Draco Malfoy was standing in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor, watching intently as his grandmother prepared cookies. Being that he was only six, he was still rather short and could barely see her from underneath the expansive edge of the marble countertop.

Dobby prepared most of the food for the Malfoy family, but when his Grandmother came to visit, she would create elaborate cakes and cookies with her wand. She seemed to enjoy it, though Draco did not understand why. He didn't care either. He liked those cookies. They were much better than his mother's cookies.

"Draco?" asked his Grandmother in her rasping, wheezy voice. A few strands of frazzled, white hair had fallen out of her bun, and they billowed as she spoke. "What are you doing inside? Why aren't you outside on your broomstick?"

"I lost my Quaffle," said Draco, shrugging and eyeing the cookies hungrily. "Father will get me a new one tomorrow."

"And now you came in just in time to get fresh cookies?" asked his Grandmother, smiling knowingly. "What a fine coincidence."

"Yes," said Draco, still rather focused on the cookies. "Can I have one?" He held out his hand expectantly. His grandmother lifted up a plate of cookies and placed them on the table. Draco clambered up into one of the chairs and began munching on them.

"You know what your Grandfather used to say to me?" said his Grandmother wistfully. "'There is no coincidence, Mariette. There is only magic. It protects us and guides us. That is where our power comes from, why we are so much greater than all other creatures who walk the Earth.' " She loving stroked Draco's silvery blond head. "You see Draco," she said, pointing to the breast of his shirt, over his heart. "Magic is in your blood, inside of you."

Draco mostly ignored her, still happily eating the cookies. He was fairly sure that magic came from wands, but he didn't think it would be wise to correct the old woman, especially since it was far simpler to keep his mouth shut and full of chocolate cookies.

His Grandmother smiled. "Magic has a way of guiding you, even when you yourself do not know the way. There are no coincidences, Draco. Everything happens for a reason."

000

They were walking down the busy streets of Muggle London, pushing their way through throngs of people. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were wearing Muggle clothes, so they blended in quite well. Malfoy on the other hand, was dressed in his usual attire, which was drawing him quite a few odd looks from passersby.

He was wearing a sweeping black cloak, dragon hide boots, and a silver studded belt. His cloak was trimmed in silver, and there was an ornate, carved silver pin clasping his cloak together at the throat. He would have looked quite stylish on the streets of Diagon Alley, but the Leaky Cauldron was several blocks away, and his attire gave off the airs of someone who was going off to the coast to battle invading hordes of Normans in the Middle Ages. Also, his outfit had been completely trashed by his attack and subsequent escape from the Death Eaters last week.

It was not wise for someone who was trying to hide from a large group of killers to stand out in a crowd. As they walked, Hermione noticed Malfoy seemed to be becoming keenly aware of the deficiencies of his attire as well. In addition to the oddities of his appearance, there was a long, slitted tear running up his sleeve. He was nervously trying to hide something on his forearm, but his sleeve kept flapping open…

"Clothes," said Hermione suddenly.

"What?" asked Ron in confusion.

"We ought to buy clothes," she said quickly. "Muggle clothes. So we blend in."

"But—we do blend—" argued Ron, but Hermione grabbed him and dragged him and Malfoy into the nearest Muggle clothing shop.

"Harry needs a better belt," she said matter-of-factly. She pointed to Harry's belt, which formerly belonged to Dudley the Boy-Blimp and only fit his waist because he had punched about six extra holes in it with a screwdriver. "If he's going to rush around with that thing on it."

Godric Gryffindor's blade, under a Disillusioment Charm of course, was strapped to Harry's waist as if he were a mythical hero. She shooed Harry and Ron off to the front corner of the store, leaving her alone with Malfoy.

"Clothes?" he said. He folded his arms and stared at her, a smirk playing faintly upon his lips.

"Yes, clothes," said Hermione, her tone businesslike. "You—" She pushed Malfoy towards the back of the shop. "look like you were chewed up, partially digested, and spat back out by a Hungarian Horntail. People on the street are staring at you, and that's not the best thing in the world when you're on the run and trying to keep a low profile."

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond to this—probably with copious amount of sarcasm—but a young saleswoman strode quickly up to them, her hands clasped together expectantly.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, her eyes glinting. She gestured towards Malfoy. "He needs an outfit."

