10. The Long Night

Draco sighed. His forest wanderings had been put on hold when the Quidditch season restarted, and he suddenly found himself training for the upcoming Hufflepuff match anytime he found himself with spare time - and quite a bit of time that wasn't spare but Flint used for practice anyway. As a result, he was far too tired to explore the grounds at night, especially since he'd need to be well-rested to subdue any particularly dangerous creatures he might come across when he did so.

He was not sighing at other projects being delayed, however. He was sighing because he'd spent five hours on a broom, was exhausted, and hadn't eaten dinner yet, despite it being only a quarter of an hour before curfew. At least this term he didn't have to fear being caught by Filch after hours, and would be spared the mad race back to the common room with the others. It was times like these he was very thankful for his new invisibility cloak.

"Now remember, no training tomorrow or Friday, and be here half an hour before the match on Saturday. And make sure you get plenty of sleep."

At Flint's words, delivered with a wolfish grin, the rest of the team laughed hesitantly along with him. Their faces were torn between apprehension and anticipation; of all the nutty Quidditch captains to have graced the walls of Hogwarts, surely none had come up with anything quite as crazy as this.

To their general surprise, Flint had been understanding about the Gryffindor defeat from last term, and commended them on the performances while bemoaning their misfortune. Heads remained attached to shoulders, the dressing room remained devoid of bloody intestines, and all was well. Unfortunately, Flint decided that they needed to make a statement to underline that it was only luck keeping Gryffindor top of the table. Unfortunate for Hufflepuff, that was.

Over the term, the Slytherin team had flown partially blindfolded, confunded, and while being hit with drowsiness charms. From time to time, Flint tried all three at once. The schedule had grown more and more frantic as the match approached, and Draco thought that a good part of why everyone was looking forward to Saturday so much was just so they could be done with the damn thing.

Of course, the other reason - the more proper reason - was that having invested so much energy in the match, the team were rather interested in whether they could pull Flint's ideas off in an actual game.

Looking at the plan, Draco had to admit that it was a good one. It would boost confidence back up, unnerve the Gryffindor team, and provide a good challenge for the Slytherins to pull off in what would otherwise be a straightforward game. Beyond all of that, it would ensure that whatever else students took from this season, in the end all that would be remembered was a most Slytherin victory; ambitious, cunning, and not wholly within the spirit of the rules.

"See you on Saturday." Flint smirked.

On the Friday morning, Harry entered the Potions classroom and immediately looked for Draco's distinctive pale-blond hair. It had become his habit upon arriving to classes that he shared with the Slytherins to sit as far away from his nemesis as he could, to make any attempt to attack him as difficult as possible.

Today, though, there was a problem.

Today, he couldn't find him.

He thought back to breakfast - was Draco simply running late? - but Harry himself had nearly slept in that morning and there were few students left in the Great Hall by the time he was finished breakfast. Indeed, other than Draco's empty spot and his own awaiting chair, all the seats in the classroom were filled.

"If you'd sit down, Mr. Potter, so we could begin." Snape sneered, causing Slytherin snorts of laughter. His lip twitched, as if he was about to take points from Gryffindor, but he said no more. Harry wasn't technically late, but that had never stopped Snape before. This year, however, Harry was at least a competent potioneer, so although Snape had been much colder to him ever since the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match, they had not yet descended back into open hostility.

Harry took a chance.

"Where's Draco, sir?"

Muffled laughter continued to roll through the Slytherin ranks. Apparently, the question amused them.

"Mr. Malfoy has provided me with an adequate excuse for his absence. Now settle down," Harry wanted to ask for more detail, but Snape obviously noticed this, for he continued, "or I will take points for nosiness, Mr. Potter. Do you understand me?"

Harry held the man's gaze for a few moments longer, but he recognised a lost cause when he saw one. A quick "Yessir!" and he dropped down in his usual seat between Ron and Hermione. He was on the lookout for suspicious behaviour, and this certainly counted as suspicious.

Snape said little else that lesson, other than ordering them to turn to page two hundred and seventy one, paragraph eight, and follow the instructions on the board for a potion that was apparently used to distinguish real wood from any conjured counterparts. Harry couldn't see why anyone would want to know if a log was natural or not, but was already on his last warning for this lesson, so kept his head down and got on with the work.

"Maybe he's ill," Hermione muttered under her breath, scribbling down notes as she did so. "After all, Flint's been driving the Sltytherin Quidditch team very hard in the last two weeks."

