Draco continued to curse himself for not figuring it out sooner.

Hours earlier, he had retrieved what he thought was the Philosopher's Stone from what 'Snape' called the Mirror of Erised, with the intent to use it against Quirrell, or rather, the Dark Lord, only to find the plan had changed to Draco taking it straight to the Headmaster's office, since the Defense professor was nowhere to be found. In his thinking, the dead troll would have been all the evidence needed to incriminate Quirrell of having tried and failed to take the Stone, unable to retrieve it from the mirror or possibly turned away by the challenge of Snape's logic puzzle. Dumbledore was to contact his old friend Nicolas Flamel for help in destroying the source of the Elixer, the only way to guarantee it would never fall into Voldemort's hands. Wherever Quirrell was, he would either stay, having given up on the Stone, or he would go after them in the vain hope he could defeat enough of them and take it.

Within moments Dumbledore recognized the Stone as a fake.

Draco saw fear in the old warlock's eyes as he looked up at the face of his trusted mole in the Death Eaters, knowing there could only be one man behind its loveless black eyes. A few simple questions with his wand drawn and the Headmaster knew the whole story, the real one, and no amount of subtlety could have kept the young Slytherin from putting it together moments later, piece by frightful piece.

The Dark Lord had had the Philosopher's Stone for days, using Crabbe to get past the final challenge and sealing him in the Mirror of Erised as a backup hostage in the event the more valuable Malfoy heir manage to piece together the truth dangling right in front of him. Quirrell had been a convenient hostage for months, as no one knew him at Hogwarts, but the moment suspicion mounted high enough he found Alecto disguised as Professor McGonagall, stole the remainder of her Polyjuice potion, and bound her the same way he would bind Snape in a matter of minutes. Flat against the ceiling of his own office and unable to reach his wand, the Potions master was unable to resist the subtraction of a few hairs, nor could he have notified a disguised Draco of the trap into which he was walking, right under the hook of his nose.

Against the demonic temptation to hang his head in shame, that same Draco now walked out of the school with his eyes fixed on his captor to the border of the castle's wards, where they expected to meet the Alchemist in response to the fireplace message the Headmaster had only just completed. In an insult to justice, they encountered the real Minerva McGonagall on their way out, and as she asked after the dour procession, Dumbledore insisted they had the matter under control, as no other response would have satisfied the dark wizard with Alecto Carrow's wand pointed at his student. As an intentional conceit the Dark Lord could afford by virtue of his spectacular dueling prowess, he had allowed his old Transfiguration teacher to keep his wand, provided it was in his hat, where it would take him just too long to reach it. The wand Draco had been carrying was attached to the inside of his pocket by means of a sticking charm.

With any luck, he doesn't kill me when Flamel decides not to appear.

The very idea insulted his sensibilities. As far as he knew, the alchemist could not simply create more Stones at will, else he would have destroyed the one about which Dumbledore knew and kept a secret one. With that established, even if the Dark Lord made the mistake of leaving him alive, he would not be long for this world without his creation. He had no earthly idea why Flamel would agree to appear, if it was even the case that he had. All the Headmaster had said was that he was certain the message had been received and it was best they go past Hogwarts warding. Has he forgotten in his old age that the warding is what notifies him of dark magic? There could be Death Eaters in the trees for all he knows! Worse yet, Lord Voldemort could have something of his own planned. Most duels were over before they began, as his father had told him. There were better and worse duelists, but strategic advantages like numbers, the element of surprise, and warding the battlefield were usually to far greater effect than being able to spit out spells quickly.

The world was silent as Flamel appeared with a crack, the air waving around him.

"Nicolas. I had not expected you would join us." Dumbledore announced, in something of an understatement as far as Draco was concerned. You have to be absolutely mad.

"I had not expected you would ask."

He gestured in the direction of the Dark Lord. "This is a former student of mine, though Mr. Riddle goes by a different name of late. He was a bright boy and I had hoped he would spend his future any other way. His hostage is a current student of mine, Draco Malfoy. He has every ounce of guile his father did, but a stout heart and a stiff upper lip at this very moment."

"Where is the Stone?" the alchemist inquired, likely having gathered his old friend's predicament.

"I do not have it." came the drawl of Severus Snape, without the usual mockery. "Tell me how to use it."

"My creation produces the Elixer of Life in a crucible with an already prepared Perdition Philter heated to nine hundred, two score ten and nine Fahrenheit-" the Dark Lord suddenly sent a bright red curse just past Flamel, knocking something hard against a tree. Another blur of motion was likewise struck down.

