Roll and fall in green

by Dontthrowsticksatme

Draco Malfoy starts Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with high hopes. Then he discovers he's in the same year as the biggest celebrity in the country: The Boy Who Lived. (This is basically the Harry Potter series from Draco's point of view, with a Drarry-twist. It is also my other fic Crimson and Clover from Draco's point of view.)

7. Chapter 5-1: Pawns & Kings

Chapter 5: Pawns & Kings

(Part 1 of 2)

I dreamed a dream in time gone by

When hope was high

And life worth living

I dreamed that love would never die

I dreamed that life would be forgiving.

Draco sang the words in his mind as he cranked out the tune on his violin.

'Draco, please, 'moaned Pansy, barging into his bedroom uninvited, 'not that dung again!'

Draco tensed up. 'And still I dream he'll come to me,' he sang louder to drown out her groans and complaints. 'That we will live the years together.'

Pansy sighed even louder than Draco played.

'But there are dreams that cannot beee!' belted Draco, whirling around to stare Pansy dead in the eye. 'And there are storms we cannot weather!'

Pansy plopped down on the bed, laughing, but Draco did not allow her to ruin the best part of the song with her sodding happiness.

'I – had a dream – my life would be!' he roared, overflowing with feeling, and Pansy jumped up with her fist raised to join him. 'SO DIFFERENT FROM THIS HELL I'M LIVING! So different noooow from what it seeeeemed!' Draco yanked a little too furiously at the violin strings and Pansy didn't quite reach the high note.

Taking a deep breath, Draco raised his arms, looking up at the high heavens. 'Now… life has killed the dream I dreamed…' He hung his head in defeat and took a deep bow.

Pansy applauded. 'You're doing amazing, sweetie.'

'I meant every word.'

'No kidding,' she drawled. As he scowled at her, she put on a mocking pout. 'This is so sad, Draco, play Macarena.'

He smacked her around the head with the violin bow. 'Why are you here?'

Covering her head, she laughed. 'I am so bored, Draconius.'

'And I am devastated, but you don't hear me –'

'– playing the same song over and over until everyone's puking out their intestines in despair?'

'What did your mum call you again?' he snarled back. 'Tone deaf?'

'Your mum keeps asking me what happened, you know, says you're hiding in your room the whole day, every day.'

'No kidding,' he muttered darkly.

For people with a life-size, Harry-shaped hole in their heart, Malfoy Manor had become practically uninhabitable this summer. Draco'd never seen his parents as excited and cheerful as they'd been since the Dark Lord returned.

His father was thriving in his reinstated function as the Dark Lord's second in command. Half the library had been transformed to a command centre, where he was planning strategies, noon and night, for what he called 'act two of the golden days,' or he shortened it to: Act of the Gods, which didn't seem like it obeyed the rules of abbreviation, if you asked Draco.

Father was clearly in his element, scouting exactly the right persons in the Ministry, making sure the Daily Prophet reported only what the commoners needed to know, and planting little seeds of terror in the minds of their enemies.

Thankfully, Draco discovered it was easy enough to avoid him these days as his father was humming everywhere he went. It had the same effect on Draco as tick-tocking sounds had on Captain Hook.

As embarrassing as Father's happiness was, it had been nothing compared to the state Draco's mother was in. She wasn't so much thrilled about the impending war, as much as she was about her husband's enormous boost in confidence. Sometimes Draco could swear he saw her shudder at the sight of his father ordering the living daylight out of the other Death Eaters. His parents had been all over each other these past few weeks, which was disgusting enough, but made so much worse by the fact that most of the time, Draco felt like curling up in a corner to bawl his eyes out.

Pansy stroked his head as he dropped next to her on the bed. 'You okay?'

He couldn't get his face to hide anything anymore. 'I'm starting to think it's killing me.'

He wished Madam Pomfrey was here, so he could ask her if it was possible to die from a broken heart, and if there was a cure for it. He'd sell the manor for a single drop of potion if it meant he could stop hurting, longing for arms, smiles or stupid things that used to make him laugh.

'I miss him so.'

Pansy pulled back her hand like he'd said something filthy. 'For real, Draco, why?' she snarled. 'He hexed you senseless.'

'His friends–'

'Malfoy, stop. The guy saw everything you are and he said "I don't want this." He doesn't care about you; he never did. And frankly, that makes him a jackass. I hate the guy.'

Draco sulked. 'Stop saying that.'

'We all hate him!'

He shoved her away. 'I know.'

Jumping up, she said, 'You are coming to the party, right?'

Her sister Primrose and brother Penstemon would come over to stay at the Parkinson Property for four weeks, and Draco had been honoured with an invitation to the family's reunion party. He was the only outsider to have been invited; most likely due to the fact that Mrs. Parkinson planned on marrying her daughter off to him; in vain.

Feeling miserable, Draco dropped his head in his hands. Pansy ran her fingers through his hair and simpered, 'Don't you like a chance to wear your pretty dress robes?'

A painful memory about the last time he wore those dress robes made tears well up in Draco's eyes.

'Oh Draco, come on! You can't cry forever.'

He cleared his throat. 'I can.' Turning around, he crawled under his blankets. 'Go away.'

Pansy yanked at his ankles. 'Come – with – me! Stupid Malfoy! I – am – bored!'

The bed creaked with Draco clinging onto the headboard for dear life.

'Dracooo!' Wailing, Pansy plopped down on the duvet. 'I miss you.'

A pinch of fear broke through the heartache; fear of losing his best friend, on top of everything else. Draco lifted the blanket a few inches, and after a quick thud of shoes on the parquet, a cold, tiny Parkinson curled up beside him. Her hair tickled Draco's nose as he wrapped his arm around her.

'I'm dying,' he breathed.

'Same,' whispered Pansy. 'Of boredom.'

. . .

'Dragon-child,' called Father, slamming open the door to Draco's bedroom.

'Read the sign!' Draco snarled.

His father was taken aback for a second, his cheerful smile wavering, as he checked Draco's door.

For his birthday, Crabbe got Draco a wooden sign with golden lettering that said something really rude whenever someone opened the door without knocking.

'That is incredibly offensive,' Draco's father remarked.

'Rightfully so,' said Draco. 'You should have knocked.'

His father waved Draco's frustration away. 'Dragon-child,' he repeated, 'I was at the Ministry just now, making another generous donation, when I happened to stumble upon the latest sensation. You will never guess.'

Breathlessly, Draco sat up on his bed. 'Tell me.'

'The Boy Who Lived has been expelled from Hogwarts! The Ministry will be destroying his wand!'

Draco's mouth fell open. 'La vache. '

Father put up a hand. 'Je le jure, coco, c'est la vérité.'

'Whatever did he do?'

'Rumour has it' – Father leered at him – 'he cast a Patronus charm in front of his unfortunate Muggle cousin.' He laughed scathingly. 'As if Potter is capable of such advanced magic!'

As a matter of fact, Draco had experienced Harry's advanced magic firsthand. He knew better than to confirm any rumours of Potter's strengths to his father though.

'He was attacked by a dementor?'

Father scoffed. 'C'est dingue. Non, I'm certain that is just the wild story he came up with to excuse it.'

Draco shook his head. None of what his father was telling him made any sense. 'Are you certain he is expelled? Will they really take away his wand?'

'It will be finalized in less than a fortnight, but he can hardly wiggle his way out of this one, I assure you. An underage wizard of no remarkable social standing performing magic in front of Muggles – his chances are nil.'

'No remarkable standing?' Draco blurted out. 'Harry Potter is the Saviour of the Wizarding World.'

'Oh you,' said his father fondly. 'The Wizengamot will not be as star-struck as the most fanatic Potterhead in Wizarding Britain, currently residing in Malfoy Manor, you know.'

And on that bombshell Draco's father strutted out, leaving behind a baffled Draco.

'Wizengamot?' Draco muttered to himself, stunned with disbelief.

He couldn't imagine The Boy Who Lived appearing in front of the entire Wizengamot, just for defending himself in front of his own family. That sounded wildly excessive. Would they really expel their favourite wonderboy over something like that? And more importantly: had Harry really been attacked by a dementor? Out in the open?

None of it made any sense to Draco. He got up to climb into his quill.

'Pansington, come in, Pansington, do you copy? The Threat will be expelled. I repeat: The Threat will be expelled. This is not a drill. What are we feeling?'

Attaching the note to Ulysses's claw, Draco urged the bird to fly as quickly as he could.

Within the hour he got a reply. 'Magisterial "we"?' Pansy wrote. 'Anyway, my proposal would be to feel like throwing a party and raising the flag. No more worries, no more distractions, no one to outshine our natural greatness! Run it up the flagpole! If you ask me, he got exactly what he deserved. Grand-standing mister hotshot with the hoity-toity scar on his fat, pompous face. Ding-dong the dork is gone!'

Draco snorted. He read the letter a few times to take in the splendour of Pansy's insults.

He let the words sink in, considered her proposal and decided to accept it.

. . .

'Draconius!' called Draco's father. 'Get over here!'

'I'm busy!'

'Now, please!' Father's voice boomed through the manor, demanding immediate obedience. They had company, Draco surmised.

Sighing, he got up from his chair by the Library window – where he'd been watching the rain while gloomily thinking back to an early spring day spent with Harry – and dragged himself to the entrance hall.

There, his father was standing with a man in long, magnificent flowing robes, who could have been Draco's uncle for how much he looked like Draco's father. They were equally tall and shared the long, blonde hair, although the man wore it in a neat braid, hanging down to his lower back.

Draco'd seen the man before. He was a frequent guest to his parents' dinner parties; the ones Draco was never allowed to attend.

Father beckoned Draco closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. 'Draco, I want you to meet my dear friend Corban Yaxley. Mr. Yaxley and I go way back.'

Draco shook the man's hand. 'How do you do, Mr. Yaxley.'

'How do you do, young Mister Malfoy. I remember you from when you were yay-high. It feels like only yesterday to me.'

'Please, do not get me started,' said Draco's father emphatically. 'He is eating us out of the house.'

'Oh, I believe you. When he was Draco's age, my son used to be exactly the same,' said Yaxley, a hint of sadness crossing his face, while Father slapped Draco on the shoulder.

'Great news, Draconius: I managed to convince Mr. Yaxley to give you a few extracurricular duelling lessons.'

Draco's chin dropped. 'Wha– Excuse me?'

'Two days a week, all through summer and during your other school breaks. Friday nights, Wednesday afternoons and Sunday mornings, nine hours a week in total.'

Father was looking like he was handing Draco the keys to his own palace, instead of imposing more schoolwork on him during his sparse free time. All Draco heard was: we don't care what our weak, little son wants, he's not allowed an opinion.

'I can assure you,' Draco's father went on, 'Mr. Yaxley here is the best duellist of my generation. I have seen him at it, and you do not want to be on his bad side.'

Yaxley smirked, flicking invisible dust from his sleeve. 'He is exaggerating.'

'I am certainly not. With his help you will be the most accomplished wandsman in Hogwarts, my dear boy.'

Father's fingers pierced into Draco's shoulder. Draco couldn't think of anything to say.

'Well?' his father demanded. 'Tell our man how thrilled you are!'

Inhaling sharply, Draco forced down his resistance with all his might, and managed a smile at Mr. Yaxley. 'Overjoyed, Mr. Yaxley. Thank you so much for this opportunity. It will be an honour.'

The man smirked unpleasantly. 'The feeling is mutual, I am certain. We will see each other again next Friday, young Mr. Malfoy.' He inclined his head at Draco's father. 'Lucius – it was a pleasure, as usual. Send my regards to your beautiful wife.'

While Father let out his friend, Draco took a stance and put on his best glare. As soon as the door closed and his father turned towards him, he snarled, 'I demand an explanation.'

'Oh, you demand?' his father roared, instantly aggravated.

Draco was too angry to back down. 'I do not appreciate being put on the spot like that, father. You knew I was not in the position to decline, for the sake of harmony –'

'And that is exactly why I did it,' boomed his father over him. He was making himself tall and broad, like a zoo animal.

Draco clenched his fists. 'I am not going to –'

'You will do exactly as we tell you to,' said his father. 'This is not negotiable, Draco. In case you had not noticed, while you were sulking in your room for the past few days, but your mother and I are in the midst of preparing for a war. And you need to be prepared with us. We are only ever as strong as our weakest link, Draconius.'

'I am not weak!'

'As long as you live under this roof, it is our responsibility to keep you safe and this is how it is going to happen. We cannot be around to protect you at all times, and at fifteen you should be old and wise enough to start managing your own affairs. We will not accept less than your best effort at this, Draconius Malfoy. Am I making myself clear?'

Draco felt cornered. He intensified his glare. 'Why would I? What's in this for me?'

Something blazed behind the cold, grey eyes of his father. He inched closer to his son. 'What is in it for you,' he hissed through gritted teeth, 'is not dying at the hands of a filthy blood traitor. What is in it for you is keeping your family out of harm's way. What is in it for you is protecting your friends from horrific vengeance. What is in it for you is becoming the best duellist of your entire generation and finally deserving our pride and the glory of carrying the Malfoy name.' He was breathing heavily, standing only inches away from Draco now. 'Do I need to keep going?'

The look on Father's face was frightening, but Draco managed to keep his scowl in place and forced himself not to back away. 'Fine,' he muttered, sulkily crossing his arms. 'But you are being totally overprotective. I bet I can beat your friend with my eyes closed without even trying, you know.'

Draco's father squared his shoulders. His anger melted into a smirk and he touched Draco's chin. 'Well, make us proud, Dragon-child.'

'Can my friends come?'

His father considered it like Draco'd presented him a riddle. 'Why ever would you want to do that? It will lose you the advantage.'

Draco scoffed, 'As if they'll be better than me, honestly, dad… But, you see, two know more than one, you know, and I cannot stay vigilant all the time. I mean, assembling a strong back-up is a winner's move, you always say.'

His father hummed his approval. 'Let me discuss it with Yaxley.'

Before he could turn to leave, Draco remembered something.

'Dad, I already had duelling lessons,' he said, thinking back to the lessons he got as a kid.

Mildred Worple taught Magical Skills and Abilities for the pureblood children when Draco was growing up. She taught them how to control their magic and gave them a solid foundation for their time at Hogwarts.

His father huffed, throwing Draco a curious look,

'What happened to old Mildred Worple?' Draco asked airily.

'Sometimes, Draco,' said his father, 'you are a wide open book… Remind me later to find someone to fix that.'

Draco felt his face flush. 'She taught us duelling,' he mumbled.

'Right,' his father drawled coldly. 'Well, Mildred only teaches children, as you know, and I require my teenage son to learn a little bit more than a few funny little Leg-Lockers at this point in time. Additionally,' he continued fiercely, 'we prefer not to associate anymore with any of the Worples, after Mildred's brother fell out of grace.'

Old Mildred Worple had a brother, Eldred Worple, whom Draco had a slight obsession with back in the day. He didn't think anyone could blame him, though. Eldred was the coolest, nicest and most magnetizing man Draco had ever known. Whenever Draco's parents invited the Worple siblings, or whenever Eldred visited his sister's Magical Skills and Abilities class, he would tell amazing stories about vampires, and Draco had simply been all over him.

Draco stared in shock. 'Lies.'

Something flared up behind his father's eyes. 'I do not tell lies, Draco. Your precious idol befriended a vampire. He is no longer invited to society. Last I heard, he gained sixty pounds.' Father snorted derisively.

'You're joking,' said Draco. 'A real vampire?'

'Draco!' snapped his father so suddenly that Draco jumped, 'we cannot be seen doting with friends of vampires! Is that understood?'

'No,' said Draco, confused. 'Vampires are our allies.'

His father scoffed, 'Please, Draco… they are our pawns.'

Draco let that sink in. He blinked at the realisation.

'Oh.'

Father waited while a thousand questions bounced around in Draco's head. The most important one being if this meant that he wasn't allowed to like vampires anymore. Watching his father's derogative smirk, he reckoned he knew the answer.

'Oh...'

Father squeezed Draco's shoulder. 'You will be our pride and joy after Yaxley is done with you.'

Something unpleasant tightened in the pit of Draco's stomach.

'Hop along, now,' said his father, 'tell your friends.'

. . .

Draco knew exactly how to convince his friends. At first, Draco bragged loudly about his lessons to Crabbe and Goyle, claiming them to be exclusively for Draco and making Yaxley sound like a famous wandsman. He told them Yaxley had almost played at the Wizarding Olympics, but declined the opportunity because he didn't like long distance travels. Draco boasted about the things he'd learned and how he would probably be able to kill Mudbloods alongside his father by the end of the summer. He pretended to have the time of his life.

After a while, the boys started looking envious, and Draco overheard them discussing if they could ask their parents for lessons too. Concluding that the time was right, Draco invited them to come along to a lesson. He did this supposedly in secret, but made sure Pansy overheard them.

It worked like a charm: that same night, she started bugging them about it, demanding them to tell her what was going on and what Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were up to.

She was relentless, but Draco managed to keep her off until Crabbe and Goyle'd had two lessons. Then she joined their ranks.

. . .

Draco's mother stroked a lock of hair out of Draco's face. 'Is something wrong with your dessert, darling?' she whispered. 'Should I alert the staff?'

They were having Snape over for dinner and Draco was forced to attend at least three courses. He'd rather have sent one of the house elves up with a bit of soup or noodles and called it a day, and had not felt like dressing up in these uncomfortable dress robes to entertain adults, especially not adults who happened to also be teachers who knew exactly what happened between Draco and a certain celebrity.

Draco pushed his plate away. 'Excuse me, mother. I have no appetite.'

She frowned for a second, even though that was a major faux-pas in company, but quickly regained her composure. 'Well, would you like to play us something then?'

Draco sighed and looked away.

'Play us something nice, Draco,' ordered his father.

Draco scowled at him, but Father put on his most authoritative stance and Draco knew from experience there was no reasoning with his father when he looked like that in company. It would turn into an unnecessary assertion of dominance that Draco would inevitably lose.

So he dragged himself over to the pianoforte in the corner of the dining hall. Hovering his fingers over the keys for a second, he decided to play Love of my life by Queen.

'Please, darling, something a little more cheerful?' suggested his mother almost at once.

Frustrated, Draco broke off the song mid-bar. He searched his brains for something cheerful, but hardly anything popped up. In the end, he reckoned Abba could never be considered depressing. He started One of us.

'Darling, please,' his mother interrupted again, sounding exasperated, 'I meant something in a major key.'

Draco slammed the piano shut and blurted out, 'Well, I am not in a major key, mother.'

Feeling the eyes of his spectators on him, he lowered his face into his hands to hide the fact that his façade was crumbling like dried lavender between his fingers, the ring on his thumb a steadily beating reminder of Harry's life going on without Draco.

'He is at a very difficult age,' his father softly remarked, and Draco flinched in frustration.

'I see.' Draco didn't have to look to know Snape was gloating.

'No need to tell you, I suppose,' said Father, the smirk clear in his voice. 'I do hope he has not been like this all year?'

Draco peeked through his fingers and caught Snape casting him a calculating look. Eventually, his professor settled on, 'Your son is a joy to have in class.'

'Hm, glad to hear it,' said Father, adding loudly, 'because he is currently not much of a joy to have in the house.'

'Lucius, be gentle,' said Draco's mother.

'I am certain,' Snape put in, 'that the events of last year made an impression on all of us. We catch ourselves standing at the brink of a war, after all, if you allow me to speak so freely.'

'Certainly, old friend! By all means, never hold your tongue for our sake.'

Snape seemed to consider his words carefully, staring ponderingly into his wine. 'As a matter of fact… there is something I have been wanting to tell you.'

'Well, spit it out, old sport!'

'You see, right after the events of last semester, I was present when Harry Potter' – every Malfoy in the room flinched – 'related his account of what happened to Dumbledore and Fudge. I think you should know, sir, that the little brat could identify the people present.' Snape deliberated his next words. 'And he started his list by naming you.'

A hush fell over the dining hall.

When Draco's father shared a look with his wife, Snape's eyes shot over to Draco – and if Draco didn't know any better, he'd think his professor sympathised with him. Before he could process this, though, the moment was over.

'Fudge wouldn't have it, of course,' Snape continued, 'but it's made clear that the Potter boy would not hesitate to betray your family given even the slightest opportunity.'

Draco fingers pierced into the piano stool as he let Snape's words sink in.

