A/N: And here is chapter fourteen. I liked this one. I hope you'll all enjoy Theodore Nott and Harry into this. Please let me know what you think. I quite enjoy your ideas and thoughts.

Thank you all for your comments and support. I was quite happy with them.^^

To HpLover: Draco is in this story still very young. He is still innocent and although he took the first steps and is definitely doubting his father's believes he still struggles with them. For one he likes Hermione (not yet loving, because he's still twelve and twelve-year-old boys seem to still think girls have cooties, Hermione was always more mature than that in my opinion), but he still struggles with her bloodstatus (although not as much as in the beginning). I'm not constantly going to put that into words, because children are easily distracted, but fact remains he struggles.
Albus Dumbledore has always been a difficult character for me. I always thought it was strange how he was capable to see through Riddle's schemes but didn't notice Harry Potter search for the Sorcerer's stone, make polyjuice potion with Hermione's assistance in second year, Sirius being a animagus (although I can live with the logic that he genuinely might not have known that part) and offered Harry up for some kind of sick game. Well, anyway, he always struck me as a bit odd. He was so smart knew so much, but still knowingly let a boy live in a cupboard (his Hogwarts' letter was directed to the cupboard) and never stopped him in his dangerous escapades.

Anyway, thank you for commenting and enjoy the chapter^^

oOo

Chapter Fourteen, The Notebook

Draco awoke as a beam of sunlight fell through the open window, illuminating the dark wood of the massive doorframe into his room. His back ached and his head pounded and for a moment he didn't know where he was.

His bedroom was grand and propped himself up on his elbows. Momentarily he sat crossed-legged on the Slytherin green cover that decorated all the beds in the manor and stared at the thick carpet across the room. He inhaled sharply as he paddled through his room, trying to relief his aching body.

Snapping his fingers he let the house-elves dress him, before turning and walking out of his room. Not wishing to be heard, he walked slowly, creeping down the stairs and into a dimly lit looming hallway.

It was a pleasant day. The inner courtyard had a fountain in the middle of it; a flock of peacocks paddling around the clear water. Lucius Malfoy liked to be treated well in life; that's why he bought a group of leucistic Indian peacocks.

To show off… Draco gritted his teeth, before paddling into the kitchen. Dobby was already preparing breakfast. Normally Draco didn't bother to come to this place, but right now he wanted to avoid his parents. Especially his father.

Dobby didn't say a word to him, but only eyed his youngest master with apprehension. He had noticed him the young boy's strange behaviour of late, but didn't dare to talk about it. As Draco sat down onto a stool at the dark oaken table in the middle of the room, Dobby wordlessly placed a small vial of Murtlap Essence before him. The sound of cutlery scraping against expensive china could be clearly heard from the dining room. From muffled conversation Draco deducted both Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were enjoying a nice breakfast, oblivious to their son in the other room.

With a trembling hand, he applied some salve to the aching bruises and angry red welts on his bed. His Father's voice drifted into the kitchen, and both Elf and child stiffened. They both knew Draco was not really allowed in the kitchen — 'that's where servants reside, boy,' Lucius always said — and none of them really wanted to know how displeased the matriarch would be if he found his only son there.

Their sighs were audible, when they heard the Patio doors open towards the porch.

Draco waited until his mother left from the dining room and his father's footsteps faded away. Dobby scurried after him, when Draco stepped into the dining room. "Young Master, should eat!" he whispered urgently.

"Young Master shouldn't," Draco snapped back rolling his shoulders with a small groan. "I need to be alone," he muttered, "I need to be alone, and I need to think— badly…

"Dobby understands," the House-Elf muttered, wringing his hands angrily. "Punish— iron— ears between the door…"

"You don't need to punish yourself," Draco muttered, "I— I don't need you to punish yourself." even if you can be rather useless…

"Master is too kind," the House-Elf whispered.

"No, I'm not," Draco muttered, while stepping outside and crossing the grass field. "But I will try to not become like him." he whispered, clutching a scrap of paper between his fingers.

oOo

Hermione enjoyed France. The weather was wonderful and she truly loved Paris. The Eiffel Tower, although she didn't like the heights, she did enjoy viewing Paris from the second floor (while her parents took pictures like two true tourists).

In the second week Hermione's mother; Helen took her daughter to the Notre Dam, which was incredible as well. Hermione used to love the novel by Victor Hugo; the Hunchback of the Notre-Dame. The story was centered on the Notre Dame Cathedral during the Late Middle Ages.

