Author's Note: I have carefully planned out every chapter in this story so one by one, I will gradually be revealing what happened to the Horcruxes. Expect a lot of clues and foreshadowing (but probably not this early on though). Happy reading!

Also, I apologise in advance for spelling/grammar mistakes, if any. I write most of these chapters at night and usually edit them in the early hours of the morning.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling. Thanks


CHAPTER 7: YEAR 1—HALLOWEEN FEAST


Harry


After the Quidditch match, Harry's fame improved on a massive scale, if it were even possible. The Gryffindors seemed to simply worship him. They carried him on their shoulders whenever he came into the common room. They opened doors for him and they even offered their own copies of the Daily Prophet newspaper to him at breakfast. Ron was also enjoying a new level of fame. Everyone in the school now knew him as the Prodigal Weasley and even Fred and George were getting a little jealous now.

A few days after the first winning match, Harry received a letter from his father that looked as though it had been scribbled very quickly:

Harry,

I'm really sorry, son, that I couldn't make it to your first match. I was really swamped at work, but I promise that I will be there the next time and the time after that. If it helps, Moony told me all about it and it sounds as though you were brilliant. Congrats! I'm really proud of you, though I would've been proud even if you hadn't won.

Nimbus 2000, eh? Nice choice. Try out the comet for your next game. I'd love to hear if it works well. On second thought, try it out during practice—don't want to risk a new broom during a real match.

Say hello to Neville from me,

Dad

Truth be told, Harry was okay with it. He admired his father's job at the Auror office so much that it didn't bother him that he was unable to make it to silly school things like these. Besides, there'd be plenty more games.

What did bother him however, was something that he stumbled upon quite accidentally, one night in the common room. After a particularly exhausting day, Harry, Ron, and Neville had settled themselves on the couches to tackle another one of Snape's horrid essays. It was late, they were tired, and they wanted nothing better than to ditch it and go to bed. And at about half past 11, Neville did just that. He got up, stretched and yawned, then bid the other two a goodnight and went up to the dormitory.

"I wonder what ever made Snape such a git," said Ron, who was glaring down at his roll of parchment.

"I dunno," shrugged Harry. "Dad says it's mid-life crisis."

Ron frowned.

"But weren't your parents his classmates?"

"Yep," said Harry, grinning.

At midnight, they yawned at the same time. They were exactly where they had been two hours before with their essays—having written just a few sentences.

"It's useless," said Ron. "Maybe we could borrow Neville's work?"

"Yeah, maybe," said Harry, reaching over to the messy pile that Neville had left behind on the little coffee table beside them. He shoved aside some papers and paused. There was something lying amidst a mountain of transfiguration notes and a copy of one of Hermione's famous study guides. Harry recognised the writing even upside down, and held up the letter under the candlelight.

"What's that?" said Ron, but Harry quickly shushed him.

Neville,

First, I'm really glad you wrote to me. Lord knows Lily and I have missed you a great deal. I hope you are enjoying your time there. Harry's told me you don't like Quidditch that much. That's okay, everybody's different. I still love you son, no matter what. And Lily is most proud with your grades. You know we consider you a biological son, right? You are not just a godson to us. I want you to understand that.

I know it's been really difficult lately, what with the anniversary of that dreadful night fast approaching. You must be really missing your mother and father. Augusta phoned me the other day, saying that she absolutely refuses to take you to St. Mungo's to see them. I understand where she's coming from, but I want you to know that if you should wish it, I will take you there myself. I don't see you as a child anymore. I see you as a little man and I think you are old enough to make this decision for yourself. I don't know much about being basically an orphan at a young age (my parents died when I was already grown) but I can understand how difficult it must be and I deeply appreciate your honesty about it.

I don't think I've ever quite told you this, but you remind me so much of Remus when he was younger. It's almost funny how much you remind me of him. He too, thought that Sirius and I were just a couple of hooligans, always chasing after the girls and the Quidditch. He was always on our backs to be good and to study hard. I suppose, by your descriptions, Harry and Ron are clones of our youths. It's funny how that worked out. You three are the continued versions of us three.

I remember everything about your childhood, you know. I remember the day you were born. Lily insisted on coming to the hospital, even though she was expecting Harry any day. While Frank paced around the waiting room nervously, we sat there with Alice for hours. One minute you were inside of her and the next, you were here—this tiny little thing. A miracle, if you will. I'll never forget that day...and then 12 hours later, Harry came into the world as well. From that moment on, you two were my everything. You see, Alice and Frank had already told Lily and me by then that we were the chosen Godparents.

I know we hardly ever speak of them. We just miss them so much. They had been our best friends for years and years before. So many Christmases spent together and so many nights sitting in the living room, laughing about our days at Hogwarts. I can only hope that one day in the future, that will be you and Harry with your own families.

Please let me know the second you get that urge to run away again, and I'll be at Hogwarts faster than you can say "Let's go Trevor". I miss you, Neville. Write again soon. I love you.

James

Harry stared blankly at the slightly shaking piece of paper in his hand. It was too close to the candle now and at the risk of getting caught on fire.

"Harry, what is it?" said Ron's voice from afar, but Harry's mind was no longer in the common room with him.


"Are you alright Harry? You're very quiet today."

Harry looked up from his plate. Remus was smiling at him encouragingly from behind his desk. Harry shrugged slightly and proceeded with his food.

The two had begun a little tradition back when school had only just started. Every Tuesday, they ate lunch together in Remus' office—just the two of them. It gave both of them something to look forward to each week. But today, Remus was eyeing Harry suspiciously, and Harry knew that he would not let him leave here without spilling what was bothering him. After a few more silent minutes, he laid down his knife and fork and looked up at Remus.

"I found something the other day," he began.

Remus put down his knife and fork too and leaned forwards, fully alert. And so, Harry proceeded to tell him exactly what was in that letter James had written Neville. Remus listened carefully without interrupting. When Harry was done, Remus leaned back in his chair and watched him.

"It just bothers me a lot and I don't even know why," Harry concluded.

Remus nodded.

"Harry, have you ever thought that maybe Neville was moving in on your territory?"

Harry frowned.

"Perhaps he is, in some way, replacing you as James' and Lily's son?"

"No, of course not," said Harry. Though, he knew for himself that was not completely true. The thought had indeed crossed his mind before—on Christmases or birthdays—and he was definitely not proud of it.

"He doesn't have parents in his life and your parents are like his parents," Remus went on. "And your birthdays are literally hours apart and you spent so much time near each other every year of your childhoods." He paused to look at Harry. "It's only natural for you to feel this way sometimes, Harry."

"I'm not proud of it," said Harry, quietly.

Remus smiled.

"I know, son. And that is what's so great about you. You always want to make everyone else happy and when you yourself experience a completely normal human emotion, you still feel guilty. But you mustn't put yourself through that. The time will come when you will see Neville as one of your closest and best mates."