000

Draco sat behind the curtain in the changing room, livid with rage. This was completely ridiculous. The stupid Muggle store worker woman had thrown a pile of clothes at him and manhandled him into this wretched little room, expecting him to strip down and actually wear these Muggle rags.

Granger had threatened him with more bodily harm if he didn't "try them on," with all manner of haste. (Imagine, clothes that were made without individually measuring their future wearer. How the hell would they know if it fit or not? Stupid Muggles.)

"I'm not coming out," fumed Draco, refusing to look in the mirror.

"Oh, please, I'm sure it's not that bad," Granger huffed impatiently, tapping her foot. "Come on, Malfoy, we really don't have all day."

"I'm not trying on anything else, this is idiotic!" he said angrily from inside the booth.

"Fine!" said Granger irritatedly. "Then you're going to have to wear whatever the bloody hell you have on. Just come out here and we'll leave." Grumbling, he threw the curtain aside and stomped out, hating Granger even more. (If that was possible.)

000

Hermione had to clamp her jaw shut to keep from gawking. Draco Malfoy was wearing leather pants. The salesgirl obviously had a rather insane sense of style, but…an excellent one. In retrospect, she probably should have been suspicious when she looked at what the salesgirl was wearing—torn jeans, far too much black eyeliner, and neon green hair that would have made Tonks proud. Hermione had given her only two specifications—black, and long sleeved.

Malfoy stormed passed her, only pausing to glare spitefully like a toddler who has been forced into eating steamed vegetables. He was wearing a long sleeved black collared shirt, and a pair of black leather pants.

Hermione gaped, despite herself. Had he always looked like that? Though not quite as tall as Harry or Ron, he had grown up considerably over the summer. He was not so much thin and short, but tall and lean and muscular. Apparently, all those years of Quidditch had paid off. And—he was wearing leather pants.

Harry and Ron had found a suitable belt. They were standing at the counter when Malfoy stormed past. Harry and Ron gaped as well—though for a very different reason. Malfoy continued walking, without stopping, until he had left the store. Ron and Harry immediately began snickering. Hermione sighed and paid for his clothes while he stood outside and sulked. Then, she began giggling as well.

000

"How much for this one?" asked Harry, pointing to a bottle of jet black dust. They were standing in the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, searching for supplies for their impending journey. They had decided it was best to stay on the move, given the circumstances.

"I told you, Harry," said Fred, sighing in exasperation. "Everything in the store—"

"Is absolutely free, for you," finished George, nodding in agreement. Harry looked embarrassed but placed the vial of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder into his pocket.

Hermione watched as Malfoy sulked around the store, eyes roving over the colorful shelves. It was partially because of him that they were here—his idea to use the Weasley's products offensively was actually rather ingenious. However, when the news that Death Eaters had used their merchandise in a mission to assassinate their favorite professor had reached Fred and George, they had been offended on an extremely personal level. They glared hatefully at Malfoy as he passed near them.

"In fact," said Fred. "We would be deeply offended if all of you didn't take whatever you needed—"

"To do whatever you need to do," said George.

Malfoy approached a shelf and reached towards a package of Soothsayer Mints, but Fred and George immediately surrounded him, and Fred slapped his hand away with a rolled up stack of parchment before he could touch anything.

"Not for Death Eaters," said Fred in a voice one would use to scold a misbehaving puppy.

"Quite true," agreed George. "In fact, if not for Hermione's insistence that it would be quite dangerous for you to wait outside—"

"—which doesn't sound like a bad thing to me—" interjected Fred.

"—you would not be allowed on our premises at all," finished George. "So—"

"—you're not allowed to buy anything—"

"—or touch anything—"

"—actually don't look at anything either, it's quite offensive."

They finished, and their identical faces split into merry grins. "Cheers."

"Enjoy your shopping."

Muttering angrily and scowling, (which he seem to be becoming quite talented at lately) Malfoy shoved his hands into his pockets and skulked off to the back of the store. Hermione felt a pang of inexplicable guilt. They were being awfully hard on him. He wasn't really evil, she reflected uncomfortably, just...complicated. He lived in a world with a fair few more nuances and complexities than someone like Ron could ever possibly hope to come to terms with. OK, maybe he was a tad bit evil.