While that was true, somehow Harry didn't think it adequately explained his rival's absence. The Slytherin-Hufflepuff match was the next day, so if anything, Draco would be doing everything he could not to be ill. Sometimes Hermione's logic just didn't take into consideration how obsessed people could get over Quidditch. Although, if Draco did miss the match, Flint wouldn't be too happy with him, and then Harry might be rid of him for good, on the Quidditch pitch at least.

Or, a pessimistic part of his brain whispered, Draco might buy everyone new Nimbus brooms to make up for it.

"I've hardly seen him at dinner at all this week." Hermione concluded.

That much was right, and Harry had noticed how Crabbe and Goyle had been collecting extra portions of food every night to bring back to their common room. Ordinarily, he might have thought they were simply pigging out, if not for the fact that several other students in different years were doing the same thing. Wood's spies had informed him that the Slytherin team were barely making it back from training in time for curfew, never mind dinner, and so the players had their friends bring them back meals for later instead. Wood had passed this message onto them with a glazed look in his eyes, and the twins thought he was simply jealous he hadn't come up with the idea first. Harry had grimaced at that, knowing he and the girls would have to negotiate hard to spare themselves a similar fate before their match against Ravenclaw.

On the other hand, Draco hadn't been at dinner yesterday either, and that evening the Slytherin team had been given a night off. Maybe he really was ill, maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe, just maybe, the blond enigma wasn't up to something after all.

"Malfoy's definitely up to something!" Ron argued, thumping his spare hand against the table for added effect. The other was curled around a cup of steaming tea. "He's not been at meals, and he's not in the hospital wing either!"

The three Gryffindors were once again sat in Hagrid's hut, their visit safely timed so that, other than a brief stop at the hospital wing to check for errant Slytherins, they'd come straight down after lunch. Therefore able to politely turn down Hagrid's offer of rock cakes, they accepted his much-more-stomachable tea and returned to hypothesising the logic (or otherwise) behind any of the castle's unusual activities.

"Maybe he just needed a lie down," Hermione said sceptically, "I know I'd prefer to recover in my dormitory than in the Hospital Wing."

"Yeah, but Madam Pomfrey said she hadn't seen him at all, didn't she?" asked Ron, looking to Harry for support. "He'd have to have gone to her for something, especially if it was bad enough to get him out of Snape's class."

Harry, who'd spent most of the year heartily encouraging his friends to be suspicious around Draco, was hardly going to stop Ron now. But some things didn't add up.

"Snape loves Malfoy, he'd let him off for anything. And he's the Potions teacher too, he's probably got loads of medical potions he could use."

A few more debates on this point ("Slytherins hardly ever go to the Hospital Wing." - "That's because they're the ones who put people there!") and they grudgingly decided to wait and see. If Draco didn't make the Quidditch match the next day, something was definitely going wrong; Snape cared about the sport (or rather the cup at stake for winning it) too much to let any small excuse slide, and they would know there was something extraordinary afoot. If he was back, well, they'd watch him like hawks to see if he relapsed or not.

But Draco still hadn't reappeared by dinner, and despite their promises to the contrary, Harry, Ron and Hermione were still arguing over exactly what his absence meant. Hermione had tried asking Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis - two of the more civil first year Slytherins - but all she received in response was an outburst of giggling and an apology that they couldn't be giving away 'House secrets'.

Ron was all for investigating immediately (even if he wasn't quite sure how they were meant to go about it), while Hermione was more cautious (insisting on sticking to be original plan of waiting to the match tomorrow - Harry and Ron had eventually convinced her that no self respecting Quidditch player would dare miss such an occasion). After all, she argued, regardless of whether Malfoy himself was planning trouble, the entirety of Slytherin seemed to know what was going on, and they were unlikely to be so blasé about it if it's something genuinely nefarious.

Harry was just about coming around to Hermione's point of view when they unexpectedly had their problem solved for them.

"So you're wondering about the whereabouts of a Mr. Malfoy, we hear?"

"Well good luck looking for him here. You're unlikely to find him."

Fred and George sat down either side of their brother, who in turn was opposite Harry and Hermione.

"How do you know?" Ron asked sceptically.

"Ron, ickle Ronnikins," Fred started (over the last few months, Harry had gotten much better at telling the twins apart again), "how little your faith in us!"

"Surely, you of all people," George continued, "know not to question our almighty omniscience."

Harry grinned. "After all, with their experience marauding around the castle, I'd expect them to have a few tricks up their sleeves."

If the twins were surprised at his rather deliberate wording, they hid it well, and addressed the three first years as if imparting some great wisdom.

"We, benevolent as we are, are glad to tell you that Mr. Malfoy is currently in his dormitory, along with the rest of the Quidditch team."

