The dawn's first light shimmered through the enchanted windowpanes of Malfoy Manor, casting prismatic patterns across Draco's desk as he examined the documents. The morning air carried not just crispness but the faint electric tingle of magic in transition - that peculiar quality found only in the hour when night spells faded and daytime enchantments awakened.
The patent parchment itself was no ordinary material, but a hybrid of Egyptian papyrus and demiguise hair, specially treated to be both indestructible and capable of absorbing magical signatures. The Ministry seal glowed faintly with a shifting, opalescent sheen - the result of being pressed with a die carved from a single piece of cursed amber, ensuring no two seals would ever appear identical under magical scrutiny.
Draco's fingers tingled where they made contact with the parchment, the sensation not unlike touching a gently humming wardstone. This was no accident - the documents had been imbued with subtle tracking charms keyed to his magical signature. Every time they were handled by unauthorized persons, the runic border would darken from gold to warning scarlet.
As he carefully rolled the scroll, the parchment emitted a soft chime like crystal being struck - an auditory confirmation that the complex web of protective spells (including anti-tampering wards, duplication deterrents, and even a clever little hex that would make unauthorized readers temporarily dyslexic) had properly activated. The sound resonated at a frequency known to repel common magical pests like doxies and parchment mites.
The shrinking charm he performed wasn't the standard variety taught at Hogwarts, but an ancient Malfoy family variation that compressed objects through spatial folding rather than size alteration. As the documents reduced, tiny silver serpents embroidered along the edges seemed to slither momentarily before freezing in place - a hidden security feature dating back to the French branch of the family.
When he slipped the shrunken scroll into his robe's hidden pocket, the fabric's enchantments engaged with a barely perceptible hum. The pocket existed in a state of quantum uncertainty - both part of and separate from the robe itself - making its contents immune to summoning, detection, and even most revealing spells. Only someone who knew the precise countercharm, whispered in Parseltongue while touching the third button from the top, could access its contents.
The morning light caught the faint tracery of protective runes along his cufflinks - not mere decoration but active magical circuits. Fashioned from goblin-wrought silver alloyed with basilisk venom, they served as both magical amplifiers and emergency reservoirs of power. Their constant low-level thrum against his pulse points was a comforting reminder of their presence.
As Draco murmured "It begins," the words didn't just hang in the air - they briefly illuminated the magical currents surrounding him. To a trained eye (or one using Revealing Charms), one could see how the utterance sent ripples through the manor's ambient magic, causing nearby charmed objects to momentarily brighten in response. The signet ring on his right hand absorbed the vibrations, adding them to an ever-growing lexicon of voice-keyed spells.
Deep in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, a corresponding set of runes flared to life in the Patent Registry, triggering a cascade of bureaucratic magic. Invisible quills began annotating files, enchanted mirrors reflected the information to relevant departments, and most crucially, a silent alarm activated in a certain Unspeakable's private chambers - one dedicated to monitoring unusual magical innovations.
The game had indeed begun, and every element - from the molecular structure of the parchment to the quantum state of his pocket dimensions - was now in play. The documents represented more than legal protection; they were the first move in a high-stakes match where magic itself was both the board and the pieces.
Nestled between Flourish and Blotts and Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, Alesis Elixirs had emerged in Diagon Alley with quiet sophistication. The shop's facade was layered with subtle enchantments—Notice-Me-Not charms for those who weren't serious buyers, mild Confundus fields to discourage lingering Ministry inspectors, and a shifting visual glamour that made the storefront appear slightly different to each observer. The nameplate, crafted from enchanted silver and etched with runes of prosperity, shimmered in the daylight, its letters subtly rearranging themselves to appeal to the viewer's subconscious desires.
Draco had chosen the location carefully—close enough to high-traffic shops to ensure visibility, but not so prominent as to invite undue scrutiny. The interior was a masterclass in understated luxury. The walls were lined with black walnut wood from the Forbidden Forest, treated with a protective lacquer brewed from Acromantula venom, making them resistant to both magical and physical damage. The air carried a faint, soothing aroma of lavender and crushed Dirigible plums, a scent designed to ease tension and encourage customers to linger.
The Elves of Alesis Elixirs
Tibby remained Draco's most trusted overseer, but he had bought three additional house-elves to ensure seamless operations:
Pippy – A former Hogwarts kitchen elf, now in charge of inventory and restocking. She had an uncanny ability to detect potion spoilage before it happened.
Mipsy – A quick-fingered elf with experience in apothecaries, tasked with handling delicate customer interactions.
Donny – Responsible for security, using his unique knowledge of enchantments to ward against thieves.