As she watched the scenery, she could almost see Quasimodo chatting away to his beloved Esmaralda, while they were united for eternity. She had smiled sadly, before following behind her mother and stepped out into the sun.

During her days abroad she wrote mostly to Draco. He was snarky and could be very immature, but he wasn't like Harry and Ron. Harry didn't write her at all, although she wasn't sure if that was his fault or that of his guardians. Ron on the other hand did write her, but Hermione wasn't sure if he truly valued their friendship. Yes, he'd written her, but only after she had written him at least twice.

Draco however, had written her four times already and Hermione realised he might be her best friend.

Menno and Helen Granger walked around her daughter as if they were on eggshells. They were not pleased when they heard about Headmaster Dumbledore appointing a teacher who was possessed by some evil spirit. Both her parents had almost considered removing their only child from Hogwarts and search for another magical school ('there is one in France, Hermione.' Helen explained, when she sat her daughter down).

It was only her vast friendship with Draco Malfoy that had swayed their opinion. Hermione suspected that especially her mother felt bad if she took Hermione from a place where she finally made friends…

Hermione sighed, before shifting her bathrobe around her waist and sitting down onto the sundeck. Her hair was still damp from her recent swim in the lake and her nose reddened from the summer sun. She sighed, she was really going to miss France. The weather was so lovely and the architecture impressive. She loved it.

But she was missing her friends as well, therefore she didn't mind it too much when she would return to England the next day…

oOo

Draco spent most of his time sitting at the shore; tossing rocks over the ground. The small grey stones skipped across the dry, dusty ground, before plopping into the dark recesses of the lake. A deep frown marrying his eyebrows. His shoulder were still a bit stiff but at least the ache had disappeared. Ever since being disciplined so harshly Draco had taken to avoiding his father when possible. The latter wasn't hard at all, as his father wasn't home much, and if he was he would stay into his study. Frowning to himself he rubbed his hands together.

'I try to make him proud, I try to—' he shook his head. Apparently he hadn't done well enough. He'd never done well enough, he— 'No!'

Shaking his head viscously, he inhaled sharply. He couldn't revert to his old ways. He had to see for himself.

He sat down onto the log of a tree and winced slightly as his sour muscles had to bend into the unpleasant angle. Throughout the holidays, he and Hermione had written numerous letters to each other and Draco had been surprised to note he even got a small letter from Weasley.

He had to admit it wasn't a long letter, but a letter none-to-less: 'Have you heard from Harry? — Ron.'

Draco answered with a 'no', which was the end of their conversation. It wasn't a lie either. Draco had no idea why Harry did not write Weasley or Hermione.

In all honesty, Draco wasn't worried. He had other things to worry about. His mother was often out; busy organising some benefit party, leaving him alone with only the House-elves as company, but Draco didn't mind.

His father was often at the Ministry and when he was gone, he warded his study and his personal quarters well. The latter quite annoying as it slowed Draco in his search.

And when his father was home, he was in a bad mood. From what Draco gathered there were raids which were led by none other than Arthur Weasley. Father's dislike for the head of the Weasley family had grown ten-volt and to compensate the man's not-so-subtle hints that he would love to raid Lucius' home, his father took to brooding into his office.

That suited Draco just fine, because now he could search for the notebook. The downfall; it wasn't in his father secret archives, nor in his personal quarters and that left his study.

He found the dark leather notebook in his fourth week at home. Dobby was in his search to the Dark Lord's notebook as eccentric as ever, and when Lucius emerged looking pale and eyes drooping Draco supposed he was even more suicidal then before. Even the twelve-year-old Draco noticed the obvious signs of Flu inducer, but that did not stop him from looking through his father's study.

He smirked when he found the dark leather notebook in the bookcase next to the window. It was standing between two thick tomes in his father's study and Draco couldn't believe his luck. If he hadn't been so thoroughly, he was sure he would have missed it. Draco smiled like a cheshire cat while hiding it under his shirt and tiptoeing out of the small room.

That same day Draco ordered Dobby to fetch him a book just like the notebook so he could swap it with a copy. Dobby being his disorganised and eccentric self again had bobbled around with a goofy smile the rest of the week, muttering something about no need to visit Young mister again — whatever that meant.

It was that same week a large white snow-owl arrived. Harry Potter demanded to know if he had been stealing his post (What?). 'No need to visit Young Mister again', made sense now. Draco penned a short note back (I have no idea what you're talking about, Potter) and marched up the stairs towards the House-Elf quarters.

