Okay, okay, I've had enough reviews anti-slash for me to change my mind. And, thorough author I am, I forgot Harry was only 11! Lol. So NO SLASH. Therefore I expect lots of reviews from the anti-slashers.
When Harry didn't show up for breakfast but Snape did, Draco was apprehensive. But assuming, correctly, that Severus had kept Harry in his chambers, he forced himself to relax, and endured the 'conversation' of Crabbe and Goyle.

When Harry didn't come to Charms, Draco began to worry. The worry increased as the first half of the day wore on, until by lunchtime he was fidgeting in his seat, dying for the bell to go.

When he couldn't find Harry in the library, the common room, or anywhere in the dungeons, his worry was converted into full blown panic. It occurred to him that he should tell someone, but who? Certainly not Severus, seeing his animosity towards Harry. Maybe a prefect, or Marcus, if he could find him. Yes, he would look for Marcus.

He charged upstairs from the common room, colliding with a large boy he vaguely remembered as John Derrick.

"Oh! Excuse me, sorry, do you know where Marcus Flint is?" Draco gasped, and then realised that that sort of behaviour wasn't at all fitting for a Slytherin or a Malfoy. Derrick didn't seem to notice, he shook his head.

"Nope, sorry. He could be anywhere. Why did you need him?"

"My friend's gone missing - I can't find him anywhere. I think it was Severus."

Derrick's face darkened.

"Again? I suppose you're talking about Harry?"

Draco nodded, trying to catch his breath, and Derrick nodded.

"Where have you checked? I'll come around with you again - he can't have left the grounds or Dumbledore would know."

"I checked the library and the dormitories, obviously the common room, all the rooms we can access in the dungeons."

Derrick nodded.

"Come on then. Lets check everywhere again. I'm sure he's fine. . .probably just didn't feel like seeing anyone. But better safe than sorry."

They combed the dungeons, checking every classroom for signs of Harry, but with no luck. It was only when Derrick suggested the toilets that they found Harry, slumped in one of the stalls.

"John! He's in here!"

Derrick hurried in, alarmed by Draco's urgent tone of voice, and winced when he saw Harry. There was vomit in the toilet, and a large knot on Harry's head. Draco, however, looked relieved.

"He must just be ill. . .he's been so shaky the last few days, and hardly eaten anything. . .I thought it was nerves or something, but I guess he must have been ill and passed out. Merlin, why didn't I come sooner? Do you think he'll be alright?"

Derrick nodded, and drew out his wand.

"Enervate" he said, and Harry's eyes flickered open reluctantly.

"It's ok, Harry. You're not very well, so we're just going to take you to the infirmary, alright?"

Harry nodded, and wished he hadn't, because the room began to swirl alarmingly.

"C'mon, Draco, give me a hand. And go easy, I don't know how bad that lump on his head is, but you can never be too careful. Come on, Harry. Just get up slowly."

Derrick and Draco grasped Harry's arms, both silently wincing at the way the bones stuck out, and helped him up. The journey to the infirmary was a long one, as Harry couldn't walk very quickly or steadily. Finally, when they arrived, Derrick let him down onto a bed as Draco went to call Madam Pomfrey. She immediately shooed the two of them out, and began examining Harry.

"You must be Harry Potter" she said. "Such a shock, seeing you put in Slytherin! Dear me, that is a nasty bump. How on earth did you do that?"

"Felt sick" mumbled Harry, clinging to the excuse he had heard from Draco. "Threw up, and passed out. Hit my head on the door."

"Oh, you poor dear" said Pomfrey soothingly. "Here, drink this. It will take away the pain. You've got a mild concussion, but you'll be right as rain in after a good nap. Do you want to change into these pyjamas? I'll put up a screen to give you some privacy."

Harry nodded, feeling awful. Why were they being so nice to him? He didn't deserve niceness!

He hadn't planned on sleeping, knowing that it would be futile. However, the second he downed a potion ("Dreamless sleep; Professor Snape keeps a massive stock of it. Works wonders, but it can be a little addictive.") his eyes dropped, and he fell into a deep sleep.

Madam Pomfrey was right. He did feel much better when he woke up, and even more when he remembered that Draco now just thought he had been acting so oddly because he was ill. Now, if he could prevent himself from flinching and hearing Vernon every time people approached him, he would be fine. And nobody would know what a wimp he was, how pathetic. How he was unable to cope with even a little bit of pain.

**************************************************

"May I sit here?" asked Blaise politely. Draco jumped; he had been lost in his own thoughts.

"Yes, of course. Blaise Zabini, isn't it?"

"Yes, and you are Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine" he said, smiling, and she blushed.

"So, how's Harry? I noticed he wasn't in classes this morning."

"Yes, he. . ."

Draco was cut off as Professor Snape swirled into the room, nodding to Draco, who smirked back, and glaring at the Gryffindors.

"We will be doing a practical experiment today. Not that I expect any of you dunderheads to be able to even measure out the ingredients, let alone brew the mixture correctly. Though, for those who possess the aptitude. . ."

Draco smirked again, knowing the comment was meant for him.

". . .anyway, the instructions are in your books."