Each elf wore tailored robes in deep emerald, charmed to adjust for comfort and cleanliness. They moved in perfect synchronization, ensuring the shop ran like a well-oiled machine.
The display shelves were carved from black marble infused with powdered dragon bone—unbreakable and resistant to tampering. They floated at precise heights, adjusting automatically to showcase their wares. The potion vials were crafted from Bohemian crystal, each one etched with tiny, near-invisible runes that stabilized their contents. The stoppers were made of enchanted cork, treated with a preservation potion that extended shelf life by months.
Draco's VitaVibe Elixir had taken the Auror Office by storm. Instead of phoenix tears (which were, as you rightly noted, far too rare for mass production), he had discovered a viable alternative: a distillation of Augurey song essence, captured during their mournful rainsong. When combined with a precise measure of powdered Griffin claw (harvested during molting season), it created a stamina-boosting effect that lasted twice as long as Pepperup Potion, without the steam-from-the-ears side effect.
The Mind's Lantern Elixir had quietly become a sensation in the long-term curse damage ward at St. Mungo's. When Healer Strout cautiously prescribed it to Frank and Alice Longbottom, the results were… noticeable.
Not miraculous—not yet. But for the first time in years:
Frank's hands no longer trembled when holding a quill.
Alice recognized her sister's voice when she visited.
Augusta Longbottom, stern and unshakable, had actually cried when her son looked at her and said, "Mother?" clearly, for the first time in over a decade.
Word spread. Quietly, of course. The Daily Prophet hadn't caught wind yet—Draco had made sure of that—but whispers moved through the wizarding world like ripples in a pond.
Every sale was a transaction in more than galleons. The enchanted cash register didn't just count coins—it recorded the magical signatures of every customer, cross-referencing them with Draco's growing network of informants.
Who bought large quantities of Calming Draught? (A sign of unrest in a household.)
Which Ministry officials needed extra Wit-Sharpening Potion? (A hint at upcoming political maneuvers.)
Which families were purchasing the Mind's Lantern Elixir? (A map of who had connections to the Longbottoms, who had curse-damaged relatives, who might owe favors…)
Draco watched it all from the shadows, his fingers steepled, his mind already three moves ahead.
The dim glow of cursed amber lanterns cast flickering shadows across Borgin and Burke's back office as the proprietress sat brooding. The scent of aged oak barrels and preserved dark artifacts filled the air - dragon blood varnish, powdered boomslang skin, and something far more sinister beneath it all. A half-empty bottle of 1812 Château de Sangrevin sat sweating on the desk, its contents the deep crimson of fresh-spilled blood.
"Alesis Elixirs..." Burke's whisper slithered through the silence like a venomous serpent. Her polished black nails tapped an irregular rhythm against her wine glass, the crystal vibrating with each touch. The vibrations formed barely perceptible runes in the liquid's surface - a nervous habit that doubled as an unconscious scrying charm.
Through the haze of her Occlumency barriers (maintained since her days at Durmstrang), her mind raced through possibilities. The VitaVibe Elixir's effects matched too closely with her own failed experiments from last winter. The Mind's Lantern formulation bore disturbing similarities to notes stolen from St. Mungo's Restricted Archives during the war. This wasn't just competition - this was theft. Or worse, Malfoy had succeeded where she'd failed.
Her wine glass cracked suddenly under the pressure of her grip, dark liquid oozing between her fingers like clotting blood. The drops that hit the mahogany desk sizzled slightly - the remains of a truth serum she'd been testing earlier. With a flick of her wand, the mess vanished, leaving only the faintest copper scent hanging in the air.
Draco Malfoy. It had to be.
The VitaVibe Elixir's formulation was too similar to an old Malfoy family recipe she'd once glimpsed in a smuggled potions ledger. The precision of the enchantments on the shop—too refined for some unknown upstart.
A slow, venomous smile curled her lips.
"Oh, Draco," she murmured, swirling the dregs of her wine. "You clever, foolish boy."
She had underestimated him. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Marvin..." The name left her lips in a hiss, forming a brief specter of smoke that twisted into the shape of a rat before dissipating. Her most reliable informant - if one could call a man who sold his own mother's memories to a Pensieve dealer "reliable." But he had his uses. His ability to follow magical trails was nearly house-elf level, and his discretion was guaranteed by the unbreakable vow etched into his left forearm by yaxley.
Burke's quill sprang to life as she mentally composed her message, scratching spidery runes onto parchment made from dried Demiguise hide. The words would rearrange themselves should anyone but Marvin attempt to read them. As she sealed it with a drop of her own blood (the wax bearing the imprint of a fanged skull), the office's protective wards hummed in warning - someone was approaching through the shop's front door.