"I already do!" exclaimed Harry. "Don't get me wrong—he is like a brother to me! I don't even see him as just a friend anymore. I really feel like we are related by blood!"

He paused to look around the room again before continuing.

"It just bothers me that he wanted to run away. He didn't say anything to me and I've known him all my life. We—Ron and me—noticed that he was acting odd of course but we chose to give him space. But it really bothers me that he was going to run away and he didn't say anything to us. I...I thought he was my friend.

Remus sighed.

"I just...I wish that he had talked to me about it. I wish that he was honest."

"Try to put yourself in his position, Harry," said Remus. "You have had your parents by you your whole life. Neville has not."

"But he—"

"I know he had Godparents all those years but it's really not the same thing, if you take into consideration the fact that his own parents are still alive...damaged, but alive."

Harry sighed.

"But he never even talks about them!"

"He's only seen them a handful of times," said Remus, sadly. "Augusta Longbottom is very strict on keeping him away so that he won't see what they have become."

"W-what have they become?" Harry dared to ask.

Remus hesitated.

"The most I will say is that they hardly recognise him as their son anymore."

Harry shuddered at the thought. It really was awful.

"Listen," said Remus, leaning forwards again. "It looks like you and Neville need to have a talk. I could tell him for you if you want."

"No," said Harry, quickly. "No, don't do that."

"Fair enough," said Remus, nodding. "But promise me that you will voice these concerns to him."

"I will," said Harry. "But not yet."

They ate in silence for the next little while, until Harry looked up again.

"Am I really like dad when he was younger?"

Remus smiled.

"Exactly, that it's almost frightening," he said.

Harry grinned slightly and looked down at his plate again.

"Alright," said Remus. He glanced at the little muggle clock that Lily had given him and then grabbed his wand and tapped the dishes in front of him, making them vanish into thin air. "You'd better get going if you're going to make it to Charms on time."

"Kay," said Harry, rising to his feet. "Thanks for the talk, Moony."

"Anytime. I'll see you at the celebration feast tonight?"

"Yep," said Harry.

He turned to leave, then stopped at the door and looked at Remus again.

"What is it?" said Remus, kindly.

"How are you feeling?" said Harry, after a moment's struggle for the right words.

Remus frowned and then nodded his head.

"I know it's the 31st and it's supposed to happen tonight but I feel quite fine, actually."

Harry grew worried. He did not believe Remus for a second.

"It's alright," said Remus, reassuringly. "It's all just part of the cycle. Go on."

"Bye."

Harry walked back to the common room alone to collect his books and things. Ron would probably head down to Charms straight from the Great Hall, so he would just meet him there. As he walked, Harry thought hard. Had he done the right thing, telling Remus about this? Truth be told, he wished it had been Sirius whom he told. He was the one Harry told the really important stuff to. Exactly how long had it been since his last letter from Sirius? The last he recalled, that letter came way before the Quidditch match and that was already over a week ago.

The common room was completely deserted at this time of day. Everyone was either in class or wandering about the castle, enjoying the various Halloween decorations. Harry found his bag on the floor by the couch and his books scattered on the coffee table. He packed them together and was just about to head out when he heard the portrait hole slide open and Ron coming in—looking utterly flushed—followed by an awkward-looking Neville and…

"Hermione?" said Harry, confused.

The door closed again and the four of them stood in the middle of the common room.

"What…" began Harry, but Ron joined his side, crossed his arms, and turned to glare at Hermione.

"Will you just leave me alone already?!" he cried.

"I was only saying it for your own good, you know!" she retaliated.

"What's going on?" said Harry, still confused.

"She's a nightmare!" exclaimed Ron. "Seamus and I were trying to turn a water goblet into rum—"

"Which is already a stupid thing to begin with," said Hermione.

"—and she started lecturing us about how we were doing it wrong—"

"If I don't tell you, how will you learn the proper way?"

"—and then I called her a goody-two shoes (because she is)—"

"I am not!"

"—and McGonagall was passing by and asked what was wrong and this one told her the whole thing from her twisted version of what happened—"

"It was the only version of what happened,"

"—and we each got 5 points taken off!"

Hermione was red with anger, as was Ron, and both had their arms crossed.

"You got 5 points taken from your own house!" Ron exclaimed.

"Well it was the right thing to do!" Hermione defended.

Harry had lost interest in this and was instead watching Neville, who was holding Trevor in both his hands and petting him absentmindedly as he watched Ron and Hermione quarrel.

"I can't believe you!" yelled Ron. "You make absolutely no sense!"

"Actually, I've been told I'm highly logical, so that would be contradictory, Ronald!" exclaimed Hermione, furiously.

"Oh yeah?" laughed Ron. "And who told you that? Your little Slytherin pal?"

"MAYBE!" yelled Hermione.

By now, Neville had noticed Harry's eyes on him and gave him an unconvincing smile. Harry smiled back but kept his eyes on him. He'd known Neville his whole life. If Neville really did have thoughts about running away, surely he wouldn't do it without saying goodbye to Harry, would he?

"…and while we're on the subject," Hermione said, angrily, "You might want to change the way you speak to him! You too, Harry!"

"What?" said Harry, blankly.

"Draco hasn't done anything to either of you!"

"Oh sure, speak for your little Slytherin pal," said Ron, mockingly. "He hasn't got it in him to talk to us directly."

"Ugh!" scoffed Hermione and she turned angrily on her heel and stomped out of the portrait hole, leaving Harry, Ron, and Neville alone.

"I swear I have never met someone more stubborn and uptight," said Ron, staring after Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry, who was eyeing Neville suspiciously now. Neville looked very worried as he watched Harry. The two were having a silent conversation that Ron was not aware of.

"Come on," Ron finally growled, grabbing his own bag from under a table. "Let's get out of here."

The rest of the day passed on really slow. Maybe it was because the students were all very excited for the Halloween feast—especially the first years, who'd never had one before. Nevertheless, it seemed like years had passed before it was time to go to the Great Hall. Harry and Ron gaped at the beautiful pumpkins hanging from above as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Hermione, they noticed, was sitting at least 5 seats away from them. After Dumbledore's exuberant speech (during which Harry noticed that Remus was absent), the feast began and the students dived for their favourites. Harry and Ron talked to Fred and George about Quidditch and Seamus and Dean talked to Percy about the new rules he was enforcing, regarding leftover candy wrappers in the common room.

"Come on, Perce!" said Ron after a while. "Let them be. Go on."

"Sorry Ron, but as I am a prefect, I will be the judge of what shall be," said Percy firmly.

"I hope I can be as good a prefect as you someday, Percy," said Hermione, in a voice slightly louder than she normally would have used (no doubt to make sure Ron heard).

"Thank you, Hermione," said Percy kindly. "You should teach some of that attitude to my little brother here."

Ron scowled.

"Hey Nev," said Harry, suddenly. "Why don't you try some of these? They're really excellent."