Fred and George whirled around and continued chattering as if nothing had happened.

"Here try this—" said George, offering something that looked like a glowing blue cube to Harry. "Just developed it, you know."

"What is it?" asked Ron, peering over Harry's shoulder as the dark haired boy placed the box into his hand and examined it.

"Well, it's actually rather nifty," said Fred, "you see—" Something began shrieking and flashing in from inside the pocket of George's robes. The twins sighed audibly.

"I do believe we forgot to say no stealing—" said Fred, frowning.

"That was an oversight," said George. He pulled the Sneakoscope out of his pocket and pressed the top, immediately stopping the noise. The both craned their necks around one of the long aisles and looked at the end, where Malfoy was still examining things in a would-be-casual stance. He was in front of a large stack of neon pink boxes. He picked one up and peered inside.

"That's not a good idea," said Fred, making a tutting noise with his tongue.

"Very true," agreed George emphatically. "Honestly, if someone were just to say the proper incantation while he was holding that thing—"

"Which is SOMNIUM! by the way…" said Fred loudly, grinning wickedly.

"The results could be quite entertaining."

000

Draco peered into the little pink box. There was a small quantity of glowing, electric pink mist floating inside, resting on the bottom and swirling like thick, London fog as he shook the box. He stared at it curiously, mostly because he was extremely bored and had nothing better to do.

He thought he heard someone shout something from the front of the store, but he couldn't quite make out what they said. The pink mist suddenly shot out of the box and invaded his mouth and nostrils, shooting straight through into his head. It smelled sort of like a flowers, only over concentrated to the point of inducing nausea—sort of the way Pansy wore her perfume. He gasped as the shop suddenly faded away, and was replaced by a very strange scene.

The smell of salt and breezy sea air assaulted his senses. He was standing on the bowsprit of a ship, which was tossing violently in choppy waves. Ocean spray splattered against his face, wind whipped through his blond hair, and his silky black dress whipped behind him as the ship rose and fell—HIS DRESS?

He looked down at his clothes in horror. What the hell was he doing in a dress? The leather pants were bad enough, considering he was fairly sure they had been made out of Muggle "cow" beast or something of the like. He didn't have time to ponder this for long however, because he was roughly grabbed and spun around, his shoulders pinned down to the wooden railing.

A large, muscular man with a flowing mane of wavy brown hair had him pinned down, their bodies pressed together in a very suggestive way. His brown eyes were large and soulful, and his lacy white shirt was open halfway down his torso, revealing a tan, broad shouldered, muscular body.

"AHH!" yelled Draco furiously. "GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!" The man ignored his protests.

"Oh, my sweet Dracohhw," said the man, pronouncing Draco's name wrong in a deep, raspy voice. He had a thick, over-exaggerated foreign accent. "Do not spurn my love! The fire between us burns with such passion! Such heat! Love me, my sweet, love me, and I'll take you away from all of your worries…" He bowed his thick neck, down, as if to kiss Draco's neck.

"AUGH!" screamed Draco. "GET OFF ME YOU GIT! ARE YOU INSANE?" He flailed wildly, but he found his only weapon was the lacey white fan clutched within his gloved hand. He promptly smacked the man across the face with it, and wriggled free of his grasp. The man clutched his stinging cheek, smiling, his eyes alight.

"I love your fire!" he growled passionately. "Kiss me! I must have you now!" He lunged towards Draco, who immediately fled, screaming bloody murder, as he was chased across the deck of the ship.

000

Hermione sighed. They were crowded over Malfoy, who was lying on the floor of the Weasley's shop.

"Serves him right," said Fred cheerily.

"Our testers had said these little things are quite fun—if used properly that is," said George, shaking his head.

"Aren't they for girls?" asked Ron, looking at Malfoy and snickering.

"Yes," said Fred. "Yes, they most definitely are."

"Unless you're into that sort of thing—" added George.

"Which we have nothing against," clarified Fred.

"He certainly doesn't look like he's having a very good time of it," observed Harry, tilting his head and staring at Malfoy. He really didn't seem to be happy, noticed Hermione. He was on the floor, rolling around and flailing his arms wildly, and screaming as if he were being assaulted by a pack of rabid wolves.

They all stood idly by and observed this phenomenon in amusement for awhile, until Hermione interrupted.

