In the weeks following his detention, Draco didn't go to Snape to tell him what Potter had said when he'd come out of the forest. He didn't mention it to Justin, or Susan, or even Cedric, and he didn't talk about it even with Neville, who'd been there too. The few times Potter had tried to talk to him, Draco had pretended not to see him and quickly turned around and walked in the opposite direction. He tried very hard not to think about what had happened, and when he couldn't help it, he tried convincing himself that Potter was mistaken, or that he was lying for attention, or that the centaur was wrong.

But he still couldn't get the image of Hagrid, Weasley, and Potter standing in front of the forest, pale and trembling, the Dark Lord's name on Potter's lips out of his head.

Draco was so distracted that, later, when he thought back on it, he realized Cedric's help was all that got him through exams. When the older boy woke up in the early hours of the morning to find Draco down in the common room, sitting by the slowly dying fire with a textbook on his lap, staring blankly at it, he would gently haul Draco back upstairs and force him to sleep—and Draco always had a feeling that Cedric was only awake because of him. When Draco was distracted when Professor Quirrell walked by when he was studying in the library, Cedric would throw a balled up piece of parchment at him to catch his attention.

To his credit, Cedric stopped asking what was wrong after the first few times, when Draco had just walked away.

But it was because of Cedric that Draco didn't panic, as Neville did, when their end of term exams finally came. He felt prepared, having studied, although he did feel a bit nervous. They took their written exams in a large classroom Draco had never been in before, and it was incredibly hot, the atmosphere stifling. They'd been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell; Draco's several times shushed him loudly when he began to think out loud during the exam, muttering to himself quietly.

The practical exams were easier for Draco than the written ones for some reason. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk; Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox—points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers; Snape made even Draco nervous, though, breathing down everyone's necks whiel they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion.

Draco did the besst he could, trying to ignore the way Potter had begun rubbing at his scar, wincing as though it was hurting him.

The very last exam for first-years was History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invented self-sitrring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful week until their exam results came out. 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 of his classmates.

"That was loads easier than I thought it would be," said Neville happily, and Justin was nodding along with him. Privately, Draco agreed—he'd really only had trouble with his Defence Against the Dark Arts exam; despite the fact that the person after the Philosopher's Stone now seemed to be the Dark Lord, if Harry Potter was to be believed, or some anonymous thief as Dumbledore had seemed to think, Draco couldn't shake the uneasy feeling he had around the stuttering professor.

"Who wants to go down to the lake?" asked Susan, stretching, and the group agreed, even though it was rather crowded, most of the students wanting to be outside on such a nice day, free after all of their exams. Seeing Potter and his friends under a tree of their own, Draco resolutely led the way to another tree on entirely the opposite side.

"It's going to be weird, going home for the summer," said Justin as they flopped down onto the shady grass. "I've gotten so used to ghosts floating around, and moving staircases, talking portraits..."

"And floating candles instead of el-ec-tricity," intoned Draco slowly, and Justin broke out in a wide grin, nodding. Draco felt a flash of pride and happiness.

"My gran's going to be unbearable," moaned Neville. "She's going to want to hear every little detail of the year!"

"My mum promised to take me to see her new office at the Ministry when I get home this summer," Susan told them all. "Maybe I'll even see the Minister!"

"Fudge?" said Draco. "He's a bit... well, boring."

"You've met him?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Of course," answered Draco casually. "He often comes to at least one of Mother and Father's parties every year, usually the Christmas one." They stared at him, and he flushed.

"My gran once told me that your family is so rich that it's sickening," said Neville, his voice teasing, but Justin looked curious.

"How much money do you have?"

"We have about thirty-four million galleons in our vault," said Draco flatly, deciding to ignore the fact that it was a question none of his Slytherin friends would have asked, "and some in investments, but Mother doesn't like it when Father discusses money with me, so I'm not sure how much." There was silence, and Draco's face only grew hotter.

"That is sickening," said Neville, breaking the silence for him, and Draco hit him, but grinned to show that he appreciated it.

As the conversation turned back towards the much safer realm of their exams, Draco wished that he hadn't noticed the Gryffindor Golden Trio running frantically in the direction of Hagrid's hut.