He handed Neville the plate of orange truffles with an encouraging smile.

"Okay," said Neville, grabbing a few.

"And these are really good too," said Harry, handing him a square-shaped pumpkin donut.

"T-thanks," said Neville, who was now wearing a confused expression again.

"So," said Ron suddenly, biting into his candy apple. "Snape is really the only one who assigned homework on Halloween, isn't he?"

"Yeah," said Seamus, sadly.

"He's really overworking us!" said Dean.

"You think you've got it bad?" said Fred. "Third years have it worse. Believe you me."

"He's only just doing his job," came Hermione's voice, which was met with a loud snort of Ron's.

"Anyway," said Ron, turning to Neville. "I'm really not up to doing any work tonight. Do you mind if I copy off of your worksheet, seeing as how you're already done?"

"Sure," said Neville.

"Thanks a lot," said Ron, grinning. "I don't know what I would do without you, mate. Thank god you're obsessed with school."

"He's not obsessed," said Harry, quickly.

"Well, you know what I mean," said Ron, lazily. "The way he's always doing nothing but homework and reading everywhere he goes—"

"There's nothing wrong with that!" said Harry again.

Ron blinked.

"I know," he said, slowly. "I was just saying."

"Here Nev," said Harry, handing him another truffle. "This one is to die for."

"Right," said Neville, narrowing his eyes at Harry suspiciously.

"Jeez Harry, why don't you cut his food for him too?" said Seamus, earning a few laughs from the surrounding people.

Harry ignored them and looked at Neville again.

"You good?"

"Yes," said Neville, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Next, the ghosts performed a little routine for the evening's entertainment. The staff and students were delighted to watch and cheered afterwards. Soon, the night was over and the prefects were ushering the students back to their houses. Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus had agreed to sneak out afterwards to play a little Quidditch in the night, so they nodded at each other and proceeded to follow Percy back to the common room. Just before exiting the Great Hall however, Harry spotted the perfect opportunity to take Hermione's advice.

"Hey Malfoy!" he said.

The blond-haired boy paused. He stared at him as though he'd just come from another planet.

"Come here," said Harry.

Draco looked over his shoulder at his two fat friends, then approached Harry, his hands in his pockets.

"What do you want, Potter?" he said, lazily.

From the corner of his eye, Harry spotted Hermione freeze. She was watching them nervously.

"I just wanted to do a good deed," said Harry, casually, "And apologise for the way I have been behaving." He winked at Ron. "Draco, I'm sorry."

"Right," scoffed Malfoy.

"No really," said Harry, seriously. "I'm really sorry that I…you know, hurt your feelings…I had no idea you were so…you know…touchy."

"Shut up, Potter," said Malfoy.

"Why don't you come over here and make me?" Harry challenged.

"Oh, I will!" promised Malfoy.

In an instant, the both of them drew their wands and prepared to duel, right there in the Great Hall.

"MALFOY!"

The blond-haired boy turned around nervously. Severus Snape was standing over his shoulder, glaring furiously down at him. Malfoy's wand instantly lowered itself.

"Come with me," said Snape, darkly.

Malfoy looked at his friends nervously and then pocketed his wand.

"You can wipe that smirk off of your face, Potter," said Snape, turning his back on Harry. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and another detention. Tomorrow night, my office, 9 sharp."

"Yes, professor," said Harry, happily.

As it turns out, he didn't care about another detention—even if it was one for Snape. This had totally been worth it. Grinning broadly, he high-fived Ron and followed him up to the common room.

They sat at various couches and busied themselves until everyone else would go to bed. Harry made a point of sitting next to Neville by the fireplace.

"You good?" Neville asked after a while, noticing how Harry had been watching him ever since they'd gotten back to the common room, which was at least an hour ago.

"Yep!" said Harry, suddenly. "Never better, you?"

"I'm alright," said Neville, shrugging.

"Just alright?" said Harry, nervously.

Neville stared at him.

"Harry, what's up with—?"

"Ahem!"

Harry turned around. Hermione was standing over him, her arms crossed again.

"What do you want?" said Ron, beside Harry.

"I believe I was talking to Harry, not you Ronald," said Hermione, without looking at him.

"No, you ahem-ed at him actually," Ron muttered, so that only Harry could hear.

"What's up?" said Harry.

"That was really unnecessary, what you did back there," said Hermione, boldly.

"Like we care what your opinion is," said Ron, defiantly.

"I don't believe I was talking to you, Ronald," said Hermione. "And anyway, I expected more from you, Harry."

"Excuse me?" said Harry, smirking at her.

"I thought at least you were decent."

"You can't tell me what to do," said Harry. "You're not my mother, Hermione."

"In case you haven't noticed," Ron added, quietly.

"I wouldn't want to be," said Hermione, simply. "Now then…I just so happened to overhear your plan to sneak out tonight."

"Don't you dare go telling on us now!" hissed Ron.

Harry waved an arm to silence him and looked up at Hermione.

"You won't, will you?" he asked, rather darkly.

She hesitated for a moment.

"I won't offer any information but if I am questioned, I won't lie!" she finally said, a hint of pink in her cheeks.

"Or you could just say you know nothing," offered Harry.

Hermione looked appalled.

"I would never lie!"

"Liar!" exclaimed Ron.

"When have I ever lied?!" exclaimed Hermione.

"You would lie for that Slytherin pal of yours!" said Ron.

"I would not!" gasped Hermione.

"Um, yeah you would," said Harry, calmly. Hermione glared at him. "Well, it's true. He's an angel, in your eyes."

"Well fine!" exclaimed Hermione, hotly. "If you don't want to grow up, I won't make you! Goodnight!"

And she was off again, stomping up the stairs to her dormitory.

"See ya!" Ron yelled after her.

Harry chuckled and turned back around in his seat. People were starting to go to bed. The plan was working.

"Soon," sighed Ron, happily. "Very, very soon."

"Yeah," said Harry, spreading his arms on both sides of the couch and staring off into the fireplace. It was going to be one heck of a night.

"Well," said Neville, closing his book and jumping to his feet. "I think I'll go to bed."

"You don't want to come watch?" said Harry, suddenly.

"Nah," said Neville. "Too tired. Night."

"Night," said Ron.

"Goodnight Nev!" said Harry. Neville did a sort of double-take, nodded, and headed up to the dormitory. As soon as he was gone, Ron turned to Harry.

"What is up with you tonight?"

"What?" said Harry.

"Him!" said Ron, pointing at where Neville had disappeared. "All night, you're acting like he's going to break any minute!"

"I'm just looking out for my friend," said Harry, sitting back in his armchair and opening up a copy of the Daily Prophet, pretending to read.

Ron was not fooled. He yanked the paper out from his friend's hands and stared at him.

"What?" said Harry.

"Talk," Ron demanded.

