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.)

2. Chapter 2: The Kids Who Are Too Loud

Chapter 2: The Kids Who Are Too Loud

'Harry –'

Draco's parents let out an exasperated sigh.

'– Potter,' Draco continued, 'defeated the Dark Lord twice without using a wand, did you know?'

He was slouching in their parlour's bay window, watching the rain and trying not to die of boredom.

'They say he killed the Dark Lord and Professor Quill with his bare hands. Both of them at the same time.'

'That is amazing, sweetie,' said his mother absentmindedly.

Spread out on the coffee table was a large piece of parchment, on which she was trying to make a table arrangement for the Annual Sorority Summer event – or the ASS, as Father called it. Mother did not find that funny. Draco did.

'I want to know how he did it,' said Draco. 'Pansy says it has to do with the Riddle of his Existence.'

His father looked up from the Daily Prophet. 'Excuse me?'

'Nobody knows how he killed the Dark Lord the first time, right? He should not have survived. That is the Riddle of his Existence. Pansy reckons he used the same mysterious power to kill the Dark Lord now as he used back then.'

His father squinted. 'Right…'

'He was raised by Muggles,' Draco said. 'Did you know?'

His parents always encouraged him to read about anything and everything that interested him. This summer he'd chosen The Boy Who Lived: A Biography of Harry Potter. It was the best book about Harry Potter written so far, and the one that coined the nickname.

'So really,' Draco pressed ahead, 'there is no way he is better than me at flying. Why did he get a Nimbus Two Thousand while I am not allowed to have one?'

His parents did not reply. Draco had asked this question before, but never received a satisfying answer.

'I do not understand! Is it because he is famous? There cannot be another reason. He can never be as good as I am, when he is raised by Muggles.'

'Draconius, please…' His mother sighed.

'Can I have a Nimbus Two Thousand?' Draco asked for the umpteenth time.

'We got you a Comet 290 last year. It is the best of the best.'

'It is not,' demanded Draco. 'You know it is not.'

His father looked sternly at him over his newspaper. 'It is the best of what we are willing to spend on a broomstick. It is the best for an eleven year-old who can only play with it in the two months he is home during the year. It is the best you are going to get, and we do not want to hear another word about it.'

'But it is not fair!'

Draco's father closed the newspaper and Draco backed away a little from the look on his face. His father leaned his arms on his knees to bore his eyes into Draco's.

'Life is not going to be fair,' he told Draco. 'Harry J. Potter will always receive more attention than you, simply because by some twisted stroke of luck he accidentally defeated the Dark Lord as a baby. This has nothing to do with his skills. You could have done it, but the stars were not aligned that way. Your mother and I cannot change this. It is something you are going to have to accept: you will never receive ludicrous presents from strangers; you will never be simply forgiven for breaking rules – but you do still have us. You are not average, Draco, not with our financial situation and our bloodline backing you up – but…' He glanced at Draco's mother. 'I am sad to tell you that we are not unanimously adored – or even liked – in the way Harry J. Potter is. Some people cannot get past our history or our good fortunes.'

Draco scowled. 'What history and good fortunes?'

Father sat up straight again. 'We have done very well for ourselves in the past, especially in the Golden Days, when the Dark Lord reigned. Wealth and pure blood have always made people jealous. That is why the right connections are important. It is the reason we surround ourselves with likeminded people.'

Still sulking, Draco sank down in the windowsill, putting his feet up in the air. 'I want a Nimbus Two Thousand like Harry Potter.'

'Finally make us proud at school this year,' said his father. 'Then we may discuss it.'

. . .

The entire Manor shook when Draco's father slammed the front door behind him. The antique dinner set on display in the parlour tingled in their cabinet.

'This is not to be borne!' Father shouted.

'In here,' called Draco's mother. She barely raised her voice, but Draco's father heard anyway.

He came thundering into the parlour, making Draco's tea spoon rattle on the saucer.

'You would not believe the stunt that blood traitor pulled this time!'

'Tell me everything,' said Mother, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

'A law! A Muggle Protection law! As if Muggles need protection! As if they were not perfectly capable of slaughtering half our bloodline as it is! As if their filthy existence deserves protection! It is a fraud, a thinly veiled ruse to get into the homes of us dark wizards! If this law gets accepted, that flea-bag Weasley will finally have a legal excuse to search our home! Under the guise of searching for dark artefacts! Even if we never plan to use them, even if they have no clue what they are or how to use them, they can take our belongings, our family heirlooms, our beautiful, sacred, ancient –'

He was breathing heavily, too distraught to express himself coherently.

Mother was standing next to him now, using her handkerchief to dab Father's forehead. 'Scandalous,' she muttered. 'Look at you, all upset. How dare they…'

'Our home, Narcissa. They will invade our personal space!' He banged his walking stick on the wooden floor. 'We are a long way from the Golden Days, are we not?'

Solemnly, Draco's mother nodded.

'And furthermore!' Father flared up. 'If anyone misuses Muggle Artefacts it is that worthless morceau de merde Weasley himself! Ooh, ça me fais chier!'

'Not in front of Draco,' whispered Mother.

It was as if his father only now realized Draco was in the room with them. He pointed at the door. 'Out. Go entertain yourself elsewhere.'

'But –'

His mother shot him one of her most terrifying looks. Someone once said she descended from Medusa. In moments like these, it did not seem farfetched.

Draco stomped up the Grand Staircase and quietly sneaked back to the parlour again to listen at the door.

'I refuse–…!'

'Come now, moonbeam, what use are they to us lying in the attic, gathering dust?'

'It is a matter of principle!'

'We can at least look through some of it, see if we can sell what we have no use for. It will be catching three birds with one stone: we free space, make money and dispose of incriminating artefacts. We can at least take a look, can we not? Gives us a reason to finally tidy the attic; it's been a thorn in my eye.'

Draco's father was quiet for a while, then he started softly sweettalking Draco's mother in French. When Mother started to giggle, Draco quickly took off to entertain himself elsewhere.

. . .

'Psst.'

Draco jumped and looked around, but the large mudroom was quiet. Quiet and dark, with the only light coming in through the small rain-drenched window in the backdoor; a faint beam of light peeking through the dark clouds outside.

Draco went on cleaning his boots, after a walk that turned out rather rainier than foreseen.

'Draco has a Selkie nose…' The sing-song voice of a little girl resounded between the moss-green tiles of the small room.

Draco tried not to smile. Instead he faked anger, stomping his feet. 'I do not have a Selkie nose, take that back.' He was careful to keep quiet though, hissing those words instead of shouting them.

The ghost of his five-year old great grandaunt was very shy and easily scared. She only ever dared to show herself to children. The older Draco got, the less he saw of her, so he cherished the moments she did still show herself to him.

He heard her giggles moving through the walls. He pretended to focus on his boots again. After a few seconds, though, he sang, 'Noelle has a Snorkack nose.'

And there she was, shooting out of the hallstand with a curious face and a giggle on her tongue. 'A Snorkack? What's a Snorkack?'

'You don't know what a Snorkack is?' Draco jeered. 'I thought everybody knew.'

She scowled. 'Well, I know what it is, of course,' she said, her proud Malfoy-face in the air.

'Well, then you know you have a nose just like them.'

She touched her nose. He wished he could boop it.

Her eyes started twinkling. 'I think you have a Snorkack nose.'

Draco raised his chin. 'Why, thank you.'

It stunned her for a second and Draco grinned.

She flew closer to him, twisting her little fists into her dress skirt and whispering, 'D'you want to play hopscotch?'

Draco scowled. 'You always beat me.'

'Because I am better!'

'You can float,' said Draco over her laughter, 'and that is not fair!'

She hung sideways in the air with the giggles, only inches away now, and Draco remembered her frilly dress and the rash covering every bit of her skin like he'd seen her only yesterday. It felt weird to remember being the same age as her. They'd been the same height back then. They'd enjoyed the same games once. They'd shared jokes.

'Lucius –' Noelle started, and Draco felt an irrational jab of hurt.

'I am Draco.'

She blinked in confusion, but quickly recovered, as if his name didn't matter. 'Will you read to me?'

He smirked. 'Well, I cannot simply start reading for ghosts, you know, or they will all want me to.'

'Oh, please?'

'Ah, there is the magic word… Well, what would you like to hear?'

'Peter Pan,' she whispered. 'Please?'

'Alright fine… It is in my room, though, so I'll read it to you there. Now, give me a second to finish this, alright?' He quickly brushed the last of the mud off his shoes. 'And tell me something funny. You know, did you do anything exciting lately?'

'Draco, darling, who are you talking to?' Draco's mother's loud heels clattered on the parquet of the conservatory next to the mudroom, and even if she'd worn fluffy socks, her sharp question would've echoed all through the Manor.

Draco looked around. Noelle had vanished. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

Mother huffed when he answered her question. She didn't like it when he mentioned Noelle, because she had never once seen her. The only reason she hadn't send Draco to a Mind Healer years ago, was because Father faintly remembered the girl from his own childhood and could vouch for her see-through existence. He had grown up so fast, though, that he'd last seen her when he took off to Hogwarts.

That night, when Draco walked to his room, he loudly shouted Noelle's name through the Manor. 'Going to my room now! You know, in case anyone wants to hear Peter Pan! I'm going to read it out loud in my room, you see!'

'Draco!' snapped his father from the Entrance Hall. 'Be quiet!'

Draco waved in acknowledgement without looking around, and kept softly calling Noelle's name all the way up to his rooms. When he reached it, it wasn't the small figure of his grand aunt greeting him, though, but his stout Uncle Barney.

'Dost mine ears deceive me? Is my favourite heir taking requests?'

'Good evening, Uncle Barnaby,' Draco drawled, feeling a little too tired to deal with his happy-go-lucky ancestor.

Barney removed his hat with a flourish. 'Good evening, young master Draco. Can I request –'

'No.'

'Ooh, hear an old man out! What is left for me in this pearly half-life were it not for the scarce company of my favourite grandson? I have longed to hear your sweet voice all through this past, empty year. The least you can do is give your old man a chance.'

Draco shot him a tired look. 'Why, what would you like to hear then, Uncle Barnaby?'

Barney's face lit up. 'It's called: Prisoner of My Desire.'

'Yugh! Go away, old pervert. I am twelve.'

Barney barked a laugh. 'Careful, young man! Do not take that tone with me, or I will have a word with your father.'

Draco snorted and Barney giggled. He would never.

Noelle didn't show herself that night, but Draco was somehow certain she was listening while he flipped through the chapters. Uncle Barney made himself comfortable, lounging in mid-air like there was an invisible hammock hanging from the high, decorated ceiling.

