The air was still. Dust floated lazily in the slanted moonlight seeping through cracked window panes.
Creak.
The old wooden door groaned as it swung open, then shut with a soft, final thud.
Then, a voice. Low, unsure, but laced with both relief and a tinge of accusation.
"I thought you wouldn't come. Thought it was a trick. But we saw you. We chose to risk it."
The silence fractured. A shimmer near the back of the room flickered like heat on glass, then vanished, revealing Draco Malfoy. He stood calm, arms folded, wand still loose in his grip. His eyes locked onto the two newcomers.
He didn't bother with greetings.
"Let's skip the pleasantries," he said, his voice cool and sharp.
"We're here for business, not sentimental speeches. Fred. George."
The twins exchanged a glance, wands already in hand.
One of them—Fred, maybe—tilted his head slightly. "Right. So… why'd you call us here, Malfoy?"
Draco didn't flinch at the tone. It was casual on the surface, but underneath? Sharp as a hex.
"I need the map."
That did it.
Their expressions shifted ever so slightly. Not enough for someone unfamiliar to notice, but Draco wasn't unfamiliar. He saw the flicker of recognition, the narrowing of their eyes.
And then the masks went back on.
"Map?" George asked innocently.
He turned to his twin. "Fred, you got a map?"
Fred scratched his head. "Hmm... can't say I do. Do you, George?"
George shrugged. "Not me either."
They turned back to Draco together, matching grins on their faces. "Sorry, Junior Malfoy. No map here."
"I'm going to pay for it," Draco said flatly, ignoring their little farce and stepping forward, voice low and serious.
Fred and George didn't move an inch.
"Oi, Fred, did you hear that?" George said, cupping a hand to his ear.
"Hmm?" Fred replied, equally dramatic. "Nope. Sounded like a puff of wind to me."
"Could be his voice box's broken. Or maybe..." George leaned slightly toward Draco, squinting. "Some kind of head injury? Poor lad. Doesn't know we don't sell imaginary maps."
"Tragic, really," Fred added with a shake of his head. "Proper shame."
Chime. Chime.
The soft jingle of coins rang out as Draco pulled a small pouch from his pocket and tossed it at them.
One of the twins snatched it out of the air without blinking.
"Well, well," Fred murmured, tilting the pouch for George to see.
A glint of gold flashed in the candlelight. Galleons. A decent handful.
"That's generous," George said, tone lighter now.
"Suspiciously generous," Fred added, eyes back on Draco.
"Not really," Draco replied coolly. "I'm paying for a product I know you have. Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."
The room fell silent for a beat.
One of the twins finally broke it. "You know, last year… what happened to our sister wasn't exactly pleasant."
Before he could finish, Draco cut in, voice steady.
"I know. She was manipulated into doing things she wouldn't have chosen on her own. Nearly died for it too. Potter saved her, like some dream prince, by killing the basilisk."
Both twins stared at him now, expressions sharpening.
"Yeah, everyone knows Harry saved her," one of them muttered, "but not many know she was controlled. Dumbledore didn't announce that part."
"It's funny, though," the other added, more cautious now. "You seem awfully calm about something that serious."
Draco met their gaze evenly.
"I don't see what any of that has to do with me," he said, voice cool as ice. "I had no part in it."
"You have a part in it," one of the twins snapped, wand raised slightly. "You're a Malfoy, aren't you?"
But Draco didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
"So what you're saying is, if one member of a family does something wrong, every other member's to blame too?"
They didn't reply, but the answer was obvious in their silence. Yes. That was exactly what they believed.
Draco sighed, slow and controlled.
"Your dad's an Auror, right?" he asked, tilting his head. "So by your logic, every criminal he puts away has the right to come after your family too. Is that it?"
One of them—Fred, maybe—looked ready to cast something, wand twitching in his grip.
But Draco stepped forward, voice sharper now, colder.
"I don't know if my father was behind what happened last year. Maybe he was. Maybe he was just a pawn. I honestly don't care."
He paused, gaze steady.
"But I do know this. Whatever he is, I'm not him. He's him, and I'm me. So don't lump us together just because we share blood or a name."
Another pause.
"If you're angry and want revenge," Draco said quietly but firmly, "go ask your parents to press charges. Get Dumbledore to throw him in Azkaban. Or kill him, if that's what you really want."
He shrugged.
"I don't care. If you don't believe me, then fine. Ask Professor Snape. He's a renowned Potions Master. I'm sure he's got a vial of Veritaserum tucked away in his cabinet. We can play truth or lie, if you're that desperate to find out."
His voice hardened slightly, cool and even.
"But don't pretend you're doing this for justice when really, you're just looking for someone to blame. I'm not your scapegoat."
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