So Harry had named Draco's family first of all, apparently jumping at the chance to rat him and his family out. Meaning that he'd not only abandoned and ignored Draco time and again, but he'd also wasted no time to actively incriminate them.

Something white-hot started boiling under Draco's skin. 'Snitches get stitches,' he growled to himself. It was another phrase he'd picked up from that lousy Mudblood, Jason Taylor.

'What was that, son?' said his father.

'Nothing, dad. Can I be excused?'

His father waved a distracted hand in Draco's direction. 'Go play. The grown-ups need to talk.'

Stomping up the stairs, Draco felt a hot swoop of rage going through him, manifesting into tears, burning behind his eyes. The Harry-shaped hole in his chest throbbed and ached. How could he? Draco kept thinking. How could he? How could he?

Draco went to his room to pick up his violin, magically turning up the volume to make sure everyone in the manor heard it – heard it and felt it. If he couldn't escape the devastation of his whole life's happiness, then no one could.

His version of Rachmaninoff's Vocalise cut through the manor, enfolding its listeners like a constrictor.

. . .

Draco had been lured into the parlour by the sweet smell of apple pie. His plan was to walk in, grab a few pieces and walk out to wolf them down in his bedroom with the curtains closed. When he sneaked in, though, he found both of his parents awaiting him. Father was sitting in one of the two chairs by the fire, while mother had arranged herself behind her husband, resting both her hands on one hip, as if they were hosting an Official Ministry Event.

Trying to act unfazed, Draco cut off a large slice and made to walk away. His mother hissed something at his father.

'Yes yes, my dear. Draco?'

Draco slowly turned around. 'What?'

'Do not say "what", darling,' said his mother mechanically. 'Say "excuse me".'

Draco gestured impatiently, feeling exhausted. 'Excuse me,' he drawled, 'what is it?'

'Sit down for a moment.' His father pointed at the chair opposite him.

Deliberating his options for a second, Draco reckoned it couldn't hurt to oblige. He took a large bite of the pie as he sat down on the armrest of the chair.

He expected to be chided severely for it, but his father leaned both hands on his walking stick and conjured a rather distant look on his face. His eyes avoided Draco's altogether.

'While I am aware,' he started, 'that a young man would rather avoid discussion of… how to put it... affairs of the heart.' Draco froze. 'As the sole heir of an ancient family, you must know that your conduct is most important to us. To us, and to the credit of our family name, to its very survival.'

Draco wondered where this was going, but felt rather nervous to find out.

'Now, you see, Draco, me and your mother cannot help but fear that you have fallen into an – ah – association which everyone near you must oppose.'

Draco frowned. His head hurt from trying to understand his father's formal words. 'What do you mean?'

His father finally looked at him, blinking like he just woke up. 'Oh.'

'He is a child, Lucius.' Draco's mother rested a hand on her forehead and looked tiredly out of the window.

'Yes. Quite right.'

'I am not a child,' snarled Draco.

'Silence, my boy, hear me out.' Father appeared more uncomfortable every second. He fell silent.

Draco snapped, 'Just tell me, what is it?'

'Well, you see, we need to talk. We need to talk about – well, about you – and…' He gestured like Draco would be able to fill in the blanks by now. He could not.

'About you and your dealings with Harry Potter,' Draco's mother added impatiently.

Draco felt his face turn red. He slid from the armrest into the chair, trying to make himself as small as possible.

Father nodded stiffly. 'Yes, thank you, my heartbeat. Now, Draco, we feel obliged to emphasize the fact that a connection with… Potter ' – he could only say the name through gritted teeth, turning red with suppressed anger – 'would destroy every comfort of our lives.'

Draco started to feel cold. He thought back to the night before and wondered what had been discussed after Draco left.

His father still didn't look at him, but his shaking hands made the walking stick rattle against the paving tiles. 'We are forced to inform you that further dealings with him will be the death of the honest pride with which we have always considered you. We would blush to see you, to hear of you, to think of you.'

It felt like Draco's insides were being wrenched. He put down the pie.

'Look at me, Draco.'

Draco braced himself and looked his father in the eye. They were fierce eyes and cold as steel. Draco felt like he shrunk six inches.

'We need to be certain about this: are we on the same page?' his father verified.

Draco nodded. 'Certainly,' he croaked, before clearing his throat and trying again. 'Certainly.'

His father seemed to relax somewhat. 'Good.'

'I –' Draco searched for a way to formulate a better reassurance. 'You should know that…' He took a steadying breath. 'This connection you talk about… It is – impossible. My dealings with Potter are history... if they existed at all.' He lowered his eyes, swallowing away a lump in his throat that didn't really want to leave.

'Good.' Visibly relieved, his father hit the tiles with his walking stick. 'Your mother and I are pleased to hear it.'

Draco gingerly looked at his mother, whose expression he would not necessarily describe as pleased.

'Are you alright, darling?' she asked him softly. 'I worry for you this summer.' Choking up, he lowered his gaze again. He couldn't speak. 'We will ask our friends to invite a few peers to the next soirée. How does that sound?'

'Clever thinking, my lady,' said her husband. 'We ought to surround ourselves with people whose paths overlap with ours, especially during trying times such as these.'

'You need people who appreciate you for who you are,' emphasized Draco's mother, 'without wanting to change you. Especially not into…'

Father looked around at her. 'Muggle-loving blood-traitors?' he offered. 'Who mindlessly follow the herd? Like voles to the sea?'

Draco's mother smiled. 'Exactly. You deserve a lovingly accepting friend, Draco. Like that spirited Parkinson girl!'

Draco nodded, squirming in his seat. 'Right. Can I be excused?'

'Yes. Go have fun!' his father beamed at him.

Draco bolted. He was so shocked and lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice Uncle Barney until he charged straight through him.

'Oh yuck, Uncle Barnaby! What are you doing?'

'Are you alright, mon petit?' the ghost softly asked. 'That was a fair bit of tough love you just received.'

'Oh shut up.' Draco stomped up to his room and slammed the door behind him. Of course, that did nothing to stop his pearly ancestor.

'"We would blush to see you, to hear of you, to think of you,"' Barney repeated. 'That was cold, my boy. Do you want me to have a word with them?'

'Non.' Draco put J'avais Rêvé on his magical speakers again, pressed a pillow to his face and screamed.

'Oh, this song, Drakey, please, can you put on – '

'Barnaby! Va t'en! '

'It is honestly getting on my nerves,' Barney mumbled, and Draco glared at him. 'Look, petit coeur, you are not the first one in this family with an infatuation that was considered frowned upon, nor are you the first one to have their heart broken.'

'That is great, Uncle Barnaby, I feel so much better now!'

'I just –'

'PISS OFF! For the love of my sanity, just–! Fous le camp et MORTE!'

The ghost shot out of the room.

. . .

One of the worst things about the Dark Lord's return were the parties. At least once a week someone would throw a stupid soirée or barbecue for every Death Eater and their ménage. Draco tried to get out of them as much as he could, but most of these parties were in their own back garden, or else his friends would come and force him to go anyway.

After their family reunion, the Parkinsons quickly followed up with a big garden party. Draco's parents and his friends all insisted Draco would come, and he couldn't think of a solid excuse.

There were too many people present for the Parkinsons' usual routine, as they were all split up into different groups. Penstemon was talking with Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe. Primrose and her mother were laughing loudly and derisively about something Mrs. Zabini was telling them with lots of gesticulation, while Draco's parents were off in their own world, dancing the waltz.

'They're an embarrassment,' Draco muttered, standing near the barbecue with his friends.

Pansy snorted. 'You're talking to a Parkinson here, love. One more glass and Primrose will teach the little ones to pole dance.'

'Did you say… pole dance?' drawled one of the newly invited kids, a weedy-looking boy, rather resembling a rabbit if you asked Draco. An expensive, sulky rabbit with shiny brown fur and a sign that said "only eats tulip leaves," probably. Not unlike that horrid Mini Rex Draco owned as a kid, that always bit him and eventually ran away, tasting freedom for ten seconds before being swooped up by one of the owls. Agatha had loved it.

Draco looked the boy up and down and glanced at Pansy. 'Are we supposed to know this person? Fourth cousin thrice removed or the likes?'

It angered the boy, but Zabini and Pansy laughed scathingly. They introduced the rabbit as Theodore Nott. Draco recognized the surname from the Sacred Twenty-Eight and politely asked what school he went to, which made Pansy and Zabini almost fall over from laughing.

'He's in our class, Draco!' shrieked Pansy. 'You are so rude!'

The boy seemed keen on hexing him.

'Oh, right…' Draco shared a look with Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed equally mystified. He had honestly never noticed the kid before. 'Well, you cut your hair.'

'No, I did not,' Nott gritted out.

Rolling his eyes in exhaustion, Draco walked off to get a drink. He took his time, and when he got back, his friends were huddled together in the forest surrounding the Parkinson Property.

'Malfoy!' called Gregory before he could sneak up to startle them. 'A dog! Look! They have a dog!'

Goyle was absolutely crackers about dogs. The wall above his bed at their dorm was covered in photos and paintings of them.

Draco pulled the stringy new kid away from his spot in the middle of the group and pushed him to the side. 'What are we looking at?'

They were all looking at the meadow in the middle of the forest. A man and a woman were having a picnic. A toddler was wobbling around in the grass, playing with a big, blonde dog.

'It's a Golden Retriever,' said Goyle breathlessly.

'Those are Muggles!' Draco exclaimed, revolted. Muggles on Parkinson Property! 'How dare they?'

'They have no right,' grumbled Vincent.

'Pansy, call your mother,' ordered Draco.

Gregory crouched, whispering, 'Here, doggy, doggy… Come to daddy, boy.'

'Get up, Goyle,' snarled Draco. 'Have a little dignity.'

'Why don't you take it?' came Nott's drawl from the edge of their group. They all looked at him and he shrugged. 'If I were your friend –' He stared Draco defiantly in the eye '– I'd steal the dog for you.'

'Interesting.' Zabini tipped his head. 'I bet you five Galleons Malfoy doesn't do it.'

Draco glared haughtily at him and shared a look with Pansy, who was grinning maniacally. 'I bet he will, and I bet you all ten Galleons he will use magic.'

'Why would I do that?' Draco snarled, the memory of Potter's expulsion fresh in his mind. Even if his father had the Ministry in his pocket, it could cause commotion.

She bent over to wink and whisper, 'Because we'll split the loot.'

'Fifteen if you kill the kid,' grunted Vincent and they all stared at him in surprise. He shrugged. 'Or not, if you're a coward…' He shared a look with Nott, who shrugged as well, mumbling, 'They're only Muggles.'

'So, Draco,' said Zabini, pointedly ignoring the new addition to their group, 'fifteen Galleons –'

'Cash!' added Pansy, theatrically holding out her hand.

Draco couldn't care less about the money, and to be fair, he couldn't care less about Hogwarts anymore either. If expulsion meant he wouldn't have to go back there, anything would be worth it really.

He looked at crouching Goyle, who he'd rarely seen this excited.

'You're on!' He slammed his hand into Pansy's to shake it with equal theatrics.

Bumbling through the bushes of the forest, he pulled the hood of his robes over his face, took out his wand and pointed it at his throat. 'Pertorceo,' he cast to make his voice sound scary.

Stepping out of the forest and into the meadow, Draco spread his arms dramatically. The Muggles looked up in confusion.

'You are not welcome here!' Draco roared with his distorted voice, making the Muggles almost fall over in shock. The man jumped up, but before he could reach the kid, Draco had cast a quick sleeping charm, flipped his wand and dangled the baby in the air by its leg.

The man froze; the woman screamed.

'Silence!' said Draco and he used a spell he'd been dying to try.

The screaming stopped abruptly; instead the woman loudly let out a long burp and slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in terror.

Draco gave a great whoop of laughter, sounding menacingly through his distorted voice.

Again, the Muggle tried to make a sound, but only a large burp came out. She started crying.

The man leapt at Draco, so he pointed his wand at the man's feet. 'Lapsus!'

Instantly, the Muggle slipped, as if the grass was made of ice or soap. He tried getting up, but kept slipping, and Draco laughed scathingly.

The man started begging – it was a disgrace.

'Fine! I'll allow you to leave,' boomed Draco, 'for the price of one dog.'

The man and the woman seemed baffled, but nodded furiously. The man managed to blunder over to the baby and plucked it from the air into his arms, before falling down again.

The dog had been barking the entire time, so Draco conjured a sausage and bacon from the barbecue to appease him, but it didn't work as well as he'd hoped. Then he tried to Obliviate the dog's memory, grabbed its collar and made his way back through the forest in a conjured cloud of smoke. For good measure, Draco pointed his wand at the ground a few times to create a few empty explosions. The dog seemed dizzy.

'Here you go, buddy,' Draco said, handing the dog to Gregory, who appeared to be on the brink of crying tears of joy. He hugged the confused dog and pressed dozens of kisses on its head, repeating over and over what a great boy it was. His happiness almost made Draco feel something.

His friends were cheering and slapping him on the shoulders – except for Pansy, who seemed rather stricken. 'You still have the Trace!' she said. 'It's illegal to attack Muggles!'

Draco shrugged and bluffed, 'My father will handle it.'

'Wasn't it your idea?' Zabini asked her, and Draco smirked.

'That's Pansy for you.'

Zabini vulgarly took out his wallet and Draco scoffed, shaking his head. 'We're loaded, you dip.'

'Yeah, we are too,' said Zabini.

Draco shared a derisive smirk with Pansy, who patted Zabini's arm in mock sympathy. 'Of course you are.'

'Her name's Matilda,' said Gregory happily as they made their way back to the house. 'So we never have to miss her again.'

Pansy took Draco's hand. 'Are you really not worried? You'll get into so much trouble.'

He squeezed her hand, whispering, 'I'm dead inside.'

She burst out laughing. 'Fair enough… It was so cool, you know.'

They stepped back into the garden of the Parkinsons and all the adults flew at them. They'd heard the explosions and demanded to know what happened.

Gregory was the first to reply. 'Draco got me a dog! Please, mum, can we keep him?'

Mr. and Mrs. Goyle threw one look at the dog and were sold. They knelt down to pet it, in rather the same way Gregory had just done, and started summoning all the leftovers from the barbecue one by one. 'Oh, such a sweet, sweet cutie!' shrieked Mrs. Goyle, planting kisses on the dog's head.

'That is a good dog,' Mr. Goyle established, firmly patting its back.

Draco grinned, until the looming shadow of his father fell over him. He stopped himself from biting his lip when he braced himself to look up at him.

'What did you do?'

Pansy quickly stepped in. 'Muggles were trespassing our property, but Draco scared them off for us, before they could attack.'

'Nah,' said Draco, feeling entirely indifferent somehow. 'Gregory really wanted the dog, so I stole it for him. Bof, look how happy he is.'

Draco's father grabbed his arm. 'What else, boy?'

Straightening his back, Draco put on his smuggest face. 'Well, let's say I gave the baby a free flying lesson. And the woman –' He couldn't help but laugh at the memory and had trouble screwing up his face into a frown. 'The woman had terrible manners! Right, Vinciento? She kept burping!'

Vincent guffawed and let out a loud burp to demonstrate.

Draco waved the smell away. 'Thanks, chap. Well, exactly like that. Allez, the man was clumsy! Oh, so clumsy! He kept slipping on the grass, poor wretch… The dog is all in all much better off with us, isn't he?'

His father pretended to look reprimanding, but he was smirking, and playfully pulled Draco's ear. 'Inveterate, you are! Whatever should we do about him, my lady?'

Draco's mother didn't even try to hide her pride. 'Chip off the old block.'

Her lipstick stuck to Draco's face and didn't properly come off for the rest of the night.

'Did you use my spell?' asked Mr. Goyle, slapping Draco's arm. He pointed his wand to make another empty explosion. It made everyone laugh and cheer.

Only the old Parkinsons seemed troubled. 'Shouldn't we check on those Muggles?' said Mr. Parkinson. 'If the Ministry finds out –'

Father laughed loudly and slapped the man on the back. 'Oh you! Our boys are not powerful enough to do lasting damage, old sport! It will certainly wear off in a few hours.'

'They are only Muggles,' said Mr. Crabbe soothingly. 'They won't remember it.'

Mr. Parkinson did not seem convinced.

'Come on, dad,' said Pansy, 'it was great fun!'

'Pansy, a word,' snapped her mother immediately.

Pansy clung onto Draco. It yielded her a withering look from her mother, who grabbed her daughter and hauled her away to a circle of girls a little further away. Draco heard her hiss something about 'always hanging out with boys' and 'no suitable company for a young lady', while the other guests spread out across the garden again.

'Lucius, dear, what about the Trace?' Draco's mother softly asked his father, now that their friends were out of earshot.

Father kissed her hand. 'I will settle it.'

Mother smiled, apparently reassured by that, and looked proudly back at Draco. 'He is so much like Bella, is he not? Our little rascal…' Her face fell. 'She used to be the life of the party, do you remember?'

'I do. We will get her back soon, my heartbeat.'

Draco took in the Crabbes and Goyles hugging the dog, Nott and Zabini chatting up Primrose, sullen Pansy, surrounded by tattering girls and her mother.

As he watched, Pansy's mouth fell open in shock. 'YOU are pressuring me!' Draco heard her shrill screams all the way across the lawn. 'You are pressuring me, mum!'

'How am I pressuring you?' her mother exclaimed. 'I am simply saying –'

'That I need a husband and get pregnant!'

'Oh dear…' Father took his wife's hand and led her away for another slow Waltz.

'I did not say that!' Mrs. Parkinson retorted. 'I never said that!'

Draco sauntered over to them, and stuck out his hand. 'Care to dance, miss?'

Pansy huffed, eyes shooting fire at her mother. 'Only if you let me lead.'

'Pansy!' Her mother stomped her heels on the veranda.

Draco quickly grabbed Pansy's hand before it got worse. 'I would prefer it. Come on.'

Pansy smiled angelically at the odd looks from their spectators as they danced.

'I've been thinking,' said Draco. 'You like Luna, right?'

'I love Luna with all my heart,' Pansy corrected airily. 'Yes.'

Draco was taken aback for a second. 'Right… How in the world –?' He frowned and almost smirked. 'No matter… You love her with all your heart, fine, and I liked, you know... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And well, you and I both know our parents would never approve of our… lifestyle, if we were to go that route, so to speak.'

'Yes…' Pansy said warily. 'Why do you talk so posh?'

'Shut up. So I was thinking… wouldn't it be… sensible if… we – well...'

Pansy dropped him at once. 'Oooh no! Forget it, mister!' Turning her voice in a hiss, she added, 'You want to fake-date me? To please our families? What's wrong with you, Malfoy? How far did you want us to go with that charade? Do you want us to make heirs together? For the bloodline? You know what we'd have to do for that, right? Because I vividly remember that lesson from McGonagall.'

'Can't scratch it from my brain,' muttered Draco. To be fair, he had not thought so far ahead yet. 'Just… think about it, Pansington. What options do we have?'

Pansy furiously crossed her arms. 'Oh, I should hope we have options!'

Draco smirked. 'Tell me about it…'

'I will not think about it. You are way too weird for me.'

Draco burst out laughing. 'Wow, there are a thousand things I could say to that.'

. . .

Father's head popped into the drawing room, where Draco'd been playing piano. 'Draconius, come to my study.'

'Why?' Draco drawled. 'Want to enrol me in the Dark Lord's summer camp?'

'Don't be smart with me, young man,' his father called from the entrance hall.

With a deep sigh, Draco pushed himself off the piano stool and warily walked into his father's study.

His father was sitting behind his desk by the window. Large pieces of parchment were piled on top of it, together with several coffee cups, quills and bottles of ink in multiple colours.

'Tell me everything you know about Harry Potter,' Father commanded as soon as Draco set foot in the room, without looking up from the parchment he was writing on until Draco didn't answer. 'Well? Go!'

Sulkily lingering in the doorway, Draco shrugged. 'I don't know anything about him. He is not very interesting.'

Father leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing him for a moment before gesturing at the chair in front of him. 'Sit down, Draco. Let me ring for tea.'

Draco did not sit down. His mind was racing.

His father needed information about Harry. Draco reckoned that the teenage son would only be the first step on his father's way to getting answers. If Draco refused to give him the information he needed, his father would likely only increase his vigour to find out what he needed to know. And when he did, he would most definitely stumble upon things that Draco would prefer to have kept to himself.