Draco started at his favourite part of the book while pacing around the room.

'As soon as the door of 27 closed on Mr. and Mrs. Darling, there was a commotion in the firmament, and the smallest of all the stars in the Milky Way screamed out…' Draco heaved an enormous breathe, held it for a while to add suspense and then frantically hissed: 'Now, Peter!'

And if Draco had listened very carefully, he could have heard a soft whisper, right then, in the form of a little girl's voice, excitedly echoing his words. 'Now Peter!'

. . .

A bell clanged when Draco and his father stepped into Borgin and Burkes, a large, dimly-lit wizard's shop. nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil- looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.

Father crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning and saying, 'Touch nothing, Draco.'

Draco, who had reached for the glass eye, said, 'I thought you were going to buy me a present.'

'I said I would buy you a racing broom,' said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

It had taken Draco weeks, but finally he had cracked his father's resistance against a new broom. Immediately after though, Draco realised getting a new broom wouldn't solve anything.

'What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?' he said, still feeling sulky and bad-tempered. 'Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead… ' He bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls. 'Everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick –'

'You have told me this at least a dozen times already,' said his father with a quelling look. 'And I would remind you that it is not – prudent – to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear – Ah, Mr. Borgin.'

As if Draco didn't know that. It wasn't Harry he was less than fond of, it was those sodding teachers.

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face. 'Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,' said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair. 'Delighted — and young Master Malfoy, too — charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced –'

'I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling.'

'Selling?' The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

'You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,' said Draco's father, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unravelling it for Mr. Borgin to read. 'I have a few – ah – items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call…'

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the list.

'The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?'

Father's lip curled. 'I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act — no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it — and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear –'

'I understand, sir, of course,' said Mr. Borgin. 'Let me see…'

'Can I have that?' Draco interrupted his dad, pointing at a withered hand on a cushion.

'Ah, the Hand of Glory!' said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy and scurrying over to Draco. 'Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.'

Draco proudly looked at his father, but his father did not return the look.

'I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,' he said coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, 'No offense, sir, no offense meant –'

'Though if his grades don't pick up that may indeed be all he is fit for –'

'It's not my fault,' retorted Draco. 'The teachers all have favourites. That Hermione Granger –'

'I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,' snapped his father.

Draco felt abashed and angry. His father had been in a bad mood ever since word of the Muggle Protection Act came out, and he was the kind of person to take his anger out on others. The House Elfs got the worst of it, but Draco came soon after those. It was no use arguing when he was like this, said Mother, and Draco should just be a little nicer to him than usual. It was very difficult.

'It's the same all over,' said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. 'Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere –'

'Not with me,' said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

'No, sir, nor with me, sir,' said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.

'In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,' said Mr. Malfoy shortly. 'I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today –'

They started to haggle. Draco entertained himself by examining the objects for sale. He paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals, "Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed — Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date."

Served them well, Draco reckoned. Greedy bastards; touching Magical item with their filthy, powerless fingers.

He turned away and saw a dark cabinet. It looked perfectly ordinary, a little boring even, but Draco felt a hint of Magic oozing from it. Father said not to touch anything, but Draco itched to look inside.

'Done,' said his father at the counter. 'Come, Draco –'

Quickly, Draco pulled back his hand, turning around to his father with his most innocent look on his face.

'Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the Manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.'

When they walked out, father said, 'I told you not to touch anything. What did you do?'

'I didn't touch anything!'

'Hm – Serves you well if you got hexed; not minding your father, and giving in to your insufferable curiosity.'

Draco wanted to shout something mean back at him, and it took every bit of his self-restraint not to.

Next, Draco and his father headed for Flourish and Blotts, and were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows: "GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography."

When they finally managed to make their way in, Draco saw Harry Potter standing in the middle of the shop, looking highly uncomfortable. A man wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes was holding him while smiling broadly at a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash. The smiling man's pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

Within seconds, Draco lost count on all the things he hated about this person.

Gilderoy Lockhart – as it turned out to be – even made a speech about how happy Potter was going to be, because apparently this lunatic was going to teach at Hogwarts.

The crowd cheered and clapped and Potter found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where a Weasley-girl was standing next to a cauldron.

Escaping his father in the chaos, Draco elbowed his way towards Harry.

'Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?' he sneered as soon as he was within earshot.

Harry whirled around and his face brightened up. 'Hey, Dra.' It sounded like a sigh.

'Famous Harry Potter,' said Draco, slouching against a bookcase. 'Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page.'

An uncharacteristically smug smirk appeared on Harry's face. 'You know how it is…' Then he leaned next to Draco against the bookcase and just softly gazed at him. It threw Draco off completely.

'Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!' said the Weasley-girl, still standing next to the cauldron.

It made Harry jump to his feet. The girl was glaring at Draco like she had the monopoly on him. It appeared all the Weasleys were as possessive of the Boy Who Lived as the Monkey-Weasley was.

'Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!' drawled Draco.

The girl went scarlet.

They'd lost Potter's attention; the Mudblood and the Monkey-Weasley fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart's books.

'Oh, it's you,' said Weasley, looking at Draco as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. 'Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?'

'Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,' retorted Draco. 'I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.'

'Dra…' Harry touched his sleeve. 'Don't.'

Weasley went as red as the girl had. He dropped his books into the cauldron too, and started toward Draco, but Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket, and Harry stepped between them – protecting Draco, who immediately took advantage of it to make rude gestures at the Monkey-Weasley.

'Ron, stop, he's just messing.'

'Ron!' said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with even more ginger children. 'What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside.'

'Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley.'

Father was suddenly towering over Draco with his hand on Draco's shoulder.

'Lucius,' said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

'Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,' said Father. 'All those raids… I hope they're paying you overtime?'

He reached into the Weasley girl's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.

'Obviously not,' Father said.

Draco snorted as his father shared a look with him.

'Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?'

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either of the Weasley children. 'We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizards, Malfoy,' he said.

'Clearly,' Father said, his pale eyes straying to two obvious muggles who greatly resembled the Mudblood. 'The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower.'

There was a thud of metal as the cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Draco's father, knocking him backward into a book shelf. Draco gasped as dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, 'Get him, Dad!' from the Weasley children; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking.

'What's happening?' Harry mumbled.

It was Harry's sleepy voice that snapped Draco back into the reality of what was happening. His father – his cool, calm, collected father – was rolling on the floor… with a bleeding Weasley of all people.

He was, however, quite good at it, Draco noted.

His face felt hot, but Draco refused to admit defeat. 'Now you see it with your own eyes, Potter: the bad influence of the Weasleys. My father would normally never do this.'

Draco started to doubt his own words when he saw his father effortlessly wield his walking stick like a weapon to smack Mr Weasley around with it, then kicking him in one fell swoop like he fought people every Tuesday. It looked like a seasoned exercise.

The crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over.

'Gentlemen, please – please!' cried the assistant, and then, louder than all –

'Break it up, there, gents, break it up –'

No less than Hogwarts' Gamekeeper was wading towards them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Draco's father apart.

Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Father had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools.

Draco covered his face with one hand, sharing a horrified look with Harry. He felt mortified.

His father was still holding the Weasley girl's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice. 'Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you –' Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

Draco had no choice. His father was almost twice Draco's size and his anger made him strong enough to push Draco out of the shop with or without his consent.

From behind his dad's back, Draco sneaked a last peek to see Harry Potter looking exhausted in the midst of a sea of ginger hair.

If only the Malfoys could have snatched him up before the Weasleys did. It would have made a world of chance.

'Do you see now, dad?' Draco was having trouble to keep up with his father's angry pace. 'Do you see what riffraff I have to deal with at school!'

His father scoffed. 'Riffraff,' he agreed.

Draco knew to forge the iron when it was hot, and seeing the glint in his father's eyes, he knew for sure the iron was hot.

'The Weasleys are all on the Quidditch team,' Draco said loudly, stretching the truth slightly in his advantage. 'I'm sure Slytherin could beat them easily if I were on the Quidditch team too! They are acting as if I'm a second-year student like any other – like that Weasley-scum! They lump me together with the trash, dad!'

His father sniffed aggressively. 'I will personally see to it that you get into that Quidditch team, Draconius. Let them feel which family rules the roost…'

Draco rubbed his hands together in malicious excitement. This year was off to a promising start.

. . .

'I don't understand,' Draco muttered, pacing through the train for the third time. 'How can he… How can they not be here?'

Halfway along the train, Crabbe, Goyle and Draco stopped. Draco scratched his head. 'There's nowhere to hide, right?'

Goyle looked around as if searching for some good hiding spots. There weren't any.

Crabbe just shrugged. 'I'm hungry, Malfoy,' he grumbled.

'Shut up,' said Draco. He felt like stomping his feet.

Potter and Weasley weren't on the Hogwarts Express.

'Did they miss the train?' he wondered out loud.

More head scratching.

'How can all the Weasleys have caught the train except for one?'

Lots of head-scratching going on.

'It doesn't make sense!'

'Suffer from lice, Malfoy?' said a jeering voice.

Whirling around, they saw the Weasley twins.

'Suffer from brain damage?' Draco snapped. 'You can't even keep track of all your siblings, there's that many of them. It's embarrassing.'

'What are you talking about?' said one of the twins.

'Prat,' added the second.

Draco gestured vaguely, shoved past Gregory and went to Pansy to make a formal complaint.

. . .

Potter and Weasley were still missing when they arrived at the castle. They weren't present at the Sorting Ceremony, nor at the feast.

'Weasley would never miss his sister getting sorted,' muttered Draco at Gregory. 'Look at the other ones, they're all over her. Pathetic. They're like a –'

'– family?' offered Gregory.

'– Hydra,' said Draco.

'I bet Matilda would be in Slytherin too.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Can you shut up about your stupid sister already?'

'He mentioned her once,' said Vincent.

'Once too often.'

'Malfoy!' Pansy shrieked during the feast. 'Look at this!' And she threw a newspaper in his face.

Her entire gang of Slytherin girls laughed at his startled face. Backing away, he saw the cover of the Evening Prophet.

"FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES."

He began to read, muttering, '"Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower… At noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing… Mr. Angus Fleet, of Peebles, reported to police…" The what?'

'It's the Weasleys' car,' Pansy shrieked. 'Daphne says!'

Daphne Greengrass nodded proudly. 'My father –'

Draco could give a rat's arse about Daphne Greengrass's miserable father. 'Pansy, what are you implying here exactly?'