"They're having one last meeting before the match?" The anguish on Ron's face was palpable as he was torn between his two great loves, trying vainly to decide whether to commend them on their dedication or decry them for missing dinner.

George chuckled. "No, they're all in their own rooms. 'Far as we can tell, they're sleeping."

"How do you know?" asked Hermione, as,

"At dinnertime?" a startled Ron blurted out.

"As far as we know." Fred confirmed. "And we know quite a bit. As to the how," here, he winked at Hermione, "well, that's not for tiny first years to worry their pretty little heads over."

"But if you're inclined to worry," George added, "then we'll also let you know that Malfoy hasn't moved from his bed since after lessons yesterday. Poor boy hasn't been sleeping well."

That was interesting.

"Be such a shame if he was to miss tomorrow's match." Fred finished sweetly, in a way that made clear he wouldn't mind at all.

"Why hasn't he been sleeping?"

The real question Harry wanted to ask was where Draco had been during the night. The twins had access to the Marauder's Map - a wonderful piece of magical parchment, made by Harry's father and his friends (and Pettigrew, a nasty little voice whispered in his mind's ear) under the nicknames Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. The map not only spelled out the corridors and secrets of Hogwarts castle, often including any secret passwords needed along the way, but also marked the position of all people, students, professors and others, that were on the grounds. Having been confiscated from its manufacturers in their final year, the Weasley twins had in turn pinched it from the caretaker Filch in their first, and promptly used it for its intended purpose of making as much mischief as manageable for the next two and a half years.

All of this, however, Harry knew from his knowledge in the future, and as such was unable to reveal to the Weasley twins. He was in no doubts that they realised there was something odd about him; he knew where the kitchens were immediately, led the first year Gryffindors there regularly and after curfew, and generally seemed to have a much better grasp of the castle than any innocent little first year ought to have. However, he was content that their curiosity would hold their silence for a few more years, at which point he could reveal himself as Prongs's son and they could assume he had inherited the troublemaker's knowledge from some spare piece of passed-down parchment.

Until then, however, he could only ask precise enough questions to be able to assume the rest from what he already knew.

"The poor Malfoy boy seems to have a bad bout of insomnia." Fred answered.

"Either that, or he's uncommonly fond of sleepwalking." George said.

"Where was he going?" Harry asked. If he didn't yet have the map himself, he wasn't above asking those who did have it for additional information.

"Out of the castle, for the most part. He goes right out the doors and off our... well, out of range of our ears. But then, a while back, the most curious thing happened, didn't it George?"

"It did indeed, Fred. A couple of weeks ago, our Malfoy had a bad experience, and hasn't been wandering about since. We were wondering if he was attacked, weren't we Fred?"

"I still reckon he was, George."

A dramatic pause hung in the air, and it became clear that the twins were going to offer no further information unless one of the three of first years humoured them. Ron broke first.

"Who attacked him?"

The twins looked at each other, gave themselves menacing smiles, and turned back to their audience.

"He was attacked..."

"... By a Fluffy!"

They said this with the panache of a big reveal, but it was still obvious that they expected further questioning. Quite what their answers would be, Harry didn't know (while he wouldn't put it past them to go investigating any part of the castle that was explicitly forbidden, they tended to respect Dumbledore's firmer rules in odd penance for breaking so many of his minor ones). He was unsure how deep their knowledge of the true story behind the third floor corridor went, and wasn't planning to find out. It didn't matter, however, because whatever the Fred and George didn't know of Fluffy, the three first years did, having been told most of it by Hagrid in an attempt to dissuade them from looking into it themselves.

"He's after the stone!"

"How did he survive Fluffy?"

"Maybe that's why he's not here! He's injured!"

"Oh, don't be silly, Ron. He'd need Madam Pomfrey if he was attacked by a Cerberus, and she said she hasn't seen him at all yet!"

"Maybe Snape healed him with Dark Magic!"

A snort.

"Okay, okay, maybe he escaped Fluffy using Dark Magic!"

Another snort. "Come on Ron, he's eleven. I know he's one of the best in our year but if Harry can't get past the Cerberus how do you expect him to?"

"Dark Magic!" Ron snorted back, as if it were obvious.

"El-ev-en."

"Dark Mag-ic."

As the conversation between Ron and Hermione continued in this vein, Harry remained silent, holding eye contact with the twins.

"Was Draco headed towards the Forbidden Forest, by any chance?" he asked.

Fred looked at him. "Why yes, he was. How did you know that?"

Suspicion and interest flickered in their eyes, and Harry began to think he'd rocked them more than he'd suspected with his 'marauder' comment.

"Lucky guess. A prong in the dark." he answered with a smile.