The cunning thing to do, Draco thought, would be pretending to tell his father everything, but keeping the most important information to himself... But to convince his father, he probably had to spill every other little thing about Harry Potter.

Pulling his face into an emotionless mask, he pulled back the chair. 'What do you want to know?'

His father was watching him with folded hands and an amused look, bordering mocking. 'What made you change your mind, Dragon-child?'

Draco shook his head like he was embarrassed. 'Common sense, I suppose. I shouldn't be putting my pride above the war effort.' If he hadn't been so nervous, he would have laughed at his own performance. He knew Pansy would have. 'You are right, of course, I mean, obviously I know things about horrible Saint Potter. I am just… embarrassed, I suppose.'

'Whatever would you be embarrassed about, my boy?'

'Well, like you said the other day… I might have been slightly… well, star-struck, I imagine. I actually cannot believe I let myself be blinded for so long by someone who betrayed us without a second thought.' He'd kept his eyes straight at the floor saying all this, but now he took a breath and looked determinedly into his father's eyes. 'Tell me what you need to know.'

'Right…' His father tipped his head. 'Let us start with his weaknesses.'

Draco reminded himself once more that Potter had blabbed about Draco's father.

'That's an easy one,' he drawled, shoving down the feeling of betrayal. 'His horrible hero-complex. You see, he feels responsible for every problem in Hogwarts, and I mean every problem. He does it every year, you know. In first year he had the illusion that an eleven year old would be better at stopping the Dark Lord from taking the Philosopher's Stone than all of our professors together. Can you even imagine? The gall, you know? And during the Tournament he threw away his chances at winning, because he felt the need to save all four captives instead of just his own when they weren't even in any harm to start with. Who does that? He's as arrogant as they get and he just can't let an opportunity slip to show everyone how incredibly noble he is.'

Draco's credibility got a boost from the genuine annoyance he felt talking about Harry's issues.

His father's eyes gleamed. 'This is incredibly useful, Draco, Now tell me his strengths.'

Draco's heart skipped a beat as he immediately pictured Harry's countless powerful moments. He tried to distance himself somewhat.

'Right, well… He can endure pain pretty easily, I suppose. I mean, he laughs at it, like it's nothing. He's covered in scars and stuff, so I suppose he's used to it. If he falls, he jumps right back up, it looks inc–' Draco quickly called himself to order before launching into a rave. 'Well, and he has a – a strong will, I suppose.' He shrugged and scowled. 'People say he's such a great Seeker, but I don't see it. Honestly, he cheats as a rule and falls off his broom every other match.' Draco snorted. 'The only reason he ever wins is because someone gifted him that Firebolt. If I had a broom like that, I'd win too, you know, it's nothing to do with skill. He just has a few cool gadgets.'

'How about his fears?'

After careful consideration, Draco decided not to tell his father about the effect Dementors had on Harry, or the fact that he could do a Patronus. His father could easily find that out from Potter's recent offence, Draco gathered. What came out of Draco's mouth, however, turned out to be six degrees of complete separation from the truth.

'What he fears most is probably his Muggle family,' Draco babbled. 'You see, they abused him his entire childhood. It makes him hate small spaces and he's always hungry. It is pathetic. He faints when he goes without food for two hours.' Draco laughed derisively, wildly ignoring the fact that he just made up a bunch of complete falsehood.

His father smirked, still looking at Draco with calculating eyes. 'Pathetic,' he agreed. 'What about his desires?'

'Ew, how should I know?' Draco scowled. 'As far as I can tell he does not feel a thing, and I mean: ever. Well, he gets angry a lot, I suppose, or depressed, perhaps, but nothing much else.'

'Fascinating… Troubled young man…' Father leaned his head on his index finger, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before shooting his next question. 'What does he want in life? His hopes and dreams, if you may.'

Draco pondered the question. 'I don't think he has any ambitions, I mean, he never even thought about what he wants to be when he grows up.' Draco let out a short derisive laugh, but his father frowned, straightening up.

'Oh? Do you know what you want to be when you grow up, Dragon-child?'

Draco blinked, wondering if this was a card he should have kept to his chest. 'Well, I cannot be certain of course, I am only fifteen –'

'Of course, but what are you considering?'

Draco took a small breath. 'Well… Healer.' The word didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped. He picked up his chin when his father seemed to consider his answer, staring at the desk.

'Interesting… You see, Draco – Malfoys do not have to work.'

Draco hastened to answer. 'Oh, I know. I mean, it can be a hobby or something. I am so easily bored, you see. Perhaps I can… volunteer, you know, cultivate a little goodwill, like you always say. Perhaps I could be of use in the war.'

His words seemed to please his father, just like he intended.

'Sharp lad.'

Draco let go of a breath. 'Anything else?'

'Yes…' A shark-like grin spread across his father's face. 'Tell me, Draco, who does Harry Potter love most?' A cold wind swept through Draco's heart. 'Oh, and I do not necessarily mean love like your mother and I love each other, of course,' his father sneered, as if that was impossible to imagine, 'but more in the general sense of the word. Perhaps someone in his family? Or –'

Draco pulled it together. 'I'm pretty certain it's that buffoon Ronald Weasley. He was the person Potter would miss most during the Tournament.'

He delivered the line like it didn't hurt at all. He deserved a gosh-darn applause.

His father furrowed his brow. 'Ah… Now, you see, we were actually looking for someone a little more… accessible – if you get my drift.'

Draco blinked; honest in his confusion this time. 'Well, Harry knows no one outside of Hogwarts, except maybe his retarded Muggle family, whom he hates.'

Lines appeared in his father's forehead. He was studying the ceiling like there were tiny answers written on it. 'Interesting…'

Draco got up before he gave away any more. 'I should be preparing for Yaxley's lesson.'

'Mister Yaxley for you, Draco,' his father said absentmindedly.

'Right, Mister Yaxley's lesson. Can I go?'

'Yes.' Father sat up straight. 'You have been of great help to the cause, son. I am proud to think you will make a worthy successor one day.'

Draco felt warm pride flow through him as he strutted out of the study.

. . .

The last two weeks of the holidays, Mother kept checking the owlery and became increasingly more agitated every day, sending Agatha into a spiral of stress with her. The booklists still hadn't arrived.

'They have no consideration for the parents,' Mother would loudly complain to anyone willing to listen, which mostly came down to Agatha, the poor owlery ghost. 'Are we supposed to simply rearrange our entire timetables around their horrible management? Disgraceful.'

In the second to last weekend, after checking every owl's claws for the umpteenth time, her heels clattered through the manor. Barging through the parlour, she snapped, 'I am writing a letter.'

Father sipped his tea and did not look up from the paper. 'Wreck it, Draco's mum!'

When their letters finally arrived, Draco was at the Goyle household, together with Crabbe and Pansy.

Vincent, Pansy and Draco were spread out on their backs in the Goyles' living room, enduring the heat, while Gregory and his little sister were tirelessly throwing stick after stick for Matilda the dog. Running around with her had made him lose a few pounds and he looked happier than ever.

'I feel drops of sweat running down my skin,' muttered Pansy. 'It's disgusting.'

'You are disgusting,' Draco offered.

Suddenly the dog started barking and jumping. When Gregory shouted something, they all looked up to see four owls sweeping through the open sliding doors to the garden. Matilda the dog tried to catch them, jumping and snapping her teeth at them.

Vincent and Pansy got up to catch their envelopes, but Draco pressed his eyes closed. He was dreading going back to that place – that place where he had his heart shattered. Maybe if he didn't open his letter, he didn't have to go back.

Unfortunately, the letter dropped square on his face, making it rather difficult to ignore. It was a lot heavier than he'd expected too.

'Ouch.'

Sounds of ripping paper told him his friends were already opening their envelopes. A gasp and a shriek made him jump up.

For a solid three seconds, Pansy just stared at something in her hand. Then she started screaming – really screaming – almost like that time when her mother had donated her entire wardrobe to charity.

It lasted over a minute; she took breaths in between. Crabbe wailed, pressing his fingers in his ear, but being quite used to it, Draco stepped closer to see what the fuss was about.

Clasped between her fingers was something silver and emerald: a badge, with a large P superimposed on the Slytherin snake.

Draco's chin dropped. 'Prefect! They made you prefect?' He took her letter, but didn't bother to read it, as there were far too many words. Instead, he made something up, pretending to read aloud on top volume to drown out Pansy's screaming, 'Dear Miss Pansington! Though you are loud, hideous and terribly annoying, we reluctantly decided to make you prefect. We were forced to choose the lesser evil, and this – unfortunately – turned out to be you.'

The eternal scream turned into laughter and Pansy slapped him. 'Stop!'

'We reckon, because you are so incompetent, you can do no harm even if you wanted to. Besides, we have heard you have a nose like an absolute daisy.' He looked up. 'Oh, Loony put in a good word, that's lovely.'

'Shut up, Malfoy!'

Sniggering, he ducked away from her, still "reading" on. 'So enjoy this privilege to abuse the system and lord over people. Make sure Slytherin wins. Lots of love, dumbo-dore.' Draco looked up, simpering, 'Aaw, Pansy! We're so proud!' He clutched his heart, looking zealotical at Crabbe and Goyle. 'Don't they grow up so fast? I remember her pooping her pants just yesterday! And now look!'

They were all laughing their heads off.

Pansy was still staring at the badge in her hands. 'I can't believe they made me Prefect…'

'Who do you think the other one is?' Draco asked, going over the list of books Pansy handed him.

'Blaise,' Pansy replied decidedly.

Draco nodded. 'Yeah, makes sense. Look, only two new books: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard. Can I borrow an owl? Mother's been going nuts about it being so late.'

'Mine too,' said Pansy. 'Keeps saying it's inconsiderate of working parents. As if what she does can be described as working.'

Draco picked up his letter, used his wand to rip the envelope open, and jumped back when something heavy dropped on the floor. His friends gathered around to look.

A silver-emerald badge was shining at them from the carpet. It looked identical to the one Pansy was holding.

A short, nervous laugh escaped Pansy, while Draco audibly gulped. The boys just stared from the badge to Draco.

Slowly, Draco picked it up, took it in for a few seconds, then held it out to Pansy, as if she was the expert on prefect badge authenticity.

She held the two badges next to each other. They looked exactly the same.

'You're a prefect, Malfoy,' said Goyle happily.

Draco scowled. 'No one in their right mind would make me a prefect,' he snarled.

Pansy giggled. 'You and me both, darling! This is madness. Madness!'

'You are best of our year,' said Goyle unprompted.

'Everyone knows you,' added Crabbe.

Draco blinked in surprise, then looked at Pansy, who startled him even more by solemnly nodding. 'You always do your homework on time. You give the right answers in class. Never mess up during Potions…'

'You never get into trouble,' said Goyle.

'Did too! In first year and in third year!'

'Only because of Potter,' grunted Crabbe.

'We have detention all the time,' said Goyle.

'I'm nothing like Alexander Orlando… It should've been Zabini.'

'It should've been Daphne,' added Pansy.

They shared another incredulous look. Then they all started laughing.

Instead of owling his parents, Draco decided this strange turn of events probably called for a real-life face-to-face meeting with the parents, so he Flood home.

. . .

'Mother!' Stepping out of the fireplace, he strutted into the parlour. 'Mother–'

'Not now, Draco dear, I am very busy.' She didn't even look up from the seating chart in front of her.

'Fine, here.' Draco swaggered up to her and pseudo-carelessly dropped the badge on her parchment. As he turned to walk away, his mother let out a shriek. He smirked.

'Draconius! Oh, how dare you! "Here," he says! Naughty boy! Come here, you!' She took his face and pressed at least a dozen kisses on it.

'Mother, please,' he muttered, trying to push her away, and her cool hands rested on his neck.

'I am so proud of you! Wait until your father hears this!'

She kept one hand on his chest – to keep him from walking off, Draco supposed – as she pressed a quick kiss on her wedding ring, which would cause Draco's father's wedding ring to radiate a warm glow. It was their private alert system. Then she called Tinsel to serve them apple pie in the trophy room.

'This calls for a celebration! Oh, what a glorious time for us. Our good fortunes seem never-ending these days.'

They arranged themselves in the entrance hall to wait for Draco's father, where Mother pinned the badge on Draco's robes. She was smiling and singing, 'For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow.'

'Are you alright? Is something wrong?' Father barged in from the drawing room, grabbing Draco's head and arms as if checking for injury, then doing the same with Mother.

'Oh, Lucius, read the room.' Mother was positively beaming.

After a confused moment, Father's eyes lit up. 'Oh! Well? What is it? Tell me at once, do we have news? Anything from the war effort?'

'Guess!' said Draco, sticking his chest out and almost shoving the badge in his father's face. He and his mother were smirking at each other, while his father opened and closed his mouth in bewilderment.

'Give me a hint!'

At once, mother and son both pointed at Draco's badge and started to laugh.

Draco struck a proud pose with his hands behind his back and chin in the air. 'You are looking at the new Slytherin prefect, father. They chose Pansy and me.'

'They made our boy prefect!' called Mother, clapping her hands.

Father touched the badge, mouth hanging open at first, but quickly a look of smug pride spread on his face. He slapped Draco's shoulder. 'Of course they did! How could they not?' He tapped underneath Draco's chin. 'This calls for a reward, Dragon-child. What would you like to have?'

The question caught Draco off guard. It had just been his birthday, he had gotten everything he wanted.

Or did he?

'Something cool,' he mused. 'Something illegal, something I was not allowed to have before.'

He braced himself for the lash-out, but after a second of silence, his parents shared another smirk.

Mother shrugged in coy amusement. 'Chip off the old block…'

Father huffed. 'Alright, very well. When we go to collect your school supplies you can choose something from Borgin & Burkes.'

Draco crowed in excitement, and for an entire blissful weekend he forgot all about stupid Potter.

. . .

On the first day of September, the Malfoys met up with the Crabbes and Goyles on Platform 9 3/4 as usual, when Goyle nudged Draco's arm. 'Oh Malfoy, look,' he hissed. 'Can I go pet it?'

A bear-like black dog had appeared on the platform, amidst a large group of wizards, many of them ginger-haired, Draco quickly noticed.

Smirking, Draco made his way to the group, but when he spotted the lolloping dog, it was accompanied by Harry Potter, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

'Nice dog, Harry!' called a tall boy with dreadlocks walking by.

'Thanks, Lee,' said Potter, grinning, as the dog wagged his tail frantically.

Goyle let out a disappointed huff. 'Potter,' he grumbled.

The great black dog gave a joyful bark and gambolled around the group, snapping at cats and owls and chasing its own tail. Potter seemed highly entertained by this and couldn't stop laughing. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that.

A hand clasped Draco's shoulder. 'Interesting,' Father drawled coldly. 'We knew they were stupid, but this is a new low.'

Confused, Draco looked up at him. 'Because they got a dog? Goyle got a dog too.'

'Oh, that is not their dog …' said his father darkly.

'What?'

'Well, you see, your friend Potter here brought along your first cousin once removed. Perhaps we should do the polite thing and introduce you two.'

Draco's mouth fell open. 'That dog is – is–?'

'Yes,' his father drawled, 'that deceitful rat Pettigrew already mentioned Sirius Black's animagus form. Good to see it confirmed.'

They watched as the dog jumped up to put its paws on Harry's shoulders.

'Interesting,' murmured Draco's father again. 'They seem rather close, don't you think? Come on, the train leaves in a minute.' His hand on Draco's shoulder guided him back.

When the train left the station, the black dog was bounding alongside it, wagging its tail. Draco smirked smugly with the new piece of knowledge he'd gained on yet another one of Potter's secrets. He wondered how he could use it to his advantage.

. . .

The compartment door slid open and Pansy bustled in. It startled Vincent so that he knocked over their game of Exploding Snap.

'Parkinson!' he groaned. 'Knock first.'

She patted his head. 'Sorry, champ, but listen, I found out who the other prefects are. Guess.'

Draco didn't look up from their game and drawled, 'I have no idea.'

'Guess!'

He breathed in. Over summer he'd already put a great deal of thought into this subject. It was vital that Pansy never found out he cared, though, so he put on his best pondering frown.

'For Hufflepuff it's probably… that boring kid, MacMiller?'

'MacMillan. Yes.'

'Bloodtraitor scum,' growled Crabbe.

'Hm. And then probably that gal of his too, little Whatsername, spawn of that Sacred Twenty-Eight renegade… Abbott.'

'Hannah Abbott, yes! She's not his girl though.'

'Whatever – For Ravenclaw… the Indian girl? One of the two, I always forget.'

'Padma Patil – You're really good at this.'

'Who's the guy though?'

'Anthony Goldstein.' Pansy put a finger down her throat. 'Lame git.'

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'Yeah… Well, so far, an astounding lack of decent purebloods, I must say.'

'You're forgetting the best one,' said Pansy. 'Come on.'

'Not forgetting,' Draco muttered.

'Come on, who do you think?'

Reluctantly, Draco looked up from their game. 'Well, I suppose Granger and… you know, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' He pretended to shudder.

Pansy struck a pose and sang out, 'Wrong!'

Draco frowned, searching her face for clues. 'What? Not Granger? Then who, the other Indian girl?'

Pansy leaned her hands on Draco's shoulder to stare him in the eye. 'It's not Potter.'

After a short silence, Crabbe and Goyle guffawed and Pansy shrieked. Draco, on the other hand, needed ages to process.

'Not – Huh, then –? Huh?' He felt like a burnt-out Cleansweep. 'I… I can't –'

Pansy had to sit down, she was laughing so much. 'I'm telling you, this Headmaster of ours is the most chaotic mastermind in existence. You'll never guess who he chose. Honestly, it is such a power move, I would not have been surprised if your dad were behind it.'

Draco tried to guess, but there really wasn't any Gryffindor better suited as prefect than Potter.

'Who?' he finally asked, softly, curiously.

Raising her hands, she answered, 'Ronald Weasley.'

The sounds the four of them made were inhuman.

'He didn't!' Draco shouted, not knowing whether to feel shocked, delighted or affronted. 'How on Earth – WHY?!'

Pansy raised her arms in bewilderment as Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

'Oooh, this is –' Draco slowly shook his head and felt a smirk on his face. 'Oh... let's go, boys.'

With Crabbe and Goyle safely at his shoulders, Draco slid open the compartment door where Potter was sitting with a few of his Gryffindor buddies.

'What?' Potter snarled, before Draco could even open his mouth.

'Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention,' Draco drawled. 'You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.' He smirked at his friends.

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave me alone.'

His idiotic friends laughed, but Draco saw the fire behind his ex-homeboy's battered glasses. Draco had clearly touched a nerve, and wanted to relish in it. 'Tell me, Potter, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley?' he asked, hardly able to contain his grin.

Potter opened his mouth to retort, but Weasley beat him to it: 'You should know.'

A stunned hush fell over the compartment. It seemed like everybody knew what was meant by that – and Draco wanted to evaporate on the spot.

Potter was grinning and had an awfully defiant look on his face, rubbing it in a bit more how he and Draco were enemies now. It hurt like a hex in the gut.

'Well, you just watch yourself, Potter.'

Draco managed to give him a last malicious look before quickly shutting the door to bolt, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake. His friends had the sensitivity to stay quiet, all the way back to the safety of their own compartment. The moment the sliding door closed behind them, Draco almost started crying.

'Exploding Snap?' Gregory suggested, apparently unaware of Draco's mood.

'You play,' Draco said, and as his friends set up the game, Draco took out his violin to solemnly fiddle a few comfort songs to himself.

He didn't know how long he'd been playing when the door hurled open and the violin bow was forced from his hand by Pansy, who whacked him around the head with it in one move. 'NO! What happened? I'm gone for two seconds!' She whacked Crabbe and Goyle around their heads too. 'You two should have prevented this! What use are you to me?'

Draco jumped up to yank the bow out of her hands. 'Shut up, Parkinson.'

'What did he do?' Pansy demanded. 'I swear to Merlin, if Harry Potter hurts you one more time, I will personally shove that entire violin up–'

'Va t'en!' Draco tried to push her out of the door. 'Shut up!'

People were hanging out of their compartments to stare. Draco glared at them, then shoved Pansy harder than intended and she fell backwards against the compartment opposite theirs.

