"Come on, Harry!"

"Okay, okay!"

Gathering up the titles scattered on the desk, Harry hastened to place them back in their original nooks, lest Madam Pince descend upon them, and Draco drive him mad with his excitement. Alas, Quidditch season had begun, and unsurprisingly, a good portion of Hogwarts were bursting with anticipation for the first game of the season. But even Harry, researching as hard as he was for even one clue into the whole Stone business, had to admit that he was no exception. It would be his first ever match, and more than the aerial stunts and fast-paced play that Draco and the others had described in detail, he couldn't wait to see Slytherin trounce Gryffindor. He had a rather large number of Chocolate Frogs resting on that, after all.

"The stands will fill if you don't hurry!"

"Alright!" Harry huffed, "I'm done."

Draco all but dragged his raven-haired friend out of the library, spitting statistics and odds and admiration as they jogged down the staircases.

" – and we'll trash those idiots–oof!"

Silence interrupted the Slytherin duo's conversation as Draco crashed into a head of frizzy brown hair just as they passed the doors of the Great Hall.

"Watch–," Draco began menacingly. "Oh. It's you."

"Good morning to you too, Draco."

"Granger," Draco replied, as did Harry, with a "Hey, Hermione."

Hermione smiled, tugging at the scarlet and gold scarf wrapped around her neck, and turned towards a sandy-haired boy that neither Harry nor Draco had yet noticed.

"Hand me the toast, will you, Neviile?" Hermione asked, and passed the wrapped slices of bread to the boys. "I didn't see you two at breakfast. Oh, and you haven't properly met, have you? Harry, Draco, this is Neville. Neville, this is Harry and Draco."

Neville fidgeted and stuck his hand out hesitantly. "N-neville. Neville Long –"

Harry grasped it and shook, and Draco inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I know who you are, Longbottom."

"Right," Neville said nervously.

Harry looked from Draco to Neville, rather satisfied at the way this meeting – if you could call it that – was working out. Draco was being surprisingly civil, considering the other boy's house affiliation. But then again, Neville being pureblood probably had something to do with it.

"So," Harry said, deciding not to push Draco's civility. "You'll be sitting with the rest of your house?"

Draco cast Harry a look, speaking in a scowl exactly what he thought of the Gryffindors potentially sitting with them. Harry expertly ignored him.

"Yeah," Neville answered, and Hermione – of course – provided the explanation.

"The Gryffindors, well, Ronald wouldn't like it if we sat anywhere else."

"Of course he wouldn't," Harry said, in an I-should-have-guessed tone, wondering (not for the first time) just how he could've turned out so different from his brothers.

"And we all already knew that so can we just go already?" Draco muttered.

"I'll see you later, then," Harry called over his shoulder as Draco shoved him towards the doors. "And thanks for the toast!"

…

Quidditch was amazing, Harry decided, and whoever had invented it was a capital-g Genius. He thought he could never find football interesting again, because Quidditch was so much better – and it wasn't even a professional match!

The blurs of emerald whizzing across the pitch – Beating, Keeping, Chasing; the Quaffle flying from Flint to Pucey to Montague and through Gryffindor's hoops; and the sheer sound of a hundred cheering Slytherins as Higgs caught the Snitch (the Gryffindor Seeker didn't stand a chance once Higgs had spotted it) and even the Gryffindor – Jordan, was it? – commentator's blatant bias couldn't put him off, but only made him more certain that he would be trying out next year.

Yes, there were some dubious manoeuvres that could've been considered cheating, but, no game was ever a hundred percent fair. And even when the Bludger had come straight for him – he was sure Rosales had aimed it in the opposite direction – and would've taken his head had Blaise not pulled him out of the way in time, Harry had brushed it off, smiling. Harry didn't care about that right now, seeing as they'd won – and of course he'd known that, which is why a box of Chocolate Frogs was now in his hands – but Draco was sure someone had jinxed the Bludger, and he wouldn't shut up about it.

"I'm telling you, Harry, that's not normal! It must've been the Weasel trying to kill you!"

Harry found that rather unlikely, if not, impossible. Weasley didn't have the skill to levitate a feather, let alone jinx that Bludger.

"I don't think so, Draco. You're giving Weasley too much credit."

Even Draco had to admit that.

"Well, then, who else would try to kill you?"

"Voldemort, maybe?" Harry answered flippantly.

Draco flinched. "Will you stop calling him that?"