"Really," she said in exasperation, stamping her foot. "Isn't this a little bit mean?" Ron blinked at her.

"Define 'mean,' " he said slowly, smiling innocently.

Hermione frowned, and pointed her wand at Malfoy. "Finite Incantatem." He immediately stopped yelling and sat bolt upright, panting and looking deeply traumatized.

"Aww," said the rest of the group in disappointment. They proceeded to wander away. Malfoy let out a stream of expletives, and Hermione took that as her cue to walk away.

000

Their next stop was Gringotts. Money was definitely an object. Hermione was carrying some Muggle money in her pocket, but, as she gently reminded her companions while they ate lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, they would probably not be getting free room, board, and food for the rest of their journey.

"Key?" hissed a wizened looking goblin from his perch high on the countertop.

Harry fumbled through his pockets and finally extracted the key to his vault. The goblin took it and examined it carefully through narrowed eyes.

"Very well," he said, handing the key back to Harry with his long, spindly fingers. He turned his intense gaze towards Malfoy. "Ah…" he breathed. "Young Master Malfoy. What business draws you here, on this day?"

"I wish to make a withdrawal, Grypkik," said Malfoy, his tone casual, yet businesslike. Hermione raised an eyebrow. Did Goblin sentiments lie with Pureblooded families after all? It was convenient—they held most of the wealth in the community, and would therefore be the banks most valuable assets. And he knew Malfoy by appearance. Honestly.

They were escorted towards the back of the bank, and loaded into carts. As his unofficial-make-sure-he-doesn't-run-away-babysitter, Hermione went with Malfoy in one cart (which happened to be quite a bit larger and lined with velvet, whatever the hell that was about), and Harry and Ron went in another.

Malfoy's face remained expressionless as they flew wildly around bends along the darkened track. Hermione gripped the sides of the cart, feeling vaguely ill. She had never ridden down into the bowels of the bank before; her parents had always exchanged their Muggle money directly, upstairs at the counter. She felt like she was on a roller coaster. Finally, the cart screeched to a halt outside a pair of large ornately carved doors. Malfoy looked at her strangely, glancing appraisingly at her green-tinged face. He grabbed her hand and helped her as she climbed shakily out of the cart.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, cocking his head slightly.

"I'm fine," she said breathlessly, once her feet were thankfully back on solid ground. Malfoy was still holding her hand. They were both silent for a moment. Then suddenly, they both retracted their hands rather quickly. Hermione blushed, looking away at the vault doors. What the hell was that about?

Were all vaults this big? She had nothing to compare it too, of course. The goblin who had been driving their cart hopped down and strode over to the doors. With the brush of a silver key and the stroke of a long, delicate finger, the doors slowly creaked open. Malfoy quickly strode in, apparently quite unimpressed by this phenomenon. Hermione followed behind him, her breath catching in her throat when the contents of the room met her eyes.

Bloody hell. No wonder Malfoy strutted around like he owned the school. He probably could own the school if he wanted to. He could buy it, along with several small islands. Or perhaps he could buy a moderately sized foreign country, the capital of which he could rename "Draconia" if he wanted to. The vault was at least two stories high, with large vaulted ceilings and two, rectangular rooms, full of centuries worth of gold, silver, precious gems, and strange treasures that nevertheless looked extremely valuable. Malfoy looked at the glittering stacks impassively. He snatched a small, drawstring bag from their goblin tour guide and disappeared into the second room.

Something in the corner of the room caught Hermione's eye. It was (what else?) several large bookcases, brimming with neatly stacked leather bound volumes of text. She immediately flocked over to it, skimming the spines with her fingertips. Dates and names were printed in tiny silver letters on the deep red covers, spanning all the way back to 1069, when Augustin Baleine Malfoy came to England from Northern France. She finally came to the very bottom of the shelf, her fingers brushing against two volumes at the very end of the shelf. Lucius Edric Malfoy, son of Abraxas Malfoy and Cassiopeia Derron and directly next to it…Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. She lifted it quietly from the shelf and opened it. It was a short list of his grades throughout school, which she already knew weren't that astonishing, and his accomplishments—school prefect, Quidditch Seeker, Slytherin House.