'Fine!' she screamed and stomped away.

Draco shut the door with such force it bounced right back open and he was this close to screaming like a banshee if Gregory hadn't taken charge right then. He carefully shut the door, pressed Draco back in his seat and handed him a bag of Chocolate Frogs.

'One day,' Crabbe promised them both, 'we will set this whole place on fire. We will kill them all.'

Draco pouted, trying very hard to push back the tears. 'Thank you.'

Before Crabbe and Goyle could set up another round of Exploding Snap – Vincent had knocked it over again when Pansy'd barged in – a knock came on the door.

'Thank you for knocking,' grumbled Crabbe when Blaise Zabini entered gently, with the lanky boy from the party, Theodore Nott, following at his heels. Both looked natty as ever; Zabini in a crispy clean Hogwarts uniform and Nott in an expensive-looking, but boring, grey jumper.

Draco scowled when Zabini shoved him into Goyle's shoulder to sit on their bench. 'You made the whole carriage cry,' said Zabini, while Nott plopped down beside Crabbe. 'With your stupid violin.'

'I did not cry,' snapped Nott, whose red rimmed eyes contradicted that statement.

'Huh? We didn't,' said Goyle.

Zabini shook his head. 'Not Pansy either.'

Draco frowned in confusion.

'We're used to it,' growled Crabbe, while considering his next move, and Nott seemed to choke on nothing.

'Merlin, Malfoy, how often did you play this?'

'Non-stop.'

'Shut up, Crabbe,' Draco snarled, grabbing his wand.

'Maybe it only works on people who had their hearts broken,' Zabini pondered out loud.

'Oh yeah? Who broke yours then, Zabini?' Nott smirked maliciously.

When he didn't answer, they all looked at Zabini, who'd gone slightly scarlet and flicked the back of his hand underneath his chin at Nott.

Draco felt like a Niffler smelling gold – or like a Malfoy smelling secrets. 'Well, well, well...' he slowly turned his body towards his handsome friend. 'Care to share with the group, Zabini?'

Zabini's dark eyes were fixated on Nott. His stare reminded Draco of Nimbostratus on a hunt, and the moment Nott opened his mouth, several things happened at once.

'Zabini's got a crush on–'

'Oscausi!' Zabini's hand moved so fast it was a blur and where once had been Nott's thin lips, was now simply skin.

Nott's beady eyes flew open as he felt around for his mouth, humming anxiously.

With an excited whoop, Draco jumped up to inspect it. Nott's entire mouth was gone. 'Oy, that's an improvement!' Draco grinned while the boys guffawed. 'How'd you do that, Zabini?'

'I can teach you,' he mumbled.

Draco laughed scathingly and tapped the skin where Nott's peevish mouth had been. The boy slapped him away so furiously his feathery, brown hair fell into his eyes. It only made Draco laugh more. 'Ooh, such peace and quiet… Lovely.' He settled back down between his friends, gesturing lazily. 'Alright, turn him back now.'

Zabini refused to meet his eye and started shuffling in his seat.

'Don't tell me, Zabini! You can't turn him back?' When Zabini shook his head, Draco clenched his fists. 'You hexed him without knowing the counter-curse, what were you thinking?' He hauled Nott to his feet, clearly against the boy's wishes. 'Fait chier, Zabini, he's one of our own.'

As he slammed the compartment door close behind him – hearing another round of Exploding Snap hitting the floor – he kept one hand firmly around Nott's weedy arm as the boy kept trying to shake him off. 'Keep up, Nottingham.'

Listening closely, Draco could hear him making furious humming noises in protest. He tried not to, but smirked with malicious glee.

. . .

Between getting the Head People to fix Nott – who'd gotten increasingly more panicked the longer it took – attending the first official prefect meeting, and patrolling the corridors, there was not much time left for Draco to worry about certain Boys Who Lived. A good chunk of the journey Draco spent searching out every single Weasley to catch them at something; made up or real didn't matter anymore after Weasley got Crabbe and Goyle for "staining the seats" with their food. Draco caught the Weasley twins for being loud and the Weasley girl for looking poor, but the eldest Weasley was a prefect himself, so Draco reluctantly left him alone.

When the train arrived at the station, the prefects were the first to step out, avoiding the usual shuffling through the corridors. Feeling the cool sting of the night air on his face, Draco neglected his duty supervising the crowd to collect his friends and conquer a coach for themselves.

'Uh! No running!' he shouted when a few third-years tried to cut them off, and he hauled the kid back with a spell he used to haul Potter away from his friends with, back in the day.

'You were supposed to help people get off the train,' said Pansy, catching up with them and panting slightly.

'I'm helping to maintain order on the platform,' Draco drawled, grinning at Crabbe and Goyle, who sniggered.

The smell of the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake pricked Draco's nose. It was the smell of an exciting new year.

Sauntering over the dark, rainwashed road outside Hogsmeade Station, they caught sight of the hundred or so stage coaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle.

'There's Blaise,' said Pansy and she started screaming his name until he shouldered through the crowd towards them.

Draco smirked. 'Where's your mouthy friend, Zabini?'

'I'm right here, you bastard,' said a voice behind them, making Draco jump.

'Nottingham,' Draco drawled, feigning boredom, 'didn't see you there.'

'My name is Nott.'

Draco raised his brows, pretending to wait. 'Your name is not what?'

His friends sniggered; Nott fumed. 'My name is not Nottingham. It is Nott.'

'Don't need to repeat yourself, Theodore. What is your name then?'

Nott was shaking in anger; his friends almost peed themselves. Unfortunately, he did not continue their funny game.

Draco led his posse to the nearest carriage. A few timid-looking second-years made a laughable attempt of beating them to it, so Draco pushed them away.

'We are prefects,' he let them know, pointing at his badge and articulating slowly, so their young brains could understand. 'Prefects have more rights.' Smirking at Crabbe and Goyle, he got in first to get the window seat, but as soon as he sat down, shouts outside made him look up – and he froze.

The door slammed close – behind a triumphant looking Harry Potter.

Draco grabbed his wand. 'Potter!'

Yanking at the door to keep it closed, Harry sat down. Draco was glad his friends put up a good fight and idly wondered who would win, when Potter spoke. 'Why didn't you write to me?'

Draco had to let those words sink in. 'Why didn't I write to you?' He all but spat the words back. 'You left me for dead on the train last year!'

'You said horrible things!'

'You ignored me for weeks!'

Regretting his words immediately, Draco closed his mouth and looked away. In the darkness outside he could only see streetlights and the vague outlines of pine trees against the night sky.

'Ignored you?' said Potter. 'I had the tournament! You didn't look me up either.'

'I did,' Draco said coldly, still looking away. 'I just stopped after you left me to rot on that tower.'

Harry fell silent.

Draco hated it. He could tell Potter was picturing him that night up on the tower, sad and alone and… weak –

'It doesn't matter,' Draco snarled. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

Clutching his wand, Draco kept his eyes firmly on the moon, hoping to hide his feelings. He hated how Potter made Draco explain all of this. He hated that Potter hadn't noticed anything himself.

'Oh no… Draco, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you talk to me?'

'Don't put this on me, scarhead! I was out of sight, out of mind, but – whatever…'

'That's not true!'

Draco desperately clung to what little self-respect he had left. It got increasingly more difficult. He pressed his feet into the floor, trying to ground himself.

'I don't care, honestly. It's ages ago.'

Somewhere between Harry wailing and Draco losing his temper, the coach had lifted off. Draco could see the lights of the castle drawing nearer.

Potter let go of the door handle to shove closer. 'Come on, Draco, don't – Can you give me another chance?'

'Oh piss of, Potter, you can't even look at me.' At this, Draco finally met Harry's eyes to prove his point.

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again and dropped his gaze, marvellously confirming Draco's claim. 'It's… It's your dad–'

'I know,' Draco cut in.

'Please talk to me again.'

Draco inhaled and tightly crossed his arms.

In a whisper, Potter added, 'I miss you so.'

Something seemed to tear open inside Draco, releasing a sob he could only just keep in. In a moment of weakness, he dropped his arms and Harry immediately sat down next to him to grab Draco's hand, sending a bolt of lightning up Draco's spine that he did not appreciate.

He knocked the hand aside. 'We can't. It can't,' he managed. 'You're the enemy.'

He repeated it over and over in his mind: Harry Potter was the enemy, the literal posterboy of their enemy. He had betrayed them in a heartbeat. And not to mention: Draco's parents would blush.

'That's ridiculous,' said Potter, 'I don't have to be. You –'

Draco snapped. 'Everyone around you is my enemy! And everyone around me is your enemy! How do you see that solved all of a sudden? By all means, tell me! As if your friends will suddenly like me; as if my family won't ruthlessly use you somehow! Or me! It can't! We cannot keep ignoring it, Harry! The Dark Lord has returned for Merlin's sake!'

'I'm aware,' Harry said coolly.

Draco panted. 'You're on the wrong side of this war, Harry. You've got to start seeing that. I tried to get you to our side –'

'Why don't you get to my side?'

'Harry, for Merlin's sake!' Draco couldn't sit anymore and jumped up to pace the tiny space. 'You are the losing side. There is no way you'll hero yourself out of this. The Dark Arts are the most powerful of all magic, I told you that. You need to start seeing sense. You would understand if you didn't know so infuriatingly little about your own people. You've clearly never opened a history book in your life, and it is showing.'

Harry looked up at him with that stupidly determined look Draco loved so much. It made him sit down and cup his sweet face.

'Muggles and Mudbloods are ruining everything for us,' he softly explained. Then he fell silent for a second, desperately searching his brain for a way to fix everything. If Harry really was sorry and actually meant it when he said he missed Draco… Perhaps…

Harry closed his eyes to nuzzle into Draco's hand and pressed a kiss in his palm.

Startled, Draco tightened his grip to keep Potter – to keep himself – focused.

His hand glowed. His stomach twisted. He ignored it.

'There is still time to join us. We can figure it out.'

He believed it with all his heart, he had to. If Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy worked together they could figure anything out – right?

'Oh yeah, lovely,' said Harry coldly. 'So much easier to off me that way, right? Or we could snuff it together – like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic.'

A hot sting of frustration made Draco yank his hands away. He felt a lot like strangling the boy. He didn't understand: what was Potter thinking, waltzing in and dumping all responsibility for their safety on Draco's shoulders without any willingness to compromise even an inch? As if he was right?!

Potter seemed to choose his words carefully, which clearly did not come naturally for him. 'I just… don't agree with you,' he said redundantly, sounding like he was holding his breath. 'I think you need to be brave, and you should defy your parents.'

Draco couldn't believe his ears. Did Harry truly suggest Draco should leave the only people who ever truly cared for him, fought for him, right at the verge of a literal war? Did he truly suggest Draco should abandon his kin, his support system, his entire life, just so he could maybe snog every now and then, with a boy, and in all probability get himself killed to protect Muggles? What part of that scenario could ever sound right to him?

Before Draco could articulate any of this, Harry solemnly added, 'They are brainwashing you.'

That was the last straw. Raising his hands in the air, Draco flopped back in his seat and gave up. 'You are so dumb.'

There was no way he could explain to Harry how mind-blowingly wrong he was; there simply wasn't time before the war was over. If either of them had been brainwashed, it seemed pretty clear to Draco who it was – and it was certainly not the person with the well-rounded upbringing in the Wizarding World and the O in History of Magic.

So they sat together in silence, and every second was agony to Draco. He kept his eyes fixed on the lights of the castle to estimate how much longer he'd have to suffer. The answer was: long.

'I wish…' Potter started, but he trailed off.

Without wanting to, Draco's eyes drifted over the boy sitting next to him. Harry looked tired and pale, but the effect he had on Draco was hopelessly unchanged.

He could see what Potter wished, it was written all over his stupidly sweet and scruffy face.

Draco wished it too.

When the coach finally landed, shaking them so their shoulders bumped into each other, Harry leaned over and picked up Draco's chin. Before he could think of pulling away, their lips touched and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped him. A second later, Draco was left abandoned one last time.

. . .

It took the other Slytherin prefects ten minutes to notice Draco was missing and another five to find him.

With the hood of his cloak over his head, Draco tried to pull himself together, but fifteen minutes was hardly enough time to do that. Sounds on the carriage-steps made him brace himself.

'Draco! Oh no, what did he do?'

'Piss off, Pansy,' Draco muttered, pulling the hood over his eyes, but his shaky voice betrayed him anyway.

'Found him!' Pansy bellowed over the grounds. 'You go ahead! We'll come in a minute!' Someone shouted something that Draco couldn't make out. 'No, he's just crying!' Pansy screamed, and even louder: 'I said he's CRYING! Ooh of course, we'll be fine!'

'I am not crying,' Draco grumbled.

'There's no shame in it.' She closed the door behind her. 'They said to give you chocolate and they recommended the prefects bath–' she gasped, interrupting herself '– oh Merlin, Draconius, you wouldn't believe the disgusting things Warrington said, you know, he fantasizes about what it would feel like to have Moaning –'

'Stop. Stop right there.'

'Yes. You're right…' She shook her head to re-focus. 'Look, I am gladly willing to murder the Boy Who Lived for you, if it would help.'

'It would,' said Draco, adding, a second later, 'No. It probably would not…' He drew a heavy sigh. 'Oh Merlin, I am such a sucker for him.'

'Yeah and why?' Pansy sneered.

'You want a list?'

'Rather not. Look, mister, you can't stay here forever. I bet you feel better after you eat, you know I always do. Remember when I tried intermittent fasting and I trashed my room? That's you right now. You always love the welcoming feast, right? You said you gained three pounds after the one last year. Primrose eats buckets of ice cream when she's lovesick and it always works.'

'It's so much more than being lovesick,' he wailed and she smirked.

'I'm sure it is, you Malfoys always have everything worse, my mum says. But let's try it anyway, alright? Just come along now, I'll get you cleaned up. We'll impress the heck out of those miserable Gryffindors. I learned a few mean make-up spells over the summer that'll make your eyes pop. Ancient Parkinson secret.' She winked. 'You know we need it. Well, Primrose doesn't of course, but daddy says she was delivered by the milkman.'

Draco let her babble. He felt far too miserable to respond. He was reliving the conversation with Harry.

For the shortest of moments he had been alone with him, just the two of them, like old times. And now it was ripped away again, never to return.

'I think we broke up, Pansy. Officially.'

She shot him a sympathetic look. 'I'm sorry, darling.'

He scowled at her. 'Yeah, right…'

'I don't know what to say to you anymore, Draconius! The guy sucks! He's mean, egocentric, dumb, arrogant, lazy – if you want me to off him, I would, sincerely. But that doesn't change the fact that right now, you need to eat and you need to shine as our new prefect boy and you need to get back to being the cleverest, funniest, most obtrusive brat in this whole darn castle! The entire house of Slytherin is counting on it!'

He dried his cheeks with the sleeves of his cloak. 'Fine...' He snivelled one last time and sat up straight. 'D'accord, make my eyes pop then, you braggart.'

. . .

Pansy and Draco swaggered into the Great Hall with the air of busy prefects, pretending to discuss important student business instead of the appearance of their eyes. They settled between their respective friends to eat and, when they were chock-full, turned their ears towards their idiotic headmaster.

'We have had two changes in staffing this year,' said Dumbledore at his never-ending start-of-the-year speech. 'We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.'

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause, during which Pansy leaned over to slap Draco's arm. 'Did you know this?' she hissed.

Draco raised a brow. 'Of course I did.' Pansy seemed to try to read Draco's thoughts, so he lazily leaned back. 'You think I would lie? The giant oaf is on a sort of mission. A mission destined to fail, if you ask my father. My father practically hired that Defence Against The Dark Arts woman himself, you see. They have regular dinners and everything.'

His friends looked at Professor Umbridge, taking in her fluffy, pink cardigan and the pink Alice band in her mousy brown hair.

'Couldn't he have hired someone with taste?' said Tracey, and the girls sniggered.

'Ask him to hire that French chick next time,' Zabini leered, followed by many approving hums.

Pansy, too, sighed, 'Ooh yeah…' and Draco shot her a warning look, but couldn't help sniggering when she flushed.

Thankfully, everyone else's attention was on their new professor, who was giving a speech, in a strange fluttery, high-pitched voice. Draco started to doubt whether this was a person to brag about to his friends after all.

Watching the quizzical frowns on the faces of his house mates, he tried to focus on the words of her speech, but it was all gibberish to his tired mind. He drifted off, his gaze involuntarily drawn to a certain boy at the other end of the hall, who was looking equally glassy-eyed.

When the woman finally finished talking, every one of his friends' faces turned to Draco. He quickly tore his eyes away from the Gryffindor table, inquiring, 'What's the problem?'

Zabini wagged his pinched fingers, which Draco took to mean something like, 'The heck did she mean?'

'Well, you heard the woman,' Draco bluffed to buy himself more time while he tried to remember what his dad had said about their new Professor.

'I saw her lips moving,' said Daphne, stifling a yawn.

Draco flicked his hair from his face. 'Well, she just means that the Ministry's got control over Hogwarts now.'

Pansy frowned. 'And… that's a good thing?'

'The "Ministry,"' Draco clarified mockingly, drawing quotation marks in the air.

There was a great clattering and banging all around them before anyone could ask more. Apparently, Dumbledore had just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up, ready to leave the Hall.

Draco wanted to blunder straight back to the Slytherin Dungeon with Crabbe and Goyle, but Pansy whistled. 'Oy! Prefect Malfoy!'

They were supposed to lead the little ones to their dorms. Being a prefect was all fun and games until you actually had to work for it, Draco quickly realised.

'Can't they follow the others?' Draco drawled. 'Or we let Prefect Pucey do it, you know, it's not exactly a six person-job, now, is it?'

Ignoring him, Pansy started shouting and waving at the first years. Draco sulkily put his hands in his pockets to wait until she was done. None of the first-years even reached Draco's shoulders; a few of them hardly even reached his waist.

'Hey, Prefect Parkinson, you're not the smallest of the group anymore,' Draco jeered.

As soon as they'd gathered a flock of snakelets, they marched. Descending the steps to the dungeons, Draco lit a sparkler from his wand to make their surroundings a little less threatening. The soft 'oooh' of the easily impressed little ones cheered him up. Holding his wand up high, he theatrically cleared his throat, pushing Pansy a little, and sang, 'Everywhere we go-o.'

'No, Draco…'

He took an exaggerated, deep breath and shouted at her: 'Everywhere we go-o!'

Pansy sighed deeply, but gave in. 'Everywhere we go-o,' she sang.

'People want to know-o!' Draco waved the sparkler over his head.

'People want to know-o,' sang Pansy, together with the boldest of the first years.

'Who we a-are!'

'Who we a-are!' roared a group of older Slytherins further down the dungeons.

Draco grinned and walked backwards to spur on his snakelets. 'And where we come from!'

'And where we come from,' sang the first-years.

He put a hand to his mouth to make a horn. 'So we tell them!'

'So we tell them.'

'We're from the dungeons!'

At his point the response sounded from all around him.

'We're mighty, mighty Slytherins!'

One of the kids even yelled.

'And if they can't hear us!'

One of the girls clenched her fists excitedly, clearly knowing what was coming. Specially for her, Draco made himself big to heave a theatrically huge breath, and he bellowed as loud as he could, 'WE SING A LITTLE LOUDER!'

People started laughing, but all through the dungeons, Draco heard his own words repeated in screams and roars, echoing painfully between the arching walls.

Banshee Pansy took a breath, and together with Draco they continued in a deafening cry: 'EVERYWHERE WE GO-O!'

One of the tiniest first-years Draco had ever seen sidled up to Draco and held his sleeve. Terrified, he looked round at Pansy, but she was busy singing and playing the boss. He tried to shake off the little hand while screaming the next line, but it didn't work; the girl only shuffled closer to him, singing softly to herself, 'People want to know-o.'

She seemed to feel perfectly at ease with Draco.

. . .

On Monday morning, Pansy and Draco arrived late together at the breakfast table after their meeting with the Head People. Their friends turned in their seats as they swaggered through the Great Hall with the other prefects.

'Should we bow for them do you reckon, Daphne?' said Tracey in a falsely anxious voice.

'We could curtsey,' said Daphne.

'Oh, shut up.' Pansy smirked at them as she sat down.

'Or what?' said Daphne, an evil grin spreading across her face. 'Going to put us in detention?'