'IT'S POTTER!' she roared, jumping up. Quickly, she sat down again, and, stroking her school robes, she cleared her throat and calmly declared, 'Well, we reckon it's your famous buddy Harry J. Potter.'

Draco couldn't contain a smirk. 'Miss Parkinson, you are obsessed.'

'Did you hear?' Adrian Pucey sat down at their table, looking excited. 'Lee Jordan's saying a car flew into the Whomping Willow!'

Pansy looked theatrically at Draco, "told you so" clearly written across her face. He glared back.

'A Ford Anglia, by any chance?' asked Daphne sweetly.

'Yes!' said Adrian. 'How d'you know?'

'Oh, I'm very good with cars.'

'She can sense their year of manufacture,' said Imogen Stretton, 'with an accuracy of six percent!'

Before Pansy could throw Adrian the newspaper, Tracey Davis snatched it from her, grabbing the excuse to squeeze herself between him and Peregrine Derrick. 'I can read it to you, if you want.'

'Er…' Adrian inched away from her. 'That's okay. I can read.'

Half the table was muffling their laughter.

'I can read hands, too,' said Tracey, seizing poor Adrian's hand, who quickly yanked it away and made an escape to the Gryffindor table.

'Thanks a lot, girl, you lost me my paper,' grumbled Pansy at a pouting Tracey. 'Perfectly good newspaper…'

Tracey bolted upright. 'Want me to get it back?'

All the while, there was no sign of Potter. Those moronic Gryffindors were acting like it was great fun that Potter might have crashed into the Whomping Willow, but to Draco... it didn't sound safe.

'Draconius Malfoy,' said Pansy from across the table. 'What's the matter with you?'

'Nothing,' he scoffed, quickly shoving some food in his mouth.

'He's worrying,' Daphne teased in her sing-song voice, 'about his celebrity.'

Before Draco could retaliate, Tracey solemnly shook her head. 'Trust me, Draco, I know the feeling… They're friendly once and you're lost forever.' She sighed dramatically and leaned her head on Pansy's shoulder. 'Don't ever let a boy smile at you.'

. . .

'Oh look, Malfoy,' said Gregory the next morning. 'Not dead.'

Indeed, Draco noticed, following his gaze; Potter and Weasley were wolfing down their breakfast like any other day.

'Too bad,' grumbled Draco, shooting Weasley a withering look.

. . .

Being in second year meant a fresh load of younger students – and a fresh new load of admirers of The Boy Who Lived.

One of them was the youngest Weasley girl; Draco noticed her eyeing Harry every chance she got. Another one was a scrawny looking, mousy-haired Mudblood boy who kept walking around with a Muggle camera, looking at Harry like he personally saved the kid from a fire. He wished!

One day after lunch, Draco strolled outside into the overcast courtyard with Gregory and Vincent, to find the first-year boy talking to Harry.

'You're joking,' Draco said to Gregory and Vincent. 'Look at that filthy Mudblood, how dare he?'

The kid was standing at a distance while talking, as if he was scared to come any closer to The Boy Who Lived –

Glad he knew his place, Draco thought.

'Maybe your friend could take it,' they heard the child stammer, 'and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?'

The stunned look on Harry's face was golden. Now that Draco would've liked a picture of.

'Signed photos?' Draco yelled scathingly across the echoing courtyard. 'You're giving out signed photos, Potter?'

Harry Potter groaned and seemed eager to run away.

'Everyone line up!' Draco roared to the crowd. 'Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!'

Harry slammed down Draco's arms, but a light appeared in his eyes. 'Shut up, Dra!'

'You're just jealous,' piped up the child, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

'Jealous?' said Draco, who didn't need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. 'Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.'

'Eat slugs, Draco,' said Weasley angrily.

Vincent stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

'Be careful, Weasley,' sneered Draco. 'You don't want to start any trouble or your Mummy'll have to come and take you away from school.' He put on a shrill, piercing voice. '"If you put another toe out of line"–'

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this. Draco thought he couldn't feel more proud, until he noticed Harry was laughing too.

Weasley on the other hand, was looking at Potter as if he traded his entire family for a Cauldron Cake, and Harry quickly stopped laughing.

'Sorry,' he heard Potter whisper to Weasley, shuffling his feet in remorse. 'It sounded like her… I'm sorry.'

Gryffindors really were no fun, Draco thought.

'Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,' he jeered. 'It'd be worth more than his family's whole house –'

'What's wrong with you?' shouted Potter as Weasley whipped out a Spellotaped wand.

That moment, Granger interrupted the fun, whispering, 'Look out!'

'What's all this, what's all this?' Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. 'Who's giving out signed photos?'

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, 'Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!'

Treasuring the imagine of Harry Potter pinned to Lockhart's side, Draco slid back into the crowd.

. . .

The letter arrived in the week of the Quidditch try-outs:

'Draco,

How are your lessons going? Your mother and I expect you are working hard.

The other day, me and your Head of House had a very pleasant conversation. We both agreed that it had been far too long since the Slytherin team had a victory to celebrate, and we spoke about the effect this has on House moral. Together, we went to take a look at the state of the Slytherin Quidditch material, and I dare say it looked abysmal. I cannot believe they allow pureblood students anywhere near those déclassé broomsticks.

A generous spirit hit me, and in consultation with your mother, we decided to make a little investment in the Slytherin House Team.

We informed the Slytherin Team Captain of this, and the boy reacted enthusiastically. Young Master Flint strikes me as an agreeable young man and an enjoyable conversationalist; considering his age and bloodline of course (certainly no Malfoy, if you get my drift).

The three of us – Master Flint, Mister Snape and yours truly – got to talking about you, Dragonchild, and your excitement on the subject of Quidditch. I told them how you have been flying since you were yay-high, and could not wait to join the Slytherin Team. When I expressed my disappointment about the rules regarding first and second-year broom usage, Snape agreed that it is such a shame to miss out on young talent this way.

Together with the Team Captain we decided that it would not be unbecoming to bend the rules somewhat, especially after the generous gift your mother and I presented the team with.

All in all, it was a wonderful afternoon.

Now, I would like to invite you to take a look inside the material room; you will find your name engraved on some of the new equipment. What is more, Master Flint promised me he would invite you for the Quidditch try-outs this week. Severus Snape is excited to welcome you on the team, provided you fly well of course.

I know you will not disappoint us.

Love,

Your father.'

Smirking, Draco handed the letter to Pansy, standing tall as she read it. She started laughing and laughing.

'Only natural,' Draco said, chin up.

His insides were screaming and screaming and screaming. He wanted to run around and paint the town.

Instead, he kept his composure and went to check out the new equipment. This was the best day of his life!

. . .

Draco did not disappoint his father at the Slytherin try-outs. He flew better than any of the older students trying for the position of Seeker. It was really no question who should be selected. Draco had all the qualities they were looking for: he was swift, experienced, and he had perfect vision.

At his first Quidditch practice, he arrived almost an hour too early in excitement. He used the time to practice looking like he belonged there; to explore every inch of the field and the sky surrounding it, so he could pretend to be laissez-faire when the training started.

Halfway through their practice, the Gryffindor team walked onto the field.

'I booked the field!' said their Team Captain, Oliver Wood, positively spitting with rage. 'I booked it!'

'Ah,' said Flint. 'But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. "I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker".'

'You've got a new Seeker?' said Wood, distracted. 'Where?'

The six large figures before him stepped aside to reveal Draco; like he was the stripper locked in a cake.

The first Gryffindor's reaction Draco spotted was not Oliver Wood's, but Harry Potter's, who seemed barely able to hold his laughter. When their eyes met, Harry picked up his chin defiantly, grabbing his broom as if he was keen on taking off straight away to play against Draco.

Confident-Harry was Draco's favourite Harry, Draco decided. He wished they could play against each other right now. He would love to beat The Boy Who Lived.

'Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?' said the Weasley twins, looking at Draco with dislike.

'Funny you should mention Draco's father,' said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. 'Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team.'

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun.

'Very latest model. Only came out last month,' said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. 'I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Clean sweeps' – he smiled nastily at the Weasley twins, who were both clutching Clean sweep Fives – 'sweeps the board with them.'

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Draco was smirking so broadly his face hurt. He saw Harry Potter inching in his direction, watching their new brooms the way Ollivander would examine a wand.

'Oh, look,' said Flint. 'A field invasion.'

Weasley and Granger were crossing the grass to see what was going on. It was like they would die if they were apart from Potter for more than a few seconds.

'What's happening?' Weasley asked Harry. 'Why aren't you playing? And what's he doing here?'

He was looking at Draco, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes, which Draco knew he looked good in.

'I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,' said Draco, proudly. 'Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team.'

Weasley gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broom sticks in front of him.

'Good, aren't they?' said Draco. 'But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Clean sweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.'

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,' said the Mudblood sharply. 'They got in on pure talent.'

'No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,' Draco spat.

To his astonishment there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of him to stop the Weasley twins jumping on him; another Gryffindor shrieked, 'How dare you!' and Weasley plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, 'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!' and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Draco's face.

Draco whimpered when a loud bang echoed around the stadium – but the jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Weasley's wand, hitting himself in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

'Ron! Ron! Are you all right?' squealed Granger.

Weasley opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The whole Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Draco laughed so hard his knees couldn't hold him anymore; he was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist, while the Gryffindors were gathered around Weasley, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

Sadly, Potter disappeared out of sight to take care of Weasley. Things quickly became boring again after that.

. . .

Draco was walking back to class with Vincent and Gregory after lunch, when he bumped into the people walking in front of him. Everyone had stopped dead in their tracks in the middle of the corridor.

'What's going on?' he inquired loudly, but nobody answered, so he had to elbow his way to the front of the crowd.

Of course, there was Potter, with his nasty friends. They were staring at the wall, as was the crowd around them.

Hanging from the ceiling was Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, stoned. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall behind it, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

Draco stepped forward to join Harry. 'Enemies of the Heir, beware!' he read aloud for the people at the back.

How exciting! Draco wasn't sorry at all to see the cat go. Filch was vicious and his cat was a traitor. And as for the enemies of the heir…

'You'll be next, Mudbloods!'

'Tone it down,' Harry Potter told him.

Draco ignored him. 'Is it written in blood?'

Harry slammed Draco's hand down when he wanted to touch the letters on the wall.

'Dear me, Harry, what did you do?' Draco whispered, smirking.

Dumbledore arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, the Headmaster had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

'Come with me, Argus,' he said to Filch. 'You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy.'

As if any of them had something to do with the stoned cat and the blood on the wall. Potter and his friends were clearly far too honourable to have done it, and Draco hadn't even been near the spot all day.