The last page contained a very neat replica of his O.W.L. results, copied faithfully in flawless penmanship. She should probably not be snooping through his things, but she was too far in now, and much too curious to quit. She scanned down the page, gawking at it. O…O…O…E…E…O…E…O…O...E...O...E. How the hell did he manage that? He had gotten as many OWL's as she had! Not nearly as many O's, but still—he had an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts! That was not fair at all! She had never, ever seen him study for anything, and she ought to know, considering she spent over half of her waking hours in the library…How had he managed…?

"I test well," drawled a voice from behind her, causing her to whirl around in alarm. Malfoy stared at her evenly, a sneer adorning his pale face. He swiped the book out of her hands and tossed it violently back onto the shelf. "And I'll thank you to keep your hands off my things, Granger," he said, as he strode out of the vault. Face flushed, Hermione followed behind him.

000

They were leaving Diagon Alley, walking in a tight group as usual. Dumbledore's death seemed to have increased people's unease about going outside exponentially. Diagon Alley, and many of its shops, were practically deserted. Suddenly, Harry stiffened. He cursed under his breath, but continued walking as if nothing was wrong.

"What is it?" asked Ron nervously.

"We're being followed," said Harry in a low voice, barely moving his lips. Hermione's stomach twisted uncomfortably. From within her pocket, her hand tightened on her wand.

"Where?" she whispered fearfully, not turning her head.

"Across the street," said Malfoy, suddenly joining into the conversation. His gaze flitted behind them for a split second. "Both Carrows, Yaxley, Sernab—" He frowned. "Don't know the other two." Harry looked at him in surprise, though he barely turned his head.

"Duck into that alleyway," he said sharply. "Now." They all hurried to their left as smoothly as possible. Crouched low to the ground nearest to the street, Harry peered carefully around the edge of the building. He snapped his head back.

"I don't think we lost them," said Harry, his face somewhat paler than usual.

"Well, that's hard to believe," said Malfoy sarcastically, apparently unable to resist insulting Harry, regardless of the circumstances. "Your plan to throw ourselves into a dirty alleyway was genius. Absolutely inspired." Harry glared at him, as if considering whether or not to tell him off.

"Here," he said, thrusting Malfoy's wand into his hands. "They're probably here to kill you as well as us." Malfoy looked surprised for a moment, then nodded.

"We don't want to be cornered in here," said Harry wisely. "On the count of three, we go out together. Ready?" They all nodded in agreement.

"One…" As Hermione reflected on it, she knew that being in an alleyway with Death Eaters advancing on you was not an ideal location. Somehow, however, it felt right.

"Two…" She felt a sense of rightness, of absoluteness, shoulder to shoulder with her two best friends. No matter what the situation, this was exactly where she belonged. Together, until whatever end. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

"Three!" They flung themselves out of the alley, wands drawn, to find themselves completely surrounded.

000

Potter and Weasley had gotten pushed away from Draco. They were standing in front of Sally's Second Hand Robe Shop, fighting four against two. They were rather preoccupied in the conflict but seemed to have the upper hand. Draco didn't have much time to ponder this however, because he was quite busy fighting his own battle. Terrance Sernab, who was hulking, blond, and somewhat obsessed with the Cruciatus Curse, was towering over him, a crazed grin on his face.

"Young Malfoy," he snarled. "Rumors say you've turned traitor." Malfoy sidestepped as a jet of red light soared past him. Ah, well. At least he had his wand back.

"Well, they must be more than rumors, Sernab," he said softly. "Or you wouldn't be here trying to kill me."

"Cru—" Predictable as usual. Idiot.

"Expelilaimus!" yelled Draco, cutting him off. Sernab's wand flew in a smooth arc and landed in Draco's hand. He pointed his wand at him. "Suffoco!" Sernab sunk to the ground, gasping and choking until he lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious, but not dead.

Draco whirled around, his thoughts suddenly flying to…

000

Hermione was across the street from Malfoy, and even farther away from Harry and Ron, struggling desperately against a huge, dark haired wizard. She was standing in front of Ollivander's Wand Shop. Long since abandoned, the front of the shop was crumbling slowly from the sheer force of spells ricocheting off of it.

She tried everything she could think off, but there was just no logic to…well, violence. He was backing her into the wall.

