Hello everyone, before we dive headfirst into this story, I feel I owe you a few fair warnings.

First, I have been writing fanfiction for years, but I usually don't post them as I have a habit of running out of ideas and abandoning them half-way through. I will, however, do my very hardest to get this one finished.

Second, English is not my native langaugue, so there probably will be mistakes. I still hope I have managed to avoid butchering it to terribly...

Third, this has Gryffindor Draco, so I guess this is semi-AU. Some things obviously will be different. Others will stay the same. There will be scenes from both of the books and the movies involved, as well as stuff I made up.

Warnings for some bad languague, lots of feelings, and Draco being a drama queen.

Sooo... if all that hasn't scared you away and you're still willing to join me on this ride: Welcome aboard!

Oh, and I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, etc. Those all belong to JK Rowling, I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Finding Courage Chapter One: Down the Rabbit Hole

Somewhere in the heart of London, well hidden from prying eyes, lay Diagon Alley. As usual, the main shopping street of the British wizarding world was busy, bustling with people in robes and even a few in ordinary clothes: witches and wizards, shopping for spellbooks, potion ingredients, and many other strange and miraculos things that non-wizarding folk could only imagine in their wildest dreams.

Today, those shoppers included a very, very tall man – more of a giant, really – with a lot of very wild hair and an equally wild beard. He easily could have made the impression of being a rather dangerous bloke, if not for the gentleness in his twinkling black eyes. Still, he strode easily through the bustling masses, parting them as Moses once did the red sea.

Trailing behind him was a rather short and skinny boy, a boy with with unruly black hair, bright green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. His name was Harry Potter, and until a few hours ago, he had not even known of the wizarding world's existence, much less that he was actually a wizard himself.

Orphaned at just one year old, Harry had spent most of his life with his aunt and uncle, the Dursleys. It had been a rather bleary existence, as the Dursleys, for some reason, really hated Harry. For the last ten years, he'd spent his time growing up in a cupboard, being treated like a domestic servant by his oh-so-loving relatives, who just loved ordering him around. And to make matters even worse, the Dursleys also had a son, Harry's cousin Dudley. Dudley was the same age as him, and he loved to make Harry's life miserable.

Not only did Harry have to watch as the Dursleys spoiled their son rotten while Harry was only ever given old things that Dudley did not want or need anymore, no, he also had to endure being the constant target of his cousin's taunts, as well as being his favorite punching bag.

It certainly did not help that Harry was not your average boy. Strange things sometimes seemed to happen around him, things that no one was able to explain properly. Take Dudley's last birthday, for example... a boa constrictor at the zoo had talked to Harry – yes, a snake talking to him! - and if that wasn not odd enough already, the glass cage holding it had mysteriously disappeared, leaving the snake to roam around freely. It had scared the hell out of a lot of people, including Dudley.

Harry had never been able to explain why those things happened, but that never stopped the Dursleys from punishing him for it. Often, they would lock him in his cupboard for weeeks on end, only letting him out for school. It at least gave Harry something to do besides going crazy from boredom, but aside from that, school was not really better than home. Many kids there teased him relentlessly for his battered glasses (held together with a lot of tape, because his charming cousin had broken them more than once) and old, ill-fitted clothes (all hand-me-downs from Dudley, who was much larger than Harry). And those few who did not were afraid of getting too close to Harry, because they feared retribution from Dudley.

No surprise, then, how often Harry had dreamed of leaving the Dursleys behind and go live somewhere else. But unfortunately, he had nowhere else to go. The Dursleys were his only living relatives – Petunia Dursley was his late mother´s sister – so Harry was pretty much stuck.

Then, a few days ago, everything started to change.

Strange letters had started arriving. They were adressed to Harry, which was unusual enough, as there was no one Harry could think of who would write to him. Even stranger was the fact that aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon seemed dead set on making sure Harry never got to read this letters. As more and more of them had started arriving – some of them under quite strange circumstances; honestly, who would even think of hiding letters inside of eggs? - his uncle's behaviour had grown more and more erractic. Finally, Vernon Dursley seemed to have snapped completely, taking his family on a wild chase across the country in a desperate attempt to flee from this mystery letters. It was what had led to them ending up on a rocky island in the sea, with nothing but a dilapidated hut for shelter and a major storm raging around them.