Harry looked around the common room. There were only a few people left and none of them were even in their year. They were all preoccupied with their own books, cards, and newspapers. Harry turned back to Ron. He could trust him—he knew that much. Feeling slightly nervous, he told Ron all about what he'd found in that letter. He told him about his talk with Remus and he explained his actions down at the feast. By the time Harry was finished, Ron looked as delighted as though he'd just solved a puzzle.

"So now you know," concluded Harry.

"Makes sense," said Ron, thoughtfully. He frowned suddenly, and looked at Harry. "You don't think he'd really do it, do you? I mean…you know…"

"Run away? I don't know," said Harry, truthfully. "It bothers me that he didn't talk to me about it. I don't even know why he's thinking about this."

"But he's not, is he?"

"What?"

"Thinking about it."

"Um yeah, he is!" said Harry, confused. "Weren't you listening to a word I said?"

"Weren't you?" said Ron. Harry sat up. "He was thinking about it. But he's not anymore, is he? I mean, your dad told him to write the next time he feels like this, didn't he?"

"Yeah," said Harry, slowly, realisation sinking into his brain. "Yeah, you're right."

"So," said Ron. "Any idea why he thought about it?"

Harry shrugged. He bit his lip nervously, looked around the common room again, and then leaned towards Ron.

"You don't think that maybe it could've been because of us, do you?"

"Why would it be?" said Ron, confused.

"I dunno," said Harry, "We haven't really been very sensitive lately…"

"Maybe we could cut it down a tad…" Ron suggested.

The last of the Gryffindors went up to bed and precisely a minute later, Seamus and Dean came running down the stairs with Harry's broomsticks.

"Okay, you take the Nimbus 2000 Seamus," said Harry, handing it to him, "Ron, you have the Sweepstakes. Dean, you take the Nimbus 1700. I'll take the Comet."

"Let's go!" hissed Dean, and they were off.

Quidditch in the nighttime was such a joyous experience. Harry felt so free to fly and disappear into the night. There was no one else watching them and Harry had been clever enough to cast the Muffliato spell around the pitch so that they could shout and cheer as much as they wanted and not be caught by teachers.

"This is amaaaaaaazing!" shouted Ron as he zoomed on by Harry, twisting wildly around in the Sweepstakes.

Harry chuckled and dashed forwards for the snitch he'd nicked earlier. He performed some of his favourite tricks—which Sirius had taught him—and earned himself a couple of really loud cheers from Ron, Dean, and Seamus. Harry's stomach hurtled again as he flew by the hoops. Not hearing from Sirius was really unsettling. But he threw that thought aside a minute later when he finally got his hands on the snitch, securing his and Ron's victory against Seamus and Dean. Harry high-fived Ron as they landed on the ground at the same time. It had been the best Halloween Harry could remember—certainly better than that time he'd had to battle the most evil dark wizard of all time.

November passed in a relatively quick pace, bringing with it occasional snow that sprinkled the castle grounds. The air got instantly cooler and it was now impossible to go outside without a scarf and hat, at the very least. Neville's mood seemed to brighten up just a bit as the weeks went by, so after a while, Harry relaxed and started treating him normally again. Despite what Remus had suggested, Harry didn't tell Neville anything about the letter. He decided it was best to just leave it, for the time being. Remus also looked to be in a much better mood, now that he'd overcome his cycle and was back to his old self again. Despite the fact that Sirius had still not written to Harry, and Harry was growing extremely worried, things were very good.

As November moved closer to December, Moony's mood worsened again, indicating that he was approaching another cycle. Again, Ron noticed and questioned Harry about the strange professor…and Harry was running out of things to say.

"You know him better than anyone else in this school," said Ron as he, Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Neville walked to Transfiguration on a snowy morning.

"Neville knows him too," Harry muttered.

"Go on, tell us, Harry," Ron urged.

"W-well what are your theories?" Neville interjected, and Harry was grateful that he had because, for just a split second, the thought of telling Ron the truth had actually crossed Harry's mind.

"I don't think he's really a wizard," said Ron, smartly.

"You don't?" said Harry.

"No," said Ron. "A wizard would be able to remedy such a problem in the blink of an eye."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Harry thought.

"I think he's something else…but I don't know what…" said Ron, scratching his head of red hair.

But Harry was momentarily distracted by a small white figure hovering on the outside of a stained-glass window in the corridor.

"Hedwig!" he exclaimed, rushing past students towards her. "You guys go on, I'll see you later!"

"Okay!" Ron called back, and the boys made their way to charms without Harry.

Harry pulled open the window and let Hedwig in. She landed on his shoulder and nibbled on his ear.

"Alright, alright," said Harry, laughing. "I'm sorry I haven't visited more often."

He untied the letter attached to her leg and petted her.

"Go back to the owlry. Go on."

She stayed on his shoulder for a few seconds as he sat on a corner bench and unfolded the letter, and then she soared off into the snow. Harry's heart stopped once he'd unfolded the letter and recognised the handwriting as Sirius'. He'd really gotten too nervous about the silence. He was even prepared to write to his parents about it if a letter didn't show up in a week. Throwing charms class aside, he began to read the long-awaited letter:

Harry,

There is something I need to tell you, son. First, I apologise for not writing sooner. I needed time to think about how I was going to break this to you. Second, I need you to understand how important you are to me and how much I think of you as a son. I was there when you were born. I bought you your first broomstick. I taught you all the little bubbles of James' and Lily's that you could burst whenever you wanted something. I need you to remember all of this after you finish reading this letter (which, I promise you, is one of the hardest ones I've ever had to write).

You asked me if the name Malfoy was familiar, and I'm not going to lie. It is more familiar than you will like, I expect. You see, growing up, Reg and I had these two horrible cousins. I hated the lot of them. Bellatrix and Narcissa. They rarely came over but when they did, I became 'ickle-little-Siri-poo'. After the war broke out, they married Death Eaters and joined Voldemort's ranks. Narcissa became the wife of Lucius Malfoy and together, they had a son born the same year as you. I suppose that makes me some kind of an uncle to him.

I know that this comes as a shock, Harry. I'd have told you this sooner but I didn't think it was important. Lucius and Narcissa lost everything after Voldemort died, and I never imagined they'd send their son to Hogwarts. Anyway, there is more to this story—so much more that I dare say it will be unjust to put it in writing—so I suppose I'll fill you in on the rest over the holidays.

Hope you are doing well. Please remember how much I love you.

Sirius


Draco


"Ugh!" cried Hermione, throwing down her transfiguration book with a frustrated glare.

"Still nothing?" said Draco, without looking up from his Potions book.

"I've been trying to memorise it for a full week!" said Hermione, shoving the book away from her.

"Let me see that," said Draco, taking it his hands.

They were sitting on the carpet in between the medieval and classical aisles at the library. It was a late Saturday night and the library would close any minute. The two of them had been studying there all day, in preparation for Monday's mid-term exam. Hermione was growing really frustrated with the transfiguration formula that Professor McGonagall was teaching them earlier.

