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.)

1. Chapter 1: the new celebrity

Chapter 1: The new celebrity

'You are not leaving me here,' Draco demanded, stomping his foot on the stuffy carpet of Madam Malkin's shop.

His father didn't even look up from their shopping list. 'You do as you are told.'

'Your father will be right next-door, buying your books,' Mother said as she kissed Draco on his hair, 'and I'm up the street looking at wands for you. We will be back before you know it.'

'And then we will look at racing brooms,' Draco ordered.

'Then we will get ice cream,' his mother promised.

'And then Father will buy me a racing broom,' Draco insisted.

His father shared a smirk with his mother. Draco hated it when they did that.

'All the kids at Hogwarts will have a racing broom,' he loudly said. 'If I arrive without one everyone will assume you are poor.'

'Perhaps your mother and I,' Father drawled, 'will enjoy our next fifteen minutes of peace and quiet so much, we might – ah – hesitate to come back.'

Mother slapped his arm, giggling. Draco scowled at the both of them.

The bell of Madam Malkin's shop clanged on their way out. Draco felt like throwing something after them, but at that moment one of the shop assistants took him to the back of the shop, where he was put on a footstool. She wanted to slip a robe over his head, but Draco quickly stopped her.

'Excuse me, can I see a selection of fabrics before you force the cheapest stuff on me?'

The assistant took a second to process. Then she looked at him like he was just any little boy, saying, 'There is no choice in fabric for the Hogwarts school uniform, young man.'

Draco could hardly believe it. He let the fabric go through his fingers. 'This is terrible quality.'

The assistant forcefully put the robes over his head. Draco was fuming. 'My mother will hear about this! She would not appreciate me walking around with second-rate clothing.'

'Stay still,' said the assistant.

Draco's mood only worsened when he noticed how depressingly slowly the witch pinned the hem of his robes.

The bell clanged again. Looking over his shoulder, Draco spotted a boy with messy, black hair, oversized Muggle clothing and thick, round glasses stepping through the door. Madam Malkin took him to the back of the shop, where he was stood on a footstool next to Draco. He too got a robe slipped over his head without any questions asked, and Madam Malkin began to pin it to the right length while the boy stared with wide eyes.

'Hullo,' Draco said, 'Hogwarts too?'

'Yes,' said the boy. 'Amazing, isn't it?' His voice sounded like he just got out of bed; slow and a little croaky.

'What is?' Draco snarled.

'All of this. I didn't know I was a wizard, did you?'

Draco smirked. 'Yes, all my life. My father–…'

'All your life? That's brilliant.'

Draco forgot what he was going to say.

The boy looked around at the street outside, then back at Madam Malkin, who smiled at him. The boy beamed back like he was half in love with her already.

'Yes… I suppose,' Draco drawled.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to see all this for the first time. He never saw it as something extraordinary, but of course it was… to a Muggleborn.

'Your parents, they are… our kind?' he verified.

The boy's piercing green eyes fixated on Draco with frightening intent. 'They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean.'

'They were?'

'Where are yours?' The boy asked. 'Are they wizards too?'

'Obviously!' Draco scoffed. 'I am Draco Malfoy.'

The boy's mouth fell open.

His silence made Draco feel proud and he straightened his back. 'My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands,' Draco answered the question. 'Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't– '

To Draco's horror, the boy laughed. 'Racing brooms?' he said, still grinning. 'What are those?'

'You know nothing?' Draco snarled in disbelief.

The boy looked him up and down, in the same way Mother glared at people who got into her personal space. Draco thought he seemed pretty sure of himself for someone dressed like that, and for someone who apparently knew absolutely nothing about anything.

'It's for Quidditch,' he drawled.

'What's – '

'It's our sport,' Draco interrupted; growing bored with the boy's predictability. 'Wizard sport, you see. Everyone knows about Quidditch. It's played up in the air on broomsticks. Well, I'm not going to explain all the rules to you right now, forget it.'

'No, don't tire yourself,' said the boy dryly. 'Have you got a flying broomstick?'

'Of course I have,' Draco sneered. 'But it's horribly last season. I want the comet 290. It's the best on the market right now. Not counting the Nimbusses of course, or the Firebolts.'

All of a sudden, the boy's face clouded over like there was a heavy burden on his shoulder.

'What's wrong with you?' scoffed Draco.

The boy looked out the window. 'There's so much I don't know yet…'

Draco snorted. 'I'll say.'

He didn't understand how someone could look so downcast for having an entire world to discover.

'I can easily tell you everything, if you want,' Draco proudly offered. After all, he knew everything about everything. Then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A huge man was standing outside the front window, grinning and pointing at two large ice-creams. 'Look at that man!'

'That's Hagrid,' said the boy, beaming again. 'He works at Hogwarts.'

'Oh, I've heard of him,' Draco quickly replied. 'He's a sort of servant, isn't he?'

'He's the gamekeeper,' said the boy, looking oddly proud.

As if Draco didn't know Hagrid was the Gamekeeper. Draco knew all about Hogwarts and who worked there, because Pansy told him everything her brother and sister ever mentioned about it. Hagrid never came out of these stories as a responsible figure, though.

'Yes, exactly,' said Draco. 'I heard he's sort of savage – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do Magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.'

The boy's mouth fell open and he burst out laughing. He seriously burst out laughing – at something Draco said so offhandedly.

'I don't think that's true,' the boy said.

'That's you done, my dear,' Madam Malkin interrupted, and the kid hopped down from the footstool.

Draco felt disappointed to see him go so soon. 'Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,' he said.

The boy beamed at him. 'Yes! See you at Hogwarts!'

Draco stared after him, left with dozens of questions. How did the kid end up stuck with a figure like Hagrid? Wasn't there anyone else in his life to take care of him? Anyone at all? Judging from the dilapidated rags the boy was wearing, Draco was afraid he knew the answer to that question.

He watched the kid join Hagrid, cheerfully licking the ice cream. Draco'd never seen anyone so content with so incredibly little.

A pin pricked the skin of his wrist and he almost slapped the assistant. 'Ouch, be careful! How are you still not done?'

'Your mother left detailed instructions,' the assistant muttered darkly.

Draco had to clench his teeth to control his frustration. He was so bored.

. . .

At last, the day arrived that Draco went to Hogwarts. Looking back at the solid wall he, his parents and their two House Elfs just ran straight through, he suddenly wondered about the strange boy he met at the back of Madam Malkin's shop. Would the idiot Gamekeeper take him to the station too? Would he know how to get on the platform? Draco searched around if he saw him anywhere, but it was too crowded.

'Do not dream, Draconius.'

'Yes, mother.'

They had agreed to meet Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle with their parents. Father was craning to look over the crowd. Mother didn't bother; the top of her head didn't even reach Father's shoulders, even though she wore her expensive Witchian Lou Booting-heels.

'Late as usual,' sighed Draco's father when he finally saw the Crabbes and Goyles coming.

Draco couldn't remember a time he didn't know the two boys. Him, Vincent, Gregory and Pansy grew up like brothers and sisters. In the hoard of unfamiliar faces, Draco felt comforted by the fact that his family was with him. He wasn't alone.

His father lay a hand on Draco's head, his mother kissed his cheek. Draco was glad they didn't get emotional, although he could see how difficult it was for them to keep it together. Draco forced himself not to think about the fact that he wouldn't see his parents again for months. They would write, he reminded himself. They wouldn't forget him – probably; they could get pretty forgetful…

Pansy's sister had made Hogwarts sound incredible, and so had Hogwarts: A History. Time would fly, Draco promised himself. This was alright. Him stepping on that train, and leaving his parents behind for months on end would be alright.

When Draco boarded the train, so did Crabbe and Goyle. The three of them stuck together like glue in the jostling crowd. Draco's heart pounded in his chest; some of the students were almost twice as tall as Draco. Some of them were twice as broad too.

At last, they found a free compartment. Vincent, being the tallest and strongest, put all of their luggage in the luggage rack. Then, on Draco's command, he took one of their trunks out again, to get Exploding Snap.

After two games, Draco couldn't sit still anymore. There was an entire train full of potential friends, every one of them probably more interesting than Vincent and Gregory.

'We need to mingle,' he told his friends. 'Father said to start making acquaintances right away.'

Slamming open their compartment door, he started walking. Vincent and Gregory followed.

Where was that kid he saw at the back of Madam Malkin's shop? Did he even make it aboard? Draco glanced through the compartment windows, wondering if Vincent and Gregory would like the boy. Maybe Draco could convince them to allow him to join them, if they liked him too. That way, Draco would have someone to talk to; there was so much more to talk about with someone who hadn't known the Malfoys and their entire world since birth.

When he peeked through the umpteenth window, Draco's heart skipped a beat, as he finally noticed the messy hair and broken glasses he'd been searching for.

'Ha!'

Crabbe and Goyle walked into him when he stopped dead in his tracks. Draco fell over, but Gregory caught him.

'Warn first,' he grumbled.

'Pay attention,' snapped Draco, sliding open the compartment door.

The boy looked up and positively beamed at the sight of them. 'Hey, Draco,' he said, with that slow, hoarse voice, 'I didn't see you at the platform.'

The fact that the boy had remembered Draco's name would have made his day, had he not seen the company the boy was in.

A tall, thin, and gangling boy, with freckles, a long nose, and big hands and feet sat across from Draco's new friend. He had flaming red hair.

No doubt a Weasley. Father had told Draco all about that blood traitor family.

'Oh, this is Ron,' the boy told Draco.

'No need to introduce me. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.'

Weasley looked daggers at Draco. Draco and his friends returned the look.

The boy, however, did not glare; he sniggered and turned to Weasley. 'How many children do you have then, Ron?'

Draco remembered his father's advice about making friends with the right people. The friends made at Hogwarts set you up for life. It was one thing for the boy to walk around with the Gamekeeper if he didn't have any choice, but to consciously befriend a Weasley on day one was not a wise move.

Draco wanted to explain this, but then the boy said, 'Did you bring bodyguards, Dra?'

'Dra!' scoffed Draco. No one had ever shortened his name before. If anything, they lengthened it, to add some weight. Dra! 'How dare you? For you I'm Mister Malfoy.'

Draco poised himself like his father always did, shoulders back, chin up and a hand pressed to his chest.

The boy almost fell out of his chair from laughing. Draco didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, so he kept his face straight.

'Here, Mister Malfoy,' his new friend grabbed something, 'take a choc- OUCH!'

A live animal was hanging off the boy's finger. Draco backed away, startled.