"What page, sir?"

Snape sneered vindictively at the know-it-all Mudblood - Granger, was it? - and said silkily,

"10 points from Gryffindor for interrupting. Page 231. Well? What are you imbeciles waiting for?"

Blaise headed off to get their ingredients, and Draco caught Snape's eye. The tall man walked quickly over to the desk, and spoke between clenched teeth.

"Did our wonder-boy, our new celebrity, our famous mister Potter, decide that Potions was too lowly for his great talents?"

"No sir" replied Draco, trying to keep calm. "He wasn't well, so we escorted him to the infirmary."

"Well that's another detention he's earned himself. What's that, three in two days? With foolishness like that, perhaps he should have been sorted into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."

Draco winced at the acerbic words, but said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

*****************************************************

When the lesson was over, Draco returned to the Slytherin rooms, but Harry wasn't there. He went to dinner, and again was forced to talk with Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't leave room for Blaise to come near him. Thankfully, a revolting Slytherin by the name of Pansy Parkinson was also unable to find a space near Draco, so perhaps the two goons did have their use. After dinner, he returned to the dormitories, certain that Harry would be back unless he was really ill - Pomfrey was annoying but a very skilled medi- witch, or so his father had told him.

He was right; Harry was out of the infirmary, but his friend was now serving detention with Filch. Again. Draco winced in sympathy. He hadn't known Snape to be this cruel even to a Gryffindor, let alone one of his own Slytherins. Shrugging, and taking advantage of the quiet room, he took out a sheaf of parchment, a bottle of 'Super-Secret' ink, and an elegant quill with a green and silver feather, and began to write a letter to his father.

Dear Father,

It is the third day of school, and I am settling into Slytherin well. You may be interested to know that a certain Harry Potter has also been sorted into the serpent's house, and he too is enjoying himself. Of course, you are never surprised by anything, but I am sure you can imagine the reaction of the rest of the school. It is, naturally, very enjoyable to have a literate friend in my own house, and Harry's company does dispel the tedium of Crabbe and Goyle's 'conversation'. They are very useful for certain matters, but not terribly intelligent. And if either Crabbe or Goyle senior are with you, don't worry. I am using that much appreciated ink which is enchanted to appear only to you or me.

My lessons seem to be going very well, as are Harry's. He has shown considerable proficiency in Transfiguration, however potions is posing a slight problem for him. Of course, I am getting on superbly with Severus, but our dear potions master appears to dislike Harry rather strongly. I can't think why, but he has come close to taking points from Slytherin, has given Harry three detentions in two days of school, and even sent him out of the classroom for scraping a chair. Everyone in Slytherin thinks it is most odd. Do you know why he has such animosity towards Harry? Severus also sends his best wishes to you.

The tryouts for the Quidditch team are tomorrow. I will attend, although it is irregular for a first year to be put on the team. Would you like to be informed of the match dates? I know that a good game of Quidditch can please you greatly, and Slytherin have a good time this year. John Derrick and Anthony Bole are beaters from last year, apparently, and they virtually won the cup single handedly. Very Slytherin; strong, and willing to employ any means to win. I am told that the final game between Slytherin and Gryffindor was most enjoyable.

In your reply, could you possibly enclose some plain quills? I adore this green and silver one, but a few teachers are being rather tiresome, and saying it is too ornate. Also, I would hate for an accident to befall it; we have found perhaps the most ignorant and clumsy wizard in one Neville Longbottom (Gryffindor, naturally). The son, I presume, of the late Aurors?

Best wishes to you and mother,

I remain your son,

Draco Malfoy.
He signed his name with a flourish, and rolled up the letter. Then, satisfied all his belongings were tucked away, he swept down to the Owlery, which was unfortunately up several flights of stairs. He snapped his fingers imperiously, and a large, black eagle owl with a silver band which had the Malfoy crest on it, if you looked closely enough, flew down and perched on his shoulder, nipping affectionately at his ear.

"Oh shush. Let me attach this letter, you silly bird" he said, but with no venom, and he tied the scroll to his bird's leg. Finally relenting, he gave the owl a treat and a sip of water before it flew off into the night sky. He watched until it was out of sight, the moonlight catching his hair and making him look like he had a halo. Eventually he turned and left, wandering aimlessly down the halls. He couldn't be bothered to go back to the common room; all that lay there was work or Crabbe and Goyle.

He had found his way into a small, dusty corridor when he heard voices.

"You know what I mean, Quirrel. Do you want me to go to Dumbledore? You are running out of time."

"I. . .I don't kn-know what you're t-talking about, S-severus" stammered the new Defence against the Dark arts teacher. Barely breathing, Draco crept towards the sound of the voices, and peered in through the classroom door. Snape was leaning in close to Quirrel.

"The mark will never fade, Quirrel. I accept that you are a changed man, and that you regret all you have done. But Albus must know."

"I-I will. I just need t-time."

Severus snorted.

"Well see that you find time, Quirrel. Or you may find that you end up with too much on your hands - entertainment is lacking, I am informed, in Azkaban."

Draco heard footsteps approach the door, and fled.

********************************************