"Thought to bring reinforcements? No matter, do continue." he ordered politely, not at all offended, having not been in any danger. The uncertain alchemist resumed his explanation, leaving Draco even more confused. Was that a Disillusionment Charm? I suppose if he agreed to come here without asking why, he would at least insist on having a few extra wands. He was willing to admit the old man might not be mad after all, for all the good it did him. Dumbledore moved to see about the stunned or petrified new arrivals, but an absent-minded swish of the Dark Lord's wand corrected him. With so much as one ally on the battlefield, the Headmaster would be able to regain the advantage, even if he could not save his student, causing the Slytherin to curse himself again. He's walking like a lamb to the slaughter for my errors- and refusing to let me die for it.

There was no magic on this world or any other that could save him without Lord Voldemort being able to kill him in the time it took.

As the alchemist neared what sounded like the conclusion of his instruction, though it was hopelessly complex for his taste, there was a momentary rustle in the trees behind them immediately followed by a jinx, then a curse, but whoever was hiding in the Forbidden Forest was so bold as to loose an arrow in the Dark Lord's direction, though he burned it to cinders before it reached him, turning his stolen wand to banish that of his old teacher before he could draw it. Two knockback jinxes of unknown origin found his knees, but a sweep of his wand blew back the assailants and a blue-black haze of dark magic held Draco in place.

"Finish it!" he demanded, suddenly impatient.

"It appears you are not wanted here, Tom. I can think of a few reasons why." Dumbledore interjected, a deliberate delay.

Time froze as Draco's memories overrode what went on in his mind, taking him down to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, a dark maze of hewn quartz by lamplight.

"The estate's defenses are strongest here by natural properties and there is no way on this world or any other for an outsider to know what may come to pass in this chamber."

"Why have you taken me here, father?" he asked respectfully. Whatever the unimportant dregs thought in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, he had a perfect understanding of respect and qualities he found worthy of it. His father was in many ways the incarnation of all of them.

"You are about to leave for school and I have every expectation you will meet people there of inferior blood, though not in your own House."

"I suppose not everyone can be from an old family." he agreed, not sure where the sitting Lord Malfoy was going with it.

"Would that it were only the half-bloods, yes, but there is a significantly more serious matter. In your year, as there have been since the nineteen seventies, there will be those who the school and the Ministry believe to have Muggle parentage."

"But that's-"

"Impossible, yes, but that's bureaucracy for you, during my time as Finance Minister we had the head of the Potter family declared legally dead no fewer than seven times before he actually fell to the malady of the Dark Lord. Magic is a trait, but the world would have you believe otherwise. They would have you believe it can simply come from nowhere." He was allowed to think about it for a moment.

"But- that would mean- no matter what happens, the wizarding world could continue. Even if the last of us died, a new one would be born somewhere and it would start all over again."

"Yes- and worse yet, they would have you believe it's a rather likely occurrence. I would estimate between two and three in ten of your year will supposedly be 'Muggle-born', a term I expressly forbid you from using. It is their wish that if it is said often enough, it will come to be believed."

"I'll absolutely not say it, Father."

"The war left a lot of orphans, some from our side, some from theirs." the Malfoy head explained. "In hopes of adopting one such orphan to raise into his or her magical heritage, Lady Malfoy and I deliberately delayed having our first to devote all of our energies in the upbringing of one child at a time. Your mother does not wish that I tell you this, but she is supremely disappointed we were unable to adopt- all because of politics, mind, because it cost you an elder brother or sister who would have helped raise and toughen you to tempered silver. Instead we waited- and now you are the one heir of the magicks of our House, a burden I believe you still do not fully realize."

"I'll realize it soon, I swear it." Draco responded, deciding not to contradict his father by saying he realized it already.

"This brings us to the reason for our discussion. Those orphans, any one of whom could have made an excellent sibling for you, were instead given to Muggle families, risking Secrecy in the most absurd and destructive way possible. Even now I wonder if Lambton's son is still out there, ignorant though he is of the sacrifice his father and mother made."

"Why would they do this?" He asked, virtually shaking.

"The truth is, there are traitors among us- rootless half-bloods like Albus Dumbledore and fence-sitters like Cornelius Fudge. I shall not go into their motivations as I do not know them, but I am well aware of their actions and the consequences thereof- you must not, under any circumstances, trust either one."

As his memory forced him back to the present, he remembered his diamond conviction and opened his eyes as if waking from sleep.

