Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am not making profit off of Rowling's amazing work.
Draco woke up with a startle. Instead of his usual nightmare of the red eyes, he had been dreaming about a dark forest… unicorns…and centaurs…and a dark, hooded figure…
He finally realized that he wasn't in his dormitory. He was lying in a bed with white linen sheets instead of emerald green. Raising his head, he tried to look around, but his vision blurred and he winced. His head was killing him. What had happened?
"Madam Pomfrey! He's awake!" he heard Ron's voice call out.
Gingerly, he turned his head to see Ron in the bed beside him. He must be in the hospital wing. He tried to speak, but coughed, his tongue feeling like sandpaper.
The Healer rushed over.
"Water," he croaked.
"Traipsing around in the Forbidden Forest," Madam Pomfrey scolded, as she conjured a glass of water. She clucked over Draco like a mother hen. "Simply irresponsible for first years to be assigned there for detention… You had a concussion, dear. And no one even noticed until they couldn't wake you up! I gave Hagrid a good piece of my mind for putting you children in such danger... Now you let me know if you need anything else," she said kindly, and left.
He felt much better after drinking some water. The bits and pieces of his memory began piecing themselves together. Slowly, he pulled himself up.
Ron waved at him. "My hand is much better," Ron said, cheerfully. "But it's still green. Madam Pomfrey won't let me go until it returns to its normal color."
He looked around quickly, making sure Madam Pomfrey was nowhere near, and then continued, in quieter voice. "Harry already told me what happened. He thinks that Snape wants the Stone for – for You-Know-Who. And the centaurs seem to think that You-Know-Who is coming back…"
Draco sighed. "Ron, I thought we agreed that even if Snape is a former Death Eater that doesn't mean he still serves the Dark Lord," he said, crossly.
Ron looked at him oddly. "Why do you call him that? The D-dark Lord…" he shivered.
"It's – it's just what my father always calls him," Draco stammered.
He didn't like the look in Ron's eyes. Draco turned away.
"I'm tired," he said.
"Draco? I didn't mean anything by it, honest!"
The Slytherin didn't respond. And he really was tired. Slowly, sleep overtook him.
Several weeks later, Draco was sitting in a large room with all the students of his year, scribbling furiously with his quill. It was his very last exam, History of Magic. When the ghost of Professor Binns told them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Draco couldn't help cheering with the rest. They were finally free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out.
"That was far easier than I thought it would be," said Hermione as they joined the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds. "I needn't have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager."
"I should have read more about Gaspard Shingleton and his Self-Stirring Cauldron. I didn't realize the modern stuff would be covered so heavily," Draco moaned. "What year did he invent it again? 1989?"
"Correct. And the first one was sold in Potage's Cauldron Shop in 1991, right?" Hermione replied.
"Yeah," Draco confirmed.
Hermione and Draco always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron and Harry dragged them down to the lake. The four students flopped under a tree.
"No more studying," Ron sighed happily, stretching out on the grass. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, we've got a week before we found out how bad we've done, there's no need to worry yet."
Harry and Ron bantered back and forth, when Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.
"I've just thought of something," said Harry, his voice sounding very strange. Draco looked up lazily, and then was startled up as well. Something was very wrong. Harry's face had turned white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now!"
The four ran off towards Hagrid's hut.
They burst in on Hagrid shelling peas into a large bowl.
"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"
"No, we're in a hurry," Harry said. "Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"
As they continued to talk, Draco felt more and more queasy. And when Hagrid let slip that Fluffy calmed down when listening to music…
The four exchanged shocked glances, and then ran out of the hut. "We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry.
But then Professor McGonagall told them that Dumbledore was gone…
"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was sure Professor McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way..."
Draco didn't like it. But he had to admit that Harry's argument was very convincing – and things did seem to be falling in place in a very odd way. So when they asked him to meet up at 11 o'clock that night on the third floor, he agreed.
Dinnertime was rowdier than usual. Excitement and energy buzzed throughout the Great Hall as students celebrated the end of exams. "How come you've been hanging out with the Gryffindors so much, Draco?" Gregory Goyle asked, mouth full of pork chop.
Draco shrugged. "They're not that bad," he said.
Across the table, Blaise Zabini's eyes narrowed. "Really, Draco? I'm sure your father would be real pleased to know that you've been spending lots of time with that Mudblood Granger."
Before he realized it, Draco was on his feet, leaning across the table, with his wand digging into Blaise's throat.
"M-m-malfoy! Put your w-wand down!"
Draco turned to see Professor Quirrell standing behind him.
"C-c-come to my office after d-d-dinner," he said in his quivering voice.
"Yes sir," Draco said, eyes wide. His mind went racing over his Defense of Dark Arts exam. He was sure he had aced it. What on earth could Quirrell possibly want?