. . .

As soon as he swaggered back into his dorm to steal some more of Jason the Mudblood's music, Pansy was there, sitting on his bed to welcome him with another one of her livid speeches. Even Nimbostratus backed her up this time, with some well-timed meows.

'It's discrimination is what it is!' she roared. 'Just because you happened to be standing there doesn't mean you had anything to do with it! It doesn't prove anything! They picked you out of that crowd because of your family's history, clear as day! Disgusting, they are all still haunted by that war!'

Draco shook his fist. 'Darn that war!'

Sniggering, he quickly looked through the cabinet filled with cassettes next to Jason's bed. The best ones were never in there, he knew. Jason hid the good stuff under his pillow.

'Only because you can't stay away from The Boy Who Lived doesn't mean you've got anything to do with his bad luck! Heed my advice, Draconius: you should steer well clear of that miserable Harry J. Potter! I'm telling you up front so you can't say I didn't warn you: that boy oozes bad luck.'

Draco sucked on his teeth, looking up from a haunting cover of an album he found under Jason's pillow, called Disintegration by The Cure. 'Harry doesn't ooze anything, woman.'

As she pulled Nimbostratus on her lap, Pansy wiggled her eyebrows. 'Tell that to Romilda Vane.'

'Horrid name.'

'Romilda says Potter oozes Powerful Magic… amongst other things.' Pansy's eyes glistened with joy. She lived for gossip. 'She's got the wildest theory about his hair, you wouldn't believe it.'

'Tell me,' breathed Draco.

Noticing he was leaning eagerly on the foot of the bed, he quickly went back to Jason's cassettes, turning a few of them over and over in his hands without seeing anything.

'Harry's hair? What of it?'

It didn't matter to Draco; why would anyone think it would be interesting to him?

'Does it have Magic? I bet it has, I hear it sometimes.'

He carelessly looked round at the squid swimming past the dormitory, flicking his hair from his face in a bored kind of way.

'Not that I care,' he added for good measure.

Pansy snorted. 'Right…' She raised her hands to emphasize the drama, and whispered, 'His hair grows back.'

'Usually does though, doesn't it,' Draco scoffed.

'Overnight,' she added. 'If you shave it all off, the whole messy lot's back in the morning. Drove his aunt to insanity, apparently.'

Without noticing, Draco had dropped the cassettes on the bed. He knew it! Harry's hair really had a mind of its own!

'But what did you say?' Pansy frowned. 'You can hear it?'

Draco flushed. 'No.'

Pansy shot him a stern look.

Glancing around to check if they were really still alone, Draco swaggered over to plop down next to her. 'Fine, you see, it crackles when he smiles.'

Pansy smirked. 'No it doesn't.'

'Well, not when he faux-smiles at Rotilda,' he sneered.

'Romilda,' Pansy muttered, thinking hard. 'Ooh…! You think it has to do with… How did you say it?'

'The Riddle of his Existence,' Draco said matter-of-factly. 'And yes, I am certain.'

'That proves it then!' She jumped up; Nimbostratus complained loudly. 'Oh, I can't wait to tell the girls!'

Draco blinked at the door she just stormed out of. Tell the girls what? What did it prove?

Pansy was and remained a peculiar lady.

. . .

Finally the day arrived that Draco Malfoy got the chance to beat Harry Potter at Quidditch.

'On my whistle,' said Madam Hooch. 'Three… two… one… '

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Squinting around for the Snitch, Draco flew higher than any of them, except for Potter.

'All right there, Scarhead?' yelled Draco, shooting underneath him to show off the speed of his new broom. It outperformed Potter's backdated one on every level.

At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward Harry; he avoided it so narrowly that his hair ruffled as it passed.

One of the Weasleys streaked past Harry to knock the Bludger back in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again. Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Draco.

Draco winced, but once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Potter's head.

Draco watched it, mystified. Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible…

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. The Bludger whistled along behind him. Now, the Weasleys flew close to Harry to keep the Bludger at bay. By the looks of it, Potter had a heated discussion with them. Did he not like being guarded? Did he enjoy this opportunity to get his bones smashed in?

Harry shook off the Weasleys, but even as he did so, the Bludger barely missed him again; Harry turned right over and sped in the opposite direction. It was starting to look like slapstick.

'Training for the ballet, Potter?' yelled Draco as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger. As he fled, the Bludger trailed a few feet behind him.

Draco almost fell off his broom from laughing.

WHAM.

The Bludger had hit Harry Potter, smashing into his elbow. His face contorted with pain and Draco flinched, seeing how Harry's elbow bent in a weird shape.

Harry Potter slid sideways on his rain-drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side – and even now the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time zooming at Potter's face.

Harry swerved out of the way, but suddenly his eyes locked on Draco, who froze, startled.

Harry Potter was diving at him!

'What the –' Draco gasped, careening out of Harry's way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch – and only then Draco saw the flash of gold, floating right next to his head. He'd been so busy following Harry's comic act that he hadn't even seen the Snitch when it flew next to his face.

As Harry's fingers curled around the Snitch right in front of his face, Draco could do nothing but watch.

As soon as he caught the Snitch, Harry headed straight for the ground. His eyes looked weirdly hazy and he seemed to only grip the broom with his legs. There was a yell from the crowd as The Boy Who Lived hit the mud with a splattering thud. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle.

Madam Hooch whistled and the stadium exploded.

Gryffindor had won.

Draco didn't dare look at his team mates.

Their Wonderboy demanded everyone's attention. Draco used the distraction to fly away. It was his first instinct, his natural reaction whenever something happened: flee. Get away as far as possible, as fast as he could.

He ended up at the other side of the castle, flying into the Eastern tower, which was cold and abandoned, at the brink of collapsing.

Stepping off his broom, he felt like a coward. He paced up and down the tower, then along the round walls. His mind reeled with all the things people would be saying about him.

There was no way his life could ever get any worse than this.

Suddenly, he got annoyed with himself and with all those people he imagined talking behind his back. He grabbed his broom and flew back. Let them say it to his face.

He knew the Leg-Locker Curse. He had friends to back him up.

Attack was the best defence.

. . .

Flint yelled at Draco for a solid ten minutes. Drenched to the skin from standing in the rain, Draco listened to Flint going on and on about not seeing the Snitch when it bumped square into his face, when it was sitting on his head, when it flew right into his sleeve, when he snorted it like meth, etcetera, etcetera…

Draco's mind drifted off. He wished he knew what happened to Harry Potter's arm. The Boy Who Lived had passed out and been brought to the Hospital Wing, but other than that Draco didn't know a thing.

At last Vincent, Gregory, Pansy and his team mates started saving Draco.

'He beat the Ravenclaw Seeker,' Adrian Pucey reminded Flint. 'At our last game.'

'He's twice the Seeker Terence was,' said Peregrine Derrick.

'Terence was abysmal,' spat Marcus.

'You're abysmal,' snapped Gregory, that lovable dumbass.

Vincent gave Flint a great push and Pansy grabbed Draco's arm to pull him away.

'I'm not done with you, Malfoy!' roared Marcus, shaking with anger.

Instantly, Pansy stepped close to the Captain, who was at least twice as broad as her and towered over her in length as well, but she picked up her chin and made her toes touch Flint's.

'My mother told me all about you and your no-good family,' she snarled at him. 'You're not worth my spit and you dare talk to a Malfoy like that? Work on your anger issues, Flint, and maybe – just maybe – our families will allow you to stay Captain for a little longer. Now back off.'

Marcus stared at her, infuriated.

Pansy didn't budge.

'I SAID GO!' she screamed at the top of her lungs. It came from way out of nowhere – Pansy could go from zero to a hundred in a split-second.

It startled Marcus, like it startled everyone. He gestured like he chased away a fly and stormed off.

Pansy whirled around, grabbing Draco's arm in passing, and dragged them all off to the kitchen to get magically enhanced hot chocolate.

It warmed Draco up so well that it even dried his rain soaked robes. Pansy was shouting the entire time, but Draco hardly heard. The hot chocolate fogged his mind and calmed his muscles.

'Oh, this is good,' he whispered.

Pansy fell down between Crabbe and Goyle, who were sharing lasagna. She rubbed her thumb over Draco's cheek to get some dirt off, then remembered she was a Witch and Scorgified him up a bit.

'Merlin, I should not have yelled,' she said. 'My mother will hear about this, she always does. It is not an attractive quality in a lady to make herself heard.'

Draco dreamily put on a soft, high pitched voice. 'Not winsome, darling.'

'Don't do that, it's scary.'

Pansy and her mother had a difficult relationship, Draco never quite understood it. They were incredibly similar, and both were the black sheep of their family. Yet this didn't strengthen their bond. On the contrary: it made Mrs. Parkinson harsher on Pansy than on her other children. She reprimanded her daughter for what she was about to say, before she could even say it, and she hated the way Pansy moved, the way she dressed, or the things she did. She always told Pansy: 'If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it!' To which Pansy would reply in her slowest drawl: 'It is not a question of ability, mother, it is a question of desirability.'

She ruffled through her hair like she was shaking out a Niffler. 'Everybody hates me here. They say I'm hysterical.'

'Who said that?' asked Vincent. 'I'll beat them up.'

'Some Hufflepuff Prefect, I'll get his name for you. It's always the ones you least expect it from… Becky Arncliffe started a rumour that I was in St. Mungo's before I got here. And those awful Patil sisters are telling everyone I'm part Banshee.'

Draco snorted. 'That's amazing. I wish I was part Banshee…' He sighed softly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'You're such a mess over this Harry Potter character,' she grumbled.

'No, I'm not,' he snarled. 'It had nothing to do with him.'

Pansy huffed.

'Is he alright?' Draco asked.

'No, he is not. He is bad news. A terrible influence, if you ask me.'

'I meant his arm.'

Pansy waved his concerns away. 'He's fine. The entire world is there to take care of The Boy Who Lived – but you can bet the Manor that he does not spare one thought for The Kids Who Are Too Loud.'

Draco felt fuzzy. What had the House Elves put into this drink?

'I'm happy for him,' he whispered.

Pansy shot him a dark look. 'This will end in tears,' she said. 'Mark my words.'

She glared at them all in a way that made Crabbe and Goyle stop eating to nod.

'Marking it,' promised Gregory.

. . .

Thursday afternoon's Potions lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered.

Potions was Draco's favourite class. He looked forward to it all week. His father suggested he'd join an extracurricular Potions class, but for some reason, that sounded like a bore to Draco. It wasn't cool.