Weasley leaped over to take the rat, his face as red as his hair. 'You just bit Harry Potter, you stupid animal! That'll rub off on me!'

Draco's heart seemed to stop beating for at least a few seconds.

Did that Weasley just say… Harry Potter? Was this ragged, emaciated kid… the saviour of the wizarding world? The Boy Who Lived? The powerful baby who beat the Dark Lord?

'Harry Potter?' Draco heard himself utter.

That couldn't be right... Did Draco's charity project really just turn out to be the most important person in the country?

The boy scratched his head while sucking at the wound on his finger, allowing everyone to catch a glance of his forehead. A white scar stood out, bright as day, against his skin. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, just as the books described. There were tiny lines meandering from it, just like a real lightning bolt had. It looked amazing – and… painful. Draco wondered how much it had hurt when he got it and if it still hurt now.

The boy – or Harry Potter, apparently – checked out his bleeding finger. This lousy Weasley had hurt Harry J. Potter even before they'd reached the school. It was certainly unsuitable company for the Boy Who Lived, Draco reckoned. It must have been destined for the Malfoy heir and Harry Potter to have met at that shop, Draco thought. They were bound to connect. Potter needed saving.

So Draco pulled himself together, for Potter's sake.

'These are my friends Crabbe and Goyle, to answer your question. And you might want to consider changing compartments; you'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.'

Draco Malfoy held out his hand to shake Harry Potter's.

Harry stared at him as if there was something weird on Draco's face. Then he seized his hand to put a chocolate frog in it.

'You're very rude, aren't you?' Harry Potter told him.

Draco felt his face heat up. It took a moment to realize he got rejected. Rejected by the most raggedy celebrity he'd ever met.

'I'm staying here, thanks,' Potter continued, his voice still as warm as before. 'You're welcome to join us. We bought way too much candy, didn't we, Ron?'

Harry was clearing the seat next to him when Weasley kicked him in the foot.

It disgusted Draco. Not only was he stealing Potter away when Draco had been first to spot him; not only had his filthy pet wounded Potter; but now he kicked him too?

'I'd rather perish,' Draco answered Harry's question. 'See you at school, Potter.'

Draco nudged Crabbe and Goyle to leave, and they went back to their compartment.

'This is not to be borne,' Draco fumed, copying one of his great-great-grandmother's favourite scorns. 'Harry Potter in our year! And he's befriending a Weasley! Wait until my father hears about this.'

. . .

The sorting ceremony was merely a formality. Draco bid his time until his name was finally called, then he swaggered forward and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, 'SLYTHERIN!'

Pleased, Draco went to join Vincent and Gregory at the Slytherin table, who had already been sorted, and waited until Pansy joined them too.

After the P for Parkinson, there weren't many people left. A pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil", walked up to the hat one by one.

'They said I stink,' hissed Pansy. 'Like a pig, because I look like one.'

Draco frowned. They deserved death, he thought.

As the second sister walked over to the Ravenclaw table, he took out his wand and fired a little tripping jinx. She fell flat on her face, to great laughter of the other students. Draco and his friends smirked maliciously at each other.

McGonagall's voice called, 'Potter, Harry!'

Draco gasped, looking at his friends. 'D'you reckon–…?'

Pansy crossed her fingers. As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

'Potter, did she say?'

'The Harry Potter?'

Draco's father had said Harry Potter was going to be a great dark wizard, and that he might lead the Wizarding World into a new and better age. It was hard to believe, looking at the broken glasses on the boy's gaunt face, but Draco remembered the way Potter had looked at him in the back of Madam Malkin's shop, and he knew it would be superb to have him in his friend group.

Students craned to see how the Sorting Hat dropped over Potter's eyes. The hat took a long time to ponder over which house Harry was best suited for.

'Please say Slytherin,' Draco whispered. 'Please…'

'GRYFFINDOR!'

The Slytherin students fell back in their chairs, groaning softly and dropping their shoulders, but Draco was still standing to watch Harry walk over to the Gryffindor table. 'Well, it made a mistake, that's obvious.'

The older students shook their heads. 'Not likely,' said one of them.

Pansy tugged at Draco's robes. 'He could still become a great dark wizard. Right?'

Again, lots of sceptical looks were shared. Not likely either, apparently. Father was not going to like this, Draco thought.

'And now,' said Dumbledore at long last, 'bedtime. Off you trot!'

The Slytherin first-years followed their Prefects through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down the steps to the Dungeon. Draco's legs felt like lead, but only because he was so tired and full of food. They followed down meandering corridors, with arched stone walls, all the while yawning and dragging their feet. The voices of the other students bounced around them through the echoing, arching tunnels of the Dungeon, and Draco wondered how one of Mother's old songs would sound down here. He bet singing in these corridors sounded marvellous.

Draco was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

'Pureblood' said their Prefect, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open to show them their Common Room.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and an arched ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them. It had great concealed places to sit, and the back wall was one big window looking straight into the lake. It was like having a massive aquarium in your parlour. The other wall, to the left and right of the mantelpiece, was covered from top to bottom with books. Draco felt straight at home.

'This way! Keep up!' said the Prefect. He led them down a few steps into another maze of stone corridors with lots of doors. One of those doors was going to be Draco's new dorm.

'Four people a dorm; form groups and pick a bed. No fighting or I will decide for you. You have ten minutes.'

People started carelessly wandering into dorms and Draco panicked. 'I want to be with you two,' he hissed at Vincent and Gregory. 'We need to find one that still has three beds. Quick, split up.'

Frantically, Draco started opening doors and counting the people inside, but everywhere people were at least with two. Two was a way more common number to be than three, he concluded.

'Here!' he finally heard Gregory bellow and he was so relieved he almost ran.

The dorm Gregory found was not empty, but there was only one other boy.

'Hullo,' said Draco, flopping on the bed nearest to the wall, opposite of the boy's bed.

Vincent and Gregory took the beds at the door, which made Draco feel safe; as if they guarded the room.

The new boy had long, mousy hair, almost reaching his shoulders, and a scowl on his face as if he wanted to fight. Draco did not want to fight him – the boy wasn't as big as Crabbe or Goyle, but he was certainly stronger and even slightly taller than Draco.

'What's your name?' he asked the boy.

'Jason Taylor,' he growled.

Draco racked his brain for the Taylor-family, but couldn't think of any. 'Who's your parents?'

'You don't know 'em,' Jason said. 'They're not wizards.'

A startled silence fell over the room. The three friends stared at the boy; then they shared a look.

'Oh!' Draco grinned. 'You're joking! Right?'

Jason shrugged. 'I'm not, but whatever.'

Draco felt mortified.

'We don't have to be friends,' said Jason. 'Just don't try to kill me or anything, I know Krav Maga.'

Draco laughed derisively. 'Who's that? Some famous Muggle?'

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered; the boy glared at them.

Falling back on his bed, Draco offhandedly told Vincent and Gregory to just ignore the Mudblood. It was a clear sign of how tired he was. Heaving himself up one last time to see Jason, he told him, 'You'd be wise to keep such slandering information to yourself next time, you know. It will rub off on us.'

. . .

One of their very first classes at Hogwarts was Potions. It took place down in one of the Dungeons. On their way through the arched, stone corridors, Draco started whistling – and his whistling echoed back at him.

He whistled one short note, waited for the echo to finish and whistled again. It was a wonderful bit of call-and-response.

Looking around, he made sure they were alone in the maze of the Dungeons; him, Crabbe and Goyle. He took a deep breathe: 'Aaaaaaayo!'

'Aaaaaaayo!' shouted the castle.

Draco grinned at his friends. They sniggered and started shouting too. The racket they made felt liberating after sitting in classrooms for hours.

Only when they neared the Potions classroom did they silence themselves.

It was cooler there than up in the main castle, and there were mysterious ingredients, like pickled animals floating in glass jars, all around the walls.

The Professor, Severus Snape, was a friend of the Malfoy family. Draco thought he was hilarious; his dry, drawling way of talking alone cracked him up, and Draco and Pansy had picked up dozens of fancy words from him.

When Draco walked in with Vincent and Gregory, he spotted Harry Potter already sitting halfway down the classroom – next to that nasty Weasley. Draco didn't understand the Weasley's appeal. If Harry'd been sorted in Slytherin, the bloodtraitor would have dropped him like a stone.

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, slapping Vincent's arm. 'Harry Potter,' he hissed, and he pulled Crabbe and Goyle along to sit behind Harry.

Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and he paused at Harry's name. 'Ah, yes,' he said softly, 'Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.'

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands, and Harry Potter turned to look at them. He did not seem to think it was funny. In an impulse, Draco pretended to be a screaming fan; jazz-hands and fainting and all. It worked: Harry Potter laughed.

'You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,' Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. 'Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

'Sleeping potion,' hissed Draco, but Harry didn't hear it. He was glancing stupidly at Weasley, who unsurprisingly, didn't know either.

One of the most obnoxious people in their year - a Gryffindor with a bossy voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth - was Hermione Granger. Pansy'd found out she was a Mudblood. All of them agreed it was terribly embarrassing, and Draco reckoned someone with a bloodline like that would keep her head down... but not Hermione Granger.

Her hand had shot into the air when Snape was only halfway through his question.

'I don't know, sir,' said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. 'Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything.'

Draco smirked.

Snape ignored Granger's hand. 'Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

'Stomach of a goat,' Draco mumbled to himself. Quickly, he jotted Snape's questions down, in case they were on the exam.

Granger stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry clearly didn't have the faintest idea.

'I don't know, sir.'

'Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?'

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were shaking with laughter. 'He's so rude.'

He was also still ignoring Granger's ridiculously quivering hand. 'What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

At this, Granger stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

Draco frowned. 'Isn't it the same plant?'

He looked over at Pansy, who was already looking equally puzzled at Draco. She shrugged and tapped her forehead. Draco snorted.

'I don't know,' said Harry Potter quietly. 'I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?'

A few people laughed, and Draco grinned, feeling strangely proud.

Snape, however, was not pleased. 'Sit down,' he snapped at Granger. 'For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death.'

'Yes!' hissed Draco, drawing a curly G – for 'Good job, Draconius!' – in front of the question.

'A bezoar,' Snape continued, 'is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.'

'Whoop!' Another curly G for Draco.

'As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.'

Grinning, Pansy put her thumbs up and Draco smugly swept an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder.

Snape started pairing up the class to set them to mixing up a simple Potion to cure boils. Draco gestured wildly at their Professor to pair him with Harry Potter.

With a faint smirk, Snape obeyed – Draco could hardly contain a whoop of victory.