"It's really late," said Cedric conversationally as he sat down across from Draco near the fire. The rest of Hufflepuff had already gone to bed, ready to rest after the long days and nights of studying for their exams. Draco had his book on Hufflepuff and Slytherin's healing magic with him again, and he looked up from it to give Cedric a raised eyebrow.

"Is that why it's dark outside?" Cedric laughed and threw a pillow at him which Draco easily ducked.

"You should go to bed," he told Draco. He frowned. He was tired, really, but he was too worried to sleep. He shrugged.

"I'm not tired," he lied to Cedric, who grinned at him and gave an exaggerated shrug back.

"Alright, then," he said. "I'll leave you to it, Healer Malfoy." Cedric reached over without warning and ruffled Draco's hair, causing the blond to squawk indignantly. Laughing, Cedric ran up to his dormitory before Draco could retaliate.

Draco felt somehow better than before, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep in the chair, his torso curled over his book.

He was woken up by the faint, muffled sound of yelling, and as he lazily picked his head up, Draco wondered where it was coming from. Closing the book and getting up, he left it on the chair and listened intently—it was coming from the part of the wall where the entrance to the common room would be. Walking over, he held his breath, listening. He could barely make out the words.

"-don't know what Hufflepuff would use as a password, but it's really important that you open up for me!" Draco frowned—that was Neville. He pushed on the wall, and it swung open.

"We don't have a password, Neville," he told the boy plainly, "because you have to tap the barrels in front of the wall the right way for it to open. What are you doing here?" Neville was panting, looking frantically panicked, glancing worriedly around him.

"Hermione put a body-bind on me," he said, "and then the three of them—Harry, Ron, and her—they left the common room. The jinx wore off just a few minutes ago, and I came straight here, but it must have been an hour they've been gone, at least, and I think they've gone to get the Stone!"

Draco's insides went cold.

"Why would you think that?" he asked, his voice flat.

"Dumbledore's gone," said Neville. "He went to the Ministry earlier, and he's not back yet, and the Stone was only safe as long as he was here—I heard Harry say that!"

"I... why did you come here?" he asked Neville, who bit his lip.

"I didn't know what else to do," he admitted sheepishly. "You always seem to know everything." Draco took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm himself. No matter what he did, it seemed that he was going to get pulled into Potter's stupid, foolhardy, reckless, Gryffindor adventures anyway.

"Fine," snapped Draco, turning to set his book down on a table. "Do you know where Professor Snape's office is?" Neville nodded, looking confused.

"Yeah, but why-"

"Go there, quickly," he said. Neville blanched, and Draco knew how frightened his friend was of their Potions Master, and he let out an impatient huff of breath. "Just trust me, Neville. Go!" The Gryffindor hesitated for one moment longer, and then took off running.

Draco watched Neville go for a moment, and wondered what in the name of Merlin was wrong with himself, and then set off for the third-floor corridor on the right hand side.

The door was unlocked when he got there, and it swung open with only the barest squeak. Draco caught a glimpse of a discarded harp near an open trapdoor in the dim light, and then the cerberus was picking up its heads, sniffing the air, glowering at him, beginning to growl—Draco wanted to turn and run, but he thought of Neville's panicked face, and of the pale faces of Hagrid, Weasley, and Potter coming out of the Forbidden Forest that night—there was no way Draco could reach the harp, and he hadn't brought an instrument with him... He grimaced.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts-" The beast paused, looking confused, but it had stopped growling and Draco edged a bit closer to the trapdoor. "-teach us something please! Whether we be old and bold or young with scabby knees-" The cerberus laid its heads back down, but it was still eyeing him distrustfully. He took another step towards the hole in the floor. "-our heads can do with filling with some interesting stuff, for now they're bare, and full of air, dead flies, and bits of fluff!" Two of its three heads had closed its eyes, and Draco was only two steps from the trapdoor. "So teach us things worth knowing, bring back what we've forgot! Just do your best-" One more step; the last head closed its eyes. "-we'll do the rest, and learn until our brains all rot!" Draco jumped.

