The Great Hall buzzed with noise as the Sorting Hat finished its song, applause rippling through the long tables. Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, posture straight, expression carefully neutral. Across the table, you met his gaze. It was brief and intentional. That was enough.

Midway through dinner, you rose without a word. Draco followed a minute later, slipping from the table unnoticed. The corridor beyond the Great Hall was dim and empty, lit only by flickering torches and the distant echo of voices.

You didn’t waste time. “I got a note on the train,” you said quietly. "An owl. From them.”

Draco’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, “Inside Hogwarts?” he asked.

You nodded. “Someone saw something they weren’t meant to. Connected to the Circle. The Ministry, too.”

Draco exhaled slowly, eyes hardening as he processed it. Surveillance, not execution — not yet. Watching routines. Patterns. Weak points. The kind of work that required patience and precision.

“And Snape?” he asked.

“He knows,” you replied. “Advising only. If he steps in himself, it draws attention.”

A pause settled between you.

“We don’t have a choice,” you added. “You know what happens if we fail.”

Draco’s gaze flicked down the corridor, then back to you — calm, calculating, restrained.

“Then we do it properly,” he said quietly. “If anyone remembers seeing us near them, we’ve already failed.”

A beat.

“And you,” Draco added, voice lower, “don’t try to carry this alone out of pride.”