Dobby's cot was at the far end of the attic room and Draco sighed. The other House-elves had been busy with their shores, but the most eccentric one had gotten himself into trouble again. Wrapped around his arms end legs were white bandages.

"What did you do now?" Draco asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Dobby's eyes fluttered open and he gave his youngest master a wary glance.

Recently the boy might have been straying of his father's views, he couldn't be completely sure it was a permanent course.

Draco eyed the house-Elf before crouching down. Dobby cautiously rolled to his side and from the inside of his pillowcase a bundled stack of what could only be mail fell to the wooden floor. Draco feigned ignorance and stared at the mail with a curious look. "I didn't know you were exchanging letters with someone, Dobby?"

"Master must understand," Dobby pleaded silently.

"Understand what?" Draco asked annoyed. "That you've been stealing Harry Potter's mail?"

"Not stealing!" Dobby exclaimed, looking horrified.

"Dobby I've got a letter from Harry— actually if that one came through, than you weren't doing such a splendid job all together…"

"Well, Master found the book. There will be no darkness now." Dobby explained, sitting up while plucking at his bandaged right arm.

"How do you know?"

"Master talks loudly." Dobby grinned, before the creature's face twisted into a horrified expression. "Dobby is a bad Elf!"

Before Draco could do anything, Dobby jumped to his feet, screeching like a banshee and slammed himself face first into the wall. "BAD ELf, BAD ELf!"

"Stop it right now!" Draco cried, as the creature stumbled back. A dark red spot appearing onto his forehead. He realised now, why he had been so greatly pleased when he realised his personal elf was sane…

"Dobby s-s-spoke i-ill of Master!" the Elf muttered.

"And I'm sure you're not the first to do so," Draco answered dryly, before rubbing his sore eyes. "But I need you to return Potter's mail, all right?"

Dobby's eyes widened, before bony shoulders shrugged and the elf popped away. Draco swayed on the balls of his feet, before rightening himself. He was about to return to the gardens — Theo was coming by today after all — when Dobby returned. Draco almost fell when the small thing launched himself at his legs. He had to steady himself on the wall, or Draco was sure he would have toppled over.

"They— The Muggles Sir," Dobby wheezed and Draco realised with growing dread that the Elf had never been less understandable than he was now.

Dobby seemed to realise as well, before tugging at Draco's socks— perhaps to formulate his thoughts in deeds; who knew?

"Mister Harry's Muggles, Sir." he started again, "They has locked Mister in his room, Sir. Mister says they are not returning him, Sir. He says Hedwig could escape, but he can't, Sir."

"And he can't use magic to open the door," Draco mused, slightly impressed with himself he understood even a word of what Dobby just said.

"The Muggles didn't like pie." Dobby answered seriously.

"Right, I have no idea what that means, but than you apparate him out." Draco shrugged, feeling the beginning of a headache start behind his temples.

Dobby seemed to think about that for a moment. Seemed to wonder if that might work and then nodded. "Where should Dobby bring Mister?" he asked, his excited nature reinstalled.

"Not here," Draco answered quickly, "Father would have an aneurism. And I would be murdered, I think, which I find more important at the moment. No, just drop him of at the leaky Cauldron and tell him you're not going to be in his way again, all right?"

Dobby nodded again, before releasing his youngest Master and popping away again. Draco massaged his aching temple, before rolling his shoulders. This was the weirdest day ever. Or at least the weirdest day he ever had at the Manor.

He was quite glad, he could spent the rest of the day lounging into the gardens, perhaps take a dip in the cold water of the lake (who cared if he was allowed to do so, or not) and then enjoy a few hours with his friend.

oOo

The sun was dipping just behind the tree line and Draco sighed. Theodore Nott was perched beside his friend onto the wooden log, while Draco stirred the fire. A cloud of smoke drifted past the two and they both shot worried glances to the Manor. It was hardly visible through the bushes, but both boys worried about the consequences if they were caught creating a fire in the Malfoy back-garden. With a pale finger, Draco traced the figures carved into the wooden log they were sitting on.

"How were your holidays, anyway?" Draco asked offhandedly, not really caring.

"It was fine," Theo shrugged, crossing his feet at the ankles. Everything in Theo's life was described as fine, but it rarely was. Draco knew Theo's father had a short temper. He had seen it once when the older man had visited the Manor years ago, but Theo never breathed a word about it. Draco respected the silent boy enough to not ask. Than again, they weren't the kind of friends who discussed their home lives together.