"Ouch!" he cried out as he landed hard on a stone floor. He slowly picked himself up, looking at the shrivelled remnants of a dead plant around him. Peering at it closely, he identified it as Devil's Snare, and he grinned to himself for a moment. Those Herbology sessions with Neville must've paid off some, then. His grin faded as he saw another door. He opened it slowly, keeping a tight grip on his wand, and saw a room filled with birds—but they were shining, and... Draco blinked—they weren't birds at all, but keys. In a corner was a broomstick, and Draco sighed. He squinted at the keys, and saw one which looked very tattered and beaten up, its blue wings crumpled as it tried to fly.

In the end, it was relatively easy to catch, and he frowned to himself as he unlocked the next door. If it was this easy for him to go through, then what about someone who really wanted to steal the Stone? Someone like-

He didn't let himself finish the sentence, even in his own head, instead pushing open the door and trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart.

This room was large, and dimly lit, but Draco could see a chessboard, and the evidence that a game of wizard's chess had just been played, with large chunks of destroyed pieces still lying on the board, or off to the sides. Draco sucked in a breath as he saw Ron Weasley lying slumped against one wall. He quickly walked around the sides of the chessboard to get the other boy. One of the black pieces turned and held up a sword threateningly, barring his way. He gulped down a nervous breath.

"I'm not trying to get to the other side of the room," he said, "I promise. I just want to see if he's okay." The piece seemed to study him for a long moment, and then moved back to its original position. Draco went to the other boy.

"Weasley, wake up," he snapped, but the redhead's eyes remained closed. Draco could see blood on one side of his face from a wound on his forehead. He slapped the Gryffindor firmly, but not too hard, on one cheek. Still he remained unconscious. What was Draco supposed to do?

And then he remembered the book about Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and levelled his wand at the unconscious boy. "Enervate!" The Gryffindor stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and Draco felt a rush of relief.

"Malfoy?" croaked Weasley. "What're you doing here?"

"Neville got me," he explained. "Where are Potter and Granger?"

"Went through to the next room—had to sacrifice myself to win the game—they had to stop Snape-"

"It isn't Snape, you idiot," snapped Draco, pushing aside Weasley's hair to look at the cut on his forehead. It wasn't too deep, but it was still bleeding. The other boy tried to squirm out of Draco's grasp. "Hold still, would you?" He raised his wand again. "Episkey." The blood remained, but the cut had closed. "Better?"

"Yeah," confirmed Weasley, though he was still looking a little doubtfully at him.

"We should go send word to-"

"Ron!" They both turned to see Granger coming back through the door on the other side of the room. "Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

"Neville," said Draco simply, and regret briefly passed over her features before she simply nodded.

"We need to send an owl to Professor Dumbledore," she said. "There was a troll, but he was already knocked out, and the next thing was a logic game with potions, and there was only enough for one of us to go through, and Harry took it-"

"Why are we still here?" snapped Draco. "Let's go." He turned and began running back the way they had come, and Weasley and Granger followed him wordlessly. All three were out of breath by the time they reached the ladder that went back up to the trapdoor, and Granger reached out to grab both Draco and Weasley.

"We don't have anything to play for Fluffy!" she said, looking deeply worried, and Draco grimaced again, climbing up the ladder, beginning to sing the school song. Only moments later, he heard the other two join him, and unlike at the Welcoming Feast, they matched his tune and tempo, and so it wasn't quite the same unbearable din. They sang quietly as they crept past the loudly snoring cerberus, and once they had gone back out the door, Draco leaned heavily against it, glaring at the other two first-years.

"Never again," he snapped. "Do you understand me?" Draco's voice was panicked, almost frantic, as all of the fear he had pushed aside while going past the obstacles rushed through him.

"Malfoy-"

"And here I thought you were so keen to stay out of it, Mr. Malfoy." Draco felt himself sag in relief at the drawling voice of Professor Snape. He glanced at the staircase and saw Snape ascending it, holding onto one of Neville's ears. The Potions Master stopped short, glowering at them. Draco noted dully that the professor still seemed to be wearing his usual black robes; he wondered if Snape slept in them. "Where is Mr. Potter?"

"He went through your potions logic game, sir," said Granger. "There was only enough for one of us-" Immediately, Snape let go of Neville's ear.

"Stay, all of you," he said, and then he pushed Draco aside and went to face the cerberus, slamming the door behind him.

On the landing, there was only stunned silence.

"I guess it wasn't Snape," said Weasley, rather grudgingly.