Draco'd pushed away Neville Longbottom to get the seat behind Harry Potter. Snape told them to work alone, in silence, today, so Draco fixed his potion up in half the time it took him when Harry slowed him down.

There was plenty of time left to watch Potter making error after error. Draco had to bite his tongue to stop him from warning the guy every single time. It was quite hilarious to watch the boy struggle. He was clueless in every classroom – or on the ground in general – but his performance in Potions truly took the cake.

Potter haphazardly cut a frog and flung it vaguely in the general direction of his cauldron, like a blind man. Wrinkles appeared in his nose when the potion turned a nasty shade of greenish brown – now how in the world could that ever have happened?

Draco snorted and flicked a pufferfish eye at Weasley.

Potter might be making an entirely different potion, Draco thought. That was the only explanation he could come up with for his erratic behaviour.

Why didn't Potter ask him what to do? Draco was so bored.

Talk to me, he begged him in silence, flicking another pufferfish eye in their direction. Both Potter and Weasley flinched, but didn't react.

Draco sighed, then aimed his pufferfish eye as best he could at Weasley's face. It ended up hitting Weasley smack in his ear. Draco laughed triumphantly, and so did Vincent and Gregory.

Weasley turned a magnificent shade of scarlet, and Draco backed away when he made to whirl around, but then Harry quickly pushed his friend's head down. 'Don't!' Draco heard him hiss.

Harry turned to face Draco. 'What do you want, Malfoy?'

Draco leaned his hand in his chin, smiling. 'Attention.' With his other hand he subtly pushed his finished potions nearer to Harry, who was failing to hide a smile, but didn't even look at Draco's flawlessly executed brews.

He probably wasn't interested at all in Draco's skills after Draco'd made such an arse of himself at the Quidditch match. Potter probably lost all respect for him.

'You never call me Dra anymore,' Draco heard himself blurt out.

Harry's mouth fell open, but before Draco could even start to regret what he said, Goyle's Potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Draco got a face full and his nose began to swell like a balloon – right in front of Harry J. Potter.

Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinnerplate.

'Silence! SILENCE!' Snape roared. 'Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft – when I find out who did this –'

As Draco hurried forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon, he saw Harry Potter laughing. The Boy Who Lived jumped up to yell over everyone's head: 'Fate's a pig, Dra!'

It cost Gryffindor five points; then five more because Potter couldn't stop laughing.

. . .

A week later, Vincent, Gregory and Draco were walking across the Entrance Hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the noticeboard, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. With an irritated face, Pansy'd turned her back to it, rolling her eyes almost out of her head at all the excited kids pushing each other to get a closer look.

Draco lifted his chin at her.

'Dueling Club,' she drawled. 'Tonight.'

Draco snorted. 'Great… Permission to kill.'

At eight o'clock that evening the Slytherin common room emptied out. To avoid the inevitable queue at the Entrance Hall, Draco, Vincent and Gregory went to the kitchen for a quick snack first. If nothing else, Draco's apple could serve as a target on someone's head to practice on.

When the three of them swaggered into the Great Hall, the long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

Draco searched the crowd and spotted The Boy Who Lived, huddled together with his obnoxious, little bodyguards. Vincent and Gregory followed as Draco elbowed his way over to him.

Snape and Lockhart moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Draco caught Snape's eye just when they reached Harry Potter. A malicious glimmer lit up in the Professor's eyes.

'Time to split up the dream team, I think,' Snape sneered. 'Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter –'

Harry moved automatically towards Granger.

'I don't think so,' said Snape, smiling coldly.

Draco quickly put his hands in his pockets, and looked another way with his most bored face.

'Mr. Malfoy,' said Snape, 'come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter.'

Draco strutted over, smirking.

Harry Potter turned to face him, already lifting his wand and returning Malfoy's smirk. Draco felt giddy with excitement.

'Face your partners!' called Lockhart, back on the platform. 'And bow!'

Draco and Harry barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

'Wands at the ready!' shouted Lockhart . 'When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don't want any accidents – one… two –'

Draco couldn't contain himself, and cast his spell at two. Hurt flashed on Harry's face as his head violently bopped forward.

'Ha!' shouted Draco triumphantly.

To his amazement, Potter only slightly stumbled – as though being hit with the force of a saucepan was child's play to him.

'Rictusempra!' Harry shouted and a jet of silver light hit Draco in the stomach. He doubled up, wheezing.

'I said disarm only!' Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Draco sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing.

Gasping for breath, Draco pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, 'Tarantallegra!' and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quick step.

He looked ridiculous, Draco's laughing fit grew even worse. He could barely breathe.

'Stop! Stop!' screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

'Finite Incantatem!' he shouted.

Harry's feet stopped dancing and he doubled over, staggering towards Draco while he wheezed with laughter.

'Let's have a volunteer pair!' yelled Lockhart. 'Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you –'

'A bad idea, Professor Lockhart ,' said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. 'How about Malfoy and Potter?'

Draco jumped up.

'Excellent idea!' said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Draco into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

'Now, Harry,' said Lockhart. 'When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.'

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, 'Whoops – my wand is a little overexcited –'

Snape moved closer to Draco, bent down, and whispered, 'Use Serpensortia. The one I showed on your father's birthday.'

Draco smirked.

Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, 'Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?'

'Scared, Potter?' muttered Draco, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.

'You wish,' said Harry out of the corner of his mouth. There was an excited light in his eyes.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. 'Just do what I did, Harry!'

'What, drop my wand?'

Draco snorted.

Lockhart wasn't listening. 'Three – two – one – go!' he shouted.

Draco raised his wand quickly and bellowed, 'Serpensortia!'

The end of his wand exploded. He watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike.

There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor. Draco glanced up at Snape, who was smirking. Draco relaxed.

'Don't move, Potter,' said Snape lazily. 'I'll get rid of it…'

Harry Potter was staring at the snake with an odd look on his face. It almost seemed like the snake and Potter were hypnotizing each other.

'Allow me!' shouted Lockhart.

He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack.

Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Draco jumped behind Snape, but Harry Potter was moving closer to the snake with a strangely foggy look in his eyes. He seemed slightly possessed. A weird noise resounded through the Great Hall. It sounded like hissing, but instead of coming from the snake… it came from Harry Potter.

Was he imitating the snake?

The crowd gasped when the snake slumped to the floor, its eyes hooked on Harry like it awaited his further instructions.

'C'est pas vrai...' Draco muttered.

Had Harry talked to the snake? Harry Potter was a Parselmouth?!

The Great Hall buzzed with an ominous muttering. The only person apparently feeling comfortable with the whole situation was Harry, whose shoulders relaxed as he grinned at Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Justin did not return the grin. 'What do you think you're playing at?' he shouted, then he turned and stormed out of the hall, leaving Harry looking stunned.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke.

At the same time Weasley had made his way through the crowd to tug on Harry's sleeve. He steered him out of the hall like the bodyguard he was, Granger hurrying alongside of them. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something.

Harry J. Potter, meanwhile, looked even more clueless than usual.

'Stop drooling,' said a voice behind him.

Smirking, Pansy grabbed Draco's arm and took him to the furthest corner of the Great Hall, where Vincent and Gregory were waiting for him to tell them what he saw and heard. They were rapidly firing questions at him and theorizing about all sorts of thing.

Pansy snapped her fingers in front of Draco's face. 'What's wrong with you?'

Draco slammed her hand away. 'Potter's a Parselmouth!'

'No kidding,' said Pansy sarcastically. 'Get with the program, Draconius.'

'He can't be the heir of Slytherin, he's not even in Slytherin!' Draco crossed his arms, thinking hard. 'If he really is a Parselmouth, he should be in Slytherin...' He groaned. 'He is supposed to be in Slytherin, I knew it! It's not bloody fair.'

They all scowled, because it really wasn't fair.

Suddenly, Draco gasped. 'The hat's been tempered with!'

Pansy shrieked with laughter.

'Quiet.' Counting on his fingers, Draco said, 'Dumbledore's a Gryffindor, McGonagall's Gryffindor, Potter's no-good parents were Gryffindor – they wanted him to be Gryffindor so bad that they convinced the Sorting Hat to put him there! Think about it!'

Pansy was attracting attention with the way she was laughing.

'Shut up! I bet the Weasleys are in on it too! My father always –'

'Malfoy, for heaven's sake,' said Pansy.

'Crabbe and Goyle agree.'

They nodded. 'Malfoy's a point,' said Vincent.

'Potter's gonna be a great dark wizard,' said Gregory, 'dad always says so.'

Pansy rolled her eyes. 'Well, he's not in Slytherin. And right now he's with the least dark people in this school, so… I doubt he's going to defect anytime soon.'

Pondering, Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek.

His mind kept going back to the Potter's fixated gaze, the sounds he'd made and the way the snake obeyed at once. It intimidated the living daylight out of him.

'Wasn't it so cool though?'

'Yeah,' grumbled Crabbe and Goyle.

Scowling, Pansy crossed her arms. 'I bet we could do it.'

Draco quickly regained his pride. 'Oh, no doubt.'

. . .

In the second week of December, Professor Snape came around as usual, collecting the names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Vincent, Gregory and Draco decided to stay.

Being at Hogwarts right now was far more exciting than spending Christmas with just their parents in their respective Manors. Gregory's little sister had started Beauxbatons this year and wasn't coming home for Christmas either. There just wasn't anything to do back home, while here at Hogwarts a murder mystery was unfolding right under their noses. If anything happened, Draco wanted to be the first to witness it.

He wrote his parents to let them know. Mother reacted disappointed and sulky, but Father thought it best too. Being pure-blood, Draco wouldn't be at risk of Salazar's revenge, and Father was very busy at the Ministry, he said.

Also, Draco had noticed Harry Potter stayed over at the castle almost every holiday. Perhaps with everyone gone and no more classes, Draco could spend time with him.

The past weeks Potter had become quiet and tired. Everywhere he went, people skirted around him, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison. Draco hated it; all of a sudden everyone had an opinion about Harry and they all wanted to share it. They kept arguing about him being evil, being the Heir, opening the Chamber. It was ludicrous. This was Harry J. Potter they were talking about, their very own Wonderboy. The boy everyone used to be in love with the minute they saw him, because he was the Saviour of the Wizarding World, powerful enough to beat the Dark Lord as a mere new-born. The Boy Who Smiled at every little thing: someone looked at him, he smiled; someone handed him something, he smiled; the slightest hint of daylight hit the rain-drenched window, he smiled. There was no limit to what cheered up Harry Potter.