Harry Potter grabbed his stuff and walked over to plop down next to Draco, who felt like doing a cartwheel, but managed to refrain.

'You're in luck, Potter,' he said. 'I excel at Potion making. I would have advised you to pair with me, if the decision weren't made for you.'

'Oh, I'm sorry, Dra,' said Harry, smiling faintly. Draco shuddered at the horrible nickname. 'I know how much you love advising me.'

Draco had a hard time not to smile. 'Piss off, Potter,' he drawled, 'and don't call me Dra.'

The instructions for their Potion were clear enough. Draco had some experience at Potion Making from helping Snape and his parents, but he would bet the Manor that Harry Potter didn't understand half of it. So Draco took charge.

'Go fetch our ingredients,' he told Harry. 'You can make yourself useful by being my assistant.'

Potter seemed to consider this for a second. Then he snorted, shook his head, and Draco watched him walk meekly to the ingredients cupboard.

Draco wiggled in his chair. He would show Potter the benefits of befriending a Malfoy, he resolved, and make him forget the stupid Weasley in no time at all.

. . .

Harry Potter did not forget the stupid Weasley. First-year Slytherin only had Potions with Gryffindor, while stupid Weasley sat next to Potter at every class and during breakfast, lunch and dinner; they slept at the same dorm and made their homework together. Draco didn't stand a chance at getting close to Harry Potter with that ginger bodyguard hanging around the boy at all times.

Or at least, he didn't until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Slytherin Common Room which made them all cheer: flying lessons would be starting on Thursday. Draco cheered a bit extra on the inside, because Slytherin and Gryffindor would be learning together!

Draco would be able to show Potter how it was done. That Weasley couldn't possibly know how to fly; he couldn't even afford a broom, probably.

'It's ridiculous that we're not allowed to bring our own broom, just because we're first years,' Draco complained to, well, everyone with ears. 'Some of us have been flying our whole lives, we're just as good as any third-years. Some third-years haven't flown at all yet, and they are allowed to bring their broomstick. It just doesn't make sense!'

'If you're so mad about it,' drawled Pansy, 'why don't you take it up with the Headmaster?'

'You think I haven't? I let my father talk to him before we even got here, you see, but it was no good. Well, you know the Headmaster hates us.'

'The Malfoys?'

'Well, Slytherins in general, Malfoys in particular,' he grunted. 'And vice versa, as you well know.'

Rounding the corner to their next class, he picked up where he left of: 'I'd be a great asset to the Quidditch team, you know. I'm way better than that tosser they have now as a Seeker - '

Malfoy heard a familiar laugh. Wheeling around, he noticed Harry Potter further down the corridor, laughing at him!

'And you're so much more humble too, aren't you?' Potter shouted all through the corridor.

'I don't have to be!' Draco yelled back. 'You see, unlike some, I have all my senses! I could see it's true, blind man!'

Weasley tried to stop Harry from coming towards Draco, but The Boy Who Lived was an unstoppable force and got closer anyway. Draco swaggered over to meet him in the middle.

'If I had a broom, I'd beat you with my eyes closed, Malfoy,' Harry said.

'Easy to say when you don't have a broom, I suppose,' sneered Draco.

'Watch me. Thursday you're going down.'

Draco loved how intimidating Harry looked. When standing eye to eye with him like this it was really no wonder he of all people defeated the Dark Lord.

Draco scoffed, 'You didn't even know what a racing broom was. I had to explain it to you.'

'Just because you were raised with Magic, doesn't mean you're better than everyone else.'

'Just because you have a foul scar on your face doesn't mean that either.'

Draco saw tiny lights in Harry's eyes. Was he enjoying being insulted?

'We'll see,' said Harry.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Careful, Potter.'

He tried to sound threatening, but really, he'd seen people break all kinds of things falling from broomsticks, and if Harry hurt himself trying to prove something to Draco, it would probably be pinned on the Malfoys. Mother was always warning Draco to be prudent. They had to be twice as charming as everyone else, she said. Everyone always found ways to blame the Malfoys, she said, because people were jealous of their bloodline.

. . .

Jason the Mudblood was getting on Draco's nerves. Every day Draco watched him bop his head or tap his feet, because he was listening to music with his Muggle devices, while Draco couldn't hear a single note.

'Leave it, Malfoy,' muttered Vincent when the Mudblood started to dance while staring defiantly at them – Draco could not let it go unchallenged.

So one fine day he skipped lunch to go to the library. He felt humiliated. How did it come to this, that a Malfoy had to look up Muggle matters? There was no way they were worth this immense shame, but not knowing drove him nuts. Every time he saw Jason the Mudblood put on his strange Muggle headwear, Draco felt a terrible itch inside that he could not scratch. No matter how degrading, he had to put himself through this.

And so he started searching the Muggle section of the library for books about music. There was an entire shelf devoted to it. For a second he felt overwhelmed. He wanted to be quick; how come there was so many shelf-space devoted to boring Muggles?

He felt like tearing his hair out, and apparently he looked like it too, because a voice beside him said, 'Can I help you?'

It was Madame Pince.

Quickly, Draco checked his surroundings. As soft as he could, he asked, 'I need to know about Muggle-ways to listen to music.'

Surprisingly, Madam Pince did not show any sign of disgust, not even when she searched the books on the shelves and picked one out for him. It must have taken her years to become so numb.

She flipped through the book to show him the right chapter. 'If you want to listen to Muggle music, we have a collection at the Audiovisual Corner.'

She left him alone to read. The chapter told him about 'electronic devices' called "Walkmans", "Record Players," "Cassettes" and "Headphones."

Curiouser and curiouser, Draco thought. Slamming the book shut, he hurried over to the Audiovisual Corner, still glancing around to check if nobody noticed him.

The Audiovisual Corner actually owned both a Record Player and a Cassette Player, and two shelves of Records and Cassettes. He put on the Headphones – feeling very world-wise to know how to handle these things – and almost fell over from shock.

He was hearing sounds as if he was standing right next to the person playing them. Looking around, he was sure there was nobody in the library with an instrument. It was almost like Magic. How did those dull Muggles create this?

After the initial shock of hearing anything at all, Draco started noticing the music itself. It sounded unlike anything he'd ever heard or played himself. A man with a strange, creaky voice was singing about a girl who was flying with diamonds. Draco couldn't even identify all of the instruments he heard, and it astonished him. This was nothing like Mother's music.

He skipped to the next piece, called 'Don't stop till you get enough,' and from the first note, Draco could hardly stay still. An overwhelming feeling flowed through him and suddenly he wanted to kiss every moment in human history that had led to him listening to this song.

Startled by his own reaction, he threw off the Headphones and bolted out of the library.

Filthy Muggles! How dare they exclude his kind from this?!

. . .

That Thursday, the flying lesson started out with material Draco taught himself as a mere infant. The level of the class was sub-idiot.

Draco glanced at Harry Potter, and saw his broom shooting up into his hand on the first try. For some reason, Draco felt proud.

He already knew Harry Potter before he turned out to be famous, Draco would say when he was grown-up. He was the first person to tell him about racing brooms, actually – he'd say – way before Harry became the world's most famous Quidditch player. Oh yeah, he always called him Harry.

Looking up from his broom, Harry shared an excited look with Weasley. Harry Potter was still so easily excited.

Annoyingly, almost straight after that, the stupid git Neville Longbottom fell of his broom. Draco had no clue how it happened, they weren't even supposed to lift off yet. The simpleton broke his wrist and Madame Hooch had to bring him to the Hospital Wing.

His face had been amazing though; Draco couldn't hold it any longer. As soon as Madam Hooch was out of earshot Draco burst into laughter.

'Did you see his face, the great lump?' he yelled at Pansy, who was standing further down the group with some Slytherin girls. He imitated the stupid, scared face the boy had made, and the girls started giggling.

The great thing about Pansy was her unapologetic laughter: her shrieking laugh alone was enough to crack Draco up most of the time.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' snapped Parvati Patil.

'Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?' said Pansy, who'd managed to already be at war with the Patil-sisters since their train ride. 'Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati.'

Draco saw something shiny. He darted forward. 'Look!' he said, snatching it out of the grass. 'It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.'

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

'Give that here, Malfoy,' a low voice said.

The Boy Who Lived had stepped forward. He looked fearsome. Everyone stopped talking to watch.

This could be interesting, Draco supposed. 'I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about… up a tree?' He supply leapt onto his broomstick, making an effort to make it seem effortless. 'Come and get it, Potter!'

To his joy, Harry laughed. 'Oh come on, Draco! Just give it here!'

Draco hovered level with the topmost branches of an oak, teasingly holding out the Remembrall to The Boy Who Lived. 'Scared of heights, Potter?'

Shocked, Draco watched Harry grab his broom.

'No!' shouted Granger. 'Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble.'

Harry ignored her. He looked angry, Draco noted. Harry Potter was surprisingly hot-tempered for a boy with such modest appearance.

He mounted the broom, kicked hard against the ground and up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him.

Draco felt his jaw drop. He thought Harry'd never flown before –

Potter pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and in midair, he turned it sharply to face Malfoy. Draco didn't pull himself together quickly enough, and a smug look of satisfaction crossed Harry's face.

'Give it here,' Potter called, 'or I'll knock you off that broom!'

'Oh, yeah?' said Malfoy, trying to grin back defiantly at Harry, but feeling worried.

Harry leaned forward and his broom shot toward Draco like a javelin. Draco only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

'No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Dra,' Harry called, grinning even broader.

No Weasley and Granger up here too, Draco thought. 'Don't call me Dra,' he hissed through his teeth. 'Catch it if you can, then!' He threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball. Draco's gasp mingled with the screams of people watching.

As Draco covered his face and peeked through his fingers, Harry Potter stretched out his hand –

A foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

Draco stood watching with his heart in his throat and his chin on the ground.

'HARRY POTTER!' Professor McGonagall was running toward them. 'Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –' Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, '– how dare you – might have broken your neck –'

'It wasn't his fault, Professor –'

'Be quiet, Miss Patil.'

'But Malfoy –'

'That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.'

Draco couldn't help but smirk. At least Harry Potter didn't get away with beating him at flying on his very first try.

. . .

Back in the Great Hall, Draco couldn't believe his eyes. There he was, Harry Potter, still sitting at the Gryffindor table like he wasn't expelled at all.

'Let it go, Draco,' said Vincent, tugging at his cloak. 'I'm hungry.'

'You're always hungry, pig. Allez.'

Draco strutted over to the Gryffindor table.

'Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?'

He smirked as Harry turned towards him.