With practiced ease, she vanished the letter and smoothed her expression into one of bored indifference just as the bell above the entrance chimed. The game was afoot, and Burke never lost when the stakes involved her secrets. And malfoys who stood with Alesis Elixirs would learn that soon enough - preferably while screaming.
For three days, Marvin had stalked Tibby through Diagon Alley like a shadow, his Disillusionment Charm clinging to him like a second skin. The house-elf was frustratingly unpredictable—one moment restocking Pepper Imps at the joke shop, the next vanishing mid-step with a soft pop, only to reappear three shops down, her arms laden with parcels that smelled suspiciously of powdered moonstone and dried Billywig stings.
Marvin's enchanted notepad scribbled every detail:
10:47 AM: Tibby exits Alesis Elixirs, adjusts her emerald robes, checks a tiny silver timepiece (Malfoy insignia engraved, obviously).
1:23 PM: She lingers near Flourish and Blotts, whispering to a Hogwarts house-elf (Hufflepuff crest pin—interesting).
4:56 PM: She purchases a vial of something from the Apothecary, but the shopkeeper's ledger conveniently smudges when Marvin tries to peek.
Then—finally—his patience was rewarded.
On the fourth evening, as the last rays of sunlight gilded the cobblestones, Tibby slipped out of Alesis Elixirs with a crate of vials clutched to her chest. Marvin's pulse quickened. This wasn't a casual errand—the way her ears twitched at every sound, the way she clutched the crate like it held liquid gold… This was the lead he needed.
He followed at a distance, his enchanted boots muffling his steps. Past the Leaky Cauldron, past the apparition point, past the wards that marked the edge of magical London—
—and straight into the rolling hills of Wiltshire.
The iron gates of Malfoy Manor loomed ahead, their serpentine bars glinting in the twilight. Tibby paused, muttered something in that guttural elf-tongue, and the gates swung open just wide enough for her to slip through.
Marvin's grin was triumphant. "Got you," he breathed, already mentally drafting his report to Burke. The Malfoys. Of course it was the Malfoys.
He turned to leave—
—and froze.
The air behind him had gone preternaturally still, as if the very night had drawn breath.
"And what," came a voice like polished ice, "exactly, have you found?"
Marvin whirled, his wand half-drawn—
—only to stare down the length of Lucius Malfoy's serpent-headed cane, its silver eyes gleaming with malicious life.
Lucius looked… amused. Like a kneazle contemplating a particularly plump canary.
Marvin's mouth went dry. "I—I was just—"
"Incarcerous."
The spell hit like a whip-crack. Ropes of molten silver erupted from thin air, wrapping Marvin in a cocoon so tight he could barely twitch. One coiled around his throat, silencing his scream before it could escape.
Lucius stepped closer, his dragonhide boots whispering through the grass. He tilted his head, examining Marvin the way one might examine a poorly brewed potion.
"Let's discuss your findings," he said softly, "in the cellar."
And with a crack of apparition, the night swallowed them both whole.
The cellar air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something darker—iron, perhaps, or the faint, metallic tang of old magic. Marvin's wrists were bound not by rope, but by living shadows, tendrils of darkness that coiled around his limbs like serpents, tightening with every panicked breath.
Lucius stood before him, his silver-tipped cane resting lightly against the stone floor. His voice was soft, almost pleasant.
"Who hired you?"
Marvin swallowed hard. "I—I don't know. Some merchant, maybe—"
A flicker of amusement crossed Lucius' face. "A merchant? Really?" He sighed, as if disappointed by the lack of creativity. "Let's try again."
Marvin's pulse hammered in his throat. "I swear, I don't—"
Lucius' free hand dipped into his robes and withdrew a small glass vial. Inside, a swirling, opalescent mist thrashed against its confines, as if desperate to escape.
Veritaserum. The highest grade.
Marvin's breath hitched. "No—no, please! I can't—I took an oath!"
Lucius arched a brow. "How unfortunate for you."
With a flick of his wand, Marvin's jaw was forced open. The serum poured down his throat, burning like liquid fire. His body convulsed, his veins standing out in stark relief beneath his skin as the magic took hold.
"Tell me the name," Lucius commanded.
Marvin's lips trembled. His eyes rolled back, his body fighting the compulsion—but the oath and the serum warred inside him, tearing at his mind.
"B-Burke—" he choked out.
Then—
Agony.
His back arched violently, his bones cracking audibly. Blood seeped from his nose, his ears, the corners of his eyes. The shadows binding him recoiled as if scalded, retreating into the corners of the room.
Marvin collapsed, his body twitching, his mouth still moving soundlessly before—
Silence.
Lucius watched, impassive, as the last shudder ran through the corpse. Then he tilted his head, intrigued.