Meanwhile, he was even more shielded off than usual: the Weasley twins kept marching ahead of him down the corridors, shouting things like, 'Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through!'

Those dumb Gryffindors all thought it was tremendously funny. It infuriated Draco. He wished people would leave Potter alone – especially all those wretched Weasleys. Seeing them go, you'd think they'd inherited Potter as their property.

Draco wished the Heir of Slytherin would come and take them out.

'If only I knew who the real heir was,' Draco complained for the millionth time, while lounging around in the Common Room with Crabbe and Goyle. 'I could point out exactly who to go after.'

Crabbe and Goyle hummed in agreement.

'Wouldn't it be so convenient if it took out all of our enemies?' Draco dreamt on. 'Those nasty Patil-sisters –' for making Pansy's life miserable '– Filch –' for putting Gregory and Vincent in detention every single time they went to the kitchen at night ' – Granger –' for beating Draco in every class '– and all those obnoxious Weasleys… especially the Monkey and the Girl-Weasley. They are far too possessive, it's unhealthy.'

Someone snorted. Blaise Zabini glanced over the top of Gilderoy Lockhart's ridiculous Travel Trilogy. 'And you're not possessive at all, right?'

Draco jumped up, beckoning for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. 'Nobody asked you anything,' he snarled at Blaise, and they went to find a spot without people eavesdropping.

. . .

When Christmas finally arrived and everyone had left Hogwarts, Draco abandoned Crabbe and Goyle at the Great Hall to quickly return a book at the library. In and out, he'd said, back in a sec.

'Dra,' he heard a low voice whisper.

It awakened him from a deep trance. He'd been standing in front of a bookcase, engrossed in a novel. By the feeling in his legs he'd been standing like this for, quite possibly, hours.

Blinking himself out of the story and into the real world, he saw Harry.

'Potter,' he snarled. 'What on earth are you doing here? Can you read?'

'Shut up.' Harry leaned over to him, looking around as if to check if they were alone. 'Do you think I'm the heir of Slytherin?'

Draco scoffed. 'Making weird sounds in the presence of snakes does not instantly change your entire heritage, Potter.'

'No, I know… '

Draco slouched against the bookshelves, still vividly remembering Potter Parseltongue-demonstration. The snake had looked up to Harry as if he was its general in command.

'It sounded awesome,' Draco heard himself blurt out.

Harry's mouth fell open. Draco felt like hitting himself in the head. Instead, he shrugged, and quickly added, 'Don't look so smug… It's not very Gryffindorian, is it? Talking to snakes.'

'I'm not smug at all, you git. I'm terrified.'

Draco frowned. 'Why?'

Harry shuffled his feet. Then he locked eyes with Draco. 'Could I have opened the chamber of secrets? Unknowingly or something?'

Draco gave a short derisive laugh. 'No,' he said. 'You'd know if you did. I'd know if you did – you're not exactly subtle.'

'Did you open it?' Harry asked. 'Ron and Hermione think so.'

'Really?' Draco jeered. 'Oh, I'm loving that. Do you think I did?'

Harry shrugged.

Such an honour! Out of all Slytherins they thought he was most likely to be a direct descendant of Salazar!

Scowling, Draco shook his head. 'My father knows things about the last time it opened, but he refuses to tell me.' He straightened his back, put a hand on his heart and said in his best impression of his father's voice: '"For us Malfoys the less we know about these things, the better."'

Harry seemed to relax. He smiled again, and softly kicked Draco's shoe. 'Whatcha reading?'

Draco slapped the paperback in the palm of his hand. 'Some trash novel about a vampire…'

His feet were killing him. He really shouldn't start reading books like these before sitting down and having a good meal.

'I fucking love vampires,' he grumbled. They were his Achilles heel.

For some reason Harry burst out laughing. 'Sorry.' He coughed nervously. 'Enjoy reading, bye.'

With that, Harry J. Potter left.

Was he ever just going to stay for a chat? Did he even ever want to talk to Draco without some agenda, Draco wondered. And he wasn't even going to start wrecking his brain about what he was laughing about. At least Draco made him laugh, that must count for something, right?

. . .

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were sitting on one of the stone benches, minding their own business, when suddenly Draco got slapped around the head.

Whirling around, he saw Harry Potter a few feet away from him, wand in hand. As soon as Draco saw him, he bolted past Ron and Hermione, howling with laughter.

Draco didn't think. He jumped over the bench to get Harry back in his sight. Then he fired one of the jinxes that he'd been dying to try out ever since he started Hogwarts.

Shrieking with glee, he watched Harry tumble to the ground. 'Tripping jinx, Potter!'

Before he could finish yelling it, Harry had already gotten up again – he made it look like one move: falling down and leaping back up. Over his shoulder, he fired a couple more slapping-curses at Draco, which Draco all managed to shield with a timely 'Protego!'.

Draco was panting already. He needed to finish Harry quickly, before he'd tire out. He fired his Leg-Locker curse, and without slowing down he bent and caught Harry around the waist to slam him to the ground as hard as he could; or Harry would be on his feet again before Draco could say "Powerful Potter".

Crowing in triumph, he pinned the Boy Who Lived down with his knees, and jabbed his wand under Harry's chin. 'You're dead, Potter!'

Harry was panting and crying with laughter through his pain.

'Can't… breathe,' he said, right before flinging his wand: 'Flipendo.'

'Protego!'

To his surprise, Draco flew back a few inches. Harry's Flipendo had broken through his Protego.

Harry hung back to laugh some more. Catching his breath, Draco sat next to him in the grass.

'I excel at this,' Harry declared.

His glasses got broken. Draco pointed his wand to repair it, at which Harry immediately pointed his own wand at Draco. Blood was welling up from a cut in his wand-wielding wrist, Draco noted.

'Reparo,' Draco mumbled and Harry's glasses sprung back, fixed. Next, Draco grabbed Harry's wrist. 'Episkey.'

Episkey might be one of Draco's favourite spells. It was immensely satisfying to watch open skin glue back together. Draco didn't mind seeing blood and gore so long as it could be repaired.

Draco dropped Harry's arm. It fell on the ground, and Harry sat up to inspect it.

As Draco walked back to his friends, he tried to surprise Harry with one last Stunning spell, which he somehow still managed to block.

'Admit it, Dra!' Potter shouted, sitting abandoned in the grass. 'I excel at this!'

'Never!' bellowed Draco, firing another futile spell at Harry.

It was the start of an ongoing duel, throughout the castle, lasting for weeks: every time Draco and Harry passed each other they tried out a new jinx. Sometimes they'd be on separate moving stairs, sometimes on different ends of corridors or hallways.

'Potter!' Draco would holler, before shooting another Leg-Locker curse.

It cost their houses dozens of points and drove their friends beyond insanity.

Draco would watch Harry frantically looking up new spells in the library, and practising them with Granger. Then Draco would check out the books and learn the spells himself, remembering the things he'd overheard Granger say about them.

Harry beat him almost every time, but each time Draco got slammed to the ground, smacked around or generally overpowered in front of his peers, he could not help but feel proud. Proud and absolutely bedazzled.

. . .

On Christmas morning, the loveliest gift Draco received was Harry J. Potter strolling into the Great Hall wearing a soft, cable-knitted sweater in a magnificent shade of emerald green. It marvellously brought out the green of his eyes and somehow made all other colours he consisted of look bright and shiny as well.

Only when someone pushed him, Draco became aware that he was staring with his mouth open.

'Quickly,' Pansy hissed, 'pull him under the mistletoe!'

'Oh, piss off,' drawled Draco, firmly closing his mouth.

Potter walked past the Slytherin table.

'Imagine being so poor you have to make your own clothes,' Draco loudly said, 'or worse: wear the poor's self-made clothes!'

Potter didn't even look.

'Talk about charity!' Draco shouted.

'Not your strongest, Malfoy,' remarked Blaise Zabini, to roaring laughter from the other Slytherins.

Draco glared at him, then continued, all through breakfast, to involuntarily stare at the Boy Who Lived, who looked positively glowing on this fine Christmas morning.

. . .

'There you are,' Draco drawled, spotting Crabbe and Goyle in the Dungeon corridors. For some reason they were talking with the Prefect Weasley. 'Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I've been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny.' He glanced witheringly at Weasley. 'And what're you doing down here, Weasley?' he sneered.

Weasley looked outraged. 'You want to show a bit more respect to a school Prefect!' he said. 'I don't like your attitude!'

Draco sneered and motioned for Vincent and Gregory to follow him. As they turned into the next passage, Draco said, 'That Peter Weasley –'

'Percy,' Vincent corrected him.

'Whatever,' said Draco. 'I've noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he's up to. He thinks he's going to catch Slytherin's heir single-handed.' He gave a short, derisive laugh. As if!

They stopped at the stretch of bare, damp stone wall that hid their Common Room. 'Pure- blood!' said Draco, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Draco marched through it.

'Wait here,' he said to Crabbe and Goyle, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. 'I'll go and get it, my father's just sent it to me –'

He couldn't wait to see his friends' faces, and hurried to his dorm to get Father's letter.

Coming back into the Common Room, he held the newspaper clipping under Vincent's nose. 'That'll give you a laugh.'

INQUIRY AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the enchanted car crashed earlier this year, called today for Mr. Weasley's resignation. "Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute," Mr. Malfoy told our reporter. "He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately."

Mr. Weasley was unavailable for comment, although his wife told reporters to clear off or she'd set the family ghoul on them.

'Well?' said Draco impatiently as Gregory handed the clipping back to him. 'Don't you think it's funny?'

Gregory laughed in a weird, slow way. In music theory, Draco would describe his laugh as 'staccato'.

'Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go and join them,' said Draco scornfully. 'You'd never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave.'

Vincent's face was contorted in a weird way.

'What's up with you, Crabbe?' snapped Draco.

'Stomach ache,' Vincent grunted.

'Well, go up to the Hospital Wing – and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,' said Draco, snickering. 'You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet,' he went on thoughtfully. 'I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father's always said old Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in.'

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin Creevey: "Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?"'

Gregory laughed for real now. 'Stop it, Draco'

'Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend,' Draco went on. 'He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he's Slytherin's heir! I wish I knew who it is,' said Draco petulantly. 'I could help them.'

'You must have some idea who's behind it all,' said Gregory.

'You know I haven't, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?' snapped Draco. 'And Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it'll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing – last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time… I hope it's Granger,' he added with relish. 'She keeps beating me in Potions.'

Gregory snorted.

'What?' asked Draco.

'You're so dramatic.'