'You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,' Harry retorted.

Crabbe and Goyle, easily offended when they were hungry, cracked their knuckles and scowled.

'I'd take you on anytime on my own,' said Draco. 'Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact.' Seeing Harry's puzzlement, he was reminded how little the boy knew. 'What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?'

'Don't be a jerk about it, Dra.'

'Sorry,' Draco drawled. 'A wizard's duel–…'

'He knows what it is!' said the Weasel, wheeling around. 'I'm his second, who's yours?'

Draco looked indignantly at him, then he checked out Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

'Crabbe,' he decided. 'Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.'

Sneaking around at Hogwarts to duel against The Boy Who Lived! This was so exciting! Draco could skip. He couldn't help but look around at Harry Potter, and to his great joy, Harry was staring right back at him! In pure excitement, Draco pulled a silly face and put up both his hands in a rude gesture.

With a small smile, Harry turned back to his meal. If Draco hadn't known any better, he'd believe he'd made Harry Potter shy.

Draco Malfoy couldn't sit still for the entire rest of the evening; driving Pansy mad with his constant rambling about how he'd challenged Harry Potter for a Wizard's Duel, the tactics he could use, or the best way to reach the Trophy Room in the first place.

'I'm begging you, Draco, shut up!' snapped Pansy at last. She was combing her high maintenance, smoky Persian cat – Nimbostratus – whom she resembled greatly, with their similarly flattened faces and murderous expressions. 'There are hundreds of people in this school, excluding the paintings, please jabber to someone else!'

'Maybe I should,' Draco snarled. 'Those paintings have more depth than you garbage Parkinsons could ever achieve. You know Crabbe and Goyle are useless at tactics, Pansington, but your sister– '

Pansy put one hand on his mouth, pointed her wand at him and whispered. 'Be quiet.'

Glaring at her, Draco slapped her hand away.

Restlessly, he wandered the Slytherin common room, making the older students even more annoyed with him then they already were. This was only his first month and already Draco'd had countless 'shut up's and 'sit still's thrown at him.

He thought Hogwarts would be different, he thought there'd be things to keep him busy, but so far he was actually more bored than at home. Back at the Manor he had his broom, his violin, his drumkit and the grimoire. He couldn't freely experiment with Magic here at all, the teachers had been clear on that. Perhaps he really would have been better of at Durmstrang, like Father had wanted.

His very own mother forbade him to bring his violin. As soon as he was allowed to go home, he was going to take it back to Hogwarts with him no matter what. He'd practice a silencing charm if he must, but he was not going to stop playing just because his violin happened to be an irreplaceable heirloom. He had every right to use it, or Mother should buy him a normal violin he could take with him.

Anyway, there were still two and a half violin-less hours left to get through before the Duel.

'Does any of you dung-brains fancy a game?' he shouted at his fifteenth turn about the room.

'For Merlin's sake, someone say yes!' said a girl Draco'd never seen in his life.

One of the Slytherin Prefects sacrificed himself to play Wizard Chess with Draco. His name was Alexander Orlando, which was a nice name to pronounce, Draco thought.

He rubbed his hands together maliciously. 'I'll make you regret the day you learned to play.'

'Bring it,' said Alexander Orlando.

After almost two hours, Draco had to admit defeat. He'd played three rounds and he'd lost all three. He'd almost won the second one, though.

'You didn't even come close,' said Alexander Orlando .

Draco scowled.

'As a Prefect, I should probably forbid you to go out tonight,' said Alexander Orlando.

Draco nodded. 'You're right. I promise I'll stay in.'

In the castle!

The Prefect snorted. 'Sure you are. Come on, it's late. Go to bed.'

'You're not my father,' snarled Draco. 'I'll decide for myself.'

It was still an hour until showtime. Draco felt exhausted. He'd tired himself out.

Looking around for his friends, he saw Pansy taking a quiz in Witch's Weekly with the other Slytherin girls. He got up to kick her.

Nimbostratus fled and Pansy beat his leg hard in return.

'Ouch!' He grabbed her wrist and leaned over to whisper: 'Miss Pansington, may I have your attention?'

She turned away. 'Thought I was a garbage Parkinson?'

'That's exactly why you ought to give me attention. Peasant.'

She snorted, failing to hide it.

'Where's Vinciento?' Draco asked.

'Taking a nap,' Pansy told him out of the corner of her mouth. 'Now piss off.'

Taking a nap? Sometimes Crabbe's ideas weren't the worst…

Draco dragged himself down the steps into the dorms. Taking off his shoes and robes, he tucked himself in – and he dropped like stone.

. . .

The birds woke him up. Not real birds of course, the Slytherin dorms were below lake-level, but the ones made of sunlight that his father had enchanted to be Draco's wake up call.

It was seven o'clock in the morning, and Draco felt weird. There was a foul taste in his mouth and he felt hot and uncomfortable.

As soon as he moved, he noticed: he was wearing his school uniform.

Why didn't he put on pyjamas last night? That was weird. And did he forget to brush his teeth? He never –

With a jolt it all came back to him and he bolted upright. He had to bite his fist to keep him from screaming a very foul word at the top of his lungs.

He forgot!

He forgot to meet Harry Potter for their epic Wizard's Duel!

Draco felt like dying, this had been his one chance! He had one chance to impress Potter, and he'd slept through it!

Boy oh boy… did he mess this up. Oh, he'd been so excited, how could he forget? How was this possible?

One thing was certain though: no one could find out!

Draco jumped out of bed and furiously shook Vincent awake. 'Vinciento!'

Lazily, Crabbe opened his eyes.

'You're going to tell everyone we went to the Wizard's Duel last night! If you don't, I will not be your friend anymore! Ever again! You understand?'

'Wha–… Wizard's Duel?'

'Yes, we've been out last night, alright? We've been to the Trophy Room, there was nobody there, and then we went back. You've got that? Repeat what I said.'

'Went to a room. Last night.'

Thank Merlin, that was taken care of. Now, Draco could finally brush his teeth. He felt disgusting.

While pondering over his next move, Draco vigorously brushed his teeth. Nimbostratus, Pansy's Persian cat, circled around his ankles. It reminded him of his friend. Attack, Pansy always said, was the best defence: Draco had to beat Harry to the Great Hall to accuse him of chickening out. If he said it loud enough, no one would suspect Draco of sleeping through it. He just had to be extremely convincing.

He couldn't possibly wait for his friends to wake up and get dressed and put one foot in front of another in that leisurely way of theirs. Elbowing some incredibly slow second-years aside, Draco rushed to the Great Hall.

Right around the doorway to the Great Hall he arranged himself, and finally, he could relax; breathe for the first time since getting up.

He Accio'd an apple and a big muffin from the Slytherin table, as a treat. The benefit of being early was getting to pick the best stuff for breakfast.

As Draco stood there, the Great Hall steadily filled up. Crabbe and Goyle arrived, swiftly stuffing their plates as usual. A while later even Pansy strolled in, looking clean and flawless and eager to kill.

'Morning, Pansington,' said Draco, knowing she'd shoot him a deadly look – which she did.

'How was the fight?' she asked, with that grouchy morning voice of hers.

'It was perfectly lovely,' said Draco. 'Potter punked out.'

'Typical,' Pansy muttered, shuffling over to the Slytherin table.

At long last he heard a second creaky morning voice coming from the Entrance Hall.

'What could possibly need such protection?' Harry Potter asked, stifling a yawn.

'It's either really valuable or really dangerous,' Draco heard another voice; no doubt the Weasel.

'Or both,' said Harry.

Right on time, Draco stuck out his leg. Harry stumbled over it and Draco almost cheered.

'Too scared after all, Potter?' he greeted.

Weasley jumped in front of Harry. 'We were there!' he said. 'You chickened out!'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Tell your weasel to stand down.'

Weasley clenched his fists. 'Let's go, Harry.'

'Yeah, go. I'll meet you there.' Harry pushed Ron away.

Ron Weasley walked like a monkey: O-legs, swaying shoulders, dangling arms. He looked sluggish and dumb, Draco thought.

Harry turned back to Draco and leaned towards him, boring his grass green eyes into Draco's like there was no tomorrow. Draco could imagine him killing the Dark Lord, with a gaze like that.

Draco forced himself not to back away. The wall in his back helped.

'Did you trick us?' Harry inquired. 'Hermione says you told on Filch.'

Draco put on his best scowl and stuck to his plan d'attaque: 'I assumed you told on Filch. We couldn't even get near the stupid trophy room, that buffoon was everywhere. It took forever to get back without being caught. It was honestly such a drag.'

Harry nodded. Draco thought he looked tired. For a second he even wondered why, then he remembered Harry Potter had been out all night in an attempt to fight Draco, who had been sleeping like a rose the whole time.

'We almost got caught as well,' said Harry.

So the Mudblood assumed that Draco had set this whole thing up to get the Gryffindors into detention? That was quite clever. More clever at least than Draco's real reason for not making an appearance.

'I should've tipped Filch off,' he muttered to himself.

Harry grinned. 'It would have been the Slytherin thing to do.'

'Yes.' Draco smirked. 'Tell Weasley I did that.'

Feeling perfectly satisfied making Harry Potter smile before eight in the morning, Draco sat down in between Vincent and Gregory. He loved the two of them, because they hardly said a word. He could talk and talk to them, and they wouldn't complain for a second. So he did.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. To Draco's astonishment they dropped it right in front of Harry Potter.

Draco stood up to get a closer look.

Potter ripped open a letter, read it, then handed it to Weasley. They both looked thrilled, but they didn't open the package. Instead, they hurriedly left, leaving their breakfast behind, but taking the package with them.

Draco shared a look with Vincent and Gregory, who seemed equally curious. When Draco sneaked out of the Great Hall –away from the teacher's prying eyes – Crabbe and Goyle followed. They barred the way upstairs before Potter and Weasley could reach it.

As soon as Potter reached them, Draco seized the package and felt it. 'That's a broomstick.' He threw it back to Harry. 'You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them.'

'It's not any old broomstick,' the Weasel felt it necessary to butt in. 'It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?' Weasley grinned at Potter. 'Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.'

'What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle,' Draco snapped back. 'I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.'

Before Weasley could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. 'Not arguing, I hope, boys?' he squeaked.

'Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,' said Draco.

'Yes, yes, that's right,' said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. 'Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?'

Special circumstances? Draco couldn't believe it! What special circumstances made it fair for one student to fly and for all the others to stay put in their Common Room – especially when said student had only flown one time in his entire life before and didn't even know the rules to Quidditch!