The Dark Lord Voldemort heard the last of the instructions from Flamel and killed him without a moment's hesitation. Almost immediately he was assaulted from two directions, expertly shielding and deflecting curses, returning with more than a few of his own. Draco noticed that as the caster died, his Disillusionment Charm faded, revealing of all people, Longbottom and Granger. His eyes went wide as an unexpected cancellation appeared to rouse the former somewhat, as his head whipped around to the origin of the spell. Weasley- Where are Crabbe and Goyle?

As if in an answer to his question, he who disguised himself as their Head of House dragged their stunned bodies forward from opposite directions, using them to gloat with Draco momentarily, hitting Dumbledore with what sounded like a Confundus.

"Your manservants? Really, Malfoy, I had heard how difficult it was to find good help these days, but one would think you would at least have an elf." A body-bind curse hit the Dark Lord directly in the back. He managed to perform the countercurse almost immediately, but not before another one came after him and he was forced to dodge, allowing the Headmaster the necessary time to retrieve his wand, already shaking off the confusion. Once again Draco was caught in the middle, Voldemort's stolen wand not leaving him once, even to send a curse after Weasley, who was likely already casting another body-bind from a distance. Probably met up with Crabbe and Goyle on the way here- arranged to get into position to launch curses from three directions- as loath as I am to admit it, neither of them could have had the idea.

"You have no means of escape, Tom. I am not the fastest duelist in the world, but I am not the slowest either." Dumbledore threatened modestly, his wand leveled at his former student. "The moment you try to exercise a modicum of your ill intent, you will not have another chance to surrender." You're still giving him a chance? It did not escape his notice his own life was still in danger.

"It appears that way, and yet you will still lose everything, Professor." the Dark Lord promised without sparing an ounce of vitriol. "I have the Stone, far from the castle, and I know the secrets of its workings. I shall reassemble my followers and regain my former strength- what a fragile thing is human reason." From behind him, Neville was getting to his feet, but his wand was quickly knocked out of his hand. "Speak of the devil." he said, inclining his head to Longbottom, Dumbledore's wand wavered between the two of them. Is it because we're both the last of our lines? No, if aught Father says is true, it is only because we're both students, or something even worse. Weasley's curse came from a nearer distance than last time, suggesting he had been getting into position, though this only allowed the Dark Lord to send another back from whence it came. This allowed Dumbledore the opportunity to expel Alecto's wand from his hand. The haze of the dark blue color that had been holding him in place vanished.

"Surrender Misters Malfoy and Longbottom-" his order was interrupted by a pillar of cursed fire, and Draco saw to his horror that it was an enormous snake, hissing a column of black smoke into the air. With all his magical prowess, the Headmaster was struggling to contain the blaze. He can't fight like this, not with the school- The thought came to his mind quickly, but within a breathless moment it was never there.

The Dark Lord lowered Draco's own hawthorn and unicorn hair wand and turned it on him.

"I shall regret spilling magical blood as much as I regret drinking that of the unicorn, the pure, wild creature of magic, but as necessary as that was, your esteemed Headmaster cannot be allowed to escape unpunished, and nothing save total failure will suffice. However poor his loyalty has been of late, I shall not end the line of Malfoy on account of my former servant, and instead I shall reduce you to a raving lunatic, fighting the mind terrors of absolute insanity." the young Slytherin turned to run as he spoke, tearing across the grounds as a beam of white light followed him, arcing and twisting like some mad raven in flight. I'd rather die- let it not be said the Malfoy line ended without honor. Sprinting toward the column of cursed fire, he saw a crowd of students forming in his peripheral vision.

"Silver! Never-" a collision of flesh was all the warning he had before being knocked off his running feet, the fire inching closer to him as it spread in myriad snakes across the grass. Above him Neville Longbottom seized as the curse made contact with his back, his eyes going white. Draco screamed in his struggle to get out from under the writhing young wizard, ripping his wand out of his pants and taking a good measure of fabric along with it. He attempted a killing curse, but with the distance, it would still have been all too easy to avoid.

"Is that Longbottom?" the Dark Lord asked with sudden fascination, seeming not concerned with Dumbledore as he successfully contained the volume of cursed fire. "I would be amused, but the fate of his parents was the work of the Lestranges, so the irony here is unrefined at best. All the same, this turn of events suits me well. Why is he so happy? Why- the Philosopher's Stone- of course. Draco's scowl did not so much as wrinkle his nose as he loosed another curse, which his enemy deflected after an exaggerated bow. The next spell to meet him, sent in his direction by his old Transfiguration teacher, arced around his wand and knocked him to the ground, burning him with a dying red light. In mere moments the disguise was burned away, then the body itself, the man named Quirinus Quirrell lost forever.

Draco did not remember when he stopped screaming, only that he was no longer.