Draco just wanted to be left alone. He had really fucked up this time. He wasn't sure how it had happened, one moment he was starting on his Transfiguration essay, and a moment later, he had been somewhere else. But now that he was more aware of what he'd done...

He'd had a panic attack in front of his head of house, in her office, in front of another student- and now he was in the hospital wing. And while he was worried about what McGonagall would say to him later, like "Er- you're eleven years old and you shouldn't be having panic attacks like this, I'm calling the DMLE on your parents," he was more worried about having to explain the problem. Because what could eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy have experienced that let him to freak out like that? The world had been at peace for several years. There was no possible way Draco could explain this.

Yes, Professor, I see Voldemort stalking the corridors of my house. I hear Goyle and Macnair torturing muggles. I feel like I'm still there. I see Dumbledore and Snape on the Astronomy Tower. I feel like I'm still there. I hear Granger's screams and I see goblins laying bloody on the floor. I feel like I'm still there. And I think that maybe, when my Aunt Bellatrix tried teaching me occulumency, she was in my room at night. I don't have very clear memories of what she did but I feel like I'm still there, in the dark. Fractured and splintered. Like swimming in the dark, but trapped under thick ice. I felt like I saw what she did, but then I lost the memory again. I still hear snakes hissing and I remember the battle. I feel like I'm still there. My mind is foggy all the time like there are Dementors following me, like I'm freezing cold. Ron and Harry and Hermione try to understand but they don't, I can tell that they don't, and I feel them slipping away. I don't have any control over my life and my mother is trapped in our house with a monster, someone who should love us, but doesn't.

Draco could see how McGonagall would chuck him in the loony bin straight away. It was getting difficult to see how anyone could help him.

Madame Pomfrey had left him alone for the most part, overnight. Sometime in the early hours in the morning, when the light hadn't still broken through the mountains, Draco heard voices, like maybe McGonagall had come back to check on him.

He turned his head away, but his eyes were open. He remembered fighting with Potter in the bathroom, and laying in one of these beds after, listening to his own breath. It was the night before he let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Go away go away go away...

He waited for the morning to come.

"Draco!" He was sitting up in bed now, and it was around noon. Pomfrey was keeping him, for what Draco was not sure, but it was now lunchtime on Saturday. Tonight, Harry and Hermione would be heading up to the Astronomy Tower with Norbert, or at least, that had been the plan yesterday afternoon.

Ron was sitting next to him, finally having some company after getting bit by Norbert the other day. Draco had made up a half-true explanation for Ron, but he wasn't sure how that was going to hold up with McGonagall. He told Ron that he had a bad panic attack and fainted. It was embarrassing but since when did Draco care what Ron believed anymore? They were friends now, after all.

Hermione and Harry were there. It was Hermione that had called his name from the doorway, hurrying over to the beds. "Draco! Are you alright, Draco? We went to Professor McGonagall this morning when you didn't come back to Gryffindor Tower last night! She said that you were here." Hermione was slightly breathless, as if her and Harry had been running across the castle.

"You didn't have another attack, did you?" Harry was frowning.

"Yes, but I'm fine, now?" Draco smiled when he saw them, then looked down, "I... well... I started panicking, thinking about my essay and the tower and all that, I was wondering if we would get into trouble, and then everything just slipped all at once, I guess."

Hermione and Harry nodded.

"Did you at least get the essay finished?" Hermione frowned.

A snigger. Ron let out a heavy breath of air, and then Harry, and then that was all it took for them to dissolve into laughter. Only Hermione.

Their constant questions might have made Draco worried, once upon a time, but these voices, these new kids- Harry, Hermione, and Ron, not Potter, Granger, and Weaselbee, made him feel warm. They were sitting in front of him after a horrible attack, after witnessing horrible memories, recalling him from the terrible loneliness and fear by which he had almost been destroyed. They were more to Draco than life, these people. They were more than the dreams, the flashbacks; they were the strongest, most comforting thing there was anywhere: these were the voices of his friends.

As they talked, about trivial subjects, such as Snape's latest essay (assigned yesterday, it was different from the one for McGonagall), or Norbert and getting him up to the tower, Draco was no longer a shuddering speck of existence, alone in the darkness- they were friends, he belonged to them and they belonged to him.