'A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,' said Harry.

At least he looked properly happy about it, Draco thought, but it still wasn't fair.

'And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it,' Harry added.

Draco felt like making a scene. This was absolutely unfair. Harry was right, it was thanks to Draco that he got that broom. If Draco made a scene, though, it would probably hurt his chances to befriend The Boy Who Lived – or: The Boy Every Adult Was In Love With, apparently. What reason could possibly justify Potter getting a broom? Why Potter? Why not Malfoy?

Potter and Weasley walked off. Draco enviously followed the broom with his gaze as Harry handed it to Weasley. Then Potter turned around to make a rude gesture at Draco, pulling a silly face.

Draco snapped out of his bad mood and pretended to scratch his own eyeballs out in envy. It made Harry laugh all the way up the marble staircase.

Potter was alright, Draco thought. The teachers needed to die though.

. . .

The morning of Slytherin's first Quidditch match against Gryffndor dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. Everyone, except one miserable looking figure at the Gryffindor table. Potter was staring at his empty plate like he would prefer to die. A boy next to him cheerfully said something while piling ketchup on his sausages, and Harry fired a murderous glare at him that Draco enjoyed very much.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Some Gryffindors had painted a large banner on some bedsheets, saying Potter for President with a large lion underneath. Draco wished he'd thought of it. No, wait – they were the enemy.

'Imagine how much cooler this would be if we had Harry Potter in our team,' he complained to Vincent and Gregory.

They grunted something; Draco wasn't sure if it was in agreement.

The two teams walked onto the field to loud cheers. Draco pointed his binoculars at Harry. He managed to look tall despite being the youngest and clearly nervous. Harry Potter always kept his composure.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand. The players clambered on their brooms. Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle, and fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch.

Gryffindor were the first to score. When they did, Harry did a couple of loop-the-loops, making Draco point and laugh. Then a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it marvellously, no thanks to the Gryffindor Beaters.

Draco screamed, startling his friends. 'THE SNITCH!' he roared. 'It's the snitch! There!'

'Huh?' said Gregory.

Even their own marble royalty Blaise Zabini deigned to look around at Draco. 'What are you on about?

'There!' Draco pointed. Everyone around him was now searching the air with their binoculars on Draco's instructions.

'Back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes - Flint flying like an eagle up there – '

'It's – Now it's near Adrian!' Draco screamed.

'Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?'

'FINALLY!' Draco fell on his chair. 'Oh Merlin, you're all so blind.'

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

'I still don't see it,' said Blaise. Draco had to bite his tongue not to snap back.

In a great rush Potter dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too, at last. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs – he put on an extra spurt of speed – WHAM!

Draco covered his face when Marcus Flint had blocked Harry, and Harry's broom spun off course, trying very hard to fling Potter away.

In all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

It was as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, that it happened. His broom gave a sudden lurch. For a split second, Draco thought he was going to fall. His fingers gripped the binoculars so tight it hurt, but he didn't notice. It was as though the broom was trying to buck Potter off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off.

'Potter's broom is out of control,' Draco said.

It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Soon, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

Draco was standing now, as were the people around him.

Potter's broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good - every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell.

'We have to do something.'

'Relax, Malfoy,' drawled one of the older Slytherins. 'All the Professors are here too.'

'Look,' said the Head Girl, 'Snape's already helping him.'

Draco pointed his binoculars on Snape, who was moving his lips, looking concentrated – and he saw the Mudblood, creeping underneath the stands.

Gasping, Draco saw her setting fire to Snape's cloak. 'That filthy – '

'It stopped!' said the tiniest girl in their year with a squeaky voice; Draco always forgot her name.

Smirking, Blaise looked around at him. 'You can look again…'

Draco was too nervous to glare at him. He turned the binoculars back on Potter. Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick – he hit the field on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.

'He's got the Snitch!' Draco exclaimed.

Potter was waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

'He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it,' Flint was still howling late that night, but it made no difference – Potter hadn't broken any rules – Gryffindor had defeated Slytherin by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

'I would've caught that stupid Snitch before any of you even noticed it was there,' Draco loudly reminded everyone.

. . .

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid, but Crabbe and Goyle both managed to fall through it and had to attend Madam Pomfrey for some Pepper-up Potion. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health before they could fly off again.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Slytherin common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.

'I do feel so sorry,' said Draco Malfoy, shivering, 'for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home.'

He was looking over at Harry as he spoke, wishing for a response. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Potter, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, slowly turned around to him.

'Are you inviting me, Malfoy?' he asked coolly. 'If not, keep your mouth shut.'

Potter'd been incredibly serious lately, even when Draco did his best impression of him coughing up the Snitch, or when he'd told everyone a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Sure, the other Slytherins had found it tremendously funny, but there was no point if Harry Potter wasn't laughing.

Meanwhile, Draco couldn't stop thinking about Potter managing to stay on that bucking broomstick. It had looked darn impressive.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

'Want any help?' the Weasley was saying, sticking his bright red head through the branches.

'Would you mind moving out of the way?' Draco drawled from behind them.

Harry laughed. 'Could you be more of a brat, Dra?'

'Oh, hey Potter…' It took all Draco's effort to keep his cool – finally a genuine laugh, when Draco was only being himself!

Then he noticed Snape coming up the stairs, and he started smirking.

'Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley?' he quietly asked. 'Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose - that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.'

'Blimey, Malfoy, do you have to?' Harry shouted while Weasley dived at Draco –

'WEASLEY!' Snape crossed the Entrance Hall.

Weasley let go of the front of Draco's robes.

'He was provoked, Professor Snape,' said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. 'Malfoy was insultin' his family.'

Draco snorted.

'Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,' said Snape silkily. 'Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you.'

Potter glared at him. Draco felt like blowing him a kiss just for shits and giggles, but instead he, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

Harry Potter pressed his lips together, as if trying not to laugh.

. . .

At last, Christmas break arrived, and Draco could go home to fetch his violin. He'd been thinking about the Muggle music all through last term, wondering how bad it was that he… that he might… like it. He'd been going to the Audio-Visual Section of the Library increasingly more often, and discovered what the weird words meant. The Muggles called them Genres, but to Draco they felt like entire cultures that were new for him to discover. Whenever he did though, it made him feel dirty. He kept wondering what his parents might think, but he was too scared to write them about it.

While Draco was practicing his violin in front of the library window, his father sat down to read.

Draco bolstered up the courage. Taking a deep breath, he put down his violin. 'Dad?'

His father did not look up from his book. 'Dragonchild?'

'There is this… In Slytherin there is a –'

Why was it so scary to talk about this to his own dad? It shouldn't be, Draco thought. He just wanted to know something. It was merely a question. He hadn't done anything yet.

His dad looked at him, raising an eyebrow. 'Spit it out.'

'There is this boy in my house…' Draco's voice trailed off as he wondered how to continue.

His father raised both his eyebrows now. 'And you… like him?'

'God no!' said Draco. 'He's an absolute bore!'

'Don't say "god," Draco, it's hurtful.'

'Merlin no,' Draco corrected. 'But he said... Dad? Is it hurtful to listen to Muggle music?'

'Muggle music?' His dad burst out laughing. 'As if Muggles know anything about music!'

'Well, Jason says…'

His father wrinkled his nose. 'Jason? Common name.'

'Tell me about it. But he told me about their music and it is… It is fairly nice, Muggle music.'

Draco studied his father's reaction, but he seemed only surprised, as surprised as Draco had been.

Father's lack of anger encouraged Draco. 'There's even some things I would like to try and play myself. They have genres in Muggle music, a lot more than we have. Have you ever heard of musicals, dad?'

His father scowled, looking confused. 'I have not.'

'It's like a play, except they also sing and dance in it.'

His father's eyebrows went almost through the roof. 'That is entirely misplaced.'

That's what Draco thought. It intrigued him how the Muggles managed to combine three artforms at once – without using Magic, no less.

'I feel left out,' he complained.

Father shook his head. 'That will not do. Take it from them! Steal their genres and make them yours. They should have been ours in the first place! It should not prove to be difficult; if Muggles can do it.'

'I don't think I can take it away from them, Father, but is it… I simply wondered, is it considered…' How had his mother put it? 'Comme il faut to play their music? And to listen to it?'

'Malfoys make the rules, Draco. Nobody can tell us what to do!'

Draco smirked maliciously. 'Splendid.'

First, he would take their Colours of the wind, on the clarinet, and then he would try something French to please his mother, Father always said she had a weakness for French. Perhaps Les Misérables, which sounded wonderfully dramatic. Tomorrow he would attempt a piece called Smells like teen spirit on his drum kit. It had a weirdly aggressive style of drumming that he'd never heard before.

'Oh, Draco, do magically improve this Muggle invention,' warned his father casually. 'We do not want to embarrass ourselves.'

'Of course, father. I would not like it any other way.'

Draco couldn't wait to see his mother's face when he played a magically improved song to her from a genre she'd never even heard of before.

Draco felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

'Ha ha ha,' sounded a voice.

Father's face became an unreadable mask. 'Uncle Barney,' he nodded tightly, as the ghost of a squat, cheerful man floated through one of the bookcases.

Barney Malfoy was an ancestor who died of pneumonia in the thirteenth century. He was one of the six ghosts inhabiting Malfoy Manor, and Draco's favourite. Most of the ghosts kept to themselves, but Barney enjoyed listening in and sometimes felt the need to meddle in the lives of any currently living Malfoys.

Barney beamed at Draco and his father. 'What's all this? Talk about Muggles? In Malfoy Manor?'

'Hardly,' sneered Draco's father. 'You can go back to your own business, Barney, we have no need for you here.'

'Well, well, well,' said Barney slowly. 'Allow me to be the judge of that, old man. Now, Drakey, did you know –'

'Barney, I am warning you,' said Father.

Barney swirled around. 'Do you hear that, petit? Your father tries to silence me! I am being repressed!'

Draco sniggered. 'Did I know what, Uncle Barnaby? Tell me.' He pretended not to see the look on his father's face.

Barney gleamed. 'Well, son, your father might choose not to remember –'

'Barney…!'

' – but I happened to be around back in the days when the Malfoys –'

'I do not want you to tell him this,' boomed Father. 'Filling his head with lies will only confuse our boy.'

Barney pretended to fall to his knees in surrender, covering his head as he trembled.

It made Draco laugh, but his father seemed to get angrier every second. 'Stop your antics this minute.'

Barney heaved a sigh, winked at Draco, and floated out of the room. 'Superior orders! What can one do…'

Draco tried not to smirk. "Superior orders" was a code word between the two of them, meaning Draco should look the ghost up later in the attic.