'I'd love to see them try,' sniggered Tracey.

'Oh, would you? I can arrange it, you know,' said Pansy.

Daphne and Tracey burst out laughing. 'We're going to have to watch our step, Daphne,' said Tracey, pretending to tremble, 'with these two on our case…'

'Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over,' said Daphne.

'Don't you worry, girl,' Pansy simpered, 'we'll remember our roots.'

'What's new really?' drawled Draco. 'We've always been superior to you all.'

One of the first things Draco undertook in his new, superior position of prefect was to check out the prefect bathroom he'd heard so much about.

When he reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, he leaned close to the door and muttered the password, 'Pine fresh,' like Ethan Hanley, the Head Boy, had told him.

The door creaked open. Draco slipped inside, bolted it behind him, and looked around.

His immediate reaction was that the prefect bathroom was even better than the master bathroom in the manor. The bathroom was softly lit by a splendid candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool's edges, each with a differently coloured jewel set into its handle. There was even a diving board.

Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and there was a single golden-framed painting on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid who was fast asleep on a rock, her long hair over her face. It fluttered every time she snored.

Putting one of the towels at the side of the swimming-pool-sized bath, Draco knelt down and turned on a few of the taps. Different sorts of bubble bath mixed with the water; the kind of bubble bath his parents used on special occasions, or the kind they had at the Parkinsons' favourite spa. One tap gushed pink and blue bubbles the size of footballs; another poured ice-white foam so thick that Draco thought it would have supported his weight if he'd cared to test it; a third sent heavily perfumed purple clouds hovering over the surface of the water.

When the deep pool was full of hot water, foam, and bubbles, which took a very short time considering its size, Draco turned off all the taps, got undressed and slid into the water.

It was so deep that his feet barely touched the bottom. He dived to see if he could touch it and when he resurfaced victoriously, he crowed in delight. Then he started perfecting his summersaults from the diving board. For a little more show he turned on all the jets and fountains at the same time. They shot through the clouds of different-coloured steam wafting all around him as he jumped through them in every way he could think of, all while screaming his lungs out.

After a while, he laid back, immersing his body under the hot and foamy water.

It was heavenly... and far too quiet. No one was laughing or cheering or yelling at his antics; there was no one to splash, throw in by their arms and legs or to try and drown for a laugh. The whole point of taking showers was to throw sponges and to empty gallons of shampoo on heads and threatening to hide clothes and all that, right? Where was the fun in having a swimming-pool like this if no one laughed?

What was the point of being superior if it made you feel lonely? Draco leaned his chin in his arm, scratched his nose like Wickie the Viking, and came up with a plan.

. . .

As the week wore on, Draco got anxious. Their first Potions lesson was coming up, and he wondered what he was supposed to do if Snape wanted them to work in pairs. Even if he'd wanted to work with Potter, he wasn't allowed to anymore. Would he have to work alone? Or with someone left-over, like Longbottom?

On Thursday, he slowly gravitated more and more away from the Slytherin boys and closer to Pansy, until he felt for her hand on their way to the dungeons. She squeezed it without looking up from her conversation with Daphne and Tracey about the cinnamon rolls at lunch. It was all the comfort he needed.

He took a seat as far away from Potter as possible and hid behind Crabbe and Goyle.

As he wrote down their potion recipe, Snape casually called, 'Form your own pairs,' like it was something they did every year. And Draco froze. He bet that the only two people wanting to switch partners were him and Potter. How could he convince anyone to swap their partner for Draco? He looked up and around – and saw all his friends watching him.

That's when it struck him: he was best in their year.

A smug smirk spread on his face as he considered his options: Crabbe and Goyle were the last on his list, he'd do them a favour... Zabini was looking a little too desperate there for his taste… Only one person was looking pointedly away –

'Nottingham,' Draco drawled. 'Get over here.'

Theodore Nott glared back at him. Smirking, Draco copied the ingredient list on a piece of parchment and held it out when, a few seconds later, Nott plopped down in the chair next to him. 'Go get the ingredients.'

Nott didn't move an inch. When Draco looked up from copying the rest of the recipe, Nott was busy writing it down as well. 'Forget it,' he drawled.

For a second, Draco was dumbfounded. He took in the neat handwriting, spotlessly clean fingers and silky hair, which all stood in such stark contrast to Draco's previous Potions partner, and decided to hand the list to his friends. 'Crabbe, get our ingredients too, will you?' When he looked back, Nott was smirking at his parchment.

Draco resolved not to give his partner any more orders this lesson, wanting to avoid any needless head butting. Needless, because Nott would undoubtedly mess up and then he'd be grateful for Draco's leadership next time.

So they each took a different task and worked on it in silence. Every few seconds, Draco would check up on Nott's work, but his partner seemed to be doing a surprisingly decent job cutting up star thistle and grinding the Gnat Heads. When Draco put down his scissors to get on with the next step, he caught Nott glancing at the horse hair Draco just snipped up as if he was checking up on Draco's work too. Before Draco could call him out on it, their concentration was broken by Snape's voice rumbling through the dungeon.

'Potter, what is this supposed to be?'

Draco's head shot up. Their professor was looking down at Potter's cauldron with a cold smirk on his face.

'The Draught of Peace,' Potter said tensely.

'Tell me, Potter,' said Snape softly, 'can you read?'

Draco laughed loudly; Harry's shoulders tensed up, but he did not look Draco's way.

'Malfoy, focus,' snarled Nott.

'Shut up.'

'Yes, I can,' said The Boy Who Lived, fingers clenched around his wand.

'Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.'

Harry squinted his blind eyes at the blackboard through the haze of multi-coloured steam now filling the dungeon and slowly as ever, he read the instructions aloud.

'Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?' asked Snape.

'No,' said Potter very quietly.

'I beg your pardon?'

'No,' said Potter, more loudly. 'I forgot the hellebore.'

Draco snorted, but when he glanced round at Nott, the boy wasn't paying attention. He was doing something very peculiar: after putting his wand to his upper arm and a number appeared, glowing in the air in front of him for a few seconds: 9,8. Theodore nodded like he was okay with that number.

'I know you did, Potter,' snarled Snape, recapturing Draco's attention, 'which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesce.'

Draco could not contain a gasp as the contents of Harry's potion vanished; Potter was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.

'That's brutal,' Draco whispered.

'Come on, Malfoy, get it together,' snarled Nott, pulling at Draco's sleeve.

Draco barely refrained from slapping him. 'Don't touch me, Theodore.'

'I wouldn't dream of it,' Nott snarled back. His hazel eyes bore into Draco's as if the two of them were head butting from a safe distance.

Draco hated it. He hated power play. Proving you were superior meant admitting you weren't by default. Embarrassing.

So he changed tactics, smirking. 'What, you don't dream of touching me, Nottingham? I find that very hard to believe. Don't you think I'm loveable?'

Nott just scowled and Draco laughed derisively. He got up to put their ingredients in the cauldron, and Nott jumped. 'Do not –'

Draco stopped mid-movement.

Nott sat back down. 'Oh…'

Draco shot him a murderous look and snapped, 'Are you joking? Did you think I would just dump it in, like a Muggle?' He put down the Gnat Heads to lock eyes with Nott. 'Do you even have a clue about my skills in this class, Nott?'

Nott glowered back, standing up to get level with Draco, his wispy hair falling in his eyes. 'It's not like you have a clue about me or my skills, you stuck-up prep boy, so why would I care about yours?'

'You don't have to care,' Draco scoffed. 'You should just know that I am better than you.'

'I am equal to you.'

Draco let out a short laugh, looking the boy derisively up and down. 'Of course you are –' He picked up the Gnat Heads to lay them on the potion's surface '– two-comma kid…'

He could tell without looking that Nott was fuming.

Draco himself wasn't calm either. He resolved to write to his father, first thing after the lesson ended, about the insults thrown at him by the latest Nott spawn. Their parents would set this straight, he was certain. Equals, how dare the boy even think it?

Still, Potions class was not the time to bicker. Draco had a reputation to uphold, and fair was fair: he'd single handedly made his bed by choosing cranky Nottingham of all people to be his Potions partner. Now he would just have to lie in it, one way or another.

'Go on then,' he snarled, flicking his hand at the cauldron. 'Make me proud.'

Nott squinted his calculating eyes at Draco and started stirring. Draco counted along, but each time he wanted to jump up to stir the other way around, the boy already did.

As Nott set a timer, Draco handed him the horse hairs, but this time Nott was the one to gesture at the cauldron, the little brat.

Draco mockingly did a curtsy when they passed each other and Notts lips curled into a mean smirk. Taking a grounding breath, Draco sprinkled the horse hairs through the potion, stirring after each pinch.

When Draco trinkled in three drops of Jupiter, Nott practically blocked his view to check. In an impulse, Draco pushed Nott's head down as if wanting to dip his face in the boiling substance. He wouldn't, as it would ruin their potion, but the effect was great.

Gasping, Nott drew back, grabbing his wand as Draco swiftly backed away.

'Professor?!' Draco dropped in his chair to look up at his partner with his most innocent smile.

Snape swooped by to check it. 'What is going on here?'

'Oh nothing, sir… I just wondered, what is your opinion on my new Potions partner: Mister Nott here, Professor? You see, I value your opinion most of anyone in this school, sir.'

Nott made gagging sounds behind Draco's back, while Snape contemplated the question. 'Well, I can say this, Mister Malfoy,' he drawled, 'he is a lot less vain than a few of my other top students.'

Draco turned to face his new partner, who slowly looked aside at Draco, a horribly smug look on his rabbity face.

Draco felt like pushing over the cauldron.

Scowling, he crossed his arms, watching Nott roll up his sleeves to stir. He was doing everything exactly like Draco would have done it, and it was insufferable.

As he sat there, watching their potion respond to Nott in all the correct ways, Draco couldn't help but admit it might be sort of nice to work with someone competent. It could at the very least be a refreshing change after having to do everything himself for the past three years.

'Those of you who have managed to read the instructions,' called Snape with a nasty look at sad little Potter, 'fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing. Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.'

Blowing the silky hair from his face, Nott bottled their immaculately brewed potion without even being asked. With perfectly readable handwriting and without getting ink on his hands, he wrote their names on the label.

'Library, four-thirty tomorrow,' Draco drawled. 'Do not be late.'

. . .

'Did you hear about Potter?'

The whisper floated through a crowded corridor. Draco couldn't figure out who'd said it, but as he and his friends made their way to the Great Hall at lunch break, more scraps of the same conversation filled the castle.

'He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered…'

'He reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who…'

'Come off it…'

'Who does he think he's kidding?'

'Pur-lease…'

Draco shared a look with Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed oblivious, so as soon as they reached the Slytherin Table, Draco pushed Daphne Greengrass aside to sit sideways next to Pansy.

'What's the latest?' he drawled. 'Care to inform me on anything?'

Pansy bit back a smirk, blinking innocently. 'Why, what sort of news are you looking for, darling?'

Daphne laughed tauntingly. Draco wanted to hex her, but forced himself to focus on Pansy. 'Tell me, hag, what did he do?'

She lifted her nose. 'I won't talk to you when you're like this.'

He grabbed his wand, knowing full well it wouldn't get him anywhere. Instead, he breathed in and out and put on a smile. 'Miss Parkinson… lovely, clever girl… my best friend in the whole wide world, you know I would die for you without hesitation. So, hey, bestie, please, just for me, shine your eternal light on the whispers I've been hearing about a certain person who we must not name.' He grinded out the last words, then flashed another sarcastic smile.

'He exploded in Defence Against The Dark Arts,' Pansy whispered eagerly. 'He told Umbridge that the Dark Lord is waiting for us "out there."'

Draco looked out of the window.

'No, not out there; out "in the real world," apparently.'

'Well, he's not wrong,' Draco grumbled. Pansy shot him a warning look, and Draco loudly corrected, 'He's clearly deranged.'

'He said that the Dark Lord was never dead and that he has returned now. Says he saw how the Dark Lord murdered Diggory. Says he fought the Dark Lord.'

Draco's stomach turned at the thought. 'Delusional,' he managed.

'Apparently he was very angry.' Pansy wiggled her brows, knowing Draco was weak for angry Harry. 'Umbridge sent him to McGonagall and he got detention for spreading lies.'

Draco noticed his hands clenching and gritted his teeth to try and get a hold of his anger. Harry was the enemy, he repeated to himself. Harry Potter was actively working to take everything from Draco, and from his family and friends. Potter had carelessly abandoned him time and again and did not care for Draco. Harry Potter deserved every bad thing he had brought upon himself.

Draco took a deep breath. 'Serves him right,' he breathed.

. . .

After their last lesson ended, Draco made his way to the kitchens, not wanting to lock himself in the library to write an essay with the new kid without any snacks. Listing off his demands for the house-elf in front of him, Draco wondered what his new Potions partner would like. He hated not knowing. In the end, he vaguely recalled him eating a hotdog at one of the Death Eaters' barbecue parties.

With a paper bag full of snacks and another one with just a hotdog, Draco hurried up to the library, where his sour-looking buddy was sitting at a table, already scratching away on a piece of parchment.

Not until Draco started unpacking the paper bag, did Nott look up, ostentatiously checking his watch.

'Ah, Malfoy,' he drawled, 'didn't expect you anymore.'

'Sourpuss. Eat your hotdog.' As he took a bite out of an apple, Draco put his legs on the table and threw a piece of parchment in Nott's direction. 'Here, I made you an outline. What d'you reckon?'

Nott looked it over, his frown turning deeper. Draco waited.

'Yes,' Nott finally mumbled, putting his own notes next to Draco's and grabbing a book. When he moved his chair closer, Draco put down his legs to look over the boy's shoulder.

Nott's notes were a jumble of information, seemingly copied from numerous sources, but as Draco watched, Nott drew lines to connect them with Draco's outline for the essay. Doing that, they had a pretty decent first draft within minutes.

A soft 'Oh' slipped from Draco's lips. He saw his own amazement reflected in Nott's eyes.

'Yeah... We still need to connect the paragraphs, and I can write a conclusion, if you want. Are you any good with introductions?'

'I'm good with anything, Nottingham,' Draco drawled, crossing his arms behind his head and balancing his chair on two legs.

Nott wasn't looking at him, but at the essay. 'There's a thousand things I could say to that...'

Draco snorted, falling back on four legs and snatching the parchment away from Nott.

As they got to work on connecting the paragraphs, Draco caught Nott doing the same odd thing he did in Potions class: the boy tapped his arm with his wand, this time flashing the number 4,5 into the air. Following that, he seemed to scan the hotdog with his wand, then put his wand to his flank, flinching slightly.

'What are you doing?' Draco demanded.

'Nothing,' Nott snarled, throwing his wand at the table like he'd been caught at something, and making a show of reading his book.

Draco bit back his retort, too curious to ruin his chances of wheedling out the secret. He would find out. The question was when.

While Draco pretended to be engrossed in writing a gripping introduction, Nott finally took a cautious bite of the hot dog. Inhaling sharply, he immediately took a second, larger bite.

'Darn good hot dog...'

Draco bit back a satisfied smirk.

. . .

The other class they shared with the Gryffindors – Care of Magical Creatures – was coming up too, but Draco didn't dread it half as much as Potions. During Care of Magical Creatures, Draco didn't have to interact with Potter, except to annoy him.

Surrounded by his new and improved posse, Draco strode down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where they could see the Golden Trio standing around already.

'Can you imagine being the Saviour of the Wizarding World,' Draco loudly remarked, 'but getting beat at becoming a prefect by a Weasley? How much of a dung-brain do you have to be to go from hero to zero so fast?'

The loud shot of the Slytherins' laughter made the Gryffindors look around, their faces sour as always.

Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs.

As Draco's friends gathered around the trestle table, they continued to snigger heartily and Draco was pleased to see they kept looking over at Potter, who was clenching his jaw and returning their looks with a gloriously withering stare.

'Everyone here?' barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. 'Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?' She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her.

Granger's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Draco did a bucktoothed imitation of her, jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question, at which Pansy gave a shriek of laughter that turned into a scream when the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixie-ish creatures made of wood.

Draco laughed scathingly as Pansy ducked behind him. 'Prefect Parkinson setting another great example!' he jeered.

She should have known better after Primrose had brought a whole box of these little devils home one summer, only to have them escape and scatter through the Property within minutes. For days on end, they'd found them back in the most unexpected places, leaping up at them exactly like they did at her just now.

This time they couldn't escape, giving Draco a chance to look at them. They had knobbly brown arms and legs – not unlike Harry's, Draco was amused to note – two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, bark-like face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

'Oooooh!' said Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, as if they were looking at a rare dragon instead of meagre little walking sticks.

'Kindly keep your voices down, girls,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. 'So – anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?'

The lesson continued in the usual call-and-response way between their professor and the Mudblood. Draco rolled his eyes and zoned out, until the group suddenly surged forward around the trestle table.

He blinked, trying to figure out what he'd missed. The only other person not picking up Bowtruckles was Harry Potter, who was circling around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank. Intrigued, Draco moved closer.

'Where's Hagrid?' Potter asked.

'Never you mind,' said their professor repressively.

Smirking, Draco leaned across the table to Potter to seize the largest Bowtruckle. 'Maybe,' he said in an undertone, so that only Potter could hear him, 'the stupid great oaf's got himself badly injured.'

Harry turned to fully face Draco, leaning into him. 'Oh yeah? Maybe you will if you don't shut up.' His body language did not match his words at all; he was staring at Draco's lips, as if this was a bit of friendly, flirty banter to him.

Draco shot him an icy look. 'Maybe he's been messing with stuff that's too big for him,' he added, 'if you get my drift.'

Potter did not get Draco's drift. Draco relished in the boy's confusion and the way his mouth tried to form words he couldn't find. As he swaggered off, Draco couldn't help looking over his shoulder one more time, smirking at Potter's frown.

He spotted Crabbe and Goyle, who were squatting on the grass some distance away, attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it.

Draco spelled the grass to be dry and warm before sitting down opposite them. 'What are we supposed to do with these little buggers?'

'A sketch,' said Crabbe.

'With all body-parts labelled.'

Draco huffed. 'Hold it still, Goyle. Crabbe, you draw them, then I'll put the names in.'

A little known fact about Vincent Crabbe was that he was an avid drawer. Whenever he was nervous – which was always – he took to sketching. His favourite subjects were gruesomely violent scenes or women with disproportionate bodies, but still, he was quite good.

Draco leaned back, looking over at the Golden Trio, who were letting the Mudblood do all the work, as usual, while Potter worriedly whispered, holding their Bowtruckle like it was a baton and using it to gesticulate.

'Potter was asking about Hagrid,' Draco told Crabbe and Goyle, smirking broadly. 'He's clearly not in the know.'

'Are we in the know?' asked Goyle, frowning.

Pleased with the question, Draco raised his voice to answer, 'Yes, Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry's really determined to crack down on the sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he'll probably be sent packing straight away.'

'OUCH!'

Potter's Bowtruckle had just taken a swipe at his hand. As Potter sucked on his bleeding fingers, the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the forest, a little, moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots.

Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder. The Mudblood offered Potter her handkerchief, which he wrapped around his hand. Draco, feeling victorious, laughed derisively.

. . .

The Quidditch season started with Crabbe and Goyle being chosen as the new Beaters. Draco'd put in a good word for them, saying they'd kept him from harm for the past four years at Hogwarts, so they could keep the Slytherin players from being hit by a Beater too. They would replace Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, whom Draco would miss; especially Peregrine, who used to stick up for Draco without exception when Flint got angry with him.

Marcus Flint had also finished school last year, at long last, so their new captain would be Graham Montague, the Chaser who'd joined the team a year later than Draco as a reserve Chaser. Draco never got to know him very well, so he didn't know whether it would be an improvement to have him as their captain. At first sight, the guy seemed rather inept with words and more inclined to use his fists. It made Draco wonder what on Earth Snape saw in him, especially since the team had only once before played a match with him, in third year, when Adrian Pucey had been injured. Draco would have preferred to have Pucey or Bletchley as their captain, since they played with the team for their fifth year now.

Regardless, Draco reckoned they'd make a well-coordinated team after most of them had been playing together for years.

Before their first practice, Montague gathered them in a corner of the Slytherin common room to go over the changes made in the other house teams.

When he mentioned the new Gryffindor Keeper, Draco lost it. 'You've got to be joking! Are they collecting every Weasley in the castle?'