Draco frowned. No more than usual, he reckoned.

'D'you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?' asked Gregory.

Draco raised an eyebrow. What was it with all these questions today?

'Oh, yeah… whoever it was, was expelled,' said Draco. 'They're probably still in Azkaban.'

'Azkaban?' said Gregory, puzzled.

Draco stared at him in disbelief. Goyle almost reminded him of stupid Potter with that puzzled expression and the dumb questions.

'Azkaban – the Wizard prison, Goyle,' he snarled. 'Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backward.'

Draco felt restless. This conversations was such a repetition of moves. They kept going over it: who could be the heir of Slytherin, who would be the next victim – it was infuriating not to know. He wanted to go out and investigate, but no – 'Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it.'

Of course it was sensible advise, but that didn't make it fun.

'You know, the Ministry of Magic raided our Manor last week,' said Draco.

His parents had only wrote about it that morning, saying they didn't want to distract him from his schoolwork.

'Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing-room floor —'

'Ho!' said Vincent.

Draco looked at him. Vincent and Gregory looked at each other. Then, suddenly, both of them jumped to their feet.

'Medicine for my stomach,' Vincent grunted, and they sprinted the length of the Slytherin Common Room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage.

Draco gladly left the medical details to Madam Pomfrey. Bit of an anti-climax though; he'd looked forward to sharing a laugh over that article.

. . .

Draco couldn't have imagined hating anyone more than that tosser Ron Weasley, but his little sister truly took the crown. The Weasley-girl kept eyeing Harry Potter wherever he went, staring like he was a famous piece of art at best, and a glass of water in the middle of a dessert at worst. It was embarrassing for everyone.

'Want to bet how fast they end up together?' Draco complained, sitting in the library with Pansy. 'She's basically a female version of his disgusting bodyguard.'

'Who?' Pansy had the audacity to ask.

Draco slammed his hand in the direction of the Weasley-girl, who was ogling Harry from behind a bookcase.

Harry Potter obviously didn't notice. He was cluelessly giggling at one thing or another, and playing some dumb game with the Monkey Weasley, while Granger slaved away on her homework as usual.

She worked far too hard on everything, Draco reckoned. If Draco worked that hard, he'd be twice as 'smart' as her, but there were only so many things to do with one's time and so much more to learn than what the teachers dished up for them. She had no creativity in personal growth whatsoever, if you asked Draco.

'Oh Malfoy, please, the girl doesn't talk,' Pansy said. 'Now Romilda, that's your true rival in this game.'

'Rotilda's fugly,' Draco grumbled. 'What game? What are you insinuating here exactly?'

She looked at him with a knowing smile, that told Draco absolutely nothing.

'Some say…' she whispered, leaning closer to him. 'That the Riddle of his Existence is his mother's love.'

'I know, stupid girl,' snarled Draco. 'I read the book.'

'She sacrificed herself to protect him,' Pansy continued, 'and that's why he lived. They say he's got her love in his blood.'

Draco found it a wild explanation. Nothing new though, he read all about it in The Boy Who Lived: a Biography of Harry Potter, but the author said there was no empirical evidence for the theory.

'I say,' Pansy went on pedantically, 'that it is this Magical love that gives him the oozing that Rotilda goes on about. And I say…'

She paused for a long, long time, ever so slowly opening her mouth. Draco refused to give her the pleasure of an impatient response and slouched back, raising an eyebrow.

'I say,' she repeated, 'Harry's hair crackles when he's feeling love.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'Have you looked at the guy? He always feels love.'

'Exactly! He always feels love when you're around!' Pansy smiled like the evil witches in Muggle fairy tales.

'Oh you're hilarious,' Draco drawled. 'He feels love when I'm around. Merlin, wouldn't that be something…' He snorted.

Harry Potter loving Draco Malfoy. He couldn't even picture it

The Weasley twins gathered around Granger, Weasley and Potter, like the family wasn't smothering him enough already. The Weasley Girl was still watching too.

'Merde, I wish that blood traitor family would stop suffocating him.'

'He doesn't seem suffocated.'

'Yes, he does,' snapped Draco. 'He looks tired.'

'Oh Merlin, Draco! Why don't you join their group, or something? So you could suffocate him.'

'I loathe them all.'

'Just go up to him and ask if he wants to play Quidditch with you, or Wizard Chess or anything. I bet he says yes at once, he's so eager for you.'

Draco scowled at her. 'You don't simply walk up to Harry J. Potter.'

'Weak little boy.'

He glared at her.

'Oh,' said Pansy, eyes aglow, 'did you know the Bastards have a codename for you?'

"The bastards" was Pansy's way to indicate their teachers.

'They call you and Potter "Crimson & Clover".'

'Me-and-Potter? You're joking.'

'I am not. I heard them talk about "Crimson and Clover" fighting on the stairs, right after you and Potter had been fighting there. It wasn't a brain wrecker to decipher.'

For a second, Draco didn't know what to say. 'They – They talk about Potter and me behind our backs? Do they have a nickname for everyone Potter hangs out with?'

'Don't think so.'

Crimson and Clover… It sounded alright. It wouldn't have mattered really, they could have called them Dumb and Dumber for all he cared, as long as they lumped him together with The Boy Who Lived.

'Clover because of his eyes?' Draco wondered out loud.

Pansy had to muffle her laughter with both hands.

Draco blinked, then realized. His face felt hot. 'Oh! No!'

Crimson for Gryffindor, Clover for Slytherin!

'Please, can you forget I said that?'

'Never,' shrieked Pansy. 'Boy oh boy, you're so weak for him!'

'Ssh!'

Pansy was crying with laughter. This conversation sickened Draco. It was all too weird.

'I'm out.'

Gathering his stuff, he swaggered out of the library. 'Potter,' he hissed in passing while firing a slapping charm.

Harry was so heavily surrounded by Weasleys that he didn't notice Draco in time. His head bopped forward, Draco jeered, and at once, all the gingers stepped aside, pointing their wands at Draco. None so accomplished in the art of self-defence as Harry, he easily beat them all to it. Whirling around, he made the ink of Granger's ink pot float out, hurling it at Draco.

With a loud gasp, Draco looked down at his once bright white shirt. Pansy, Harry and all the gingers laughed so hysterically that Madame Pince appeared. She gasped even louder than Draco at the sight of his shirt and sent him outside with a shrieked, 'No tomfoolery with ink around books!'

Harry jumped up. 'Wait, Dra, I know how to clean –'

'You think I don't know?' snapped Draco.

Harry groaned, grabbing Draco's sleeve. 'Will I ever be able to impress you?'

Standing outside, away from everyone, Draco put away his wand and lifted his arms. 'Hit me with your best shot.'

With a face like he invented the spell himself, Harry Scorgified Draco's blouse. It worked barely a little, but Harry seemed delighted.

Draco looked down at his shirt. 'Good grief, Potter, you suck. You would not look so proud of this half-arsed job if you knew my mother even in the slightest.'

Harry grinned. 'Then I'm glad I don't.'

Draco Scorgified the shirt properly. 'What game were you playing with the Weasel?'

'Ron, you mean. Hangman; it's a Muggle game.'

Draco scoffed. 'Living Hangman's way better. Especially if you use Muggles.'

Harry's eyes grew big, until he recognised Draco's jeering face. He smiled in relief. 'You're horrible.'

Harry lingered, watching Draco Scorgify. It encouraged Draco. Mustering up the nerve, he took a deep breath and in his most bored drawl he asked: 'Fancy a game of Quidditch later?'

'Yes!' Harry's face clouded over. 'Oh, but I'm not allowed.'

Draco frowned.

'Our Captain doesn't want us to share techniques with the other teams.'

'It's not sharing techniques,' Draco scoffed.

'He literally stared me straight in the eye and said "No flying in front of Malfoy!" It was scary, like he read my mind.'

Draco tried not to grin. What exactly had been in Potter's mind, he wondered.

He wrecked his brain for a loophole in Wood's ban, but couldn't think of anything. 'Merlin, that sucks…'

Harry muttered another 'Scorgify', aimed at Draco's hair. Then, frowning, he lifted his hand. 'It doesn't go out, stand still…'

He scratched some ink out of Draco's hair. Draco felt a great swoop in his stomach; like he was diving fast with his Nimbus Two Thousand And One.

'There,' Harry mumbled, his fingers covered in ink stains.

Harry Potter was such a scruffy kid, Mother would never allow someone like him even near the Manor. His fingernails had black lines underneath them, his leisurewear was oversized, faded and threadbare, his thick, cheap glasses seemed to have been repaired at least a dozen times, and his crackling, black hair was full of tangles, like he hadn't allowed a comb near it in years.

Meanwhile, his grass green eyes stood out between two thick layers of ink black eyelashes and seemed almost luminous beneath his dark, shading eyebrows. He looked like a mix of Heathcliff and Peter Pan, who, unfortunately, just happened to be two of Draco's favourite fictional characters.

'Sorry,' Harry muttered when he saw Draco looking at his dirty nails. He tried cleaning the ink from his fingers with a bit of spit. 'Looked pretty good though, didn't you think? The ink floating through the air?'

'I suppose,' Draco drawled, trying with all his might to keep his awe in check.

'Right…' Harry put his hands in his pocket, and turned to leave. Looking over his shoulder, his magnificent eyes swept over Draco from head to toe. 'See you around, Malfoy.'

With that, he abandoned Draco again, leaving him standing in the middle of an empty corridor, alone with his screaming thoughts, feeling nauseous and hot.

Why was Draco so hell-bent to befriend the one person at Hogwarts he couldn't and shouldn't befriend? And why was it so difficult? It seemed like every person in the world wanted to keep Harry Potter away from Draco Malfoy – including Draco Malfoy himself.

. . .

En route to his Defence against the Dark Arts class, there was a hold up in the East wing.

'What's going on here?' Draco demanded.

To get answers, he had to elbow his way to the front of the crowd again. As usual, it was Harry Potter who caused the stir. He was spread out on the floor, while an ugly Valentine dwarf clung onto his legs. All Harry's possessions were scattered across the corridor and his face was bright red.

Potter was feverishly stuffing everything into his ripped bag, clearly desperate to get away.

'What's all this commotion?' said Prefect-Weasley. 'Crimson and Clover back at it again?'

Draco glared at him, resisting the urge to kick him.

Then, the dwarf started to sing the worst poem Draco had ever heard. Something about Harry's eyes looking like pickled toad and him being a hero, defeating the Dark Lord.