"Oh, honestly, Ron," snapped Granger, "how can you possibly be thinking of that now? We need to send an owl to Dumbledore, Harry's in danger, and Dumbledore needs to come back-"

"Dumbledore is already here, my dear, if you'll forgive the rhyme." Draco laughed in relief, and sat down on the stairs, no longer trusting his shaking legs to hold him up. "If you'll excuse my poor manners, it would seem that I must retrieve Mr. Potter. Off to Madame Pomfrey with all of you." Then he, too, went through the door, although he closed it far more quietly than Snape had, but with no less urgency.

Again, silence. It was Draco who broke it this time.

"I missed most of the excitement, didn't I?" He saw Granger and Weasley glance at each other, and then to him.

"Yes," they said together, and Draco nodded, smiling.

"Good. Now, could you help me up, Neville? I think I'm still shaking."

The four of them received quite the tongue-lashing from Madame Pomfrey, although she could find nothing seriously wrong with any of them. As she checked Weasley over, however, she frowned.

"Were you injured?"

"Yeah," he said, "but Malfoy here fixed it." The mediwitch turned to him.

"What did you use?"

"'Episkey,'" answered Draco as she stared at him, not sure whether he had done something wrong or not.

"Impressive for a first-year," she said, "but next time, leave the healing to me."

"Yes ma'am. Er, thank you."

Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout chose that moment to make an entrance.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Professor McGonagall, glaring at all of them, looking positively furious. All of them shrunk back in the face of her anger.

"Professor, someone—we don't know who—but someone was going after the Stone tonight, and we had to stop them," said Granger desperately.

"And you thought it a better idea to go yourselves than to wake a professor?" she asked.

"We tried to tell you earlier," protested Weasley, and McGonagall sighed noisily.

"I suppose you did at that," she admitted, "but it was still extremely foolish to go yourselves!"

"Yes, Professor," they chorused, sounding contrite. Draco hadn't realized he was smirking until Professor Sprout rounded on him.

"And what did you think you were doing, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Er, well, Neville came to tell me what they'd done, and he was a bit panicked, so I sent him to get Professor Snape, because Professor Snape has been helping all year, but I... well, I wasn't sure it could wait, if they were hurt," said Draco in a rush, suddenly feeling very stupid for rushing off after them. "And Weasley was hurt!" McGonagall's gaze softened marginally as she turned to the boy.

"Are you quite well?"

"Malfoy fixed it," he said, pointing to his temple where dried blood had gathered and Madame Pomfrey had not cleaned yet. Professor Sprout gave Draco a reluctant smile.

"We'll still be writing to your parents to tell them what you've done," said Professor McGonagall.

"No!" they all shouted at once. The teachers looked alarmed.

"My parents are already convinced that magic is dangerous," said Granger. "If you told them about this..."

"And my mum would go nuts," moaned Weasley. "She'd never let me out of the house again!"

"Perhaps you could just mis-deliver mine?" asked Draco hopefully. "I'm sure my cousin Tonks would really love to hear about it. My mother, well, perhaps not."

The double-doors to the infirmary banged open then, and in came a limping Potions Master, and Professor Dumbledore, holding an unconscious Harry Potter in his arms.

"Bloody beast just fixates on my leg," said Snape bitterly, and Draco grinned marginally. Dumbledore set Potter down on an empty bed, and Pomfrey immediately went to him.

"Albus, what happened?" she asked, whipping out her wand again and casting diagnostic spells in quick succession, frowning at the results.

"In a moment, dear madame," he said. "Perhaps, Minerva, Pomona, you could return your house members to their beds? It is quite late, and they've had a very eventful day."

How Dumbledore expected them to sleep, Draco didn't know, but even so, he clutched his book to his chest and sat down in the armchair by the fire again, and was asleep before he could even think to open it.

The end-of-year feast had the students all chattering, relaying rumours to each other about what, exactly, had happened that night a week ago. Draco felt rather smug, knowing more of the story than most, but he never did ask for the rest of it. He hadn't been joking when he'd told the Gryffindors "never again."

Draco sat between Cedric and Justin at the feast with Susan across from him, just listening contentedly to the conversations around him, and looking around at the Great Hall. It was decked out in the Slytherin colours of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the staff table.