Harry rolled his eyes in response. "Just forget it, Draco. No one's trying to kill me. It was an accident, all right? We won, and now we have a party to get to."

Draco looked sceptical for a moment, but then he deflated, "Yeah, all right," and they hurried to catch up with the rest of their year-mates heading back down to the dungeons.

…

"Are you sure you don't want to come, Harry?" Draco asked his fellow Slytherin as he placed a neatly folded outer robe into his trunk.

"Yeah, I'm sure. You should spend it with your parents. They probably miss you a lot." As Harry said it, a spark of bitterness welled up inside him, and he wished the Statute of Secrecy didn't exist, because he really wanted to charm a couple of snowballs to pelt the Dursleys, as the Weasley twins had done to Quirrell the previous week.

"Mother wouldn't mind."

"Your Dad might."

Draco's only reply was to shrug.

"It's fine. Don't worry about me. I'm not the only one staying."

"Well, Weasel's the only other first year staying."

Harry sighed. "I know, he'll be intolerable, but I'll stay out of his way. Besides, someone has to stay here to research the Stone, since Hermione's going to France."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I am. Just don't forget my present," Harry said jokingly.

"Oh, I won't."

"Oh. Well, I was joking. You don't have to."

Draco waved his words away. "Why wouldn't I give you a present? Or aren't you giving me one?"

At Harry's indignant expression (of course he'd gotten them all presents) Draco laughed. "Of course you'd give them without wanting them back. That's very…" Harry narrowed his eyes. "Hufflepuff."

Just then, Nicholas (the sixth-year prefect) stepped into the dorm, startling them. "Hurry up, Malfoy. Professor Snape wants the roll done," he said, then left.

"Hufflepuff?" Harry asked, offended. "I'm not a Hufflepuff."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure."

While Draco closed his trunk's lid and latched it, Harry threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face. Draco glared at Harry.

"Wait till I come back."

"Yeah, yeah, have fun."

"I'll owl you."

"Okay. Don't forget."

"You're not coming?"

"No."

"Hmm. Well, bye then, Harry."

"Bye. Have a good Christmas."

Harry fell back onto his bed as Draco carried his trunk and exited the dorm, on his way home for the holiday. He stared at the grains in the wood of the four-poster, wondering how exactly he would pass the time. Despite what he'd told Draco, Harry didn't think he could spend the entire two weeks researching. (Merlin, he didn't know how Hermione did it.) Of course, hanging around with Weasley was out of the question – although, well, his brothers were all right. And of course, he couldn't very well go flying either, seeing as he didn't even own a broom. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, fishing for memories he knew weren't there. Piles of presents, steaming cups of hot chocolate and plates of roast and mash, his Mum and Dad laughing and smiling…

"Mr. Potter?"

In a flash, Harry jumped and sat up. He swivelled in the direction of the door to find Snape eyeing him coolly.

"Sir!"

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"Oh! No. I just didn't expect you to be here."

"I gathered that. If I may have a word?"

"Uh… yeah. Sure," Harry replied apprehensively.

Snape strode into the room and paused, a hand on the chair by Harry's bed. He raised an eyebrow and Harry nodded. Taking his seat, Snape spoke.

"I trust that with Mr. Malfoy home for the break, and although it may be… a challenge to occupy yourself, you will not involve yourself in any form of trouble?"

Snape fixed Harry with a stare that seemed to look right through him, and for a moment, it seemed as if Snape knew that they'd found out about the Stone and the Cerberus in the third-floor corridor. He couldn't tell Snape about it, of course, so he settled for a half-truth. It wasn't as if he was going to go looking for trouble.

"Yes. Yes, of course, sir. I wasn't going to."

"Good. I do not wish to have to deal with childish antics, nor the extended presence of first-years in my office."

Harry watched curiously as Snape hesitated, as if he had something more to say, but he seemed to think better of it. He nodded curtly at Harry and rose, pausing just before the doorframe.

"Potter?"

"Yes?" Harry asked, sitting up again, as he'd fallen back into the pillows when Snape had made to leave.

"I could do with assistance in brewing."

Before he had a chance to reply, the Potions Master had left, leaving Harry with the thought that Snape was a man he would never understand.

A/N: Hello again, dear readers. If you're in the Northern Hemisphere, I do hope you're enjoying your summer, and if you're down South - like I am - I hope you're not hating the winter. Once again, I apologise for the delay, and I thank you for the support you've all shown me since I started this fic. I hope you'll continue reading and reviewing. Until next time.