After Draco'd practiced his scales, as well as a composition by his great aunt Tiffany Malfoy III, he reckoned he'd practiced long enough to convince his dad he forgot Barney. He sauntered out of the library, then ran upstairs to the attic as fast as he could.

'Uncle Barnaby?' he whispered, while quietly closing the attic door behind him. 'Are you here?'

'BOO!' Barney swooped up through the wooden floor and Draco almost screamed.

He threw a loose lamp through the ghost from one of the many piles of rubbish lying around, but they were both laughing.

'Careful with those, young man! They were your great great great great –'

'Tell me everything,' Draco cut in, as he threw some books aside to sit down on a surprisingly comfortable rocking chair.

Quickly, Barney beckoned him to get up. 'Touch nothing, petit.'

Draco scowled. 'It is my attic.'

'I heartily agree with you, young master. But, you see, this here chair would have slowly lulled you into an infinite sleep. Now, do you want to hear about Malfoys and Muggles, or not?'

Draco sat down on the floor, careful not to touch anything else, while Uncle Barney cleared his throat importantly and started pacing the air in the room.

'In 1689 the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was signed,' he started, whirling around to Draco. 'Are you making notes, young man?'

'Mental notes.'

'Some people – like that blasted Ralston Potter' – Barney shook his fist – 'were great supporters of this law.'

'We are too, you know,' Draco loudly interrupted. 'It keeps us safe from the Muggles, you see.'

'Aha!' Barney triumphantly held up his finger. 'And that is where your clever Uncle Barnaby comes in, mon petit. To draw a distinction between truth and propaganda.'

'What?'

Barney gasped in shock, then put on a high-pitched voice and pretended to sweep invisible hair over his shoulder. 'Do not say what, darling –'

'Say excuse me!' Draco finished in the same high-pitched voice, and they giggled.

'You see, before the Statute, the Malfoys had always been associating with high-born Muggle circles. You know, aristocracy and royalty like William the Conqueror and Queen Elizabeth I. Now, how, young Master Draco, did you reckon we ever managed to gather our vast collection of Muggle treasures and works of art?'

'Why, we stole them.'

'Wrong!' Barney shouted, laughing manically. 'We would buy them! Fully legal! Or we would receive them as gifts. You see, we were great friends with the wealthy and powerful Muggles. Obviously, we would never consider the poor sods equals – Merlin forbid, can you imagine that – and it would never in a million years occur to us to associate ourselves with any of the lower class Muggles – there was simply no reason – but we did very much benefit from our relationships with high Muggle society. In fact, one of your ancestors, whom I shall not call by name, had a lovely relationship to Maria Gunning, who was unanimously considered the most beautiful Muggle of the 16th century.'

Draco could hardly believe his ears.

'Anyway, during those days, we were strongly – fervently – opposed to the Statute of Secrecy, you know. For, you see, it would take away a big part of our lifestyle, of our influence. Why, it would force us to withdraw from a highly enjoyable sphere of social life!'

Draco nodded like he understood. He understood none of it.

'Now, as you well know, the Statute happened no matter how our family pleaded against it. Even in those days, what mattered to Purebloods was ruthlessly ignored by the commoners of the Wizarding World. So, instead of a lovely, perfectly respectable war against the Muggle ragtag – that we would no doubt have won – we went into hiding, like cowards! Attack – as it turned out – was not the Wizarding World's idea of the best defence…'

'Yes, I know,' Draco drawled. 'Geralt never shuts up about it.'

Geralt Malfoy was the ghost of a handsome young soldier living in the forecourt. He died of his wounds during the War of Roses in the fifteenth century and kept guard on the premises surrounding Malfoy Manor ever since. He generally had a lot to say about defensive strategies and war tactics.

'Once the Statute was passed into law in 1692, the Malfoys cut off all ties with Muggle families, as we realised that further opposition would distance us from the new heart of power: the Ministry of Magic. Yes, petit, there was a time – a glorious time of freedom – that we did not yet have Mother Ministry to smother us with rules and regulations.'

'Are you saying,' Draco summarized, 'that we were friends with Muggle queens and artists, but we abandoned them because the Ministry said so?'

'Oh no no no, silly boy. We abandoned them on our own accord. You see, in the newly established hierarchy it would benefit us much more to agree with the Statute then to keep kicking against it like a spoiled child. So we performed an abrupt volte-face –' Barney proudly snapped his fingers ' – and became vocally supportive of the Statute! Adapt and overcome! From that moment onwards, we hotly denied ever having fraternised with Muggles – a lie your father has even successfully convinced himself of. Well, historians have tried – oh, how they have tried! – to hit us around the head with evidence: dates, books, eyewitness reports – but once again, Malfoys came out on top. Historically speaking, mon petit, Malfoys always come out on top. Remember that!'

For a second, Draco didn't know what to say. Then the full truth of what Barney had told him dawned on him. Bewildered, he muttered, 'My life is a lie…'

Barney's barking laugh filled the attic. 'Ooh, you remind me so strongly of young Ferdinand Malfoy sometimes, you have that same streak of the dramatic. Help me remember to show you his belongings when you are older.'

'But Barnaby, I thought we hated Muggles.'

Barney's face became cold. 'Oh, we do. We hate Muggles with a burning passion. You have no idea what they did to us, Drakey, you are too young to fathom the terror. The only reason you are alive today is because your ancestors have been avid survivors of Muggle attacks at every point in history. More than once have we been prosecuted, hunted – killed even, in the case of – oh, I should not burden you with these things. You are too young. Let me just say, mon petit, that the Statute has brought us both good things as well as limitations. As you will learn when you are older: life is never black-and-white. Too often, it is about weighing off the evil against the lesser evil.'

The wooden floor started to hurt Draco's butt. 'Right,' he drawled as he got up, dusting off his pants. 'Thank you, Uncle Barnaby, but I have heard enough.'

The ghost smiled. 'Moral of the story,' he cheerfully concluded while floating after Draco out of the attic, 'enjoy Muggle art as much as you like, little one.'

Draco smirked to himself. He could work with a moral like that.

. . .

'Pansy! Pansy, look at this!'

They were all back at the castle again – including any ancient violins – milling about in the Slytherin Common Room.

'Hey! Parkinson!'

The second Pansy reluctantly turned away from Nimbostratus and her gang of Slytherin girls, Draco fired a new spell he learned, at Vincent who was sitting with Gregory on the couch, eating leftover chicken they took with them from dinner. At once Vincent's legs stuck together. Draco did the same thing with Gregory.

'Draco!' Gregory wailed, trying and failing to spread his legs. 'Turn them back!'

Draco smirked as Pansy shrieked with laughter.

'Watch!' Draco swaggered to the middle of the common room, so nobody would miss out on the action, and he pointed his wand on his legs. 'Locomotor Mortis!'

His legs sprung together and Draco wobbled theatrically, waving his arms as he sloppily made himself tumble over, his arms spread out in total defeat, eyes closed and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Because he was dead.

Vincent, Gregory and Pansy laughed, and so did Pansy's friends. It was Draco's cue to look up, leaning on his elbows. 'Good, isn't it? Can I try it on you?'

'Not if you want to live, darling,' said Pansy. With a malicious smile she added, 'Go try it on Potter.' She looked like an evil genius, stroking Nimbostratus and smiling like that.

Draco scowled at her. 'You know I'm not allowed.'

During Christmas Break, his father had explained that it would put a blemish on the entire Malfoy name if Draco harmed Harry Potter or did anything that wasn't aiding in securing a friendship. Father still had hope of Harry becoming a glorious Dark Wizard, and even if he didn't, it couldn't hurt to be friends with the most famous wizard in the country. Mother said if Draco couldn't say anything nice, he shouldn't say anything at all.

'I'll find someone else,' he promised himself out loud, while unlocking Gregory's, Vincent's and then his own legs with a flourish. As he got up to leave in search of a victim, so did Crabbe and Goyle. Draco was thankful for them. They always liked to be in on Draco's action.

They had to search well. At this time of night, most people were in their common rooms. The students who did still walk around on their own were double Draco's size. Even with Crabbe and Goyle accompanying him, he would be nervous practicing his curse on such people.

Suddenly Vincent pushed him. Or maybe he just tried to lightly tap Draco's shoulder, but his friends were much steadier on their feet than Draco was.

He followed Vincent's gaze. 'Ha! Good eye, Crabbe.'

There, shuffling out of the library, with that dumb, fearful face, was Neville Longbottom. His arm was healed, but Draco had not forgiven him quite yet for cutting their flying lesson with Harry Potter short with his undeniably redundant accident.

'Longbottom,' he drawled, stepping out of the shadows to block the boy's way. 'We were looking for you.'

Neville's face got even more frightened and stupid than before. 'F-for me?'

'Yes, you. I want to practice a new spell. Do you want to see it? Oh, silly me, of course you do!'

Draco pointed his wand. Longbottom just stood there, shaking a little.

'I thought you were supposed to be brave to get sorted into Gryffindor?' sneered Draco. 'Come on then, you dung-brain, defend yourself.'

Longbottom's eyes widened, then he scrambled to get his wand out. It fell on the tiles.

'What was that?' Draco sneered. 'Oh, it was your only chance. Locomotor Mortis!'

The boy's legs snapped together marvellously, just like it was pictured in the book, and the way he stumbled to the ground was so similar to Draco's bit in the common room that it had the three of them rolling on the floor laughing.

'You're dead, Longbottom!' jeered Draco. Vincent and Gregory guffawed.

Then they heard someone coming from the library and quickly, Draco pushed his friends into a secret corridor.

Oh, what a night!

. . .

During a particularly difficult Potions class in which the insipid Harry Potter had not stopped nagging Draco about his perfectly executed Leg Locker curse, Draco noticed Professor Snape was even more horrible to Potter than usual.

The Professor was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Draco had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. That dung-brain Longbottom had somehow managed to melt another Gryffindor's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes.

Before Draco noticed, Harry had pulled him up on their stools. Sucking on his teeth, Draco drawled, 'Added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, mark my words. Useless dung-brain…'

The whole class was standing on their stools now, while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

'Idiot boy!' snarled Snape, appropriately, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. 'I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

Draco smirked. 'Told you.'

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. 'Take him up to the hospital wing,' Snape spat at some poor Gryffindor. Then he rounded on Harry. 'You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor.'

Draco's mouth fell open. That was really uncalled for. He saw Harry getting ready to fight, and searched frantically for something to distract him, before he'd lose himself more points, or worse – influence their grade.

