Harry tossed and turned incessantly. It was too bloody hot. Unable to sleep, he decided to go down to get a glass of water. Feeling his way out of his room, he walked out into the hallway, shafts of moonlight illuminating his path. His sock-clad feet padded softly on the Turkish carpets as he navigated the maze of hallways, making for the kitchen.

The Potter Mansion, located on the English coast and surrounded by the hills of Dover and the sea, was imposing at the best of times; the carved gate, extensive lands, and lavish interior sparkled and dazzled in the sunlight. But at night, the house blended into the background, forgotten in the twinkling of the stars and the light of the moon, in the thundering crash of the waves.

Created by a distant Potter ancestor, Clara and Alistair Potter - Harry's grandparents- had not changed a thing when they inherited it. Harry was too young to properly appreciate the house when his grandparents had taken him from the Dursleys at the age of one, but nowadays, having learned about architecture - along with a variety of other subjects - he was fully appreciative of each arch and column and chandelier. Walking down the grand staircase, he jumped as the head house-elf, Mitzy, appeared before him.

"Would young master like anything?"

"Yes, " Harry responded. "A glass of water will do."

Mitzy disappeared, and Harry threw himself onto the sofa by the fire. September 1st, he thought. He looked at his pocketwatch. 1 hour until September 1st. Just one hour until the day came. The day he would leave for Hogwarts. Harry was terrified. He knew intellectually that Ron, Nev, and Susie would be there, but that didn't stop his imagination from running away with him. What if they never came? What if he couldn't find them and looked like a loner?

Harry was drawn from his thoughts by Mitzy, who had come in silently and now knelt before him with a goblet of water on a silver tray. He picked it up, swirled it around as he had seen his grandparents do with their wine, and sipped it gently. Once more alone with his thoughts, Harry startled when his grandmother appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, Harry," she said, looking lovingly at him. "You needn't worry yourself so." She sat down next to him and wrapped a bathrobe-clad arm around his shoulders.

"What if nobody likes me?" asked Harry timidly.

"Nev and Ron like you, don't they?" Clara asked encouragingly. "But regardless, who could dislike you, my dear? My sweet, brave grandson."

"Thanks, grandma. Sorry. I guess I'm just really scared."

"No need to apologize, Harry. I was scared before I went, too, but you'll see that Hogwarts is a lovely place. Now come, let's get you back in bed. We have to rise early tomorrow to catch the train."

Draco Malfoy was lonely. But he was used to it. Malfoy Manor was a lonely place in which to live, empty save for the young Malfoy heir and a staff of house-elves. Furthermore, Draco adhered to a strict schedule set by the Lestranges. Breakfast at 6:30 am, followed by French, Latin, finance, and culture lessons - including Muggle studies: know thy enemy - with Monsieur Dupont, and then offensive and defensive Dark Magic lessons with Sir Arthur Lowell Grey. Mr. Grey and Draco would break for lunch (made by the house-elves) together, eating as the former quizzed Draco on the lesson. These lessons continued throughout the afternoon, and then Draco was given free time until after dinner, when Lady Alina Tautvilas would instruct him in summoning and controlling demons, along with a variety of other Dark Arts.

Draco kept with him for company two portraits of his parents in his room. They had provided a wealth of information about the real Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, stories Draco never tired of hearing. His father had died in the First Wizarding War and his mother in childbirth, leaving Draco in the custody of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange: "Auntie Bella" and "Uncle Roddy", as Draco was expected to call them when they came to the manor - usually late at night, drunk, with blood in their hair and on their clothes and Unforgivables resting on the tips of their tongues.

Draco Malfoy was lonely. But one day he could bear it no longer. So one sunny afternoon, after seeing Mr. Grey off, Draco left the Manor on his own, something Bellatrix and Rodolphus had told him never to do. But Draco didn't want to spend yet another day peering desperately into the depths of a book, wishing it could answer him when he asked questions, or talking to paper-and-paint personifications of his parents, who, incapable of original thought, knew only what was in them by virtue of magic.

Making his way toward the small town, wand concealed within his sleeve, Draco vigilantly watched for danger, jumping at every little sound. Hearing an approaching roar, Draco looked down the road, spotting one of those - what had Monsieur Dupont called them? - cars coming his way. The roar was absolutely terrifying. Draco lost his courage, turned tail, and had just begun to run back home when he collided with someone.

Jessamine hated it when her sister, Elle, was at work, because it meant she was dumped with Ms. Turner all afternoon. As the car hurtled towards Ms. Turner's house, Jessamine stared out the window despondently.

Elle parked, and the pair walked up to the ivy-covered cottage, past the mailbox and the gate and the hydrangeas, and rang the doorbell. A middle-aged lady opened it.

"Hi, Ms. Turner," Elle said. "I brought Jessamine." She gestured to the younger.

"So you did, so you did," said Ms. Turner. "Come in, have a spot of tea!"

"Sorry, I've got to get to work soon. Be good, okay Jess?"

Jessamine nodded.

"Thank you!" Elle shouted from the car as she zoomed away.

"Hello, Jessamine," said Ms. Turner, sitting down on the oddly patterned sofa. The cottage was the same as ever, with old, mismatched furniture and bookshelves in the sitting room instead of a TV.

"Hello, Ms. Turner," Jessamine replied. "What are we doing today?"

"Well, dear, Elle told me that you like plants, so we can do a spot of gardening if you want."