"Are you well, Mister Malfoy?" asked McGonagall.

Draco said nothing.

The grey-haired woman was staring at him, and maybe Draco could detect some concern from his head of house, but he couldn't be sure.

"Perhaps you might want to step into my office?"

Draco looked up, nodding. He followed the Professor through the halls and down to the first-floor corridor, keeping his gaze downcast as he was led into the Transfiguration classroom, and then finally McGonagall's office.

"Have a seat, Malfoy," The stern woman spoke, sitting down in a chair behind the desk as she did so. Draco immediately did as he was told.

He was removed from her thoughts, however, as a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits was sat in front of him. Looking up in confusion, Draco noticed McGonagall looking rather composed with her own piping drink.

"Now, Draco," It was also the first time that a teacher had called him by his first name, "Tell me what got you in such a state last night."

Draco moved to take a sip after seeing McGonagall motion to it. Almost immediately, he felt warmer; nicer. There had been a cold hush that had settled around him when he left Harry and Hermione in the corridor.

"It's," Draco started, a crack forcing him to stop and clear his throat. Professor McGonagall stared at him, waiting for him to go on, but Draco didn't. How was he to explain?

"Sorry," Draco said, but it was like he hadn't even spoken. He could feel himself begin to panic, again, "Sorry. It's, it's nothing, really. I'll just..."

McGonagall's voice stopped him from getting up, "You're remarkably like a boy I used to know, Malfoy."

"What?"

Draco was brought up short. "Yes," McGonagall nodded, "Have a biscuit, Malfoy," As Draco took one, she continued, "Now, this boy, he was one of my best students, did you know that?"

Draco nodded numbly.

"He, like you," McGonagall carried on, "came from a family with a certain set of values. Those values made it difficult for him and his family when he was sorted into Gryffindor, his first year. Everyone expected him to be sorted into Slytherin," she said. "And he was a brilliant student, oh yes. One of my best." She moved his mug toward him.

Draco picked it up to drink it. McGonagall's eyes had taken on an unusual sheen, for her. It was like she was getting emotional, but wasn't all there.

He stared at her.

"But then he made friends that made the transition easier. Three very good friends, that helped him forget about the life he had at home while he was here. Of course, people change... but while he was here at Hogwarts, he found the best of friends. They were a band of brothers. The Marauders, the staff called them."

Draco began to realize just who McGonagall was talking about. He took a deep breath. McGonagall did, too.

"Now, Draco, this boy..." She said. "He kept secrets. Very painful secrets, that later led him to betray the ones he loved most. Do you know who I am referring to?"

Draco sniffed to clear his nose. His eyes were red. "Sirius Black, I think, Professor."

Hearing that he was similar to that man- his cousin- it surprised him. And slightly frightened him. But did it have to? He was innocent, or so Draco thought. Why else would he have been in that mirror, with all those other people? Grinning, next to Harry's dad? He couldn't have done what he did. He had already gone over the newspapers enough, identified the watery blue-eyed Death Eater Voldemort had ordered around, and was figuring out a way to bring that up with someone, that there might be an innocent man in Azkaban. Maybe he could.

"...Yes," McGonagall said. "I would like to know what else you know about him."

Draco thought about this, puzzled. He didn't look at her.

"Draco, I am asking because Madam Pince keeps track of what material students access in the library," McGonagall said, more gently, well- gently for her. "And she noticed that you have been spending a lot of time with the newspapers... I was wondering if this had anything to do with your anxiety last night, it's rather unhealthy to spend copious amounts of time with materials such as-"

"It had nothing to do with that," Draco said at once, but it was a lie. "I wanted to know- I wanted- er- I wanted to know what happened to him, that's all. It's just... well. I got carried away. I was curious?"

McGonagall didn't nod. "You were curious."

"Yes," Draco admitted.

McGonagall's expression changed, then. "Then it's only natural, Mister Malfoy..." she said. "That I ask that you come to me or to one of your friends when you are feeling like this. Before it ends like it did last night."

Draco nodded. He couldn't really say much else. He was a little disappointed, too, but he couldn't figure out why.

"And I want you to come and meet with me next Saturday night."