The following night had been Harry's eleventh birthday, not that the Dursleys bothered to remember. But it also had been the night an enormously big man had turned up at their temporary dwelling despite the storm and everything. In fact, it was the same man leading him through Diagon Alley now. The man's name was Rubeus Hagrid, and what he told Harry had turned his life upside down.

He, Harry Potter, was a wizard, as had been his parents. The Dursleys had known all along but never told him. At least, Harry now knew why strange things kept happening to him, and why the Dursleys hated him so much: aside from being muggles (non-magical folk, Hagrid said), they also hated everything that was even slightly different or out of the ordinary. And, well, you couldn't get much more different than being a wizard.

The Dursleys had also lied to him about how his parents had died. For years, they had told Harry they had died in a car crash. Hagrid, however, revealed that they had in fact been murdered... by a wizard so evil that people did not even dare to speak his name. It had taken Hagrid several tries to finally get the name out – Voldemort – and then he shocked Harry by telling him Voldemort had tried to kill him, too. And yet, Harry had survived where others had not, left with only the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. What's more, their encounter had somehow destroyed Voldemort's power. After failing to kill Harry, the Dark wizard had vanished without a trace, leaving the world a much happier place.

Harry didn't know how it was even possible for him to destroy such a powerful wizard when he had been nothing more than a baby. Neither did Hagrid, or anyone else for that matter, but apparently, the people of the wizarding world were rather grateful to Harry for ridding them of such evil. To them, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the famous hero who had vanquished the Dark Lord. To Harry, this felt strange; to think he was famous without even knowing, for something he did not even remember.

And as if that was not enough to set Harry's mind reeling, Hagrid presented him with yet another one of the strange letters that had the Dursleys so scared. One peek inside, and Harry understood why. The letter informed him that he had been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which apparently was a wizarding school, and invited him to come and study, well, magic.

Of course, the Dursleys were adamant about him not going... the last thing they wanted was for their freak nephew to go and learn magic so he could make even freakier things happen. Unfortunately for them, Hagrid was just as insistent that Harry should go. And argument ensued that ended with Hagrid hexing a pig's tail on Dudley. After that, the Dursleys stopped struggling, if only out of fear that the giant men might turn them all into god-knows-what.

Come morning, Hagrid had all but whisked Harry away to London so he could buy all the stuff he needed for school, which led to them currently striding along Diagon Alley. Not that Harry minded, rather he was jumping at the chance to get away from his relatives, if only for a while.

Hagrid's words about Harry being famous turned out to be only too true. On their way to Diagon Alley, they passed through a seedy-looking pub called the Leaky Cauldron. The barkeeper there seemed to know Hagrid quite well, but the truly strange part was that he somehow recognized Harry. And suddenly, everyone present wanted to talk to the baffled boy and shake his hand.

It was odd and slightly uncomfortable, to see all those people looking at him with awe and admiration. The Dursleys had only ever looked at him like he was something the cat had dragged in, and people at school had either mocked or avoided him. But now, all these people thought he was someone great – a hero, even – because of something he could not even remember.

One of those people there was actually one of his future teachers at Hogwarts, a rather nervous young man wearing a huge turban. Hagrid introduced him as Professor Quirell, teacher of something called Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry shook his hand while secretly feeling sorry for him; Quirell had a bad stutter and seemed so jumpy that Harry thought he might faint if ever confronted with anything even remotely dark.

After that, Hagrid had finally led Harry out into Diagon Alley, which was the strangest and most fascinating place he had ever seen. Brightly decorated shops sold wondrous things, like racing brooms and wands, and people in odd clothes bustled past, talking about strange things and arguing about the price for unicorn hair. If the Dursleys ever saw this place, Harry was certain they would drop dead from utter shock.