'Quiet, Malfoy –'

'Can he even play? Or is he just there because he can't go ten seconds without Potter?'

'Malf–'

'Attention-starved blood traitor,' Draco muttered, 'I bet he'll fall off his Cleansweep crying the minute it starts to drizzle.'

Stewing in his own fury, Draco noticed everyone was looking at him tiredly, except for Crabbe and Goyle, who were guffawing. 'Falling off crying,' mumbled Goyle.

Montague cleared his throat. 'Thank you, Malfoy…' He proceeded to introduce his plan to watch the first practice of each of the house teams to check out the competition. The first would be Gryffindor next Wednesday

Draco cheered up at this plan. It meant he had a free pass to scream at the Gryffindors, and two days to think of a few funny insults to throw at them, which was more than enough; he could already come up with four or five just off the top of his head.

He returned to his seat on the couch with a smirk, where Zabini leaned over from the chair next to him.

'Did he say you're going to check out the other teams?'

Before Draco could confirm, Tracey shrieked, 'Oh, can we come?'

'Well, I'm not going to all of them,' Draco drawled. 'I mean, I don't care about Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. We'll beat them with our eyes closed, you see.'

'I'm sure that's the reason,' Pansy put in from behind Witch's Weekly.

Draco ignored her. 'It's the day after tomorrow,' he drawled. 'Come if you want, I don't care.'

The morning of the Gryffindor's first practice of the year, Draco and his friends and teammates got up early and walked up to the pitch together, all in high spirits. Even Theodore Nott trailed along on his shiny, leather shoes, with his dainty nose in a book.

They grouped themselves halfway up the empty stands. It was a bright day; they squinted against the morning sunlight to watch the door to the changing room.

'I brought cookies and donuts,' Pansy informed, motherly passing around a paper bag.

'How about coffee?' growled Zabini, who turned out to be less of a morning person.

Without looking away from the changing room, Draco put a quick heating charm on his paper cup. 'Voilà, my tea's practically coffee – somebody forgot to add milk.' He glared at Crabbe, who played deaf.

'Remember, men,' Montague called, like he was captain of a ship crew instead of an amateur Quidditch team, slapping his hand at the beat of his words, 'we're here to analyse their tactics, their strengths and their weaknesses. Note things down if you need to; we will be discussing our findings at our first practice.'

Draco squinted at him. He'd never heard the guy string so many words together.

'Oh come on, Graham, don't be a drag,' said Pucey. 'We're only here for a laugh.'

A few Slytherins sniggered and hummed in agreement.

'Raise your hand if you're here for the Malfoy-Potter show,' said Jason the Mudblood almost inaudibly, but when Draco turned around to glare at him, at least seven or eight hands shot up.

'Oh, piss off,' he growled, but it was drowned out by the thunderous laughs of his friends.

Finally, the door to the changing room opened and the Gryffindor Quidditch team walked out.

The Slytherins broke out in a storm of cat calls and jeers, their voices echoing loudly around the stadium, while the Gryffindors mounted their brooms.

'What's that Weasley's riding?' Draco called in his sneering drawl. 'Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?'

Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy guffawed and shrieked with laughter.

Potter accelerated to catch up with Weasley, who appeared sullen and bleak on this glorious morning. Johnson soared around them with the Quaffle under her arm and slowed down to hover on the spot in front of her airborne team.

From where the Slytherins were seated it was hard to tell what she was saying. Draco strained to hear it.

'Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle, anyway?' shrieked Pansy. 'Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?'

'Shut up, Parkinson,' groaned Montague, 'I'm trying to hear what she says.'

It was drowned out by the laughter of Pansy and her gang of girls, while Johnson swept her long braided hair out of her face.

'It's nothing, Montague,' said Bletchley, leaning on his knees to scrutinize Weasley, as if sizing him up. 'Just a warm-up.'

Potter versed away from the rest of his team to the far side of the pitch, while Weasley fell back towards the opposite goal. Johnson raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to the Weasley twins, who passed it to Potter, who passed it to Weasley, who dropped it.

The Slytherins roared and screamed with laughter.

Weasley, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height with a red face.

'Pass it on, Ron,' called Johnson.

Weasley threw the Quaffle to Spinet, who passed back to Potter, who caught the Quaffle like it was a part of his own body, like he could do it with his eyes closed. Draco wished the guy wasn't wearing all those layers, so they could admire –

Fuck – 'Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?' Draco shouted, jumping up. 'Sure you don't need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?'

Potter looked fierce when he rounded the Firebolt in Draco's direction. 'Aw, thanks for caring, sweetie!' he roared sarcastically. 'I know how much you love catching me instead of the Snitch!'

While the Gryffindor team howled with laughter, Draco dropped back in his chair, crossing his arms and putting his feet up on the row in front of him. He pretended not to blush while his mind selectively repeated Potter's words: 'Sweetie – I know – you love – me.'

Draco was as gone on him as ever.

'He called you sweetie,' jeered Daphne.

'Are you certain you two broke up?' taunted Tracey and Pansy laughed, pushing him to laugh along.

'Quite certain,' Draco drawled. 'I broke up with him, you know.'

A hush fell over the group and when Draco glanced away from Potter for a quick second, he saw his friends gaping at him.

Zabini was the first to articulate a response. 'You broke up with him?'

'Why?' screamed Pansy.

'Oh, piss off, Pansy, you know why. You all agree he's an arse.' Draco put his hands to his mouth like a horn. 'Hey, Weasley, how did you get on the team? We know you couldn't have bought your place, or do you Weasleys all wear hand-me-downs for the aesthetic?'

Draco was sniggering when he heard a voice next to his ear. Nott was leaning over to him. 'Maybe his family's poor because they saved up all their money to buy his place in the team.'

Draco let out a short derisive laugh and shouted, 'Or is your family so poor because they saved up all their money to buy you a place in the team?!'

The Slytherins were laughing again, their questions about Draco's love life momentarily forgotten.

Meanwhile, the Weasley twins passed the Quaffle to Johnson; she reverse-passed to Potter, who had not been expecting it, but caught it in the very tips of his fingers like they were magnetic – at which stupid Draco blurted out, 'Damn,' to snorts and slaps of his friends.

'Shut up,' he snarled, ducking away, 'I didn't say anything.'

On his third attempt, Weasley caught the Quaffle. Perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Bell's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

The Slytherins let out a sympathetic "Oooh" before launching into a fit of laughter again. Bell's nose was bleeding and the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering.

'All right,' called Johnson, 'Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger. Ron, get up to the goal posts. Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously.'

'Now we're talking!' said Bletchley, rubbing his hands.

Potter zoomed off after the Weasley twins to fetch the Snitch. When Johnson blew her whistle, he released it and the Weasleys let fly the Bludger. From that moment on, Potter was off in the air, trying to capture the tiny fluttering golden ball. He accelerated, rolling and swerving in and out of the Chasers, the warm autumn air whipping his hair. Draco, enthralled by the swift moves Potter made, allowed the other Slytherins to take over the taunting for a minute to enjoy the view.

'What do you reckon, Bletchley?' called Montague pompously after a minute or so.

They all looked expectantly around for their own Keeper's opinion on the new Gryffindor one.

'He keeps drifting off to follow the Chasers,' said Bletchley with a pondering frown, 'leaving the center hoop completely open. Rookie mistake.'

Montague whistled. 'Sharp. Pucey, Taylor, are you writing that down?'

Draco jeered, 'Pucey, Taylor, can you write?' He leered at Montague. 'You do know Taylor's a Mudblood, right?'

Before Draco could blink, his arm was twisted on his back in such a way he was writhing out of his seat and on his knees on the floor of the stands, while Taylor furiously yanked at his wand a bit more.

'Ouch, morceau de merde – Someone confiscate this Mudblood's wand, he shouldn't have one.'

Crabbe snatched the wand from Taylor and while Draco stretched his painful arm, Taylor jumped on Crabbe like a pitbull to get it back and Pansy shrieked with laughter.

'Cut it out!' shouted Montague. 'Crabbe, give that back – Malfoy, leave politics at the side-line, alright?'

Draco's hands itched to send a vicious hex Taylor's way, but Montague kept watching him like a hawk, so Draco just sat back in his chair. Glancing at the sky, he was relieved to see Potter was still focusing on finding the Snitch instead of seeing Draco on his knees, overpowered by a Mudblood. Zabini and Nott were glaring at Taylor, and Crabbe and Goyle were rubbing their knuckles.

Johnson's whistle hauled Draco's attention back to the pitch. 'Stop – stop – STOP!' she screamed. 'Ron – you're not covering your middle post! You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!'

Bletchley whooped – 'Told ya!' – while Weasley's red face shone like a beacon against the bright blue sky.

'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' sang Pansy, and quickly Daphne and Tracey joined in, followed by the rest of the Slytherins.

As the Gryffindors continued their practice, Draco spotted the Snitch, not even a second before Potter did. He clenched his fists when Potter dived, but right then, Johnson's whistle sounded again. Potter pulled up and Draco saw his own grievance mirrored in his homeb– in his enemy's face.

'What now?' Draco snapped. 'He almost had it!'

As one, Crabbe and Goyle pointed at Bell, who was covered in blood and looking like a dead body. The Gryffindors watched, hovering still on their brooms, as the Weasley twins took Bell back to the castle. After that, Johnson admitted defeat.

The Slytherins continued to chant in victory as the Gryffindors trailed back into the changing rooms.

. . .

The next time Draco and Nott had to work together during Potions class went much better than the first. It already started off well, when the two of them got their moonstone essay handed back to them with a bright and shiny 'O' in the upper corner. Nott glanced at it and leaned back in his chair with a short hum, like their grade was merely acceptable to him.

To hide his smile, Draco grabbed their essay and leaned across the table to dangle their grade in Pansy's face.

After she complimented him accordingly, Pansy showed Draco the 'O' she and Daphne got, and after Draco complimented her right back, he turned around to shove his essay into Zabini's face, who angrily pushed him away with another 'Fanculo, Malfoy.'

'Ha! No need to tell me how you and Bulstrode did then.'

Zabini shoved their essay in his bag and even Nott laughed.

Draco nudged Crabbe with his wand, so he gloomily showed him the 'P' in the corner of their essay.

'The general standard of this homework was abysmal,' said Snape. 'Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week's essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a D.'

Snape smirked as Draco sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, 'Some people got a "D"? Ha!'

That was even worse than the grade Crabbe and Goyle got.

Draco tried very hard, but failed, not to look at Potter on the other side of the dungeon, who was sliding his moonstone essay back into his bag in rather the same way Zabini had done. Draco's smirk grew bigger.

While Snape droned on about Strengthening Solutions, Draco took out a piece of parchment and his copy of Hogwarts: A History and handed them to Crabbe. 'Draw me this map of the castle, Crabbe, but bigger. Start with the fifth floor.'

Nott side-eyed him. 'What are you up to?'

'Not your concern.'

Within ten minutes, Crabbe handed Draco a sketch of the dungeons.

'I said, the fifth floor, you dunce.'

'Oh,' said Crabbe. 'Sorry.'

Draco sighed and inspected the map, telling Nott offhandedly, 'You can do the potion.'

'Not your house-elf,' muttered Nott.

'You mean: Theodore Nott, your house-elf?' Draco jeered and Nott glared at him.

Smirking, Draco bent over the map. It took him a while to figure out where their common room was and how many ways there were to get up to the next floor – and then he cursed, because Filch's office was directly opposite the only stairs they could use.

Nott peeked over his shoulder. Draco wanted to push him away, when the boy said, 'Tell the other prefects that you and Pansy will patrol that night. If you plan it on a Sunday, Filch won't bother you. You can ask the house elves to distract the cat, they do it all the time for me.'

Slowly, Draco looked up at him. 'What's Filch doing on Sunday nights?'

Nott ducked his head, eyes aglow. 'Certain you want to know?'

Draco wrinkled his nose and lowered his eyes.

'Good choice,' said Nott smugly. 'Cut up these daisy roots.'

Draco was too distracted to realise he was following a direct order from a subordinate. His mind was on the plan, a plan that just got kick-started by the novice in his posse.

. . .

'Umbridge is a gift to our school!' Pansy bellowed through the common room. 'You never guess what she did!'

Draco put his legs up on the back of the couch he was spread out on, and drawled, 'Tell us.'

Pansy dropped on the floor next to Draco, her friends fanned out to the couch and chairs around them.

'She took points from Granger! That girl was info-dumping again, like she always does, but she's not getting points for it this year!' Pansy laughed maliciously and her gang of girls joined in.

Tracey leaned her arms and chin on the armrest of Draco's couch. 'Wanna know what Potter said?'

'He's hilarious!' shrieked Daphne.

Draco faux -smiled at them. 'No.'

Tracey whirled around to Daphne. 'Wait, Daphne, how did he say it?'

'He said –' Daphne put on a low voice and a deep frown and raised her shoulders as if she had big, muscular arms. '"Oh yeah, Quirrell was a great teacher. His only drawback was having the Dark Lord sticking out of his head."'

Draco couldn't help but let out a loud 'Ha!' which he quickly stifled. The rest of his friends were laughing too, though, so he didn't consider it a terrible relapse. Still, he shouldn't find his enemy this funny.

'You shouldn't tell me those things,' he grumbled.

'He keeps picking fights with Umbridge, it's hilarious,' Pansy continued unbothered. 'I almost wish we had Defence Against The Dark Arts with the Gryffindors just to watch Potter getting himself all worked up every time.'

'He's such a sad loser,' sneered Daphne.

Something jabbed at Draco's insides. 'Tell me about it,' he drawled to drown out his thoughts. 'The last time he lost something, that poor Hufflepuff died and he told everyone the Dark Lord had risen from the dead to do it.'

. . .

That evening, after Crabbe finished copying the entire map of the castle, Draco dragged the bundle of parchments over to the table where Nott was sitting. Plucking the quill out of the boy's pristine hands, Draco dropped the parchments smack on top of Nott's books.

'I have – be quiet, Nottingham – I have a plan.'

As Draco disclosed the plan in full detail, Nott sat back and shook his head. He just kept shaking his head, driving Draco insane.

Halfway down, Nott finally stopped shaking his head to laugh derisively, and he took the quill back from Draco. 'No no no… You've got to consider the enemy's character, Draco,' he condescendingly told him, adding in a sneer, 'Wasn't your father supposed to be the Dark Lord's second?'

Draco scowled. 'Yeah, well, they're not exactly taking interns, you know.'

Nott shot him a disdainful look. 'Anyway… Empathy is key, my mum always says.'

'Your mum?' Draco smirked.

'Yes. My mum is the brain in our household – the same way you are not.' His rabbit face was more playful than malicious this time, so Draco toned down his glare.

'Well, what's our enemy's character then, oh master genius?'

Nott cleared his throat importantly and started circling spots on the map with red ink. 'You see, Peeves loves this corridor, because of the ink cupboard over there – instant mayhem… And here is McGonagall's room–'

'You think I don't know that? It's not even near–'

'Be quiet, Malfoy.'

Draco sat stunned at the boy's insolence.

'Here… is Sprout's office.' After this, Nott stayed silent, flipping up his lashes at Draco to show him an insufferably smug look, as if Draco should be able to connect the dots by now.

Draco's pride struggled with his curiosity for a solid minute, before he snapped, 'What does that matter?'

He loathed the triumphant spark in Nott's eyes, absolutely loathed it.

'McGonagall loves to make a little late night stroll,' said Nott, drawing a dotted line along the corridor outside McGonagall's room. 'Through here… and to… here.' He drew a careful last dotted line in front of Professor Sprout's room.

Draco had to shut his mouth, but it kept falling open. He ran his hands through his hair, glancing between the map to Nott. 'No… No way. You're bluffing.'

'Notts don't bluff, Malfoy. Anyway, the Bloody–'

'Hold the front door, Nottingham! Why is she going over there? How do you know all this?'

'Focus, Draco,' Nott drawled. 'We need–'

'Focus?! After you told me something like that? Pansy! Pansy, get this –'

Nott bolted upright, looking ferocious, and hissed, 'You will not tell anyone, Malfoy. I trusted you wouldn't tell.'

Draco snorted, leering at him. 'Well, pretty boy, that was a dumb move.'

'Clearly,' Nott drawled, and without further ado, he put his wand on the parchment, saying, 'Incendio.'

'NON! ' Draco yanked the map away, which was smouldering already. 'Non, Theo, non! Je te jure, I won't tell!'

The edges were burning rapidly; when Draco tried to blow them out, they burst into flames and he let out a high-pitched scream – making Nott laugh like a maniac.

'Putain! Il est devenu fou!'

Before Draco could truly panic, Crabbe popped up to haul the parchment on the tiles and stamp on them, Draco cursing violently in French behind him. As smoke curled and dissipated around their legs, Nott was doubled over laughing. Draco had never heard him laugh like that before and discovered it sounded rather contagious. Their fire had attracted every single prefect, but instead of reprimanding Nott, who'd literally started a fire, they were sniggering along with him.

Breathing heavily, Draco ran his hands through his hair. 'Devenu fou...'

'Drat,' growled Crabbe, slumping in the nearest chair.

'You almost gave him a heart attack!' Draco snarled, slapping Crabbe on the shoulder. He whirled around to Pansy and the other prefects while pointing at Nott. 'He tried to burn down our common room!'

Nott wiped away tears of mirth and breathed out as if he had just exercised. 'Oof… Well, that's enough partying for me. I need to eat something.'

Draco glared furiously after him, while their crowd was already dispersing. 'Putain…' He checked the map for damage, eyeing Crabbe, who seemed to be blinking away the adrenalin. 'Nottingham! Get Crabbe a cup of tea while you're at it!'

'And chicken wings,' added Crabbe.

Draco whistled at Goyle and beckoned at the door. 'Go fetch a Calming Draught from the hospital wing.'

With a deep breath, he slumped down in the chair next to Crabbe. The map was scorched along the edges, but most of it was still readable. Draco transfigured them into Potions notes and hid them in his trunk.

For the next few days, Draco and Nott spent every stolen hour bent over the map, figuring out a foolproof way to get eight Slytherins from the dungeons to the fifth floor, unnoticed by anyone, in the middle of the night. Planning the logistics turned out to be almost more fun than the event itself. Draco started to understand why his father had been so thrilled all summer.

. . .

When they walked down the lawns towards the Forbidden Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, they found Professor Umbridge and her clipboard waiting for them beside Professor Grubbly-Plank, a ridiculous black velvet bow perched on top of her short curly hair.

'You do not usually take this class, is that correct?' Draco heard her ask in her falsely sweet voice as they arrived at the trestle table where the group of captive Bowtruckles were scrambling around for woodlice like so many living twigs.

'Quite correct,' said Professor Grubbly-Plank, hands behind her back and bouncing on the balls of her feet. 'I am a substitute teacher standing in for Professor Hagrid.'

'Oh, this'll be good.' Draco leered at Vincent and Gregory. 'We'll tell her the truth about that half-breed's teaching methods.' His friends guffawed as they took a place around the table. 'We can just tell her about the hippogriff and those nasty skrewts,' he whispered. 'We don't even have to lie.'

'Hmm,' said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Draco could still hear her quite clearly. 'I wonder – the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter – can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid's very extended leave of absence?'

Draco looked up, eager to answer the question, but nobody asked him. He wasn't allowed to tell, really, but he could hint at knowing.

During the lesson, Umbridge wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. At last, she reached Draco and his friends. 'Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?' she asked Goyle, who grinned.

Draco hastened to answer. 'That was me,' he said. 'I was slashed by a hippogriff.'

'A hippogriff?' said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.

Draco opened his mouth to tell her the story in full colour and detail, when a voice rang from the other side of the group –

'Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do!'

Draco peeked over his shoulder at Harry, who was standing with clenched fists and eyes spitting fire, staring straight at Draco.

The ring around Draco's thumb was beating fast and for a second he forgot all about the war or the hurt, and simply relished in the sight of furious Potter.

'Another night's detention, I think,' Professor Umbridge said softly.

Draco smirked. Harry sat down with an oddly satisfied look.

. . .

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Sharp sunlight lit the rain-drenched windows of the castle, illuminating a weak rainbow over the castle grounds, as the Forbidden Forest turned a wide range of golds and reds.