"Ok."

Ms. Turner and bored Jessamine had barely been gardening for half an hour when Ms. Turner stopped them.

"Oh, dear, Jessamine, I'm very tired. Do you mind if I just sit down and watch you?"

"Not at all," Jessamine replied. "You can go and take a break."

Within another fifteen minutes, Ms. Turner was sound asleep in her rocking chair, mouth hanging open and hands folded in her lap. Jessamine grinned. Reveling in her newfound freedom, she left the house and crossed the road, when a boy suddenly emerged from nowhere, colliding with her.

The pair fell onto the grass by the side of the road. "Sorry!" the girl exclaimed.

"Not at all, it was my fault," Draco responded, picking himself up and ensuring his wand was hidden. He then offered a hand to the girl, helping her up. She was about his age, with brown hair, blue eyes, and Muggle glasses.

Draco felt a jolt of fear. A Muggle. A violent, despicable, ruthless Muggle. Bellatrix had always told him the Muggles would tie him to a stake and burn him if they found out he was a wizard. She delighted in telling him horror stories about how his ancestors had died at Muggles' hands. His breathing quickened. Recalling Sir Arthur Grey's training, Draco realized that he had to seem calm and collected, show no indication of fear. He had to make this girl believe he was a Muggle.

She smiled at him. Sinister, Draco thought.

"Hi, I'm Jessamine, but you can call me Jess," she said. "What's your name?"

"Drake," he responded.

Jessamine proceeded to announce that they should go pick flowers by the river, skipping away and beckoning Draco to follow. Draco walked behind her cautiously. Jessamine, curious about this strange new boy, spotted a stick on the ground. She picked it up and continued to skip along, waving the stick around and shouting "Abracadabra" like fairies in the movies.

Draco panicked. The Muggle knew. She knew he was a wizard. Pulling out his wand, he ducked behind a tree and tried to pull together his knowledge of duelling. He then emerged from the tree and ducked behind a bush. Jessamine had turned around, and was asking him why he was hiding behind a bush. But Draco's mind, filled with fear, focused on only one thing: his spell. He leapt out and cast.

Jessamine wondered over the strange behavior of her new friend. He had ducked down behind a bush for some reason, so she asked him why. He didn't respond, but he leapt out from behind the bush and said some gibberish, and a green light emitted from the stick he held out, and the shrub next to Jessamine shriveled and died.

Draco had tried. His aim was spot-on, his diction was superb: a product of Sir Arthur Grey's teaching methods. But just before he cast, before he said the words, he looked into the Muggle girl's eyes; they were dancing merrily, as if she was about to let out more of her light, carefree laughter. And his wand arm faltered, his aim was off, and the plant next to her died.

Draco was shaken. Never before had his aim failed. Surely the Muggle girl would not hesitate to burn him now. She waved her stick at him. Draco was scared. What if it was some sort of Muggle weapon? He struggled to remember the Flame-Freezing charm.

Jessamine laughed. Drake looked so scared! "How'd you do that?"

"I - um - you don't know?"

"OH! Are you a wizard like in the movies? That's so cool!"

Jessamine laughed and skipped off again.

Draco was astonished at her behavior. She didn't care? She thought it was "cool"? All of his preconceptions about Muggles fell away. He went after Jessamine, determined to make her a friend.

They met whenever they could, talking and playing and imagining together. To Draco, Jessamine was his childhood. However, she couldn't be around all of the time. As Draco's studies progressed, he found himself getting excited about the possibilities they presented. One day, as he followed a magic trail as Lady Tautvilas had taught him, he felt the trail get stronger and stronger, until its pull seemed a physical force upon his body. He had followed the magic straight to Stonehenge.

Stonehenge, being on Malfoy grounds, was Draco's private night-time haunt. When all the Muggles were gone, when the stars came to life, Draco was at Stonehenge. He felt a connection to the stones, as if his magic were mingling with that of the stones and the soil. But it

was more likely due to his veela blood, which allowed him to connect with nature more easily.

In addition, Stonehenge was a prime spot for summonings. When the isolation was driving Draco mad, and Jessamine was busy, he would take his candles, chalk, silver, and rosemary to Stonehenge and summon a demon for company.

And so it was that Draco met Mbizi, an intimidating African demon who desired nothing so much as another soul. Draco would summon him, within safe pentacles and correct incantations, and within the pentacle he would sit, his hungry eyes fixed on the small grey-eyed boy's soul. Draco would ramble on about something or other, and Mbizi would simply nod, smile, and search for weaknesses in Draco's casting. There never were any, but the moment he found one, Mbizi would not hesitate to claim the soul sitting just within reach for his own.

And so time passed, and the years blurred together, as they often do in one's memory, and Draco was, at long last, about to go to Hogwarts. Bellatrix, who was holding the key to the Gringotts Malfoy vaults, gave it to Draco, allowing him to owl-order the things he would need for Hogwarts. Draco was pleased to have control of the labyrinthine Malfoy vaults, although he had yet to acquire the Malfoys' liquid assets; mainly stocks and such.

And so it was that on the first day of September, small, quiet, sneaky, malicious Draco Malfoy, accompanied by Mbizi, a book of pressed flowers - Jessamine's goodbye present, the vault key to one of the largest fortunes in Europe, and of course, his trunk, warded and locked down the Manor before flooing to King's Cross Station, London and making his way towards Platform 9 ¾.