“Don’t tell me you’re growing soft Delacour.”
“I’m serious Draco. This is dangerous and we don’t know why you’re here. Be careful.”
“I thought I’m here because I put my name in as a result of my massive ego?” He tried to lighten the mood with a joke but it fell flat.
The look she gave him was scolding. “We both know you are smart. But you are not that smart.” Fleur had found him just a few days after the ceremony and told him that she didn’t believe that Draco had put his own name in the cup, and she wasn’t mad at him. Then she’d aimed her wand at his throat and threatened that if he even considered getting in her way, she’d curse him. Ever since he’d found it supremely entertaining, but now she just looked concerned.
“I—" He tried to explain but froze at his father’s cold voice behind him.
“Draco.”
“Father I—” Draco began as he turned around but stopped at the glare across the man’s face.
“Don’t.” He looked behind him and Draco heard the sounds of Fleur walking away. “Who is that girl?” He asked. His nose was scrunched as though smelling something foul and Draco grimaced.
“Fleur Delacour. The champion for Beauxbatons.”
That earned him a cutting glare. “You will not speak to her again.” His father ordered and Draco felt frustration rising in him.
“But father, I—”
“I said no.” He demanded. Stepping forward and into Draco’s space. The threats were written on his face, but Draco just managed to hold in his flinch.
“Yes, sir.” he nodded, looking down again.
“Go prepare yourself.” The man spat and Draco took his leave.