Maybe that was why. Draco didn't know.

Draco waited in the good chair in the common room that night- everyone else had gone up to bed. He waited for Harry and Hermione to come up in the cloak. They had been up out for twenty minutes already. They were going to the Astronomy Tower to deliver Norbert to Charlie Weasley and his friends.

But when they came back, more than thirty minutes late (and with Neville Longbottom, he might add), Draco noticed their sullen expressions straight away. They'd been caught, again? Just like last time?

"What's the matter?" Draco stood up, "Did you get the dragon out-"

Harry nodded his head. They both watched Hermione head straight up to the dormitory, looking considerably upset. Neville went up the boy's staircase and Draco had an idea of what had just gone on already.

"We think Nott or Zabini might have taken Charlie's note from Ron's textbook," Harry said miserably, "Neville went to warn us that they were going to tell McGonagall, but only Nott was there. And then," he flopped his hands in exasperation, "We left the Invisibility Cloak at the top of the tower! And McGonagall was waiting for us, she already had Neville."

"What happened then?" Draco winced.

"We lost a-hundred-and-fifty points," Harry looked distraught. "In one night! And Hermione, Neville and I have detention. I can't believe I was so stupid, I left the cloak in the tower..."

"It could be worse," Draco frowned. "Say, did Nott lose points too?"

Harry nodded. "He's also got detention. With us."

"Sorry," Draco said, "Want to go to bed, then?"

Harry waved him off, and he nodded and headed up the stairs. When he looked back, Harry was staring at the last dying embers in the fireplace. Gryffindor had lost a hundred and fifty points- it wasn't the biggest deal. Draco didn't really care about the points system, and as he got older, he grew to care even less. "There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

Draco heard Neville crying all night.

At first, the Gryffindors passing the giant hourglass that recorded the house points the next day thought there'd been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred and fifty points fewer than yesterday? And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, their hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points, him and a couple of other stupid first years.

Draco brushed their sudden animosity off, emptying his mind- they were only children, after all. Children he could handle.

But the others weren't adjusting well. From being one of the most popular and admired people at the school, Harry was suddenly the most hated. Everywhere Draco went, people pointed at Harry and didn't trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. Slytherins, on the other hand, clapped as he walked past them, whistling and cheering- including Pansy Parkinson, "Thanks Potter, we owe you one!"

Draco had sneered back, "Nott still lost fifty," but it had little effect. Harry and Ron had looked at him sideways, and Draco shrugged. "They'll all forget about this in a few weeks. It's just the House Cup. The only thing people really care about is Quidditch, they'll soon remember that."

"Yeah," nodded Ron, "Fred and George have lost loads of points, anyway, all the time they've been here. People still like them."

"They've never lost a hundred and fifty points in one go, though, have they?" bemoaned Harry.

"Well- no," Ron admitted.

Draco had to admit, it was impressive. There weren't many things one could do to lose one hundred and fifty points, except cross McGonagall on a bad day.

It was a bit late to repair those damages, anyway. Even Hermione had distanced herself from Draco, Ron, and Harry- who were being constantly glared at, even though Draco had nothing to do with the loss. She and Neville, anyway, weren't having as bad of a time as Harry, because they weren't as well-known, but nobody would speak to them, either. Hermione had stopped drawing attention to herself in class, keeping her head down and working in silence.

Draco thought the whole thing was stupid. He almost wanted to go to McGonagall and tell her this, really wasn't fair, because the animosity that his friends were facing at eleven was perhaps even worse than the actual punishment anyway.

It was even taking its toll on Draco himself, because after everything, he didn't feel like drawing attention to himself in class anymore. He just knew that it would lead people to bother Harry, who was usually sitting next to him. He started working in silence.

Draco was almost glad that their exams weren't far away. That meant that first year was close to being over, because he was truly bored out of his mind. He focused on his History of Magic homework the most, because he didn't memorize the dates of early magical discoveries or goblin rebellions. He knew all the ingredients in Potions and how they worked, and because of that, he had a huge advantage over his friends, who worked late into the night, trying to remember them. That left Draco on his own, some nights.

Walking back from the library with Harry one afternoon, he heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. Draco frowned, and exchanged a glance with Harry- it was Quirrel's voice.