"Really, it's not that difficult," said Draco, after examining the diagram in the book for the hundredth time. "Transformation (t) is directly influenced by bodyweight (a), viciousness (v), wand power (w), concentration (c), and…."

"Yes?" said Hermione, eyeing him curiously. "What is the sixth variable supposed to represent, Draco?"

"I don't know," he answered, frowning at the book. "It doesn't say."

"See?" said Hermione, angrily. "Exactly what I was talking about—that's it, I'm doomed."

"You're not doomed," said Draco, rolling his eyes at her. "It's just one question!"

"It could be the one question that makes the difference between a pass and a fail!" said Hermione, bitterly. "I'm going to be expelled from Hogwarts on Monday."

"Awe come on, relax a little," said Draco, shutting the heavy book.

"Two minutes!" called Madame Pince from a few shelves over.

Nodding, Draco and Hermione got their feet and packed up their things. He walked her back to Gryffindor tower and she bid him goodnight. Back in his own common room, he found Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini sitting by the fireplace, building a house of cards.

"Evening," said Draco, slumping on the couch next to them with his eyes closed.

"Hi Malfoy!" said Crabbe, happily. "Wanna play?"

Draco opened his eyes and scanned the house of cards.

"I'm tired," he answered, resting his head back again.

"Where were you all day? We looked for you!" said Goyle.

"Out," said Draco, with his eyes closed.

"With her again?" said Blaise.

Draco opened his eyes and glared at him.

"So what if I was?"

"It's dangerous," said Blaise, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"What do you care?" demanded Draco.

"It's embarrassing for our house, mate!" said Blaise.

"I'm not your mate," said Draco, boldly, and he got up, threw his bag over his shoulder, and marched up to his dormitory, ignoring Crabbe and Goyle calling after him.

He felt bad for the Slytherins. Like his mother and father, they were too narrow-minded and ignorant to what was really important in life…too hung up on blood status and social class. He could not understand how Hermione was able to handle all this prejudice so well. Perhaps she hadn't been quite hit by it just yet. But, as Draco got into bed and drew the curtains around him, he got the strong feeling that someday soon, she would be.

"Now, now, first years, there is no reason to panic," said Professor Slughorn as he made his way over to the front of the classroom on Monday morning's Potions lesson. "Just because it is a mid-term exam, it does not mean that it's the end of the world."

"Professor!" said Millicent Bulstrode. "When will we be writing it? And in what room?"

"Next week on Tuesday, in this classroom, my dear," answered Slughorn. "Now, it has been brought to my attention that many of you do not plan to study." He smiled stupidly. "I understand that I have a certain reputation at the school and that it may have something to do with the fact that students generally prefer me as a potions teacher rather than scary old Professor Snape," he paused for a moment to chuckle at his own little joke. Then, he coughed, hiccupped, and continued, "However, it is still of vital importance that you prepare yourselves for this exam. The way you perform in your first year will strongly determine your academic performance in future years!"

As the professor continued to ramble on about the upcoming exam, Blaise leaned towards Draco sitting next to him.

"Have you given any thought to what I said earlier?" he whispered.

"What about?" Draco whispered back, his eyes still on the professor and his hand moving on the paper in front of him, copying down vague notes.

"The muggle-born girly, of course," said Blaise.

"Don't call her that," said Draco, sharply, but in a low voice. "Her name is Hermione."

"Whatever," said Blaise. "The bushy-haired Granger." Draco sighed. "Have you given any thought to it?"

"I have," said Draco.

"And?"

"And I've decided I'm going to keep talking to her."

Blaise sighed.

"You obviously aren't going to learn until something bad happens."

Draco looked at him.

"And what is supposed to happen exactly?" he said, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Oh, you know how Slytherins are," said Blaise, waving his hand with nonsense. "You never know what to expect from them."

"Now you listen here, Zabini," hissed Draco. "If you so much as touch a hair on her head, I swear to—"

"Relax, Malfoy," Blaise interrupted. "I don't plan on doing anything—that's not my style."

"It better not be," warned Draco. "A few extra house points are not worth getting a beating out of me."

Blaise raised his eyebrows, and even after Draco resumed his writing, he could feel his eyes still on him.

"What?" he said after a while.

"Nothing," shrugged Blaise, a small smile on his face. "I'm just impressed."

"With what?"

"With you—you're very…what's the word?...unpredictable."

Draco scoffed.

"It's fascinating, really," Blaise added after a moment's silence.

"Whatever," said Draco.

"SO!" said Slughorn, moving closer to their table. "Having another little chitchat, are we?"

"No," said Draco and Blaise together.

"Come now, boys, this is important! You've got to be listening!"

"We were listening," said Draco.

"Really?" said Slughorn, apparently amused. "Well then, enlighten us, Mr. Malfoy. What is the Wiggenweld Potion?"

"A healing solution, sir," said Draco, lazily.

"That's too broad for my liking, boy," said Slughorn, smirking. "Please list the exact instructions required to brew this complicated potion. Go on."

Draco sighed and got to his feet. He straightened up and looked at the class.

"Add salamander blood 'till the potion turns red, then stir 'till it becomes orange. Add more blood 'till it turns yellow and stir 'till it becomes green. Add more blood 'till it turns turquoise, then heat it 'till it turns indigo. Add more blood 'till it turns pink, then heat 'till it turns red again. Then add five lionfish spines and heat 'till the potion turns yellow again. Add five more lionfish spines and flobberworm mucus 'till it turns purple, then stir 'till it becomes red. Add more flobberworm mucus, this time until it turns orange and stir 'till it turns yellow. Then shake and add 'till it turns orange again, and then add honeywater 'till it turns turquoise. Heat until it turns pink and finally, add the last touch of salamander blood until the potion turns its finishing colour: green."

Slughorn was absolutely finished by the time Draco was done and took his seat again. His mouth hung open and his eyes had grown very, very round.

"Ah, well done, my dear boy!" he exclaimed, clapping hard. The class slowly joined him in on the applause but Draco merely kept his head bent over his Potions book.

"Take 30 points to Slytherin!" exclaimed Slughorn, before continuing on with his lesson.

"Way to go, Malfoy!" exclaimed Crabbe.

"How on earth did you know all that?" said Blaise, in a hushed whisper again.

"The muggle-born girly," said Draco, mimicking his voice from before.

Blaise said nothing.

The Transfiguration exam later that day was the scariest thing Draco had ever had to do. He sat at the desk, his heart pounding nervously, the hourglass at the front practically shouting at him. Sitting a few seats to the right was Hermione, her head bent over her paper as she scribbled furiously. Professor McGonagall had transformed into her cat state and was sitting on her desk, watching the students intently.