Then he saw it and he snorted, grabbing Potter's arm. 'Look at his feet!' he hissed.

Potter's obsessive, ever so righteous anger kept him from looking, so Draco yanked at his arm. 'Look at his socks, Potter, his socks!'

The potion had burnt through Snape's shoes, revealing socks with little pink cauldrons on them.

Slowly but surely, Harry's frown faded and he started grinning. Soon, the two of them were sniggering behind their hands, careful to hide it from their livid Professor.

. . .

'A toast!' shouted Marcus Flint, jumping on top of the highest table in the Slytherin Common Room, holding a glass of Butterbeer in the air. It looked wonderfully theatrical. 'To our great friend Severus Snape, who will be refereeing the match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!'

They all cheered. If Hufflepuff defeated Gryffindor, it meant Slytherin had a great chance at getting the Quidditch Cup again!

'If they don't lose against Hufflepuff,' roared Flint. 'It means we didn't bully them enough! Go forth and devastate!'

'Woooo!'

Hats were flying through the air. Pansy climbed next to Flint up the table to slam back his Butterbeer and scream loudest of everyone present.

. . .

'Come, it'll be great fun,' said Draco as he lead Vincent and Gregory onto the Gryffindor stands. They spotted the ginger and the bushy head almost at once. They were sitting with that sad figure, Longbottom.

'I've never seen Snape look so mean,' they heard Weasley tell Granger. 'Look, they're off – Ouch!'

'Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there.' Draco grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle. 'Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want to bet? What about you, Weasley?'

Weasley didn't answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty. Granger, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

'You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?' Draco said loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all. 'It's people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money - you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains.'

Longbottom went bright red but turned in his seat to face them. 'I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy,' he stammered.

Draco, Vincent and Gregory howled with laughter. 'Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something.'

'I'm warning you, Malfoy - one more word.'

'Ron!' said Hermione suddenly, 'Harry –'

'What? Where?'

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Draco's view got blocked when that miserable Mudblood found it necessary to get up, so he stood up too as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

'You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!' said Draco, his hands clenched in excitement as he watched Potter dive.

Out of the blue, Weasley snapped. Before Draco knew what was happening, Harry's stupid Monkey-friend was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. A sharp pain rushed through his face when Weasley punched him. He was screaming for help, but beside him, Crabbe and Goyle were wrestling with Longbottom.

Draco got out of it with a black eye – which hurt for days – and the only reason it wasn't worse, was because Crabbe and Goyle knocked out Longbottom and then saved Draco.

The worst thing was that they missed out on Harry catching the Snitch. Since then, after every single Gryffindor match Pansy said: 'Not as good as that catch he did in first year against Hufflepuff.'

. . .

During their next Potions class Harry Potter was too angry with Draco to laugh at his jokes, no matter how hard he tried. Apparently, Weasley had told him his view of the events at the Quidditch game, and Draco didn't come out of those very well. It turned out Harry Potter did not like being pitied for not having parents, and he did not find it funny that Draco told Weasley it was the reason he got selected for the team. The fact that Weasley had punched Draco was apparently not that big a deal in Potter's world – interesting.

Draco quickly grew bored of the subject. 'Let's all beg Merlin that Weasley beats me to death next time,' he drawled, 'so I don't have to listen to any more of your dreary monologues, Saint Potter.'

Walking through the Dungeons back up to Defence Against the Dark Arts, Draco was seriously reconsidering whether it had been the best move to make Snape partner him with The Boy Who Lived. He wasn't allowed to say or do anything fun with him around.

Sure, Potter made Draco laugh and forced him to step up his game all the time, and sure, Harry was strikingly fearless and powerful, but still looked up in amazement at Draco whenever he told him something he didn't know – which was every other sentence – and yes, Potter was a great mystery to unravel, with his massive amount of scars or the way he beat the Dark Lord as a new-born or with his hair that seemed to lead a life of its own… But so what if Potter –

'Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?'

Draco's head shot up. Did Weasley just say… dragon? A dragon hatching?

Draco quickly got closer to listen in on their conversation.

'We've got lessons,' Granger said. 'We'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing –'

Hagrid? Did the Gamekeeper have a dragon?

'Shut up!' Harry said. He'd caught sight of Draco listening in.

Draco absolutely adored dragons. When he was still in his mother's belly, Aunty Bel had painted a huge one on his wall, with metallic paint and glitters. It followed him around through the room and when he was sad or overexcited it breathed fire or winked at him.

With his head in the clouds, Draco almost followed the Gryffindors to their class. Thankfully, he got sorted into the most solidary House of the lot and was pulled into the right direction by three of his classmates.

Tearing his gaze away from Potter's back, he caught Pansy's eye. She was smirking and shaking her head. 'Do not dream, Draconius.'

Draco didn't tell her what he'd heard. He didn't tell anyone. He needed to be sure first. If there really was a dragon, he wanted to be the first to see it.

So without thinking too much about it, he ran down to Hagrid's hut during morning break, and saw the three Gryffindors hurrying through the grounds to the edge of the forest. As soon as they were inside, Draco stalked after them like an idiot ninja to peek through Hagrid's window.

There was a big egg lying on the table, with deep cracks in it. Something appeared to be moving inside. Harry Potter and the others had drawn their chairs up to the table to watch it.

Suddenly, the egg split open. A baby dragon flopped onto the table.

It was gorgeous, in a very unattractive way. The dragon looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

Hagrid reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

Draco wanted one. He would write Father at once.

Suddenly Hagrid looked up and his eyes met Draco's. He leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

As quick as he could, Draco turned and bolted back to the castle.

. . .

Draco wrote his parents the minute he got back at school. He made a solid argument in favour of adopting a dragon, if he said so himself, claiming if someone like Hagrid could hatch one, so could a bleeding Malfoy. It would be the perfect addition to the Manor to have a dragon for a guard; and Draco would be able to fly with it to school, so he didn't have to bother with that old-fashioned train. Public transport really wasn't a suitable way for a Pure-blood to travel anyhow.

The benefits of owning a dragon far outweighed any objections his parents could come up with, he was sure of it.

The next morning, when the owls arrived, his parents sent him their reply. To his disappointment, they did not agree with him. Apparently, dragons were illegal. Hagrid risked huge repercussions to keep a dragon.

Now Draco understood why Harry and Hagrid had been so uptight about Draco seeing the animal – and for the first time in his life, Draco felt the power of knowledge. Hagrid was at Draco's mercy.

The next couple of days, Draco kept a close watch on Hagrid, Harry Potter and his friends, and soon enough, Weasley got himself injured.

As quick as he could, Draco went to the Hospital Wing to have a good laugh at him. Madam Pomfrey turned out to be incredibly gullible and believed Draco when he told her he wanted to borrow one of Weasleys books. As if Weasleys had books!

Vividly remembering the black eye Weasley gave him – for no reason at all – Draco had loads of fun threatening the Monkey to tell Madam Pomfrey everything about the dragon. He would never do it - that would spoil the fun - but Weasley kept breaking into sweat anyway. He handed over all his candy and an actual book, just to shut Draco up.

'Fine,' Draco drawled, having trouble carrying his loot. 'If you insist.'

Dumping it all on his bed at the Slytherin dorms, Weasley's book fell open. A letter whirled down.

'Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love,

Charlie'

Draco's mouth fell open. A secret mission! Illegally transporting a live dragon! He couldn't believe it – it sounded so cool!

Did that dull Weasley really have a brother who didn't even hesitate to pull a stunt like this? Draco moaned in envy. Being an only child was the most boring trait his parents could have given him.

. . .

'SING ONCE AGAIN WITH ME!' Draco sang at top volume on one of their detours through the corridors to get to Potions class.

It was one of his favourite things about the castle: their echoing Dungeons.

'OUR STRANGE DUET!'

He instructed Gregory, with his low voice, to sing a little bassline, and Vincent to just snap his fingers, because he simply sucked at everything else.

'As I walk down the Dungeon,' sang Draco.

' – As I walk down the Dungeon,' sang the walls.

'All I do is sing this song. And the ghost that's passing my way helps the rhythm move along.'

' – Rhythm move along.'

'There's nothing more that I can say, but on a day like today…'

'On a day like today…'

'I pass the time away…'

'I pass the time away…'

'And walk a quiet mile with you!'

'You – you – you…'

Still whistling, Draco entered the Potions classroom.

Potter was already there. In passing, Draco wetted his finger and jabbed it in Harry's ear.

'Yugh! Draco!'

Draco laughed scathingly. 'That's what you get, Potter.'

'For what?' he shot a grumpy look at him.

'Not noticing me,' Draco teased.

A big grin broke through Harry's scowl.

The day improved even more when they had to work together again. Harry was turning around and around on his stool like he was practicing to be an astronaut.

At some point, he leaned over to Draco. 'I know you know.'

'You know I know what?' said Draco. He couldn't help but smirk.

Harry frowned. 'What are you up to, Dra?'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Sighing, Harry shoved his chair closer to Draco's. 'Please don't tell anyone.'

This was unbelievable. He'd been on his absolute best behaviour these past months. He'd kept his mouth shut, he didn't practice any spells on Harry or his friends… yet still Harry Potter suspected Draco to tell on him.

Draco was a Malfoy! He was in Slytherin! Betraying a friend would never even cross his mind!

Maybe – maybe! – he might have toyed with the idea of making the Gamekeeper's life slightly more miserable, just because he could, but he hadn't done anything; and it had been literal days since he found out that the half-giant kept a live, illegal, fire-breathing animal in his wooden shed of a house.

Draco had read all the books about dragons he could find in the school library, and it had become increasingly clear to him that keeping a dragon in a wooden house was an unwise decision. Dragons were incredibly unpredictable, difficult to train and to control. To be fair, Draco got kind of scared of them while reading, and for Harry Potter for hanging out with one so often.

Draco tried to remain calm as he thought all this, even putting down his knife.

'First of all: how dare you, second: you don't know how dangerous it is what you're doing, because honestly, so far you haven't known anything at all. Third: my name literally means dragon. If anyone gets to see a dragon it should be me. I know far more about them than you.'

Draco was proud of himself: he had not raised his voice.

The caterpillars did not cut themselves though. He should crack on.

'By all means,' said Harry, 'take my place dealing with the dragon. It's yours!'

'I don't want to deal with it. I want to see it.'

The caterpillars really got the worst out of this conversation. Good thing they were already dead.

'You know, you could've just asked.' Harry Potter smiled.

Was he laughing at him?