Vincent, Gregory and Draco headed up from their dormitory, discussing what they would get for breakfast. Nimbostratus was jumping on the specks of sunlight reflected through the lake's water on the common room floor, when they noticed an addition to the room that had already attracted the attention of a small group of people.

A large sign had been affixed to the Slytherin noticeboard, so large it covered everything else on it – the lists of second-hand spell books for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training timetable, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog Cards for others, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature:

'BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

All student organisations, societies, teams, groups and dubs are henceforth disbanded.

An organisation, society, team, group or club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge).

No student organisation, society, team, group or club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an organisation, society, team, group or club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor.'

Draco frowned, but quickly pulled a straight face when he saw Blaise Zabini looking over the group at him. 'You knew about this?'

For a moment, Draco considered lying that of course he knew, but that would gain him nothing. So he shrugged and walked off. 'C'mon, I'm starving.'

Zabini's long legs caught up in seconds. 'You realise she's including Quidditch in this?' he said.

'Whatever,' said Draco, who had in fact not realised that. 'I will settle it.'

It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in their dungeon. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read.

Draco had barely reached the Slytherin table when he got pulled into a frantic discussion with the Quidditch team. He pulled away from Montague's grip, who growled, 'We need permission to practice, Malfoy!'

Draco glared at him and drawled, 'I will settle it.'

He, Crabbe and Goyle sat down and filled their plates; pointedly ignoring the ruckus all around them.

The minute they finished eating, Draco strutted out of the Great Hall, closely followed by his two cronies, to go and have a chat with their number one favourite professor and one of the Malfoys' absolute closest friends. Draco smirked to himself.

As they reached the corridor to Umbridge's office, they crossed paths with a subdued-looking Angelina Johnson, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain.

Draco grabbed the chance to leer at Crabbe and Goyle. 'It will just be a formality,' he loudly told them. 'Professor Umbridge is a close family friend; she simply loves the Slytherin Quidditch team too much to deny us anything.'

Johnson pretended not to hear him, but her face looked murderous.

'I don't think Gryffindor got permission,' he whispered at Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them sniggered.

For the rest of the day, Draco waved around the official permission form Umbridge had handed them without any questions asked, for everyone to see, but the highlight was Potions class. Knowing the Gryffindors didn't get permission, Draco was dying to see the look on Potter's face when he showed them the Slytherin team had gotten it at once.

Draco and his friends were standing just outside Snape's classroom door.

'There they are,' hissed Pansy.

'And… action!' hissed Tracey jokingly as Draco quickly held up the official parchment and started talking much louder than was necessary so that the Gryffindors could hear every word.

'Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straight away, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry.' He leered at Potter and Weasley. 'It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won't it?'

The two were both watching Draco with faces set and fists clenched.

'I mean,' said Draco, raising his voice even more, hardly able to contain his laughter, 'if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance… from what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years… And as for Potter – my father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St Mungo's… apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.' Draco made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling.

Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter and Pansy shrieked with glee.

. . .

The next day brought a heavy downpour of rain clattering and pounding against the classroom windows, as well as the sad news that Gryffindor managed to get permission to keep practicing.

'Apparently they had to go to McGonagall to get it done,' said Montague at lunch break.

'How pathetic,' Draco sneered.

'It's even worse,' said Nott softly, sitting down next to Crabbe and leaning over to Draco with a knowing look. 'McGonagall had to go to Dumbledore to get it done. She couldn't make Umbridge do it herself.'

'You're joking.' Draco snorted derisively. 'Infinitely weak.'

'I asked Snape to book us the field as much as possible,' Montague called across the table. 'I expect you all on the field at seven every night, starting this evening. We've got a lot of work to do.'

'I hope you're joking,' Draco snapped. 'Every night?'

'I don't know what Flint wanted to accomplish, but he's been letting you slack off for way too long.'

'You're off your rocker,' Draco snarled. 'I am not going to practice every night.'

'Every minute we occupy the field is a minute the other teams can't practice,' Montague smartly added.

Put like that, it made Draco reconsider. He huffed. 'Fine.'

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nott's mysterious numbers flash in the air. He squinted at him, resolving to force an explanation out of the boy as soon as he caught him alone.

Later that day, they had another one of their silly, purely theoretical Defence Against The Dark Arts classes. The Slytherins pretended to read their textbooks while they drew comics, painted their nails, composed songs, plucked their eyebrows, wrote letters or did their homework for other classes. Afterwards, Umbridge asked Draco and Pansy to stay behind.

'A report of an alarming nature reached me after your last trip to Hogsmeade,' she told them in her breathy, little-girlish voice. Draco backed away, already thinking of several people who could prove his alibi, when she continued, 'Your fellow student Harry Potter had met a number of friends in the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade.'

'A meeting in the Hog's Head?' Pansy repeated eagerly. 'That sounds shady, professor.'

A smile stretched Umbridge's wide, slack mouth. 'Indeed, clever girl, indeed. The purpose of Potter's meeting with these students, it seems, was to persuade them to join an illegal society, whose aim is to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age.'

Draco felt like gasping in theatrical shock, but refrained. This event explained the arrival of Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.

'Now, Draco, I have always been on the best terms with your father,' she continued in a horribly honeyed voice, 'so I was hoping I could count on you for assistance in this matter.'

'Of course, professor,' Draco answered, eager to find out more.

Umbridge smiled still more widely, showing small, pointed teeth. 'I was hoping you would say that, dearest. Now, I need you and miss Parkinson to be my eyes and ears, as it were, within the school. If you hear Potter spreading more lies or you hear anything about a secret club or other alarming rumours, you let me know. Is that understood?'

Pansy glanced at Draco, who was already nodding. 'Absolutely, professor.'

'And you do not breathe a word to anyone about this conversation, is that clear?'

Draco and Pansy promised and a grimly satisfied expression crossed Umbridge's face.

. . .

Professor McGonagall gave the Slytherins loads of homework in the week leading up to their first Quidditch match. The night after their Transfiguration lesson, Pansy was ready to riot. 'Lavender Brown's telling everyone the Gryffindors didn't get any homework! I call nepotism!'

'Draco! Write to your dad!' yelled Tracey. She and Daphne cried with laughter.

'He can have her fired tomorrow,' Draco drawled smugly.

Snape was no less obviously partisan than McGonagall; he had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He also stuck up for the Slytherins every time they got themselves into trouble, for instance, when Miles Bletchley jinxed Alicia Spinnet, Gryffindor's Chaser, from behind while she worked in the library. There were fourteen witnesses and she had to go to the hospital wing because her eyebrows grew so thick and fast they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth. They all had a great laugh about it, especially after it became clear that Bletchley got away with it, because Snape kept insisting that Spinet must have attempted a Hair Thickening Charm on herself. Bletchley didn't talk about anything else for days; Draco'd never heard him brag so much.

The Slytherins felt like they were on top of the world. Weasley hadn't improved in the slightest since he started keeping for Gryffindor. Whenever they came within sight of him, Draco imitated dropping the Quaffle, and without exception, Weasley dropped whatever he was holding at the time, too. Peak comedy.

'Hey, Potty,' Pansy hissed when they crossed the Gryffindor Seeker in the corridors, 'I heard Taylor's sworn to knock you off your broom on Saturday.' She high fived Tracey, but Harry laughed.

'Taylor's aim's so pathetic I'd be more worried if he was aiming for the person next to me,' Potter told her.

With a sour face, Pansy turned back, smacking Draco on the head when she spotted him grinning.

'Don't take it out on me!' said Draco. 'Taylor's aim is horrible! As a matter of fact, I'm dying to rid our team of Mudbloods.'

He looked defiantly back at Jason Taylor, who made a rude gesture.

'Maybe I'll knock you off your broom.' Draco laughed derisively, but before he could retort, Taylor added, 'Or maybe I should hit you where it hurts and just kill your precious Potty; put us all out of our misery.'

Draco grabbed his wand and Taylor did the same. Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles while the girls gathered round, yelling things Draco couldn't make out over the ringing in his ears.

'Watch it, Mudblood,' he snarled, 'or I won't be waiting for the Dark Lord to finish you.'

Taylor spread his arms. 'Have a go then, Malfoy. Everyone knows you're all talk and no action.'

Draco was ready to jinx, when a voice boomed through the corridor.

'MALFOY! Boy oh boy, if I spot even one bruise on Jason this Saturday I'll have Harper replacing you for the rest of the season! I will not hesitate, kid!'

Draco's eyes snapped away from Taylor to glower at their team captain, who was elbowing towards them.

'I dare you,' Draco snarled. 'I will have your father in Azkaban before you can say Wizengamot.'

Montague snatched Draco's wand away, eyes spitting fire. 'I'd certainly like to see you try! Your precious Dark Lord killed my dad in round one! Now get your ass to class and if I hear anything about you threatening –'

Pansy stepped forward. 'Jason threatened Draco first!'

'He did,' grunted Goyle.

While they argued, Jason Taylor blended back into the crowd and stalked away. Draco nudged at Pansy's elbow. 'Leave it. Let's go.' They scowled at Montague one last time, then made their way to Charms.

. . .

Draco leaned over the back of the couch in the Slytherin common room to whisper at Pansy.

'Pansington Parkinson, you and a select group of people you trust are hereby cordially invited to my party. At midnight you are expected here, in the common room. The party's location will be a surprise, but bring your swimwear. Do you copy?'

Pansy muffled her giggles. 'I copy,' she whispered back, then leaned over to her friends to pass on the message.

Finally, the time had come to execute the plan Nott and Draco had been secretly working on for the past days. Draco was so excited he kept wanting to tell everyone, loudly, but that would undermine the whole secrecy of it. Nott was a lot better at keeping secrets than Draco and kept side-eyeing him, as if he was waiting for the moment he would need to silence him.

A few minutes before midnight, Draco climbed out of bed, where he'd been pretending to sleep, to wake up Crabbe and Goyle, who'd actually fallen asleep. As they were getting dressed, as quickly and quietly as they could, the groggy head of Jason Taylor appeared above his blankets.

'Malfoy?'

Draco cursed under his breath. 'Go back to sleep, Taylor. This is none of your concern.'

'Dude, come on...' Taylor grabbed his glasses from the bedside table. 'Look, I know you're up to something, and I know it could cost you your prefect badge. I've known for days –'

'How dare –'

'And I also,' Taylor raised his voice to drown Draco out, 'want you to know that I'm not going to rat you out.' He pointedly looked at them and Draco couldn't help but flash a scornful smirk.

'Do you hear that, boys?' He leered at Crabbe and Goyle, guffawing behind him. 'The Mudblood thinks he owes us.' He lifted and dropped his hands in mock reverence. 'Oh, thank you, great Jason of the Taylor-tribe.'

Taylor grabbed his wand. 'Listen, man, no matter what you think of me, we are on the same team and in the same house. I know you have a fucked up sense of friendship after what Potter did to you, but I hope that one day you realize that even though you hate me, I'm still a better friend to you than Potter ever was.'

'You know nothing about me or Harry,' Draco spat back, tightly grabbing his wand too. 'I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut, or I'll have the Dark Lord silence you forever.'

'Whatever, Malfoy. Just remember what I said.' Taylor pulled the blanket over himself and turned his back to them.

Draco sneered, 'Till my dying day, Mudblood. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle…'

When they walked up the steps to the common room, the whole gang was already there, huddled together at the door and whispering excitedly. Pansy'd brought Tracey and Daphne, and Nott and Zabini were looking over the map of the school once more.

'Don't you look like you're in a party mood,' Zabini noted when he spotted Draco.

'Let's go,' Draco snarled as he shouldered through the clique. A hush fell over them and Draco could almost feel his friends exchanging glances.

'Taylor,' Crabbe grunted.

'Shut up, Crabbe,' said Draco. 'We need to keep quiet. Stick together. Do not light your wand, just keep close to me.'

Draco'd brought the Hand of Glory, so he could see perfectly in the dark corridors of the castle. Draco led them out of the common room, then turned to Nott, sneering, 'Well, take it away, Navigator Nott.'

As they walked, Crabbe and Goyle kept bumping into Draco's shoulders. The girls were holding hands to keep together. Pansy caught Draco's hand. When they walked up to the entrance hall, Zabini tripped over the steps and they all laughed until Nott got angry. 'Filch is sitting right there,' he hissed, nodding at the caretaker's office.

Draco pulled his arm around Nott's neck. 'I thought you and Filch were buddies and pals?'

Nott crossly pushed Draco away. 'Shut up. Stick to the plan.'

They stuck to the plan and only got into trouble on the second floor, when they rounded a corner and saw the light of a wand. 'Back, back!' hissed Draco and they wheeled around. 'I told you, Nottingham, we should've gone through the passage in the East Wing.'

The boy glared in his direction. 'Right, and walk into Prescott for certain?'

'Boys?' whispered Daphne, 'I do not want to get caught.'

Tracey clutched Draco's arm. 'I'm too pretty for detention.'

'Hush, we'll rule detention,' whispered Pansy.

Nott grabbed his wand, but before he could do anything rash again – like lighting something ablaze – Draco put up his hand, hissing at everyone to shut up. 'Keep walking.'

Following Navigator Nott, they reached their destination without any further trouble, and as soon as the door closed behind them, they started cheering and screaming.

'I present to you,' said Draco loudly, 'the prefect bathroom!'

Their robes were quickly chucked and they raced each other to the pool.

The girls were shrieking with delight and screaming about how jealous they were that Pansy and Draco were allowed to use this bathroom while the rest of the Slytherins had to do with the public showers.

Zabini and Nott played it cool, admiring the room in silence, but their big eyes and sharp inhales gave them away, and they pointedly avoided Draco's eyes, as if he wouldn't notice their envy that way.

Crabbe'd brought a Quaffle, which was enough to keep the lot entertained for a long time. Zabini almost drowned when Tracey and Daphne pushed him under water a little too vigorously, but Pansy rescued him in time and all of them had a good laugh about it. Well, all of them except for Zabini, who seemed rather rattled by the affair.

Draco climbed out of the bath to get a few snacks. Earlier that evening, he'd ordered Crabbe and Goyle to go to the kitchen and they had not let him down.

He hadn't expected Zabini to follow him out of the pool, much less that he would corner him by the pile of bags they'd dropped at the door. As Draco rummaged through the bags, he looked askance at his Italian house mate, who was leaning a shoulder against the wall.

'Hey, what's the deal with you and Jason?' he asked faux- casually.'Weren't you friends?'

'Friends?' Draco scoffed, crinkling his nose. 'You do know he's a Mudblood, right?'

'Yeah. That's why I thought it was weird that you're friends.'

'Come on, Zabini,' Draco snarled, picking out a bag of Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties, 'I'd never associate with Mudbloods.'

'Well… you two share music, you know, and you kept singing together at that Quidditch party.'

'It's not sharing music,' Draco sneered, standing up straight to look Zabini in the eye, 'it is stealing.'

'And the singing?'

Draco squinted at him. 'Look, I'm not surprised you don't remember, but I think you're mistaking me for you. You see, it was you, not me, who was doing the singing. Loudly too, as I recall, while dancing on a table.' Draco smirked with malicious glee. 'Ring any bells?'

Zabini still looked sceptical. 'Well, you do share a dorm–'

'Yes, well, I tried to get us our own dorm,' Draco cut in. 'In second year, to protect ourselves against the Heir of Slytherin, you see, but Snape denied my request. I wrote my father and everything, you know, but they all kept saying we were perfectly safe. Perfectly safe,' he scoffed, 'with a filthy Mudblood sleeping right next to us!'

'You're in the same Quidditch team though,' Zabini relentlessly kept prodding. 'Didn't you even vote for him when he tried out?'

'What's wrong with you, Zabini? You know just as well as I do that the others were even worse than Taylor. Frankly, I think it's humiliating that a Mudblood can so easily beat us at our own game.'

Zabini huffed in agreement. 'A disgrace.'

Draco turned down the corners of his mouth in disgust. 'Believe me, I can never be friends with the likes of Taylor. He is weird.'

'Weird?'

Draco shot him a look. 'He's a Mudblood – in Slytherin.'

'Yeah, that is weird…' Zabini nodded. 'And you're not with Pansy, right?'

Draco burst out laughing. 'Oh, Merlin! Are you joking?' He looked past his tall friend to shout, 'Pansy, get this!' and at once, a wand was pointed at his face.

Smirking, Draco leaned back, frowning in mock concern. 'Oh, you're going to hex me? Well, let's see what you've got. Do you know the counter-curse this time?'

Zabini scowled, and, quick as a cat, Draco grabbed the wand and threw it over his shoulder.

'Stupid git.'

'Draco,' said Zabini, looking like he was having a terrible migraine. He moved to lean his hand next to Draco's face against the wall, cornering him entirely now.

Feeling uneasy, Draco ducked underneath the arm.

'Listen,' said Zabini, turning to follow Draco. 'I just want to ask…'

'Good Merlin, what now? If I'm betrothed to Crabbe?' Hands on his heart, Draco pretended to stare lovingly at Vincent and heaved a big sigh. 'Why, yes – yes, it's true, Zabini, we are deeply –'

'Will you go steady with me?' Zabini cut in.

Draco did a double-take. 'Wh– No, I'm with –'

With a mortifying crash, his entire being seemed to miss a stair step as soon as he realized what he was about to say.

'Potter?' Zabini smartly finished his sentence, looking incredulous.

Draco's stomach turned. Furiously, he shook his head. 'No! No, I…'

His legs felt wobbly, and he steadied himself against the wall. He was going to be sick.

'You good?'

'Of course I am,' Draco snarled, pressing his eyes closed against an inexplicable dizziness. 'So… what, Zabini? You fancy me?'

'Sure.'

'"Sure"?' Draco echoed sceptically.

Zabini smirked and crossed his arms. He shrugged again. 'Well… Alright, all cards on the table – My mother said you're the richest boy in Wizarding Britain.'

'Oh Merlin,' Draco muttered, adding, when realisation hit him, 'You were going to poison me.'

Zabini pulled an innocent face that hardly covered his malicious glee. He cleared his throat. 'Anyway… It's clearly not worth the effort. I can't believe–'

'What's going on?' interrupted nosy Pansy, leaning on her arms at the poolside.

Draco grabbed the distraction like it was a lifeline. 'Zabini tried to marry and murder me for my money!' he screamed, padding back to the pool with Zabini close behind him.

'But then this gentleman here said he's still with Potter.'

There was an uproar of shouts, laughter and cries of disbelief following those two statements. Draco glared at Zabini, cheeks burning, and decided it was best to simply blast him into the pool with a strong Impedimenta. He jumped in after him with a summersault.

After the worst screams and laughter had died down, the girls went back to their gossip, lazily floating in bubbles and lavender oil; Crabbe and Goyle were fighting over a massage jet, while Zabini dived to try and pull the girls underwater. Draco got himself a lovely massage from Daphne, who claimed to have taken a course once.

Contently looking over his sheep, Draco was proud to see everyone having a good time at his party. Or well… everyone?

As Zabini dived again, Draco tensed up. 'Oi, where's Nottingham?' he asked over the girls' screams and Zabini's booming laughter.

'Zabini, no! My hair, no!'

'Fait chier... ' Draco climbed out of the pool and pulled Pansy's head towards him. 'Where's Nott?'

She screeched. 'Get off, Malfoy!'

'Where is Theodore?!'

'He said he needed food.' She punched his arm hard. 'Piss off!'

He let her go. 'Food? For crying out loud, are you telling me he took off on his own? All the way back to the kitchens? We have food here!'

'I don't know, Draco,' snapped Pansy.

'Putain, is he part Bonnacon, or what?' Draco swore a bit more as he used a quick drying spell, threw on his robes and grabbed the Hand of Glory. He whistled for Crabbe and Goyle's attention and ordered them to keep everyone inside.

Cautiously, he opened the door and slipped out when the coast seemed clear. Casting a silencing charm on his feet, he quietly walked the route they had taken to get to the prefect's bathroom.

When he rounded the corner, he almost yelped as a stringy figure was sitting in one of the bay windows along the castle walls.

Lit only by the soft, blueish glow of the moon, Theodore Nott was eating a Pumpkin Pasty, on his own in the cold corridor, like it was something he did there every night.

'Nottingham!' Draco furiously hissed and Nott jumped about a foot. 'What's wrong with you? You'll get us all caught, and for what? Eating? Really? I can't believe it, you're worse than Crabbe and Goyle!'

