It started with the Sorting Hat.
(Well, no. It started before Hogwarts, that day in Diagon Alley. But that was when he had met Harry, and held out his hand, and he would ever after say that it was his idea, so in his mind, it started with the Sorting Hat.)
Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head. It slipped down over his eyes. He waited in the darkness.
"Well hello, Mr. Malfoy."
Hello, he thought.
"And what do we have here? Something buried, I think. And what a clever idea. Very . . . Slytherin of you. Yes. Yes, I think –"
I need to be brave, he – or, no, not quite he – thought.
"Do you now."
Yes, Draco thought, and it was true, he knew it was true, but he didn't know how he knew. I need to be brave.
"Very well. If you insist . . ."
And then the hat was calling out the last word Draco would have expected a month ago, and he was stumbling down to the red and gold table amongst scattered applause, and he had a strange, fluttery feeling in his chest like he had just changed his entire life.
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.
His parents were not happy, but Harry was thrilled, so there was that.
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.
Weasley didn't like him, which suited him just fine, because he didn't like Weasley, either. Except Harry seemed to like both of them, for some godawful reason, which put everyone in an awkward position.
Harry was . . . odd. He was "They don't hate you, you know," and "Lay off, Ron," and "Wish I were good at Potions like you," but he was also, "You shouldn't say stuff like that, you know," and "Lay off, Draco," and "Wish you wouldn't be so rude." Draco was starting to think maybe his parents were wrong, about a lot of things, but about this in particular. He was starting to think this was what real friendship was like.
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Draco had bad dreams, sometimes. A lot the time. Dreams about his parents, pale and thin and terrified. Dreams about a woman, screaming, and somehow he knew it was Granger, the mud – the muggleborn who always had the answer. Dreams about Harry, furious, hating him. Dreams about fire.
Sometimes when he jerked awake in a cold sweat, he saw a small silhouette against the moonlit window and knew that Harry had dreams, too. Sometimes, that made it a little bit better.
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The Gryffindor Quidditch team was doing badly. Draco felt guilty about that, but he couldn't place why.
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.
Halloween arrived with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. It was one of those feelings, the ones he was starting to learn not to ignore. It unsettled him so badly that he could hardly focus in Charms class, but at least he was paired with Harry.
"What was the incantation again?"
"Er," said Harry, but thankfully Granger's voice floated up to them from where she was haranguing an unfortunate Weasley.
"Leviosa, not Leviosa!"
"There we go," said Harry, with a sheepish smile.
"Should've made friends with her," Draco said, watching Granger's feather float towards the ceiling.
It wasn't until later, much later, when the dread in his stomach had become a knot of panic and Quirrel was passed out on the floor and Harry was saying,
"Wait! Hermione. She doesn't know,"
that he remembered. She was a mudbl – a muggleborn. And an annoying one, to boot. Was he really going to risk his life for her?
Was he really going to let her die?
He had to be brave. Harry's eyes were bright and sure and Weasley's face was pale and guilty and there was a voice in the back of his head saying he had to be brave.
"Alright," he said, and if his voice wavered, that was only to be expected. "Alright. Let's go."
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.
He didn't think anyone could say it went excellently, per se, but they weren't dead, and they weren't expelled, and Hermione was grateful and Harry was grinning and even Weasley – Ron – was giving him an awkward smile, and Draco was flushed and shaking but he was smiling, too.
His parents were going to be less than pleased, but his parents, he thought in a moment of reckless abandon, could sod off. After all, he thought, as Hermione caught his eyes with an uncertain twitch of her lips, after all, what did they know about anything?
.
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The issue was –
The issue was –
The issue was that his mother still sent him care packages and long letters and threatened to pull him out of school after the whole troll incident but there was an air of bewildered worry to it all, like she couldn't figure out quite where the mistake was made but there had definitely been a mistake and she was intent on rooting it out.
The issue was that no one sent Harry anything at all which Draco had just put down to him having to live with Muggles, but Hermione got letters from her parents every other Sunday like clockwork.
The issue was that he was still having nightmares, still having strange feelings that always held true, still feeling a terrible draw towards the forbidden third-floor corridor even though his spine prickled every time he thought about it.
The issue was –
The issue was –
Well, this week, the issue was that Hagrid had a dragon.
Which really shouldn't have been Draco's issue at all, but somehow it was. And so here he was, at a quarter to midnight, under a cloak which barely covered the four of them plus Norbert, hauling a crateful of adolescent dragon up the Astronomy Tower.
"This is stupid," he hissed the third time Weasley stepped on his foot.
"So's your face, but we live with it," Harry retorted.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"We're already breaking the rules, why don't we just – wingardium leviosa."
"Oh," Hermione whispered, looking a little miffed that she hadn't thought of that herself.
"Because then there's a great suspicious box floating around for no reason," Weasley said.
"So? We're almost there. I'm not carrying it the rest of the way, are you?"
Weasley glared at him, but didn't volunteer, so Draco took that as agreement.
And, by the way, it worked out just fine. They got to the top of the tower without incident, and Charlie was right on time, and they watched him and his friends fly off with Norbert with a feeling of giddy exhilaration. It went off without a hitch.
. . . until they got to the bottom of the tower, anyway.
The cloak! They had forgotten the cloak!
Draco grabbed Harry's arm, the words on the tip of his tongue, when –
"You four! With me. Immediately."
McGonagall.
Draco groaned, burying his face in hands.
They would get detention for sure.
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.
This was the issue:
Draco was standing at the edge of a clearing, frozen in place, and Harry was frozen beside him. There was a thing on the other side of the clearing, drinking blood from a creature so pure it almost shouldn't exist.
This was the issue:
The thing was raising its head. Harry was crying out in pain, knees buckling. Draco was still frozen in place.
This was the solution:
Draco grabbed Harry's hand and started to run, stumbling and tripping, through the forest. He kept an iron grip as Harry lagged behind him, still panting in pain. He thought, you have to brave you have to be brave youhavetobebraveyouhavetobebrave. He didn't let go.