'I'd rather die,' snarled Draco, 'than ask you anything, Potter.'

Startling Draco, Harry rested his forehead on his shoulder to laugh and laugh. It was just for a second, but it happened.

Sometimes when Harry Potter laughed, it seemed to Draco like his hair crackled; as if it was charged with Magic. It might have to do, Draco figured, with the Riddle of his Existence.

Panicking, Draco glanced around at Pansy, who'd put both her hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter.

'Meet us in the Astronomy Tower when we get him out,' Harry told Draco softly. 'You can see him then.'

. . .

This time, Draco was determined to stay awake for his nightly meeting with Harry Potter. There was no way he would miss seeing a real dragon up close.

So when everyone else went to bed, he sneaked out of the Slytherin common room, and upstairs to the Astronomy Tower. Nobody even noticed him leaving. Or maybe they were too happy to see him leave to hold him up.

He was already at the astronomy tower for hours, when he finally heard someone climbing the stairs. In his excitement, he jumped a few steps down the stairs.

'Do you have it?' he hissed.

A lamp flared.

'Mister Malfoy!' Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, was looking down at him.

Draco felt like crumbling. He turned on his heel to run away, but Professor McGonagall grabbed him by the ear.

'Detention!' she shouted. 'And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you –'

'You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!'

'What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!'

McGonagall was furious. Not only did she make Draco miss out on meeting the dragon that night, he got detention too, and a meeting with Professor Snape instead.

One of the worst things, though, was seeing Harry the next day, watching him every time they crossed paths and then quickly glancing away. He looked tormented with guilt, as if he had personally pushed Draco into McGonagall's arms. Draco wanted to talk to him, but didn't know how.

Meanwhile, Pansy was livid. Every time she saw Harry, she loudly started about how all Gryffindors are dung-brain buffoons who only ever thought about themselves. She hadn't even cared about the fact that Harry'd wanted to show Draco a dragon. She only cared that Harry caused Draco to get detention.

'This is not to be borne!' she kept saying, because they shared the same great-great-grandmother. 'He lured you onto that tower! Taking advantage of your curiosity! Just because you're star-struck, doesn't mean – '

'I'm not star-struck!' scoffed Draco. 'As a Malfoy I am perfectly neutral about someone with the status of Harry Potter!'

She hardly listened. 'If the grand celebrity doesn't bother sticking up for you, then I will!' she bellowed. 'Let's go to Snape, Draco! Let's go right now!'

She took his hand as if they were still five and scared to lose each other at the grown-ups' party, and they marched off to Snape's office.

Pansy Parkinson was afraid of no one. Snape towering over her with his most deadly stare did not make her falter in the slightest.

'Miss Parkinson,' Snape said, when at last, the worst of her screams died away. 'I will not "catch you outside." Speak to me that way again and I will suspend you. Mister Malfoy, you are expected at the Entrance Hall at eleven tonight. Get out. Now.'

Recognizing Pansy's face, Draco pushed her out of the office before she could restart.

'That's quite enough, miss Parkinson,' he said as he closed the door behind them, trying his very best to imitate Snape's drawl.

Pansy changed tactics. 'Have you noticed,' she said, looking malicious, 'that Potter's nose looks like an ugly dragon's?'

Shocked, Draco pushed her. 'How dare you!'

'His nostrils are huge.'

'Shut up, Pansy, they are not! The only one in this school with a weird nose is you, and everyone knows it!'

'Nose it!' Pansy shrieked at her own pun.

Draco sighed.

. . .

At eleven o'clock that night, Draco gloomily said goodbye to Pansy, Vincent and Gregory in the common room. He blew them a farewell kiss, saying something like how he would wish for them to remember him, but to try and be happy. They stood up, putting their hands on their hearts to give him a farewell salute. Nimbostratus even accompanied him to the door. Draco appreciated it.

He dragged himself up to the Entrance Hall. Filch was already there, but the Gryffindors arrived late – as per usual.

Harry seemed to be in charge of Longbottom and the Mudblood as if they merely accompanied him.

'Follow me,' said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Draco could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

'Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.'

Harry's head shot up, but Filch was immune to the Magic of The Boy Who Lived. 'I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf?' he snapped at him. 'Well, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.'

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

'The forest?' he repeated. 'We can't go in there at night – there's all sorts of things in there.'

He'd heard there were werewolves in there!

'I'll be back at dawn,' said Filch, 'for what's left of them,' he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Draco now turned to Hagrid. 'I'm not going in that forest,' he said.

'Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,' said Hagrid fiercely. 'Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it.'

'But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do.'

Harry snorted. 'Prick.'

Draco shot him a look. 'This is your fault, Potter.'

Harry flinched. 'I'm sorry.'

'I thought we'd be copying lines or something…'

'Copyin' lines!' Hagrid growled. 'What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or Yeh'll get out.'

Draco didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

'Right then,' said Hagrid, 'now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.'

Hagrid showed them something in the grass. It was unicorn blood, he said. 'We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.'

'And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?' said Draco, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

'There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,' said Hagrid. 'An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.'

'I want Fang,' said Draco quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

'All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward,' said Hagrid. ' So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other.'

'I'm not going with him,' squeaked Neville and even Hermione shuffled behind Hagrid.

Draco shot them a contemptuous look. Hagrid glanced around at their little group, stunned.

Harry was petting Fang. 'Let's do this, Dra.'

Draco's heart jolted. If Harry Potter was with him, it couldn't be so bad. Even crazy, old Dumbledore would never put The Boy Who Lived in harm's way, right?

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Draco and Fang took the right path while Hermione, Neville and Hagrid took the left.

'Is the dragon gone?' Draco asked conversationally.

'I–… I'm…' Harry glanced at Draco, showing that unhealthy amount of remorse again.

So Draco kicked him into the back of his knees, making him stumble and laugh. With a vengeful look, Harry tackled Malfoy, who yanked Harry's foot away in his fall, so they were both rolling onto the forest ground, laughing their heads off. It took a while before either of them let the other one get up, but eventually Harry tapped into a hidden supply of strength and easily pulled loose. He helped Draco on his feet too.

They were covered in mud, twigs and leaves. Draco tried to clean himself up, but Harry was already moving deeper into the forest.

'Hagrid said this unicorn's in pain, Dra, come on.'

Grumbling, Draco followed him.

'Ron's brother took the dragon,' said Harry. 'He works with them.'

Draco caught himself thinking that was pretty awesome, having a brother who worked with dragons. Pansy only had a brother who worked with wands – it wasn't the same.

'What was it like? The dragon?'

'Pretty horrible,' Harry said softly. 'It bit Ron quite badly. He had to go to the Hospital Wing.'

'I know,' Draco jeered. 'I paid him a little visit.'

It made Harry frown at him, but Draco couldn't help it. He loathed Ron Weasley more and more every day. The stupid blood traitor had literally nothing going for him, except that he happened to share a dorm with Harry Potter.

Harry clenched his jaw.

After a while of sulky silence, Draco got bored. There was nothing to be scared of in here. The woods were just trees, and the trees were just wood. Hagrid had said not to wander off the tracks. Draco wondered why.

Without telling The Goody Two-Shoes Who Lived, he slid off the path, walking parallel to Harry between the trees and bushes. There really was nothing going on there.

'How do you think we should do this?' Harry asked. He looked around. 'Dra? Draco?'

Trying his best not to laugh, Draco watched the boy blunder around looking for him, growing increasingly more worried.

When the fear in his eyes started to grow into panic, Draco jumped over the bushes and grabbed Potter's shoulders. 'BAAA!'

Harry turned at once, wand at the ready – and his face lit up seeing Draco.

He burst out laughing. 'You prick!'

Draco couldn't breathe from laughing. 'You should've seen your face!'

'I thought the werewolves got you!'

'Oh, they easily could have,' said Draco, taking charge now to lead his scared little celebrity safely through the woods. 'It's positively irresponsible to send kids alone out here. If my father hears about this…'

'This father of yours sounds like a force to be reckoned with.'

'Darn right,' mumbled Draco.

They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick.

Harry was way more invested in their quest than necessary, if you asked Draco. Meanwhile, Draco couldn't stop thinking about his warm, comfortable bed. At a certain point, he felt like wrapping himself around Harry to doze off for a bit. Just a quick nap, that was all.

Meanwhile, Potter said he thought the blood on the earth path seemed to be getting thicker. Potter said there were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Potter could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

Happy congratulations, Draco thought, stifling a yawn.

'Look –' Potter murmured, holding out his arm to stop Draco.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn, and it was dead. Draco had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Potter had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered...

Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast.

Draco, Harry and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

Draco screamed, but Harry had covered his mouth to muffle the sound. Draco grabbed his wand in one hand and Harry's arm in the other and bolted, along with Fang, while firing the red sparks several times, just to be sure.

Thrashing after the dog, stumbling over tree roots, Draco bumped into a solid wall made of fur. It turned out to be Hagrid. Draco'd never been so grateful to see the stupid Game Keeper.

'Where's Harry?' Hagrid bellowed.

Draco whirled around. Where was Harry?

'Oh zut,' he squeaked. 'Where's Potter? He was right behind me.'

Hagrid and the others started running – back. Back to the creature. Back to save Harry Potter.

Reluctantly, Draco followed. If only because Hagrid meant relative safety.

'Harry! Harry, are you all right?' shouted the Mudblood.

She was running toward a clearing further down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her. As quiet as he could, Draco followed at their heel. There seemed to be no trace of the creature anymore.

Then his eye fell on Potter, standing quite forlorn in the middle of the clearing. While Granger hugged him, The Boy Who Lived gazed at Draco Malfoy.

When the Mudblood dashed off to look at the unicorn, Harry got left behind. He was shivering.

Draco checked their surroundings one last time while walking towards Harry. He tried to act cool, putting his hands in his pockets and relaxing his muscles, but the fright was still in his bones.

'You alright, Potter?' he asked.

He shrugged. 'Sure… You?'

'I thought you were right behind me,' mumbled Draco.

Harry ruffled through his magical hair. 'I er… I froze a bit. Thanks for firing the red sparks.'

Draco smirked. 'I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave?' He glanced provocatively at Longbottom, who'd heard him fine, but acted like he didn't.

Suddenly, Harry was close to Draco, leaning over to whisper, 'We made that up.'

Draco snorted. It sounded nervous.

Harry felt bad for getting Draco into trouble, he laughed when others would have gotten angry and he could handle Draco. Draco'd never met anyone who was so effortlessly up to the task of handling him. They were going to be friends forever.