He, on the other hand, didn't quite know where to look first. At a loss, he consulted his Hogwarts letter again, which also included a list of everything he would need for school. Robes, couldron, spellbooks, a wand... then, a rather disconcerting thought struck Harry.

„Hagrid, how am I supposed to pay for all of this?" Harry did not have any money, and he was pretty sure the Dursleys would never pay for anything that would help him study magic.

But Hagrid only laughed. „Ye didn' think yer parents would leave ye with nothing, did ya?" And the giant man took Harry to Gringotts, apparently the wizarding bank. Harry was a litte shocked when the entered and he saw the large hall was full of odd creatures. Sitting behind long counters, counting out money or weighting precious stones, they were rather small, with oversized ears and disconcertingly sharp teeth.

Harry had never seen anything like them and reflexively moved closer to his companion. „Uh, Hagrid? What are they?"

„They're Goblins, Harry. Dead clever, them goblins, but not the friendliest o' creatures. Better not to mess with 'em." the giant explained.

According to Hagrid, Gringotts was the safest place in the world to store your things – aside from Hogwarts, of course – and one had to be mad to try and rob it because of their security measures, most of which would never be found in a muggle bank. Rumor had it those even included dragons.

„I've always wanted a dragon..." Hagrid had said with a wistful look in his black eyes, and Harry's first thought was that having a pet dragon sounded pretty cool indeed. Then he considered in earnest the possibility of a real, live, fire-breathing dragon and quickly decided that maybe it was not such a good idea, after all.

Griphook, one of the Gringotts Goblins, took them on a wild cart ride to the vaults deep underground, along narrow, winding tracks that reminded Harry of the rollercoasters the Dursleys had never allowed him to ride for fear that he might actually enjoy himself. Indeed, Harry found that he rather liked it. Hagrid, on the other hand, was not having fun at all. If anything, he seemed relieved when the cart finally jolted to a halt.

Their first stop was the vault Harry's parents had left him, and the young wizard's eyes widened as he stepped inside and saw it was filled to the brim with glittering coins. It was strange, finding that somewhere deep under London, a vault full of wizarding money existed that had his name on it. It seemed that not only was Harry famous without having known, he was also rich. Or at least, not as poor as he feared he was.

But their adventure at Gringotts did not simply end with getting some money for Harr's school things. Hagrid also had to see to, as he called it, 'official Hogwarts business'. His job was to retrieve something top secret and deliver it to Albus Dumbledore, the Hogwarts headmaster. He could not tell Harry more, but it had been enough to make Harry insanely curious. He craned his neck when they reached the second vault, expecting something truly extraordinary, but to his disappointment, the only thing inside was a small and grubby-looking package that the gamekeeper quickly hid away in one of his pockets. Hagrid asked him to not tell anyone, and Harry nodded, even though he couldn't help but wonder what was inside the package that was so important.

Another wild cart ride, and they were back above ground, stepping back into the sunlight that shone on Diagon Alley. By then, Hagrid's face was looking positively green.

„I hate them carts at Gringotts." he huffed, breathing deeply through his nose. „If ye don' mind, I'd like to go Leaky's fer a drink while ye get yer uniform?"

Harry was quick to agree – he was rather worried that Hagrid would vomit all over him – and the giant lumbered off, swaying a little as he went. Harry was left alone in this foreign, wondrous place, feeling a little like Alice after she had gone down that rabit hole.

Oh well, he thought as he made his way towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, hopefully nothing too dangerous or weird would happen while he was shopping for clothes.

Harry had barely taken two steps inside the store when Madam Malkin, who turned out to be a stout witch in mauve robes, was already bustling about him. He did not even get a chance to say anything, as she seemed to know exactly what he needed. All businesslike, she ushered him to stand on a footstool, slipped a long black robe over his head, and began measuring out the correct lenght.

Ah, well. That way, Harry at least not had to worry about buying the wrong stuff by accident. Just for once, it would be nice to have proper clothes to wear to school and not getting mocked for his outfits. Now, if he could just do something about his glasses...