When Potter walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. Draco didn't say any word, though, as Potter slipped into a seat between Weasley and Granger at the Gryffindor table. Cedric didn't, either. Dumbledore arrived only moments later, and the babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were..." Draco grimaced yet again at the reminder of the school song. "...you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six; in second, Hufflepuff with four hundred and twenty-seven; and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two." A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account." Draco sat up straighter; the room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes...

"First—to Mr. Draco Malfoy..."

All of the heads in the Great Hall seemed to turn towards the Hufflepuff table, and Draco tried to sink down in his seat.

"...for loyalty to his classmates, bravery, and his desire to help others, I award Hufflepuff house fifty points."

The Hufflepuff table clapped, though they were somewhat confused; Draco looked guilty at the Slytherin table, as they had just overtaken them. They were glaring back at him. He looked away.

"To Mr. Ronald Weasley..." The Gryffindor went purple in the face; he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn. "...for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver.

At last there was silence again.

"To Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Granger buried her face in her hands as the table roared again.

"To Mr. Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "...for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The din was deafening. Those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse knew that Gryffindor now had four hundred and seventy-two points—exactly the same as Slytherin—though it didn't matter, because Hufflepuff still stood five points ahead of both.

Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Someone standing outside the Great Hall might well have thought some sort of explosion had taken place, so loud was the noise that erupted from the Gryffindor table. Draco, who knew that Neville had never won Gryffindor any points before, couldn't begrudge his friend his happiness as he was buried beneath a pile of his excited housemates—even as Draco saw several of his Slytherin classmates looking more than a little unhappy.

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place.

When Neville looked in his direction, Draco smiled at him, but he couldn't honestly say that he was very happy. He only picked at his food, much as he had during the Welcoming Feast. Few people around him noticed, too busy congratulating him on the points he'd been awarded. Cedric gave him an inquisitive glance, but Draco shrugged him off.

As the feast ended, and the students rose from their tables to head back to their dormitories for their last night in the castle, Draco stood and began to push through the sea of people towards the head table, again as he had that first night. Cedric stopped him this time.

"What're you doing?" Draco smiled at his friend.

"I'm making things fair."

Finally, when the crowd had thinned enough for Draco to get through, he saw Professor Dumbledore walking away from the head table and chased after him. "Professor Dumbledore!" he called, and the headmaster turned, giving him a cheerful, benevolent smile.

"Mr. Malfoy. What can I do for you?" he asked. Draco's courage nearly failed him under that scrutinizing, though still very kind, gaze, especially as he knew that all of the professors were watching him.

"I... er, well... I know it doesn't matter, because it won't give Slytherin back the house cup, but I'm... well, it doesn't seem very fair to me to change things like that at the last second," he said in a rush, and Dumbledore blinked at him in surprise, "so I was hoping you'd take back the points you gave me."

"They were well deserved," he said.

"Maybe," said Draco, "but Slytherin earned their points, too." Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, and then gave him a very wide, very happy smile.

"Perhaps it would have been wiser to put those points toward next year," acknowledged Dumbledore, "and so, as you wish, Slytherin will begin next term with a lead of one-hundred points." Draco grinned—this was more than he'd hoped for.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, and made to walk away. Dumbledore gently reached out to touch his shoulder, halting him.

"And because of your desire for fair play, Mr. Malfoy," he said, "Hufflepuff will begin next term with a lead of seventy-five points." He gaped at the headmaster, and then smiled.

"Thank you," he said. Dumbledore patted his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy." He moved off, and Draco began heading towards the exit of the Great Hall. Professor Snape stopped him this time.

"Why did you do that, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked, sounding genuinely confused, and curious. Draco shrugged.

"A Slytherin would've kept those points, and been happy," he said, "and apparently a Gryffindor, too. But I'm neither." Snape raised an eyebrow, and Draco smiled. "I wanted to be fair."

"Fair?" repeated Snape, his eyebrows rising.

"Yes," answered Draco, "fair. Because I'm a Hufflepuff."

Author's Note: This is the end of the first year arc! I hope that everyone enjoyed it. That being said, I'm going to be taking a break for at least a week before I start posting the second years' chapters.

Retroactive disclaimer: It all belongs to JKR, and whomever else she shared rights with.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and everyone who will review!