After the exam, the students burst out of the classroom and fell into an instant rant about the test's difficulty. Draco was pushed and shoved in the crowd as everyone hurried to the Great Hall for lunch. He tried to find Hermione to discuss the exam with her but he couldn't see over the heads of the others. Finally, having been pushed the whole way to the Great Hall, he emerged from the crowd and settled himself on the edge of the Slytherin table. It wasn't long before Crabbe and Goyle sat across from him, joined also by Blaise (who took the empty seat next to Draco).

Draco ignored their unimportant conversations and kept his eyes on the Gryffindor table. Hermione was not there. It was not like her to be late to something, even if it was just lunch. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at something apparently hilarious and Draco shushed them instantly, feeling Blaise's eyes on him.

"She's not here," said Blaise after a moment. Draco watched him pile food onto his plate. "Your little Gryffindor stayed after class to properly thank McGonagall for giving such an easy exam."

Draco sighed of relief. He was beginning to picture Hermione crying in the girls' bathroom because of something that Potter or Weasley said.

Sure enough, Hermione waltzed into the Great Hall seconds later, looking happier than an owl. She seated herself next to a couple of Gryffindors and began laughing with them instantly, paying no attention to the Slytherin table whatsoever.

"Such a shame," said Blaise, following Draco's eyes to Hermione. "I was so sure she'd come over here and talk to you about the test."

"You should mind your own business, Blaise," said Draco. He then grabbed his bag and jumped from the table.

"Where are you going, Malfoy?" said Crabbe, but Draco did not reply.

He walked out of the Great Hall, thinking about the point in sorting people into houses. Was there a point to it at all? He meant to go to the common room for his break, but instead ended up on the steps to Snape's office. Feeling quite nervous, he knocked on the door three times.

"Yes?" said a voice from within.

Draco pushed open the door and peered inside. The room was dimly dark, with only a few lit candles here and there. Snape was sitting at his desk, writing in a notebook. He shut it instantly upon Draco's entrance and tapped it with his wand, making it disappear.

"What are you doing here, Draco?"

"I thought we could…you know, talk," said Draco, quietly.

"Shut the door behind you," said Snape.

Draco did as he was told and took the seat across from the professor, dropping his bag to the floor.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Draco bit his lip.

"I was just wondering what you thought of the whole sorting business."

"What about it?" said Snape, looking surprised.

"Well you know," said Draco. "What do you think of it?"

"Why are you asking this?"

Draco paused.

"I've been thinking lately and doubting that it has any purpose."

"It doesn't," said Snape, surprising Draco a great deal. He said it so casually too. He crossed his arms and sat back. "The Sorting Ceremony is a stupid tradition thought of long ago—back when the school first opened. And because of people's obsession with tradition, it stuck around."

"I hate it," said Draco.

"I do too," said Snape. "Are you unhappy in Slytherin, Draco?"

"No, of course not!" said Draco, quickly. "I got what I wanted when I came here. But…"

"But Ms. Granger did not."

"No," said Draco, shaking his head. "And it's been really hard to stay friends. We fight more now because we're in two different houses with completely different views on things."

"I understand," said Snape.

"Do you really?" said Draco.

"Yes," said Snape. He looked in pain when he uttered the word, and instantly distracted himself with shuffling papers on his desk. Draco eyed the calendar on the wall behind him. Tomorrow would be Halloween. Perhaps he'd have a chance to meet with Hermione then?

"How are your classes going?" said Snape, after a while.

"Fine," shrugged Draco. "Potions is a complete joke."

"Yes," agreed Snape. "That class is."

"We barely learn anything real!"

"I am sorry for that.

"Me too."

They were quiet again, as Snape continued to organise the sheets on his desk. Draco watched him for a while, thinking hard.

"How are your classes?" he asked.

Snape looked up at him.

"The most annoying bunch of first years I've ever met," he replied.

Draco smirked.

"Why do you stick around here then?"

"Dumbledore wants me to," said Snape, but something about the way he delivered that answer—almost automatically—indicated to Draco that he wasn't exactly telling the truth... that it was simply an answer he'd rehearsed many times before.

"I hope it's not because of me," he offered.

"Don't be silly, Draco," said Snape, instantly. "Dumbledore did a lot for me during the war and now I must repay him."

Draco stared at him.

"What?"

"Nothing…it's just…well, you never talk about the war."

Snape frowned.

"What do you want to know?"

"Not much," shrugged Draco. "So like…oh I don't know…what was it like?"

"Dreadful," said Snape, at once. "It was a very frightening time to be alive. You had to be really careful with who you associated yourself with. You had to monitor everything that you said in public, so that nothing could work against you. And every day, as you waited for your loved ones to write, you prayed that they were still alive and well."

"That was the normal civilian experience," Draco pointed out. "W-what about…the Death Eater experience?"

Snape paused. He had never told Draco anything of his days as a Death Eater. It was a subject they avoided altogether.

"I think you're better to have this conversation with your mother and father," he finally said.

Draco looked down.

"I would if they were writing to me."

"What? Do you mean to say that they haven't written you?"

Draco shook his head. Snape watched him intently, considering him.

"You couldn't just be called a Death Eater," he finally said. "You had to really be one. Do Death Eater things. Otherwise, you were strongly suspected to be a spy. There were many in our ranks that were tortured and killed because they were found out."

"But you were never found out?"

"I knew how to behave myself," said Snape, simply. "And I was always under Dumbledore's instructions. I knew I was safe."

Draco hesitated at his next question.

"Sev," he said, taking a deep breath. "Do you…do you ever regret joining... in the first place?"

Snape's black eyes bore into Draco's blue ones. Maybe it was just the darkness of the room or the candlelight illuminating from the side, but Draco suddenly realised how much Snape looked like a broken man. What on earth had he been put through, all those years ago?

"Every day."

The following day, Draco looked for Hermione wherever he went. He wanted to at least have a chance to discuss that Transfiguration mid-term, but she was absolutely nowhere in sight. It was as if she had vanished from Hogwarts overnight. Sensing his frustration, Crabbe and Goyle persuaded him to play Exploding Snap with them in the common room, just before the big Halloween feast. Draco wasn't sure why he agreed to it, but he couldn't deny that it was quite enjoyable to beat them. In any case, it was a nice way to spend time until the feast.

When they finally entered the Great Hall at 7 o'clock that night, they were completely mesmerised. The Halloween decorations were draped on all the walls and gorgeous pumpkins hung above the four house tables. Draco followed the rest of the Slytherins to their table and sat down, still with his mouth open. After Dumbledore's short little speech, the feast appeared on all the four tables, making the students gasp with excitement. Draco wasn't sure he'd ever seen so much colourful food. He proceeded to fill his plate at once and, feeling in slightly better spirits tonight, he actually listened in on the conversations going on around him.