„Hello. Going to Hogwarts, too?" A voice interrupted Harry's musings. He snapped his eyes to the side. Standing there, also being outfitted in black Hogwarts robes, was a boy who seemed to be about Harry's age.

He had a thin, pointed face, strikingly pale skin, and blonde hair so light it was almost white. Also, he had an air of lazy confidence around him, as if he did not have a care in the world. Something about him made Harry feel uneasy, from his carelessly arrogant posture to his firmly slicked back hair, so he only gave a carefully guarded nod in reply.

The other boy did not seem to notice Harry's discomfort, or maybe he did not care, because he simply talked on. „Father's next door buying my books, and mother is down the streets looking at wands. After that, I'm going to drag them along to look at racing brooms. I don't see why First Years are not allowed to have them. I think I'll just pester father until he buys me one, then I'm gonna smuggle it in somehow..."

Harry's uneasyness only grew the longer the conversation lasted. The pale boy sounded like a spoiled, arrogant brat who was used to getting everything he wanted. In fact, he strongly reminded him of his cousin Dudley... a more refined and less fat version of Dudley, maybe, but still, Harry found himself instinctively disliking the pointy faced git.

And he certainly seems to love hearing himself talk, Harry thought as the other droned on. He spoke in a slow drawl that sounded as bored as his general demanour.

„...do you even play Quidditch?"

„Uh, no?" Harry had no idea what the other was talking about. He didn't even know Quidditch was an actual word.

The other looked at him as if not playing Quidditch was something unimaginable. „Well, I do. Father says it would be a shame if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, he's right. Do you know what house you're going to be in?"

This time, Harry only shook his head, starting to feel like an idiot. Honestly, he'd appreciate it if the other stopped talking about stuff Harry did not understand, thank you very much.

„Well, they say no one really knows beforehand, but I just know I'll be in Slytherin; my entire family was there. Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I would rather run away, don't you agree?"

Great, more strange words. For all Harry understood, the other might as well have been talking Chinese.

If it were anyone else, Harry would probably asked for an explanation. But with this arrogant boy who reminded him so much of Dudley, he thought it best to keep his mouth shut. He had a feeling he would only be sneered at for his ignorance, otherwise.

„Wow, look at that guy!" the pale boy said suddenly, gesturing to something outside the storeé window. Harry followed the other's lead and saw Hagrid standing outside, waiting for him.

„That's Hagrid. He's gamekeeper at Hogwarts." Harry said, eager to show that there were at least some things he knew.

The other raised a pale eyebrow. „Oh, that's Hagrid? Father told me he's some kind of dirty savage living on a hut on the school grounds. Gets drunk every other day, tries to do magic and ends up setting his things on fire."

„I think he's brilliant." Harry said icily. He rather liked Hagrid, thank you very much. Sure, his wild looks took some getting used to, but behind all that, the giant was actually a very kind person. Plus, he had given Harry a reprieve from his hated relatives. He had even remembered Harry's birthday and brought him cake, something his own family had never done. If Harry had to choose between Hagrid and the arrogant boy next to him, he knew he would chose Hagrid in a heartbeat.

„Do you, now?" said boy narrowed his eyes at Harry, who felt uncomfortable at the other's unflinching gaze. His eyes were pale grey and piercing, boring into Harry as if he were a specimen to be studied, as if the other was looking for a weakness to exploit. „Why is he with you, anyways? Where are your parents?"

„They're dead." Harry replied curtly. He did not feel much like discussing his personal matters with that arrogant git. Honestly, he rather wished the other would shut up already.

„Oh, sorry." he did not sound sorry at all, just bored. „But they were our kind, were they not?"

It took Harry a moment to figure out what the other was going on about. „They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean?"

The pale boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with Harry's answer. „I don't think they should even let the other kind into Hogwarts, wouldn't you say? They should keep it in the old wizarding families. The others, they are not like us. Imagine, some of those muggle-borns don't even know about Hogwarts until they get their letter. By the way, what's your last name?"