He fired another curse at her. She jumped sideways, but lodged her foot in a freshly opened crack in the ground. She struggled, but was unable to free herself.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she cried, but the Death Eater dove out of the way and skittered around behind her. She twisted around desperately her foot still trapped.

"Stupe—" she began.

"Expelliarmus!" countered the Death Eater. A large, angry cut appeared on her hand, and her wand flew from her hand. He leered at her as he advanced from behind. She flailed wildly as he grabbed her bleeding hand by the wrist, but froze as she felt the tip of his wand pressing against her head.

"I could draw this out," he hissed. "But I have other matters to attend to, and very little time to spare for such…entertainment."

So this was it. She was stuck, wandless, and everyone else seemed otherwise occupied. She looked above her, carefully observing the angle at which the wall was leaning. If someone hit it in just the right spot…the whole thing would probably come tumbling down.

The Death Eater began to utter a curse. "Avad—"

Fine. If that's the way it was going to be—she would be damned if she didn't take this moron with her.

She thrashed suddenly, knocking them both backwards. She was still stuck, and landed as such. The Death Eater behind her slammed full force into the wall, which let out a groan of protest before the entire stone front of the shop fell forward with an almighty lurch. Hermione shut her eyes tightly.

Instead of feeling several tons of stone masonry shower all over her, she suddenly felt something blasting her ankle free. A voice screamed something, and she lurched forward through the air, landing heavily in someone's outstretched arms, her eyes still shut tightly. She opened her eyes, expecting to see Harry, or even Ron, but instead…

"Malfoy?" she gasped in disbelief. His pale face was contorted with rage.

"I suppose you think that was brave, don't you?" he said furiously.

"Malfoy—" she began, but he continued ranting.

"You Gryffindors are all alike! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Malfoy!" she interrupted again.

"For someone so smart, you are an idiot! You could have been killed! Why are you all so obsessed with heroics? I swear—"

"Draco!" she said loudly. He stopped, staring at her. She was still in his arms, her hands around his neck. "You—you just—you saved my life," she said, her voice a mixture of shock and confusion.

He gaped at her. Apparently, the very same thing had just dawned on him. He nearly dropped her, setting her roughly to her feet on the ground. "Yeah—I—I—" he stammered, stiffening. She was standing on her own, gazing at him. "Er—now we're square, I guess," he said nervously, staring pointedly at the ground.

Several loud cracks sounded as the remaining, conscious Death Eaters Disapperated. Harry and Ron were running towards them. They were still staring at each other, an uncomfortable silence building between them.

"You—got blood on my shirt," he said suddenly, examining his collar and scowling in irritation.

"I did not!" she protested, also staring at his collar and frowning. "You got blood on you shirt." She pointed to a cut on his cheek, which was dripping a small amount of blood down onto his neck. Then she looked at the cut on her own hand. "OK," she agreed. "I may have gotten a tiny amount of blood on your shirt. But who cares anyway? It's a black shirt. Just clean it." She turned and raced off towards Harry and Ron, still not sure she was going to be able to process what just happened.

000

Draco stared in surprise at the front of his shirt. Hermio—er—the Mudblood had dripped her filthy blood, the most impure part of her, all over his collar. He could still see a stream of it running down his neck.

She had been right though. There was a cut on his face that was trickling down into his collar as well. He stared at both streams—his centuries old Pureblood and her impure, filthy Muggle blood.

He marveled silently, because quite honestly, he couldn't for the life of him tell the difference between the two.

000

AN: Wheeeeee! I'm sorry this chapter was sort of fluffy. I notice a lot of reviewers are getting anxious for the romance to bloom. I'm sorry! I'm trying to be realistic here. They're enemies. Things have to brew slowly. (There were a few things in this chapter, right?) They're not just going to fall into each other's arms and start kissing! …Until next chapter that is. Whoops! Was that a spoiler? Dreadfully sorry. Hehehe.

My sister told me that the fantasy box was very, very sick, but also very funny. I hope you guys agree, lol. It's canon! Those things were totally in book 6, with the horny pirate and everything.

A note about Draco's OWL's: I always thought he was smart but never applied himself or whatever. I know people (mostly guys) who never study or do homework, but miraculously do amazing on standardized testing…and it's annoying! But it happens. So that's how I see Draco's brain. So..there…