A second year girl was explaining to Millicent Bulstrode why the Bloody Baron always conducted the annual Halloween ghost performances. Crabbe and Goyle were arguing about who'd seen the black and orange truffles plate first. A fifth year prefect was telling a group of second year boys about some village called Hogsmeade that they would get to visit next year. The only people around Draco that weren't in the midst of conversation were Blaise and Pansy Parkinson. The two of them were eating their food and casually casting sideways glances at Draco. After a while, he grew tired of this and dropped his knife and fork on his plate.

"What?" he finally said, looking from one to the other.

"Nothing," they said together.

"Just thinking," said Pansy.

"And observing," added Blaise.

"Interesting," said Draco. "Did you guys rehearse this or something?"

"We're not that interested," said Pansy, shrewdly. She then flipped her long black hair, making it slap Draco in the face, and turned her back on him to listen in on Millicent's conversation.

"You still hung up on the muggleborn, Malfoy?" said Blaise.

"Will you stop calling her that?" said Draco, annoyed. "And I'm not hung up on her—we're friends."

"Right," said Blaise. "So you'll continue to be friends then, yes?"

"Yes," said Draco, defiantly. "You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all."

"Good."

"Hey Malfoy!" said Goyle, turning away from Crabbe. "Malfoy, hey Malfoy!"

"What do you want, Goyle?" said Draco, lazily.

"You have to try one of these truffles!" said Goyle, holding one out for him. "Go on. Have a go."

"I'm full," said Draco, immediately.

"The feast just started," said Pansy, frowning at him.

"I thought you were busy being not that interested," Draco pointed out.

"I'm not," she said, firmly.

Draco rolled his eyes at her and continued to eat, being very careful not to look up at the Gryffindor table.

"We're not saying you have to curse her or anything," said Blaise, suddenly. "But you do need to ditch her."

Draco looked at him but said nothing.

"You may not see it now, but it is just not normal for Slytherins to associate with Gryffindors."

"I agree," came Marcus Flint's voice, a little louder than Draco would have preferred. "Sooner or later, Malfoy, you're going to see what we were talking about."

"And I'm sure when that day comes, you'll all be glorified to say 'I told you so'," said Draco.

"I look forward to it," said Flint, coldly.

Draco sighed heavily and accepted one of Goyle's truffles. They really were fantastic. He eavesdropped on Crabbe and Goyle's conversations for the rest of the feast. They weren't really bright and so they didn't have much intellect to offer. This only made Draco want to talk to Hermione more. He turned to Blaise.

"What are you doing after the feast?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Dunno," he said. "You got any ideas?"

"We could play Wizard's chess," said Draco. "I saw a set back in the common room."

"Alright, it's on," said Blaise, smiling at Draco.

"Oh, oh, we'd like to play too!" said Crabbe, excitedly.

"Though, I don't exactly know how to play chess," said Goyle, scratching his head.

"Is it terribly hard, Malfoy?" said Crabbe.

"Yeah, could you teach us?" said Goyle.

Draco stared at them.

"Um," he said.

"Yes, it's hard," interjected Blaise. "But you two can watch. Crabbe can cheer for Malfoy, and Goyle, you can cheer for me."

"Yeah alright!" cried Goyle.

Draco and Blaise shook their heads. These two really were so stupid!

As the group continued to eat their way through the various colourful desserts in front of them, Draco looked up at the staff table. Snape was talking to Dumbledore who was really enjoying whatever drink was inside his golden goblet. But something else caught Draco's attention—Lupin was not there. He was the only teacher missing from the feast. Why wouldn't he be there? Draco thought back to the last couple of days. The professor had in fact been acting strangely, his mood changing every once in a while. It was definitely odd.

The ghosts came out then and performed their little routine for the night's entertainment. The staff and students were delighted to watch and cheered afterwards. The Bloody Baron had had lots of fun frightening the students from the other houses, and certainly gave the Slytherins a laugh. He'd been planning this for months. Soon, the night was over and the prefects were ushering the students back to their houses.

"I am so full," said Crabbe as he tried to force himself to his feet.

"We should hurry so we can beat the traffic," said Draco suddenly.

Nodding, the other three followed him as they pushed and shoved their way through the sea of students all headed for the Great Hall exit. They stopped short by the door however, because Draco had heard a voice he clearly detested by now, calling out his name.

"Hey Malfoy!"

Draco paused, closed his eyes in frustration, took a deep breath and turned round to face Harry Potter. He stared at him, waiting.

"Come here," said Potter.

Draco looked over his shoulder at Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise, all of whom looked puzzled. He then approached Potter and glared at him, his hands inside his pockets and his chin raised.

"What do you want, Potter?" he said, lazily.

He'd finally spotted Hermione. She was standing not too far from him and watching the scene through nervous eyes. Draco wanted to go over there and assure her that he had no interest in starting a fight with anyone, but didn't dare to.

"I just wanted to do a good deed," said Potter, finally answering Draco's question. His tone was annoyingly casual, as though they were discussing the weather. "And I also wanted to apologise for the way I have been behaving. Draco, I'm sorry."

"Right," scoffed Draco, who'd caught the way Potter had winked at his little red-headed shadow.

"No really," said Potter, in a more serious tone. "I'm really sorry that I…you know, hurt your feelings…I had no idea you were so…you know…touchy."

Draco felt his face turn a burning red. He glared at Potter through furious eyes, wanting nothing more than to curse him then and there.

"Shut up," he finally managed to say.

Several students around them stood frozen, watching with fascination, wondering what would happen next.

"Why don't you come over here and make me?" said Potter, arrogantly.

It was a challenge, alright. Draco heard himself say "Oh, I will" as he pulled his wand out and prepared to duel.

"MALFOY!"

Draco froze instantly. He had always known this day would come but had never expected it to be so soon and over something so unimportant. He slowly and nervously turned around to find Snape standing over his shoulder, glaring furiously down at him. Draco's wand instantly lowered itself.

"Come with me," said Snape, darkly.

Draco looked back at his friends nervously as he pocketed his wand. Blaise had an apologetic look on his face and Crabbe and Goyle looked as though they would wet their pants. Potter however looked like it was an early Christmas.

"You can wipe that smirk off of your face, Potter," said Snape, turning his back on him. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and another detention. Tomorrow night, my office, 9 sharp."

"Yes, professor," said Potter, rather happily.

Snape led Draco out of the Great Hall and into the first empty classroom he could find. Draco followed him inside and sat on a desk.

"What's up, Sev?" he said, but his face instantly grew serious once he saw the serious look on Snape's.

"Do you have no sense of self-control at all?" he hissed, angrily.

Draco stared at him.

"Do you have to put up a fight every time you cross him?!"

"I…" said Draco, but he really had nothing else to say. He was completely speechless. Was Severus Snape actually defending Harry Potter?!

"I am not defending that boy's actions," said Snape a second later, as though he had just read Draco's mind. "He is arrogant enough as it is. His parents really messed him up. But you are no better!"

"Excuse me?" gasped Draco. "What are you suggesting, Sev?"