Harry was saved from having to answer when Madam Malkin declared he was finished. He was not at all sorry to step off the stool and leave this increasingly unpleasant conversation behind. If all, he was happy to be able to get out of the store and join Hagrid, who was waiting for him outside.

„See you at Hogwarts!" the other boy called after him.

The green-eyed boy did not answer, and he did not look back. He found that he strongly disliked the pointy faced boy and was not looking forwards to ever meeting him again. Perhaps, he could just try to avoid him once they were at Hogwarts.

However, he could help replaying the conversation in his mind as his brain was swarming with questions. Talking to the other had once again made him realize just how little he knew about this strange new world he had stepped into, and now, his thoughts would not stay quiet even as he followed Hagrid down the busy shopping steet.

Finally, Harry could not take it anymore. „Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"

The giant looked taken aback. „Blimey, I keep forgettin' how little yer know. Yer don' even know 'bout Quidditch!"

„Way to make me feel better." Harry grumbled. At Hagrid's quizzical gaze, he elaborated: „There was this guy at Madam Malkin's, he kept talking about Hogwarts... and I didn't understand most of it."

Suddenly feeling angry and depressed, he kicked a stray pepple down the street. „He also said those raised by muggles shouldn't be allowed into Hogwarts."

Hagrid huffed angrily at that. „Codswallop." he said, „Don' yer let somethin' like that get yer down, ye hear me? Don' yer ever think yer don' belong at Hogwarts! They were all over ye at Leaky's, and if that guy's got wizardin' parents, he grew up learning yer name. Besides, that kind o' talk is just plain nonsense. Some o' the best witches an' wizards were the only ones in a long line o' muggles to have magic. Just look at yer mom! Look what she had fer a sister!"

He had a point, Harry admitted to himself. Already feeling much better, he asked. „So, what is Quidditch?"

„It's our sport, Harry. Wizarding sport, very popular. It's played on broomsticks in the air, an' there´s four balls... but it's kinda hard ter explain the rules."

„And what's Hufflepuff and Slytherin?"

„School houses." Hagrid replied. „There´s four of 'em. Everyone says Hufflepuff's full o' losers, but..."

„I bet I'll be in Hufflepuff." Harry replied glumly. With how much he did not know about Hogwarts, he would possibly suck at school.

Again, Hagrid huffed. „Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin. There's not one witch or wizard who went bad that wasn' in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one of 'em."

Slightly taken aback, Harry stared at the man. „You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"

Hagrid looked distinctly unhappy at the thought. „'T'was ages ago."

Harry said nothing as his mind wandered back to the boy at Madam Malkin's. With this new knowledge, he could not imagine how one could be so eager to join a house that supposedly produced dark wizards, including Voldemort... or You-Know-Who, as the wizarding world called him. The boy had said he would run if he got placed in Hufflepuff. Harry thought that he himself would rather run if they put him in Slytherin.

Shaking his head, Harry decided to put the pale boy from his mind. After all, he still had a lot of shopping to do – books, a cauldron, a wand – and there were so many wondrous things to be discovered in Diagon Alley. He really did not want some git he definitely did not like drag him down again.

A pair of grey eyes followed Harry all the way as the raven-haired boy left Madam Malkin's. They belonged to the drawling, pointy-faced boy he had spoken to earlier. His name was Draco Malfoy, and, unbeknownst to Harry, he too was left pondering over their encounter.

There was something about this boy, with his brilliant green eyes and unruly jet-black hair, that had drawn Draco's attention, and what really bothered him was that he could not even tell why.

Certainly, he was not impressed with the boy's fashion sense... or rather, horrible lack thereof. Draco had barely been able to keep himself from grimacing at the other's ridiculously oversized clothes, or his atraciously messy mop of hair... or his nerdy glasses, which looked as if held together with tape, of all things! Really, had that guy ever looked into a mirror? Did he even know that mirrors existed? Draco knew he himself would not even be caught dead looking like that, but the other boy seemed like he did not care.

