Chapter 3: The Beginning of Influence

The Hogwarts Express sat in its usual station, the gleaming scarlet locomotive belching clouds of steam as students boarded for the journey home. Normally, Draco Malfoy would bask in the familiar rhythms of his peers' admiration, the eager sycophants who flanked him and hung on his every word. But today was different.

Draco leaned against a carriage window, his reflection staring back at him as snippets of his vision with the World Will flashed in his mind. The weight of his newfound understanding pressed against him like a stormcloud, but outwardly, he maintained his typical smirk.

As Pansy Parkinson jabbered about her summer plans, and Blaise Zabini shot cutting remarks at passing Gryffindors, Draco tuned them out. His father would be waiting for him at King's Cross, ready to parade his loyalty to the Dark Lord.

Draco's role was clear: he was a Malfoy, a loyal son, and a firm supporter of Voldemort. But beneath that mask, he was already planning his first moves.

Lucius Malfoy's sharp eyes scanned Draco the moment they returned to the Manor. Narcissa greeted her son with a kiss on the cheek, her icy beauty as poised as ever, but Lucius was less effusive.

"Do not linger in childish pursuits this summer, Draco," Lucius said as they entered the grand drawing room. "The Dark Lord expects all his followers to contribute, and you are no exception."

Draco inclined his head, his expression impassive. "Of course, Father."

He wouldn't reveal his own plans. Not yet.

The summer promised to be rife with opportunity. His father's dealings with the Ministry, his mother's network of pureblood connections—Draco would observe and learn, weaving his influence subtly while outwardly remaining the dutiful son.

It began with a visit to Andromeda.

Draco hadn't informed his parents of his intentions, nor would he. He Apparated to a quiet corner of her small neighborhood, the unremarkable streets and humble homes so unlike the grandeur of Malfoy Manor.

When he knocked on the door, it was Nymphadora Tonks who answered. Her hair was a vibrant shade of magenta, and her expression shifted from confusion to suspicion the moment she saw him.

"Malfoy?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Aunt Andromeda," Draco said smoothly, ignoring Tonks' reaction, "is she home?"

Before Tonks could slam the door, Andromeda appeared behind her. She regarded Draco with a mixture of surprise and wariness.

"What do you want, Draco?"

Draco stepped inside uninvited, his gaze calm but calculating. "To talk. Family matters, nothing more."

Andromeda gestured for Tonks to remain silent and led Draco into the small sitting room. "You've come a long way for someone who's always disavowed this side of the family."

"I've had a change of perspective," Draco said. It wasn't entirely untrue.

Andromeda studied him for a long moment. "Say what you came to say."

Draco leaned forward, his tone low but firm. "You're aware of the unrest in the Ministry. You're aware of the Dark Lord's growing influence. That influence extends to me, Aunt Andromeda, and that gives me certain... advantages."

"And why would you share those advantages with us?" she asked sharply.

"Because family, no matter how distant, is still family," Draco said with a faint smile. "And because a strong family is more useful than a divided one."

Andromeda said nothing, but her sharp gaze betrayed a flicker of consideration.

"I'm not asking for trust," Draco continued. "Just cooperation. When I offer information, take it. When I suggest a move, consider it. That's all."

He rose to leave, his point made.

Tonks intercepted him at the door. "If this is some kind of trap—"

"It isn't," Draco said curtly. "If you don't believe me, wait. You'll see."

With that, he was gone, leaving mother and daughter to mull over his visit.

Draco's return to Malfoy Manor was met with the usual tension. His father's dealings with the Dark Lord grew more intense by the day, while Narcissa remained a quiet but steady presence, ensuring the family's outward poise remained intact.

"Your father expects you to attend the next meeting," Narcissa informed Draco one evening, her tone soft but firm.

Draco nodded. "Of course, Mother."

He would attend, and he would play his part. But he would also observe, listening for opportunities to sow the seeds of his own influence.

In the days that followed, Draco kept tabs on the whispers of the wizarding world. The Ministry scrambled to maintain its narrative, denying Voldemort's return even as evidence mounted. Meanwhile, Harry Potter's accusations gained traction among those willing to listen.

Draco smirked as he read a copy of the Daily Prophet. Potter's attempts to rally the magical world would serve him well in the long run. After all, a strong Potter meant a strong rival—someone Draco could measure himself against.

For now, though, he remained in the shadows, letting the pieces fall into place.