They drew closer.

"No- no- not again, please-"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Draco pressed his ear against the thick wooden door, crouching low. Harry looked at him uneasily.

"All right- all right-" he heard Quirell sob.

In the next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Draco didn't think Quirrell had even noticed them. They waited until Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end.

"Who do you think he was talking to?" Draco whispered, looking behind him. "There's no one here."

"Snape?" Harry mouthed, and Draco shook his head.

They went back to the library, where Hermione was testing Ron on Astronomy. Draco told them what they'd heard.

"Snape's done it, then!" said Ron. "If Quirrell's told him how to break his Anti-Dark Force spell-"

"We never said it was Snape," Draco frowned. "There was no one there. It was like he was talking to himself."

"Do you think someone else might be forcing Quirrell to get the stone?" Ron said in a quiet voice. Draco nodded, and Harry followed.

They looked at Hermione. "Alright," she relented. "But Snape was trying to get past Fluffy on Halloween, wasn't he? Even though they were both cursing Harry's broomstick. We can't rule out that they may be working together..."

"There's still Fluffy to think about, though," Draco had a thoughtful look on his face. "If Quirrell's after the stone, he needs to get past Fluffy, which only Hagrid knows about, and all the other enchantments."

"Maybe he's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid," Ron suggested, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. "I bet there's a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do we do?"

Hermione had an answer before anyone else did. "Go to Dumbledore. That's what we should have done ages ago. If we try anything ourselves we'll be thrown out for sure."

"But we don't have any proof!" said Draco. "You've seen how Quirrell's been acting around the other professors. They'd never believe us. And Snape, all we have to say about him is how he tried to get past the dog on Halloween. It's not exactly a secret we hate them. Dumbledore'll think we made it up."

"And don't forget, we're not supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy," reminded Ron, "That'll take a lot of explaining to do."

Harry looked convinced, but Hermione didn't.

"If we just do a bit of poking around-"

"No," said Harry flatly, pulling the rest of his homework towards him, "we've done enough poking around."

The following morning, notes were delivered to Harry, Hermione, and Neville at the breakfast table. They were all the same:

Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

Draco had almost forgotten about his friends' detention in the furour over the points they'd lost for Gryffindor. He half expected Hermione to complain that this was a whole night of studying lost, but she didn't say a word.

At eleven o'clock that night, Hermione and Harry left him and Ron in the common room. Draco didn't fancy going into the cold, dark forest tonight.

Instead, him and Ron played chess by the fire. Draco still couldn't confidently beat him, but he was working on it. They were very evenly matched.

They went to bed that night looking out the window of the dormitory, as if they could spot Harry and Hermione in the woods.

He must have been asleep for twenty or thirty minutes when he felt Harry and Ron climb into his bed. What the-He sat up, taking in the boy's pale exterior.

"Come down to the common room," Harry pulled on Draco's pyjamas.

Draco frowned and followed, In a matter of seconds, though, he was wide-eyed as Harry began to tell him, Ron, and Hermione what had just transpired in the forest- Firenze, the centaur- wasn't he our Divination teacher for a year? Bane, finding a dead unicorn with Theodore Nott- and worst of all, a hooded figure feasting on its blood.

Draco had an idea on just who that hooded figure was before Harry could say it. A cold fear had crept around him. Harry was pacing up and down in front of the dying fire. He was shaking.

"Quirrell and Snape want the stone for Voldemort... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest... and all this time we thought they wanted to just get rich..."

"Stop saying the name!" said Ron in a terrified whisper, as if he thought Voldemort could hear them.

Draco had gone pale.

Harry wasn't listening.

"Firenze saved me, but he shouldn't have done so... Bane was furious... he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen... They must show that Voldemort's coming back... Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill me... I suppose that's written in the stars as well."

"No!" Draco shouted, standing up. "No, it won't happen! I won't let it!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and sat back down.

"So all I've got to wait for now is for Quirrell and Snape to steal the stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off... Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."

Draco, Ron, and Hermione looked very frightened. Draco's face had more of a look of dread. But Hermione had a word of comfort.

"Harry, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch you. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."

The sky had turned light before they stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore. Voldemort was coming back.

And Draco felt the coldness seep into his bones.