Maybe that was why Draco could not quite shake the other from his mind. The boy was so radically different from anything Draco was used to, so unlike the immaculate, refined purebloods the Malfoy heir had grown up with. Everything in his upbringing had been about keeping face and proper appearance, but the black-haired guy that had walked in seemed like the complete opposite of everything Draco had ever been taught. He knew he could probably should despise the other for it. Instead, he somehow found himself fascinated.

And it was not as if proper attire was the only thing the other had seemed ignorant about. Not only had he been completely unfazed by Draco's boasting (a habit of his that his father would no doubt lecture him about. Which was a bit unfair, really. After all, his father was only too happy to flaunt their wealth and status in everyone's faces, so what was wrong about Draco doing the same thing?). No, the also had seemed completely oblivious to most of the things they had talked about. Which was strange at least. Not knowing about school houses was one thing, what wizarding boy in his right mind would not know about Quidditch? And yet, Draco had seen the total lack of comprehension in the other's green eyes. He really was clueless.

For a moment, Draco entertained the thought that the other was just stupid... but no, he would have to be braindead not to know about Quidditch. Merlin, even Crabbe and Goyle knew, and everybody could tell they had about as much brainpower as a flooberworm.

Draco's second thought was that they other boy was muggle-born. It certainly would explain his blatant ignorance of the wizarding world. But when Draco had asked, the other said his parents were wizardkind...

He had also said his parents were dead, making Draco wonder where the other was living. Surely not with that Hagrid oaf? It would explain his total disregard for outward appearance. It also made Draco shudder at the thought. Surely no one would force a child to live with such a savage?

All of this would have been so much easier if Draco knew the other boy´s name. In hindsight, he could have kicked himself for not asking straight away. Knowing about what family the other came from would surely answer some of the questions that now plagued him.

„There you go, my dear. All finished." the voice of the clerk measuring out his robes startled Draco out of his thoughts, making him jump a little. Displeased with himself for showing such a reaction. Draco choose to glare at the assistant. Who was she to call him dear, anyway?

„About time." He said coldly, not sparing her another glance as he picked up his new school robes. Now, he just had to find his parents and get the rest of the stuff from his stupid school list. And then, he would finally convince his father to buy him a decent broom, Hogwarts regulations be damned.

Unfortunately for Draco, his father decided to be unreasonable, pointing out that he already did have a broom. And when Draco had in turn pointed out that this broom was just a Comet 3-60, completely outdated and nowhere near as good as, say, the new Nimbus 2000, his father had informed him that he would not get a new broom unless he was actually chosen to play Quidditch (which was damn near impossible for a first year) or unless he earned it through „outstanding performance" at school. Not willing to give up so quickly, Draco had turned to his mother instead. He should have known better, though... his mother had no love for flying at all, and she did not understand why her only son would need an even faster broom just so he could (in her clearly biased opinion) fall of it and die?

Of course, Draco had strongly protested her reasoning. He was much too skilled to ever fall off any broom, no matter how fast, and he certainly had no intention of falling to his death. Honestly, it was nice to know that his mother loved him and cared for him, but did she really have to worry about the most ridiculous things?!

Upon their return to Malfoy manor (yes, the lived in a manor. After all, they were an ancient, wealthy, respectable pureblood family. Nothing less than a manor would ever do for them), Draco instantly retreated to his room to throw himself on his bed and bemoan his parent's clearly ill-advised decision - he refused to call it sulking, because sulking was beneath him. It did not happen often that his parents refused one of his requests, but when it happened, he always found it a most unpleasant experience.

Sadly, that also meant he had to cancel his plans for the afternoon, which had been to zoom around the grounds on the new broomstick he never got. Staring at the ceiling with nothing better to do, his mind returned to the boy he had met earlier.

He could not fight the feeling that there was something special about the other boy. He was an enigma, a mystery full of secrets Draco intented on solving. He had, after all, always been a curios cat. He could never quite resist when he had a puzzle to figure out. All he had to do was to wait until he got to Hogwarts and meet the raven-haired boy again.

That's it for chapter one. Hope it was not too terrible...