'Piss off, Malfoy,' Nott grumbled. 'I'll be back in five.'

'Back in five, fous le camp, crétin, we're going back now!'

Through the dark, Nott glared in Draco's approximate direction, as he couldn't see without the Hand of Glory. 'I'll – be back – in five,' he whispered emphatically. 'Now – piss – off.'

Draco huffed and felt a lot like slapping his friend in the face. Instead, he slumped down next to him. 'What is wrong with you, Nottingham?' he hissed.

'Nothing –'

'Does this have to do with your little secret? Are you looking at the numbers again?'

Nott casted a quick silencing charm around the both of them, and growled, 'Shut up.' Draco listed all the mysterious things he'd seen Nott do, and Nott's face got increasingly more annoyed until he snapped, 'Can't you just leave it?'

'Of course I can,' said Draco, 'but I don't want to. I will find out, you know, one way or another.'

'Another, then.'

'Why?'

'Because, Malfoy, I am tired of the questions,' Nott sneered. 'Every single time people find out I have diabetes, I have to give a half hour speech on what it is, how it works, how I deal with it, bla bla bla –'

Diabetes – Draco turned the word over in his mind. He'd vaguely heard of it. Perhaps in one of Pomfrey's books?

'– And I can't understand why you all can't just figure it out the same way I did: from bone dry medical books and the useless scraps of information the Healers deem you worthy enough to give. You know, I didn't have anyone explaining every little thing to me, so seriously, get off of my case. None of you ever bother to remember even a word I tell you anyway. Not even my own bloody family. They're all like "Oh, a hypo, just take a bit more insulin, right?" Like yah, dad, if you want me to freaking die on the spot, try it out, why don't you!'

Draco was smirking, but knew better than to interrupt someone as angry as Nott was. He understood about half of what the guy was talking about and resolved to get a few books later to find out more. He backed away when Nott whirled closer to him for more.

'And don't you dare bloody adopt me now as your charity project, Malfoy,' he spat. 'I do not want you to pretend I suddenly make you laugh, or, Merlin forbid, you to suddenly be kind to me.' Nott said the word "kind" the way Malfoys said "Mudbloods." 'I am not fragile. I am not damaged goods. I – am – fine.'

Draco felt like Christmas came early. Theodore just handed Draco all of his peeves on one neat golden platter. It was too good an opportunity to miss.

Gathering his thoughts, Draco put a comforting hand on the boy's arm. 'Hey, of course, little fighter, that's the spirit. Look at you, staying so strong! You're an absolute inspiration to all of us, buddy, showing us how blessed we are to be healthy. The way you handle your chronic illness – with such humour too. Finding joy in a life tormented by disease, truly incredible. If even you can do it, with all of those handicaps thrown at you, then we certainly should!' Nott was looking daggers at Draco, who decided to kick it up a notch. 'Oh! You know what, they should put us two in the Daily Prophet! Imagine the headline we'd make: "Pureblood community accepts chronically ill student with open arms." With a picture of me, of course, for allowing you to be my friend, you see.'

The fury in Nott's eyes could have set the castle on fire. Draco couldn't stop laughing.

'If I weren't so low I'd hex you senseless,' Nott uttered after a few seconds of heavy breathing.

Draco clapped his hands. 'Enough yammering, Nottingham, get back to the party – Oh! But can you walk?' he simpered with a feeble voice. 'How inconsiderate, let me call someone to carry you! Shoulder the burden of your fragile frame!'

The corners of Nott's mouth finally started to twitch. 'How do people put up with you?'

'They take shifts.'

Nott flashed the numbers in the air: 4,1. He huffed. 'Fine... You win this time.'

Draco got up and watched Nott stumble around in the dark, walking straight into a wall.

He furiously waved his wand in the direction of Draco's merciless laughter. 'Push off, Malfoy! Give me that creepy hand of yours. Lumos might give us away.'

Draco thought it was an odd request, but took Nott's hand to pull him in the right way.

After a beat, Nott started laughing. 'I meant that thing that makes you see in the dark, fruitcake.' Draco dropped Nott's hand like it was electrified. 'No, don't leave me!' Nott felt around for Draco in the dark and Draco made certain to step away each time he came close, until he couldn't contain his laughter anymore. This time, Nott laughed along. 'Merlin, Draco, you are such a yob…'

Draco lost his patience and grabbed Nott's robes to pull him along. 'The yob with the power.'

'What power?' Nott grinned.

'Shut up,' Draco grumbled, still pulling the boy along and very tempted to make him walk into a suit of armour. The only reason he didn't was because the noise would attract attention.

'Look… Malfoy,' Nott whispered as they stalked back to the prefect's bathroom. 'It's not – like… I'm not an easy target or, I don't know, inferior, or anything, but just… well, can you try not to slip this information to the Dark Lord? Knowledge is power, my mum says…'

He shot Draco a wary look, and Draco didn't have to be a Legilimens to know Nott did not enjoy the idea of Draco having such power any more than the Dark Lord. He could get into that.

They reached the prefect bathroom, and as they changed back into their swimwear, Draco pondered Nott's predicament.

'You should learn to Obliviate,' he decided, throwing his cloak aside.

Nott snorted. 'Yeah, definitely.'

'I'm serious.'

Nott looked up from fumbling with the buttons of his robes, confused. 'How on Earth should I learn that? Ask Flitwick?'

'Well… As a matter of fact… I can arrange lessons, you know.' Draco shrugged, trying to hide his pride.

Nott openly laughed. 'Of course, Malfoy. Alright, you go and arrange that then. Forgive me if I'm not holding my breath.' He sighed as he sat down on the bench along the wall. 'If you ask me, they should just get on with finding a cure. It's bloody 1995. We can stop werewolves from turning. For Merlin's sake, the Dark Lord figured out how to be immortal. How difficult could diabetes be?'

Draco looked down on his friend, who was still fumbling with the buttons of his robes because his hands were shaking. When he caught him looking, Nott snapped, 'I'm fine,' and yanked at the robes.

'Clearly,' Draco drawled.

He called Crabbe and beckoned him over with a jerk of his head. While Crabbe climbed out of the pool, Draco used a swift tripping jinx on Nott, who didn't see it coming and yelped in shock. Seizing the boy's arms, Draco ordered Crabbe to grab Nott's legs, so they could carry him to the edge of the pool, all while Nott wriggled and screamed and the other Slytherins laughed their heads off.

Smirking broadly, Vincent and Draco swung Nott back and forth by his arms and legs, lifting him a little higher in the air each time, while jeering to the beat of their swings, 'Are you a witch or are you a fairy, or are you the wife of the Muggle Cleary – And one, two – THREE!'

They laughed till they cried as poor Nott launched into the air, screaming, mowing his arms and legs. His free fall ended in a surge of water that drained the girls, made Draco jump back and caused Vincent to slip and fall. Draco's stomach hurt from laughing.

When Nott emerged with his silky hair sticking like a curtain to his face – coughing and gasping and swearing profusely – they were all doubled over with mirth.

. . .

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. The skies and the ceiling of the great hall turned a pale, pearly grey, the mountains around Hogwarts were snow-capped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so low that many students wore their thick protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons.

To keep warm, Draco intensified his tactics to taunt the Gryffindor's Quidditch team. His favourite victim was Weasley, who responded marvellously every single time.

'WEASLEY! Great catch last training!' he'd shout, making wild motions with his arms as though doing an upright doggy-paddle.

Weasley walked straight into a suit of armour, causing a great clamour while moving his arms a lot like Draco just had. The Slytherins were almost rolling over each other with laughter.

No one was more accomplished in extinguishing any trace of fun than Professor Binns though. The only way Draco could keep himself from gnawing through his wrists during History of Magic was to keep replaying all Weasley's moronic attempts at saving the Quaffle in his mind. With that nimrod guarding their enemy's goalposts the Slytherins were sure to win. Sniggering internally, Draco figured they really ought to thank Weasley. No matter how poorly the Slytherins would throw, he could be counted on to let the Quaffle in, making sure the Slytherins would win.

He would let the Quaffle in, he would make sure they win… because he cannot block a single ring.

Weasley was their king!

Draco almost whooped out loud. Quickly, he scribbled down the words and showed them to Crabbe and Goyle. It took them a while to read it, but then they sniggered.

The rest of History of Magic went by without Draco's attention, until Pansy tapped his shoulder.

'You just gonna let that slide?' she whispered. 'He said the Statute of Sec–'

'Look what I made.'

He'd revised his rhyme and added a chorus and a second verse. Pansy's eyes flew over the lines and, muffling a shrieking laugh, she passed the note to her friends. One by one all the Slytherins were giggling and sniggering over Draco's lyrics and he couldn't feel more proud.

Having read it over and over gave him a feeling for the rhythm of the words and after a while, he realised he'd turned it into a melody without even thinking. As soon as the lesson ended he started singing it, half laughing, to Crabbe and Goyle.

They guffawed. 'Sing it again, Draco,' Goyle said, and Draco complied, swaying his hands like they were batons.

'Weasley cannot save a thing, he cannot block a single ring, that's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King!'

Pansy shrieked with laughter, emboldening Draco to swirl around and sing to her too.

'Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, he always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King!'

She almost died laughing.

'Weasley was born in a bin –'

He could hardly make himself heard over the sounds of laughter from the Slytherins, and their cries of 'Born in a bin – that's gold!'

That evening in the common room, Draco was received like a champion. Montague and Bletchley lifted him on one of the high tables so he could teach them all the song. His friends were already loudly singing it with him.

. . .

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. When Crabbe, Goyle and Draco got up to the common room, a crowd had formed at the door.

'Get your badge for the match!'

'Get them fast, while they last!'

'What's going on?' Draco loudly demanded, making his way through the knot of people.

At the heart of the crowd were Zabini and Tracey, handing out silver badges and smirking like they were about to get a promotion.

'Draco! Man of the hour!' Zabini slapped his shoulder.

'What are you doing?' Draco snarled, grabbing one of the crown-shaped badges, so he could make out the words etched onto them: 'Weasley is our king...' He laughed loudly. 'Oh, this is brilliant!'

'Nott got the idea –' said Zabini.

'From those Potter Stinks-badges you made,' said Tracey. 'We worked practically all night –'

'Don't be dramatic,' Zabini sneered.

'Well, a few hours anyway.'

'You two made all these?' Draco asked incredulously.

'No, silly.' Smirking, Tracey pinned the badge on Draco's Quidditch uniform. 'Me, Daphne and Zabini made them, together with a few third years we recruited. We had a lot of fun actually.'

Draco spelled the badges to stick to the uniforms of Crabbe and Goyle too. 'Can't wait to see Weasley's face,' he jeered. 'Come on.'

The Great Hall was filling up fast, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As Draco, Crabbe and Goyle sat down at the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise. All the other Slytherins were grinning and pointing at their badges.

The day was off to a good start. Happily humming Weasley is our king, Draco filled his plate.

'Protein, Malfoy!' Montague bellowed as Draco drenched his croissant in the usual pile of jam. He pretended not to hear, but that only led to Montague shouting 'Carpe Retractum!', yanking the croissant out of Draco's mouth, before throwing him a bunch of eggs. He also floated the bowl of yoghurt in their direction. 'Try it with blueberries!'

Draco scowled and told their team captain to do something with those blueberries he would not have said had his mother been there.

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled.

'Take an example from those two!' said Montague, indicating the big plates of scrambled eggs in front of Crabbe and Goyle. The two of them seemed to be enjoying it.

Scowling at Montague, Draco decided it might not hurt too much to eat something else for a change.

After breakfast, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium. There was no wind at all and the sky was a uniform pearly white, which meant that visibility would be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes.

'There's no way we could lose this time,' Draco told Crabbe and Goyle. 'With that Weasel guarding the hoops we'd have to charm the Quaffle to make him catch it.' They all sniggered.

Montague seemed to agree with Draco as he revved the players up in the changing room. 'Remember what we talked about: focus on the Quaffle, but watch your team mates from the corners of your eyes. Crabbe, Goyle, aim the Bludger at the person they're throwing the Quaffle at. And Malfoy –' He drilled his eyes into Draco's '– No attacking our own team. One wrong move – I swear, one word, and you're out. By all means, kill every Gryffindor in sight, but lay off of your own team mates.'

Draco clenched his jaws tight and lowered his eyes. He wanted to play.

They could hear hundreds of footsteps mounting the banked benches of the spectators' stands. A few people were singing, and Draco had no trouble recognizing the song. As he smirked, he caught a few of his team mates sniggering as well. They were all wearing crown-shaped badges too.

'It's time,' said Montague, looking at his watch.

Excited jitters fluttered in Draco's stomach, as the team rose, shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them, in which Draco could still hear singing, though it was muffled by cheers and whistles.

The Gryffindor team hadn't arrived yet.

'Cowering in the changing room,' Draco jeered, before breaking into a chorus of Weasley is our king to laughs of his team mates.

Crabbe and Goyle looked excited too. They were backed up behind Montague as if awaiting instructions, blinking in the sunlight and swinging their shiny new Beaters' bats.

Draco stepped to the side to catch a ray of winter sunlight. If vampires were a faux-pas anyway, he might as well catch a bit of vitamin D, he reckoned.

When he looked up, the Gryffindors were marching onto the field. Potter followed at Weasley's shoulder with the familiar intimidating gaze in place. Pansy once said he looked like that because he was as blind as a bat, but Draco wasn't so certain. A blind bat could never find a Snitch, he'd expect.

To distract himself, Draco searched the crowd and saw the girls waving at him like maniacs, their badges blinking in the sunlight. It made him stand up a little straighter, smirking, and when he looked back to the team, he caught Potter staring at him. Draco tauntingly tapped the little crown on his chest – and Harry smiled at him. Draco faltered.

Right then, the balls were released, and Draco quickly climbed his broom, grateful for the distraction.

As the fourteen players shot upwards, Draco zoomed higher than everyone else. He set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold, and trying very hard not to look at the other side of the stadium, where a certain celebrity was doing exactly the same.

Lee Jordan's commentary rang through the stadium and Draco listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.

'– dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?'

And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:

'Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That's why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King! Weasley was born in a bin, he always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King!'

Draco laughed triumphantly and swerved towards them to sing loudly along. 'Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King! He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King!'

'– and it's Taylor with the Quaffle, Taylor heading for goal, he's out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead –'

Draco wheeled around to watch Weasley, hovering dumbly before the three goal hoops while their fast and angry hornet of a Mudblood Chaser pelted towards him.

A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below: 'Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring…'

'– so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team – come on, Ron!'

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins' end: Weasley had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them and straight through Weasley's central hoop.

'Slytherin score!' came Jordan's voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, 'bad luck, Weasley.'

'That's one word for it!' shouted Taylor, as the Slytherins roared with laughter and imitated Weasley's wild attempt at stopping the Quaffle.

Draco tried to focus on his own task while circling the Quidditch Pitch, but kept singing along to the chorus now thundering through the stadium: 'WEASLEY IS OUR KING, WEASLEY IS OUR KING…'

Potter had been staring gloomily at his pathetic friend, but started circling the stadium now, too. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Draco increased the volume of his singing: 'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN…'

A Bludger soared past him, rocketing Potter, who had to duck wildly. Laughing, Draco swerved around to give Crabbe a thumbs up.

Still, there was no sign of the Snitch anywhere. Draco kept one eye on the other Seeker in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Potter, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly…

'WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN, WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN!'

A sudden bout of red-and-gold movement in the corner of his eye sent Draco streaking out of the sky. Potter had spotted the Snitch: it was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands, closer towards Draco, who would have whooped if he wasn't so focussed. He could almost feel the victory.

On Draco's right, Potter was a red and gold blur lying flat on his broom, inching closer, until he and Draco were neck and neck…

Feet from the ground, Draco lifted his hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch… To his left, Potter's arm extended too, was reaching. The back of Potter's hand was swollen, fiery red, with deep cuts running across it –

It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds. Potter's fingers closed around the Snitch; Draco's fingers scratched the back of Potter's hand.

Potter flew off with his fist in the air, and a white hot feeling of frustration surged through Draco. He pelted towards the ground, pulling his Nimbus up just before crashing and jumped on the grass, hurling his broom aside like rubbish.

Over the ringing in his ears, he could faintly hear the stadium chanting Potter's name, but all Draco saw was a careless, arrogant, senseless prick with an abundance of luck and a broom he never deserved in the first place.

WHAM.

For a second, Draco thought his looks had killed, but then he realised a Bludger had hit Potter squarely in the back. Draco laughed scathingly as Potter flew forwards off his broom and fell flat on his face in the grass.

Jonson helped him back on his feet. She hugged him, while cheering, 'we won, Harry, we won!'

Draco's anger spilled over and he snorted derisively. 'Saved Weasley's neck, haven't you?' he sneered as Potter turned to look at him. 'I've never seen a worse Keeper… but then he was born in a bin… Did you like my lyrics, Potter?'

The other Gryffindors were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph. They distracted Potter, so Draco intensified his furious look.

'We wanted to write another couple of verses!' he called as Bell and Spinet hugged Harry. 'But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see.'

Draco hardly noticed the disgusted faces of the other Gryffindors. Harry kept looking away from him.

'We couldn't fit in useless loser either,' Draco shouted. 'For his father, you know –'

'Leave it!' said someone, somewhere. 'Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he's just sore he lost, the jumped-up little –'

'– but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?' Draco sneered. 'Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells OK –'

Potter grabbed hold of one of the Weasleys and looked around as if begging for someone to help him. Only then Draco noticed how close the Weasley twins were to attacking him.

He laughed. 'Or perhaps,' he said, leering as he backed away, 'you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it —'

Finally, Potter's eyes fixed on Draco's, mirroring the cold rage that Draco had been feeling for weeks. He let go of Weasley, and, as Draco's heart skipped a beat, the two Gryffindors sprinted towards him.

Draco braced himself, feeling inexplicably triumphant, when Potter drew back the fist that was clutching the Snitch –

Draco's head snapped back when Potter hit his face, a sharp pain surging through him. He could taste his own blood, just before doubling over from a blow to his stomach. The force of Potter's next punch sent them both to the ground, black spots drifting before Draco's eyes.

Girls were screaming, Weasley was swearing and the crowd bellowed all around them. Low roars and growls escaped Potter with every punch, and Draco cried and whimpered in pain. Harry's knees were pressing Draco into the grass while the Gryffindors hit Draco's chest, arms, stomach, sides, jaw –

'Impedimenta!'

Draco gasped for air when Potter's weight lifted from his chest. The punching stopped. Draco couldn't move, only whimper and moan, curled up into a ball as he spit out the blood in his mouth.

'What do you think you're doing?' screamed Madam Hooch in the distance.

Warm blood ran from Draco's nose down to his lips, he felt it cover his chin and dry up in his neck. As he tried to sit up, his throbbing face felt swollen and his ribs stung with every move.

Draco glanced at Harry. It seemed that the only reason he wasn't still beating up Draco was the combined effort of Madam Hooch, the Gryffindor team and the Impediment Curse; he was doing everything he could to break loose.

Draco could almost feel the heat of his rage. Defiantly, he locked eyes with him, wanting more and knowing exactly how to get it.

'YOU WANT A REACTION, YOU ASSHOLE?' Potter roared. 'I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!'

Cold shock spread through Draco like someone just emptied a bucket of ice water on his head. For solid seconds, he couldn't move an inch. The noise of the crowd faded to the background as he involuntarily stared at Potter, who was gazing desperately at Draco and managed to free an arm. Before Draco could think to defend himself, a messy kissing charm landed on his gashed face.

'NO!' Draco's muscles tightened painfully when the word exploded from his chest. His voice broke. 'You don't get to anymore!'

Potter's eyes overflowed with hurt, and Draco hated him. He hated his stupid face, his stupid fists, his stupid hair and his stupid emotions. He hated how dumb he was, how careless and how impulsive. He hated how easy he had it, with his broom and his cloak and his scar.

Finally Draco saw, with sudden clarity, what everyone else had always seen: Harry Potter was a self-centred bastard. He only ever wanted Draco on his own terms. He only wanted Draco to want him, but he'd never intended to want Draco back. And now that he'd finally, thoroughly lost Draco, he became desperate, like an animal backed into a corner, making unpredictable moves.

Draco wished he could finish him, once and for all, right there and then, so that he and everyone he knew could move on as if the guy never even existed.