Tru lay curled up in the beanbags for she didn't know how long. Chastity's fur was soft and familiar, the only thing that reminded her of home.

There was a faint scuffing sound, but even though her instincts screamed for her to look up at the intruder, to protect herself, she merely nestled closer into the beanbags.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing, in the hallway like this?" The boy looked around at the turbulent sea of plump, marshmallow-like beanbags.

Tru looked up. That voice– It was the boy from the train! "Er, Slugface, was it?" she said, sounding hopeful.

But rather than turning his frown upside down and extending a hand of friendship and offering her some pumpkin pie and a glass of milk, he sneered at her. "Slugface? Oh, I get it; you've been hanging around with Potty and his wee little friends, haven't you?"

"Well." Chastity had begun to grow and was growling at the boy. "Well, I only just got here. I used to live in Canada," she said brightly.

"I don't care where you used to live," he snapped. "My name isn't Slugface." Obviously this was something that was bothering him quite a lot.

"Well, what's your name?"

He gave her a look that clearly communicated to her that he would like nothing better than to rip off her face and shout HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, THEN? But instead he said, "Draco Malfoy" and gave her a strange look. She noticed then that his eyes were a cool grey, the color of the sky on a cloudy morning just before dawn, the color of hidden kindness.

"I'm Tru Whelan," she said when he didn't prompt her.

"What kind of name is True?" He took evident pleasure in mocking her. "Were your parents on drugs when they had you or something?"

"My parents are dead."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence.

"But, anyway, it's short for Trubella."

"Oh," he said. "Well."

The beanbags seemed to swallow her up, crushing her on all sides with their plushiness. "Can you help me up?" She held out her hand.

He recovered from the awkward moment and stared disdainfully at her hopeful hand. "No, I will not help you."

"You're really rude."

Draco was bristling now. He crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her, his face framed by a torch on the wall behind his head – he resembled a young, displeased god. "Doesn't the name 'Malfoy' mean anything to you?"

She looked at him with confusion written all over her delicate features. "No? Should it?"

He sneered. "What are you, a Mudblood or something?"

She blinked. "What?"

"You are, aren't you? Your parents are– were Muggles, weren't they? Filth. I can't believe that they're letting your lot into this school."

"I– What? No. My parents weren't Muggles, I don't think." She screwed her eyes up in concentration. "Wait. What's a Muggle?"

Draco sighed in annoyance.

Unfortunately for him, while he was being so haughty and condescending, he didn't notice the stone gargoyle that had been advancing upon him menacingly. Tru noticed it though, and her eyes widened.

Draco stopped in mid-sentence and turned to look over his shoulder–

And jumped about three feet into the air, flattening his back against the opposite wall in obvious fear. "T– take her. Take the girl. She's new here. Who cares about new people? I'm a good student, I would never hurt gargoyles, ha ha ha." He laughed nervously.

The gargoyle never stopped advancing. Draco turned his head away and screwed his eyes shut tight. When the statue was right in front of him, it stopped. "Draco Malfoy," it said in a surprisingly unthreatening and kindly voice.

Draco opened one eye. "Dumbld– I mean, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes." The stone turned its weathered face briefly toward Tru. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't call other students that horrible name."

"Y– Yes, sir."

"She is actually a pureblood, like yourself. Very much further from being the child of Muggle parents than you could imagine." His voice trailed off thoughtfully. Then he added in brighter tones, "Well, I'll let you two alone to make friends." The gargoyle leapt back to its station in front of the door to Dumbledore's office.

Draco stayed pressed against the wall for a few minutes more, calming down as slowly as a man who just escaped a hanging because the rope was not strong enough to hold his weight and so sent him crashing to the floor with only a mild rope burn.

Finally, he turned to Tru. "Let's go," he said, his voice still shaky.

Tru pulled herself out of the beanbag heap – which disappeared as soon as she was standing – and followed silently after Draco. Chas padded beside her, her sharp claws, which were always ready to tear at arteries and the jugular and any other weak points of the human body, clicked quietly on the stone.

"So," Draco said after an incredibly awkward interval of silence. "So, which House are you in?"

"I didn't ever get Sorted," she reminded him quietly.

"Oh. That's right."

Tru noticed now that he was quite a bit taller than her, lankily built; he reminded her of a cello player, with graceful hands and a hunched figure.

He glanced at her quickly. With an obvious effort at attempting to make nice, he said, "So, if you aren't in a House, where are you going to sleep?"

Tru stopped in her tracks. "Oh my God!" she shouted. "Where am I going to sleep?" She turned around uncertainly and stared down the dark hallway where they had just come from. She doubted she would be able to find her way back to Dumbledore's office. Chas swelled into the size of a large bear.

Draco eyed Chas warily, but to his credit, he didn't back away. He watched her slowly giving into the panic, like a ship at sea in a storm, finally being tipped over and its masts swinging into the water. Finally, reluctance clearly in his voice, he said, "Er, I guess – and I know I will sorely regret this later, and by later, I mean a few seconds after I say this – I guess that you could come sleep in my room."

Tru stopped and turned toward him. "Eww–"

"NOT LIKE THAT," Draco said, waving his hands desperately to ward off the advancing Chas. "I mean, in my room – the common room of Slytherin, my house."

"Oh. Well, that's all right, then." She smiled, and it shone upon Draco like a brilliant sunrise after months and months of endless rain and clouds. "Thanks."

Draco took her the rest of the way to the Slytherin dungeons in silence. "No need to remember the password," he said when they reached the blank wall that magically disappeared as he uttered the secret word in his soothing voice, "because I expect that Dumbledore will right this tomorrow."

"So, where do I sleep?" She looked around the room; it was sparsely furnished, a faint greenish tinge to the light like a sunrise shining through spring leaves.

Draco gestured impatiently at a couch in front of the dying fire.

"But– but I'll be so cold."

He pulled his wand out of his pocket it one sudden movement and waved it jerkily at the couch. "Vestisio!" A large pile of blankets appeared on the couch. And without another word, without hearing her grateful words of thanks, he turned and walked up the stairway to the dorms.

A/N: if ne of u were curious, vestis is latin 4 blanket. look it up in a dictionaree if u dunt bleive me