A guess, yes, but at that minute Harry was feeling anything but lucky.

Draco had suddenly bumped himself up Harry's list of priorities. His continued absence notwithstanding, there were pieces of a very unfortunate puzzle lying around Hogwarts.

Harry had already been baffled by Draco's newfound genius, his improvement in Quidditch skill, and his welcome if mystifying transformation into a reasonably well-mannered person. The Draco he had grown up with had been none of these, and in Harry's book that was enough cause for concern.

But now, that concern was increasing into fear. Harry had been getting headaches in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, caused by his scar's reaction to the proximity of Voldemort. As he hadn't been getting any in Potions lessons (at least of the scar-focussed variety; there were more than enough noxious fumes in the dungeon to give even the healthiest students migraines), his reaction was to Professor Quirrell, not Draco. Draco also didn't wear any unusual headgear, and didn't flinch at Harry's touch (of which he had only their handshake after their Quidditch game to refer to), all of which made him an unlikely possessee for Voldemort to be sneaking around as.

On the other hand, something was quite clearly up, if Draco was visiting the Forbidden Forest and the forbidden corridor. Such risks would be considered far too 'Gryffindor' for the boy Harry remembered, who usually contented himself to sitting back and letting whatever disaster was unfolding at the school happen, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't the main target. Both places were obvious targets for Voldemort; the forbidden corridor could get him close to the Philosopher's Stone, and the Forbidden Forest...

Unicorns.

Harry remembered, barely, of detentions with Hagrid in the old timeline. They'd been examining the forest for dead unicorns, in a bid to find out what had been killing them. Unicorn blood provided life-extending qualities, but would leave the drinker forever cursed. Only someone truly desperate, truly vile, or truly insane, would choose immortality in such a way.

Voldemort fitted all three very nicely, and with the Philosopher's Stone so close, it would only have to be a stop-gap, until he could reach the Elixir of Life to grant himself much greater powers. Hence, he had survived on unicorn blood for most of the year, uncaring as to the consequences. Harry didn't know what Draco was doing; was he fetching the blood for Quirrell, drinking it himself, or conspiring on some other evil scheme? There were many reasons to enter the forest at night, but none of them were good.

"Harry?"

Hermione had spoken, but the three Weasley brothers also watched him in rapt attention.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I just zoned out for a little while." he replied casually.

George snorted, while Fred muttered "You bet you did." under his breath in a way that gave Harry no delusions that he wasn't meant to hear it.

"Maybe we should get a early night," Harry said, eager to prove he wasn't going crazy, "we'll need all our strength to support Hufflepuff tomorrow."

Scoffs of "I'll say!" and "They're doomed!" rang out, and the company trudged back to the common room, talking with much hope and no expectation on the merits of Hufflepuff Quidditch.

Draco woke late, and met with the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team just inside the exit from their common room to make their way up to breakfast as a unit. The walk as a unit helped their teamwork, or so Filch claimed, as well as providing a handy deterrent to any saboteurs thinking of hexing them (a vulnerable first-year seeker, for example). On the way into the Great Hall, they passed the four great hourglasses filled with the precious stones that kept track of the house points. Curiously, Hufflepuff currently held a slight lead. Draco smirked as Higgins, walking beside him, muttered that they better not be hoping for any additional points from Quidditch. Moving inside and sitting together at the Slytherin table, they proceeded to tuck their way through several servings of breakfast while other students slowly trickled in and out.

He could feel their eyes on him, on all seven of them. They had, after all, vanished yesterday afternoon, and in his case the day before that. Now, they were eating enough to make up for missing last night's dinner, and to the others around them who wondered how they'd get off the ground, it seemed that they were eating enough to cover all their meals for the entire weekend as well.

No doubt it seemed like some great mystery to them all. No matter, they would be put right soon enough. Draco smirked.

Nothing stirred the soul like a good plan coming together.

At the end of breakfast, half an hour before the match, they exited the Great Hall as a group, made their way across the Hogwarts grounds, and gathered in the changing room for one last, rousing, speech.

"Everyone got a good night's sleep?" asked Flint, with a glint in his eye.

Nods and smirks all round.

"Everyone know what to do?"

More nods and smirks.

"Then let's crush 'em!"

A final, bellowed "SLYTHERIN!" from the seven of them and they were on their way.

A/N: Some updates might be delayed, as while I've got chapters written, they're not necessarily the ones which come next chronologically. If there is a delay, I'll post sooner when we reach prewritten content, so everything should average out if you bear with me.

If you spot any references, cameos, or have specific predictions for the future, I'll award points to a house of your choice if you're right should you point it out in a review...

Thanks for reading!