"So this is what happens when you break an oath," he mused. "Interesting."
He tapped his cane once against the floor.
"Tibby."
The elf appeared with a soft pop, her large eyes flickering to the body before snapping back to her master.
"Clean this up," Lucius said. "And burn the remains. We wouldn't want any… lingering traces."
Tibby bowed deeply. "At once, Master Lucius."
As Lucius turned to leave, his mind was already elsewhere.
Burke knew.
And now, so did he.
The fire in Draco's study crackled low, casting flickering shadows across the shelves of rare potions ingredients and ancient tomes. The scent of dried herbs and ink hung thick in the air as Draco massaged his temples, the fatigue from hours of brewing weighing on him.
Then the door opened without ceremony.
Lucius stood framed in the doorway, his expression unreadable. The dim light caught the silver serpent head of his cane, making it gleam like a predator's eye.
"Someone was following Tibby," Lucius said without preamble, his voice cool. "I've handled it."
Draco glanced up, his fingers stilling on the parchment before him. "Who?"
Lucius stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him with an ominous finality. "A hired snoop from Knockturn Alley. Sent by Borgin and Burke."
Draco's blood ran cold. "Burke?"
"Indeed." Lucius' lips thinned. "She's connected your shop to us. Or at least suspects it."
Draco exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "She was there. At the patent office." The memory surfaced like a shard of ice—Madame Burke, lingering near the clerk's desk, watching as he submitted his paperwork. He'd thought nothing of it at the time. "I didn't realize—"
"No," Lucius cut in, his tone razor-edged. "You didn't."
Draco stiffened, his jaw tightening. "I took precautions. The name, the wards—"
"And yet here we are." Lucius' gaze bore into him, sharp as a blade. "Power like yours never stays hidden for long, Draco. Enemies will come—rivals, thieves, Ministry lackeys. And worse." He paused, letting the weight of the unspoken name hang between them. "Those who still answer to the Dark Lord."
Draco's fingers curled into fists. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Lucius' voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Then prove it. Play the long game. Power isn't just about strength—it's about patience. Foresight. Knowing when to strike."
For a heartbeat, something unfamiliar flickered in Lucius' eyes—not just warning, but something dangerously close to pride.
"If you mean to succeed," he added quietly, "make sure you survive long enough to see it."
Draco held his father's gaze, the firelight catching the silver in both their eyes.
"I intend to."
Draco's fingers stilled against the desk, the weight of his father's warning settling like lead in his gut. Burke would have to be dealt with—permanently. But not yet. Not until he was ready.
The truth was, he hadn't even begun his most dangerous experiments. The Bloodline Awakening ritual sat in his notes, half-finished, its requirements daunting even for him:
Phoenix feathers (not just any, but those shed during a rebirth)
Moon-touched silver (forged during a lunar eclipse)
A vial of his own blood, willingly given under the dark of the moon (no magic could fake true sacrifice)
And that was just for the preliminary incantations.
[AI System: Processing optimal ritual parameters...]
[Current Completion: 67%]
[Estimated Time Remaining: 9 days, 14 hours]
The system had been working tirelessly since he'd first uncovered the ritual's outline, cross-referencing every variation of blood magic from the Black family archives to obscure Celtic manuscripts. But perfection took time—and Draco refused to risk a miscalculation. Not with magic this volatile.
He wasn't strong enough. Not yet.
But he would be.
His mind raced through possibilities, the AI system feeding him calculated probabilities for each:
✔ The Black family grimoire (87% chance of containing advanced variations, but 63% risk of Gringotts' curse detection)
✔ The Restricted Section at Hogwarts (92% success rate if accessed during a Pince bathroom break, but limited to 11-minute windows)
✔ The Department of Mysteries (42% survival odds if caught—not ideal)
And then there was the other option. The one that made his fingers twitch with equal parts anticipation and dread.
The Malfoys had always had... arrangements with certain creatures of the dark. Veela for seduction, vampires for secrecy, and worse. The kind of deals signed in blood and sealed with memories. The AI system had flagged one entity in particular—a Nachtkrapp, a shadow-feeder from Bavarian lore that traded knowledge for years of the supplicant's sight.
[AI System: Nachtkrapp negotiation success probability: 58%]
[Warning: Potential permanent side effects include:
✔ Night-blindness
✔ Voice theft
✔ Soul-fraying
Draco exhaled sharply. Too high a cost. For now.
His father's words echoed in his mind: "Learn to play the long game."
So he would.
[AI System: Recommended path: Acquire Black grimoire first. Hogwarts infiltration secondary.]
First, knowledge. Then, power.
And then—then Burke would learn what happened to those who threatened a Malfoy.