"I'M SUGGESTING THAT YOU GROW UP ALREADY!" said Snape, angrily. "BE A MAN."

"He's not a man, Severus," said a voice from the doorway.

The two of them jumped to stare at Dumbledore, who had entered the classroom and closed the door behind him without either of them even noticing.

"Dumbledore," said Snape, bowing his head low to him.

"Did you hear what I said, Severus?" said Dumbledore, calmly. "Draco Malfoy is not a man. He is a child. You can't expect him to always know what is right and what is wrong."

Draco remained frozen, though he wanted to contradict Dumbledore and explain how he'd cared for himself for the last couple of years and was far more mature than a good percentage of the grade. But he couldn't find his voice. He was too scared to talk back to the headmaster.

"Yes, headmaster," said Snape, in a low voice.

"I'm sure you didn't mean anything by what you said," continued Dumbledore, as though Snape had not spoken. "But I still think you ought to apologise to the boy."

"I will not," hissed Snape, causing Dumbledore's grey eyebrows to shoot right up.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't you see, Dumbledore? At this rate, he'll grow up to be a useless, worthless prat, just like his father!"

Draco stared at Snape incredulously. He felt hot tears well up in his eyes. Even Dumbledore was too lost for words. Snape sighed and looked from one to the other, having nothing else to say. Draco was sure that Dumbledore had spoken but he had not heard him, for he ran out of the classroom without another look at Snape and shot down the hallway. He continued to run and climbed up several staircases without the slightest clue as to where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone—away from everybody else so that he could cry freely—and the common room was definitely not the place to be at the moment.

He finally stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. The Trophy Room. Perfect.

He shut the door firmly behind him and moved into the room, looking around at all the sparkling gold and silver trophies. Years upon years' worth of student achievements were stored up in here. It was very impressive.

Draco seated himself on the floor in the middle of the room and buried his face in his hands. He absentmindedly rocked his body back and forth as though sitting in a rocking chair. For the longest time—ever since he could remember—Severus had been his most trusted friend. He'd been almost like the parent Draco never had. But all that had vanished instantly just a moment ago. And now Draco knew that, no matter what Dumbledore said or did, it would never be the same again. He was officially and completely alone.

"Blimey," said a voice from the doorway.

Draco flew to his feet and wiped his face on his sleeve automatically.

Blaise and Pansy Parkinson were standing in the doorway, both of their jaws dropped.

"You okay?" said Pansy, worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," grumbled Draco.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Good," said Blaise. "Cause we really didn't want to have to."

Pansy hit him on the arm and he gave her a cold look.

"Come on," he said to Draco. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"To play cards," said Blaise. "Obviously."

"No, I don't want to," said Draco, turning away from him.

"Fine," said Blaise, casually. "We'll just wait up here until you change your mind."

"No, go away," said Draco, stubbornly.

"That's not going to happen, Malfoy," said Pansy. "So you might as well just turn around and talk to us."

Draco remained where he was and so Pansy and Blaise moved into the room and stood in front of him.

"How did you know where I was, anyway?" he asked them.

"We waited by the classroom where Snape took you," Pansy explained.

"Then we saw you run out like a little—ow!"

Pansy had hit Blaise on the arm again, causing Draco to let out a small laugh.

"You two are so weird," he said, feeling slightly better than before.

"You've no idea," said Blaise, moving a step away from Pansy so as to avoid a third punch.

November stepped into play, bringing with it occasional snow that sprinkled the castle grounds. The air got instantly cooler and it was now nearly impossible to go outside without a scar or a hat. Draco's mood had brightened slightly over the last few weeks. He really loved the winter and could not wait until the snow would start to really pile up. He'd always loved the feeling of laying around in it for hours without a care in the world.

Pansy and Blaise had been considerate enough not to mention the trophy room incident to anyone else—not even to Crabbe and Goyle—for which Draco was deeply grateful. He spent a little more time with them as the weeks escalated, his mood improving all the while. Things were really starting to look up and he felt almost completely better as December drew nearer. The same was not true for Lupin.

After Halloween, Lupin had returned looking better and healthier than ever, though with more scars along his neck. He went back to being everyone's favourite teacher and made Defense Against the Dark Arts a truly remarkable class. However, as the days got colder and longer and December drew nearer, his mood worsened once again. It was really strange. Draco felt this overwhelming urge to solve the mystery behind it but had no idea where to even begin.

He did not tell Hermione about the trophy room incident when he finally saw her, a few days after Halloween. Instead, he let her ramble about how easy that transfiguration exam had turned out to be or how annoying and arrogant Potter and Weasley were. Draco felt perfectly fine just sitting and listening to her talk all day. She need never know how he had spent his Halloween. It was better that way.

He had not spoken to Snape at all since the incident on Halloween. It was easier to avoid him since he wasn't teaching Draco anything, and for the first time since Draco had come to Hogwarts, he felt a little grateful for that. He was not yet ready to face Snape after what had happened. Maybe he was being dramatic but he felt like he was being fair. The incident had had an impact on him that perhaps Snape would never understand.

On the last week of November, an interesting idea popped into Draco's clever little mind. Feeling very lonely, he went about hunting down a particular ghost whom he wished to question. The Bloody Baron was in a deserted corridor on the sixth floor on the Friday afternoon that Draco did this. He'd finally gotten away from Blaise and Pansy, who'd been with him literally every minute of every day since Halloween. Draco approached the ghost determinedly and surprised him a great deal when he coughed to indicate his presence.

"What do you want?!" said the ghost, angrily.

"To ask you about my parents," said Draco, calmly.

The Baron eyed him for a moment and then smiled.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't see the tie. Thought you were another brave little Gryffindor, trying to scare me." Draco nodded. "What can I do for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I want you to tell me about what they were like when they were at Hogwarts," said Draco.

"Hmm," said the Baron, thoughtfully. "I don't really remember Narcissa all that well. She was like any other schoolgirl, you know? Now, her sister on the other hand…phew. That is one memorable student, I'll tell you that." Draco nodded. "Yeah, Narcissa didn't really do much. Schoolwork, friends. The usual. Lucius was more of a leader. He made prefect in his fifth year and head boy in his seventh. He was always hanging around his own and occasionally picking fights with the Gryffindors. Well, doesn't every Slytherin do that though?"

"Yeah," said Draco, who was lost in thought.

"They were good kids," said the Baron. "Some of the best Slytherins I'd seen in a century, I'll tell you that."

"Mhm," said Draco. "Okay. Well, thanks."

"Anytime!" said the Baron. "Don't go spreading anything about me now…I don't want anyone to think I've gone soft…even my own students."

"I won't," promised Draco.

And, feeling loads better about himself, he turned around and walked back down the stairs to meet Blaise and Pansy for an early dinner.


AN: A question for you all: Who do you think will ultimately be paired up with whom?

Some characters that I will introduce as the story progresses: Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Millicent Bulstrode, and Lavender Brown.