"Ooooh Malfoy is in trouble," Blaise sneered.
Draco's eyes flashed dangerously. He still had his wand out, but he sat down calmly. He directed his wand under the table. Turning his head towards Greg, he pretended to ignore Blaise, but instead murmured, "Locomotor Mortis."
He heard Blaise gasp. "You filthy mud-eating scoundrel-"
Draco turned back and looked at Blaise coldly. "Hm? What's that? Don't you remember the countercurse?" he mocked.
Blaise lunged at him but only succeeded in covering himself in gravy. The Slytherin table burst into jeering laughter.
After dinner, Draco walked up to the second floor to find Quirrell's office. He knocked on the door.
"Enter," the professor called out.
Draco stepped in and looked around. African tribal masks hung on the walls. To his left, a large bookshelf was filled with not only books, but also skulls. A telescope faced the window, and turbans and cushions were strewn on the floor.
There was an odd odor in the room.
"Ah, young Draco," Quirrell said. He stared at the boy with a strange, intense look on his face. Draco's skin prickled. Something about the professor's voice sounded different. Where was his stutter…?
"I know that you saw something very unusual, many months ago. At the Quidditch match, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin."
Draco gasped and turned back to door behind him, working furiously at the doorknob. It was locked.
He turned to see the professor slinking towards him, in a strangely familiar walk, like a beast stalking its prey. His eyes widened in recognition.
"It was you," he said hoarsely. "That night in the forest…with the unicorn…and you tricked Hagrid…"
Quirrell gave a harsh laugh. "Figured it out, eh? Took you long enough. You are the brightest in your class, besides the Granger girl of course." He grasped Draco's arm painfully. "And my master has told me that you will be the one to help us in our quest tonight."
Draco twisted in his grasp.
"Don't struggle, or I'll kill you," the man hissed.
Draco fell limp.
Quirrell dragged him up to the third floor. He stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor.
"Alohomora!" Quirrell tapped the lock. It clicked and the door swung open.
Low, rumbling growls reached Draco's ears. A large, three-headed dog was sniffing its way towards them.
Quirrell calmly pulled out a harp from under his other arm and started playing. Immediately, the dog's eyes began to droop. Soon the creature was fast asleep.
Quirrell nodded at the trapdoor. "Go on, Draco," he said, letting go of the boy's arm. He continued to pluck at the harp.
The young Slytherin felt the man watching him carefully as he moved forward and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.
"The moment you land, Draco, run to the wall. Don't want the Devil's Snare getting ahold of you. Now jump."
"What?"
"I said JUMP!" the man roared.
Draco jumped.
Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and –
FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. Panicked by Quirrell's warning, he looked for the wall and ran. It was a struggle, as the plant kept trying to twist snakelike tendrils around his ankles. He heard the faint sound of the harp stop playing, and then a loud bark from the dog. For a second he allowed himself to hope that the dog had eaten Quirrell. Then he heard a grunt as the professor landed behind him and resigned himself to his fate.
Quirrell struggled to the wall beside him, and then grasped ahold of his arm again. They trudged down a damp stone passage.
At every obstacle, Draco hoped Quirrell would falter. Yet Quirrell managed to beat every puzzle. Even if it took him a while.
It took a whole hour for Quirrell to catch the flying key. Draco refused to help, instead flying aimlessly around. He had to delay as long as possible. Until his friends realized he was missing. Until 11 o'clock. He hoped that they would not wait for him, and would instead realize something was wrong.
The chess game took even longer. Sitting as a knight, Draco kept quiet unless he himself was about to get smashed. Which happened far too many times for comfort. Unfortunately, even though Quirrell was a miserable chess player, he never placed himself in danger.
The troll was defeated the quickest. His captor laughed to himself, and before Draco even knew what had happened, the monster was sprawled on the ground, knocked out cold with a bloody lump on its head.
Snape's riddle stumped Quirrell for yet another hour. He even threatened Draco, attempting to get the bright Slytherin to help. But when he realized that Draco was trying to trick him into drinking a bottle that contained poison, he left him alone.
The professor finally picked up the smallest bottle, rolling it between his fingers and looking at it carefully. Draco groaned inwardly. He had figured out the puzzle long before and knew it was the right one. Quirrell sipped at it, and then handed it to Draco.
"Drink," he snarled.
Draco took a small sip, hoping that he left enough for anyone who came behind. He shivered, feeling as if ice had flooded his body.
Quirrell took a deep breath, and renewed his grasp on Draco's arm. Together, they stepped through the dark fire.
Writing this is really so much fun. This is my first fanfiction, and I am surprised by how much I can write! I am trying to blast out chapters as fast as possible and hope to finish by the end of summer. Thanks for reading, and please review.