Potter did not enjoy it. His hair seemed to move on its own to hide his flushed face. Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, as Prefect-Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

'Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,' he said, shooing some of the younger students away. 'And you, Malfoy –'

Draco stooped and snatched up something that looked an awful lot like a diary. It looked as battered and inked as Harry Potter himself. Leering, he showed it to Vincent and Gregory.

'Give that back,' said Harry.

'Wonder what Potter's written in this?' Draco teased the crowd.

A hush fell over the onlookers. Of course, the Girl-Weasley was part of the crowd again too, staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified for her little crush.

'Hand it over, Malfoy,' said Prefect-Weasley.

'When I've had a look,' said Draco, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry. His heart beating fast. What did Harry want to hide from him?

Percy said, 'As a school prefect –'

The second Draco opened the diary, Harry shouted, 'Expelliarmus!' and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Draco found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air.

'Harry!' said Percy loudly. 'For the hundredth time: no Magic in the corridors. I'll have to report this again!'

Harry seemed angry with Draco.

The Girl-Weasley passed Draco to enter her classroom. This was all her fault. Clearly this had been her stupid Valentine, and it had put Harry in a bad mood.

'I don't think Potter liked your Valentine much!' he yelled after her.

'Don't bother her, Draco, for something you don't have the guts to do!' Harry snapped back at him. His face still bright red, he turned to go inside the classroom. Weasley followed, guffawing like a moron.

Did The Boy Who Lived really keep a diary? Did Draco just hold all Harry J. Potter's secrets in his hand? It couldn't be...

Draco looked at Vincent and Gregory, but they just shrugged.

. . .

'Ha ha!' Draco jeered after reading his father's letter. He slapped Vincent and Gregory on their arms, then shushed the Slytherin table. 'Listen to this!'

Draco,

You may be proud to know that your dear old dad has not yet lost his touch. As you know, I am one of the school governors, and therefore have been entrusted with the noble responsibility to regulate the comings and goings at Hogwarts.

Dreadful things have been happening lately and it seems that your Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has lost his grasp on the situation. After a little convincing, the board of governors agree that it is time for the old man to step aside. I managed to get all twelve of their autographs on an Order of Suspension – meaning that the old chap has been suspended as Headmaster until further notice.

I heard there have been two more attacks. At this rate, there'll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.'

Draco could hardly keep reading from laughing.

'Let's hope the next Headmaster will manage the situation in a more adequate matter.

Meanwhile, lay low and stay safe.

Love,

Your father'

Suspended! Father managed to suspend their silly Muggle-hugging fool of a Headmaster, whom everyone adored! Draco's father was the best influencer; he could talk the gold from a Niffler.

Suspending Albus Dumbledore! This was the best move he could have made for the school.

Draco's father had wanted Dumbledore gone the second he got appointed as Headmaster, and rightly so. The subjects they got taught here were soft, weak, as was the way they got taught. There was so much more and stronger Magic to be learned out there in the real world. Oh, Draco hoped a dark wizard would take Dumbledore's place. Then things could get really interesting!

Draco couldn't keep quiet about it.

'I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,' he told Vincent and Gregory when they went down to the Dungeons for Potions class. 'I told you he thinks Dumbledore's the worst headmaster the school's ever had. Maybe we'll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won't want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won't last long, she's only filling in…'

When Snape got in, he divided them into the same old pairs again, so Harry sat down next to Draco; giving Draco a fresh new audience to impress.

'Sir,' he said loudly. 'Sir, why don't you apply for the headmaster's job?'

'Now, now, Draco,' said Snape, though he couldn't suppress a thin-lipped smile. 'Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I dare say he'll be back with us soon enough.'

'Yeah, right,' said Draco, smirking. 'I expect you'd have Father's vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job – I'll tell Father you're the best teacher here, sir –'

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon.

Harry pretended to vomit in their cauldron.

'Piss off, Potter,' Draco snarled. 'One of us has to make sure we beat your nerdy friend. I'm quite surprised the Mudbloods haven't all packed their bags by now. Bet you five Galleons the next one dies. Pity it wasn't Granger.'

Harry turned away from him.

'Oh come on.'

Harry was not amused. 'Death is not a joke, Malfoy.'

Draco leaned over to him, tapping his leg. 'But it would make us top of the class.'

The bell rang. 'Let me at him,' Harry's Monkey-friend growled, while Harry and another Gryffindor hung onto his arms. 'I don't need my wand, I'm going to kill him with my bare hands –'

Smirking, Draco left the Dungeon, safely flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

. . .

Midmorning, when they were being led to Charms by Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall's voice came echoing through the corridors, magically magnified.

'All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.'

Draco looked round at Vincent and Gregory.

This was it. Something of importance had happened. Had the Heir of Slytherin finally succeeded?

'Let's go.' Draco checked to see if Flitwick was looking, then made to get away.

A hand closed around his. 'I don't like this,' whispered Pansy, pressing herself between Draco and Gregory. She hugged Draco's arm as if the Heir of Slytherin was pulling on her already.

'Well, I love it,' snapped Draco, desperately trying to shake her off . 'Let go of me.'

'Where are you going?'

'I want to see what's happened.'

'Mister Malfoy! Miss Parkinson!' came Professor Flitwick's voice. 'Keep up, please!'

With an aggressive motion, Draco yanked himself loose from Pansy. He had no choice now but to follow the other Slytherins to their Common Room.

'Je t'emmerde,' hissed Draco, throwing Pansy a withering look.

There, they waited for what felt like hours. Draco tried to sneak out from time to time, but all six Prefects had their eyes on him alone, it seemed, and the Head Girl was looking positively livid with him.

After yet another failed attempt to go, he fell back into a chair with a heavy sigh. 'I want to know what happened!'

Right at that moment, a murmur broke out. Draco craned to see why and saw a tall figure in the doorway. Their Head of House had arrived.

'Your attention, please,' Snape slowly drawled, even though everyone was looking at him already. 'As you might have suspected, it has happened. A student has been taken into the Chamber of Secrets.'

Pansy shrieked; Alexander Orlando gasped; Millicent Bulstrode clapped her hands over her mouth.

Draco elbowed closer to Snape, eager to get every bit of information he could get.

'The Hogwarts Express –'

'How can you be sure they are in the Chamber if you don't know where it is?' interrupted Draco.

'The Heir of Slytherin,' said Snape, 'left another message. Now –'

'Who is it?' asked Draco loudly. 'Who's been taken?'

Snape seemed to consider his question for a few seconds.

'The student who has been taken,' he replied, 'is Ginny Weasley.'

Silence fell over the Common Room.

Ginny Weasley? The kid who was always ogling Harry J. Potter? The little blood-traitor sister of Monkey Weasley?

'But she's pure-blood!'

'She is,' confirmed Snape. 'Now, the Hogwarts Express will arrive tomorrow morning to take you home.'

'Home?!'

'Master Malfoy, if you could refrain from commenting, so I can –'

'My father –'

'Will hear about your behaviour, Master Malfoy, if you can't keep quiet,' said Snape through clenched teeth.

Resentfully, Draco shut his mouth. He had so many questions.

'Prefects, make sure all Slytherin students are packed and ready to go first thing tomorrow morning. Every student leaving this Common Room before that time will risk serious consequences.'

'Lies,' muttered Draco. 'House points don't matter anymore, and when could we get punished? We'll be gone tomorrow.'

'Ssh,' hissed the Head Girl, throwing him a warning look.

Draco was not impressed. He wanted to see the Chamber of Secrets. He wanted to know who the Heir was. He demanded answers!

And so he retreated in his dorm to write his father.

. . .

Somehow, everything went downhill from that moment on. All of a sudden, Dumbledore got back, as if being suspended meant nothing anymore. Rumour had it that the other eleven governors did not voluntarily suspend the Headmaster in the first plance. They all turned on Draco's father, saying he threatened and blackmailed them.

'So what?' drawled Draco, throwing the Daily Prophet at the Slytherin table during breakfast the next morning. 'Fine governors they are, making themselves susceptible to blackmail. Too weak to resists a simple threat. Not exactly traits to boast about, if you ask me.'

Vincent and Gregory grunted in agreement.

Ulysses flew in and dropped a letter in Draco's lap. 'Finally! Took his time…'

Feeding the owl some sausage, he read the letter – and he almost choked on his pumpkin juice. 'We lost our House Elf!'

'Lost?' Vincent frowned.

'Where did you last see it?' said Gregory, ever so helpful. 'That's what mum always says.'

'No, you buffoon, my father says he accidentally set it free. Something to do with Harry Potter, he says.' Draco frowned. 'It involved a filthy sock – Potter is disgusting… They keep saying Slytherins are foul, but the Wizarding World's brave Gryffindor Wonderboy is at least as cunning.'

For the umpteenth time, Draco wondered why Harry Potter wasn't in Slytherin.

'Potter should be in Slytherin. He belongs with us. He's a Parselmouth for Merlin's sake!'

This letter was making him angry.

'Is he talking about Potter again?' Pansy remarked from further down the table.

'It's not even eight…' said Daphne Greengrass with a big yawn.

Pansy almost knocked over the orange juice as she leant across the table. 'Have you heard?'

'I haven't heard shit,' Draco snarled. 'Nobody tells me anything.'

Pansy pouted, a glimmer in her eye. 'Oh, you poor thing.' Smirking, she raised her hands to add suspension. 'The heir of Slytherin… was the Dark Lord. They say he possessed that Weasley girl!'

'Rubbish,' Draco muttered.

'There was a giant snake too and – guess what?'

Draco scowled. 'What?'

'Guess who saved the girl and slayed the monster?' Pansy grinned broadly.

Draco did not want to guess. He pretended to be uninterested and took a large bite out of his croissant.

'Our grand celebrity!' Pansy shrieked. 'Harry J. Potter. With a sword!'

Draco choked for real this time. Gregory slapped his back, which did not do much good.

'A – a sword?' Draco uttered, gasping for breath.

How was he ever going to push that vision from his mind? Merlin, Harry Potter was beyond cool.

'You alright?' asked Gregory.

'No,' grumbled Draco. 'Putain, I wish she'd died.'

'No, you don't,' said Pansy.

'Filthy blood-traitor. Probably got herself taken into the Chamber on purpose, just so Potter would save her.'

Pansy snorted, and even sleepy Daphne giggled.

Draco wondered if they kissed, down there in that Chamber...

He felt confused. How could he be angry at Harry Potter and in awe of him at the same time?

'Merlin, I'm glad it's our last day.'

As Draco got on the train, he was relieved to go back home, where he didn't have to think about The Boy Who Lived for an entire blissful summer.