"You've been acting strange mate. Not at all like yourself."

Draco set the tin cup on the stones at the edge of the fire, before glancing at his friend. "I hadn't noticed. In what way am I acting differently?"

"You've been avoiding Crabbe and Goyle for starters—"

"That's called common sense, Theo." Draco answered, not really ready to discuss his disappointment in his father.

"I've noticed you hanging with the Mudblood."

Draco stirred the fire with a stick, before throwing it into the burning embers. "I can hang with whoever I want, can't I?"

"Of course," Theo said, eyebrows raised. "I'm not judging, but I know of those who will."

Draco sighed. The bruise on his torso a vivid reminder that not everyone refrained from judging. "I have my reasons, Theo."

"I'm sure you have." Theo muttered, while glancing into the distance.

Draco shrugged, before taking a sip from his lukewarm water. They fell in a comfortable silence. Now and then glancing behind them to check the Manor's terrace. They needed to put the fire out, when things went south and Draco's mother or, Merlin forbid, his father stepped out.

A loud bang shattered the silence and then Dobby, clutching Harry Potter's trouser's clad leg was standing in the clearing. Theo's mouth fell open and his hand trembled as if he had to fight the urge to poke the-boy-who-lived with a stick to check if he was really there.

Draco was the first one who found his voice. The cup slipped from his fingers in his haste as he jumped up to his feet. "Dobby!" he hissed.

Theo seemed still utterly dumbfounded and blinked several times, obviously wondering if his mind was playing tricks of him. Obviously the image didn't alter or disappear. "That's Potter!" he exclaimed. The boy in question had sunken to his knees and cradled his head in his hands while breathing hard. "Why is Potter— How did he— Draco, what did your House-Elf do?"

"He didn't follow orders that one thing!" Draco muttered, before patting Harry Potter awkwardly on his back.

Dobby wrung his hands together nervously. His bat ears trembled and his eyes huge with worry.

"Dobby, why didn't you take him to the Leaky Cauldron?" Draco asked, praying for patience. "People usually rent a room up there, why taking him here? If my father— Oh, bloody hell, if Father sees him, I'm a death man."

"I really hate apparating," Harry mumbled.

"Why is Potter here?" Theo asked again.

"I. Don't. Know!" Draco stressed, expectantly staring at Dobby. "Why is he here Dobby?" he asked, when Dobby stayed silent.

"I don't have any money on me." Harry muttered, slumping down onto the forest-floor. "I mean, Gringrotts has my money, but now it's closed and—"

"Potter, really!" Draco muttered tiredly, "You can have them draw money from your account directly."

"They can do that?" Harry answered, looking up with a surprised expression.

"Of course they can," Draco retorted in disbelief. "Dobby take him there, I can't keep him here. No offence Harry, but my Father is already cross with me, and I don't want to have more trouble than I already have."

Harry gave a worried glance at the House-Elf, but Dobby just nodded excitedly. "Right away, Sir! Right away!"

There was a loud bang, and the little creature disappeared. The last thing Draco saw was Harry's pale face glancing down at Dobby with a frightened frown. He sighed before slumping down onto the wooden log once again. Theo was staring at the spot where the two individuals had been standing with something akin to astonishment.

"What was Harry Potter doing in your garden?" he asked.

"I'm not telling if you're not." Draco answered giving Theo a meaningful glance.

"Well, I— Of course not!" Theo snapped, daring a glance at the terrace, but none of his parents seemed to have noticed their wards had been breached.

"We are sort of friends," Draco explained slowly, deciding that a bit of the truth, might work better on the other Slytherin. "He was in trouble, and I sent Dobby to help him." Sort of…

"Right," Theo answered thoughtfully, "Like I said, you've been acting strange."

To be continued…

A/N: This was one of my favourite chapters. I really enjoy this version of Dobby (he isn't that different from canon, but in all fairness I don't know how he would have been around his youngest master). That you are a bully at school doesn't necessarily mean you are an idiot at home. I believe he might have been a really lonely boy, who had no idea of how to act around his peers.

I also agree with the actor who played Lucius Malfoy (Jason?) that Draco showed the characteristics of someone abused (not sexually). I had a friend once… Well, he acted so similar (he wasn't really my friend at first)…

Either way, please let me know what you all thought about this chapter. One more chapter about the holidays, and we're starting second year.^^

Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling