Chapter 18: Through the Cracks

After a good while of waiting for someone to find him, and then wandering in search for a path that looked familiar, Draco realized there was nothing for it: his best chance of getting out of the Forest alive tonight was to return to that clearing.

It was some sort of curse of the Forest that, as soon as Draco decided that as his course of action, he found it. The unicorn was still there. Whatever had been feeding on it was not. Neither was Potter.

Had that thing grabbed him? Was it even worth returning to Hogwarts, in that case? Surely, if Potter had died tonight, Draco would be blamed for it. Maybe it was his fault, considering Draco had left him there.

Draco poked his head enough into the clearing to see the stars. He had to step out because he couldn't see Polaris from where he was. It twinkled brightly to his rear, so Draco needed to head right. He kept a wide berth around the unicorn and pushed past the thick branches of an oak tree to find where he and Potter had arrived at the clearing. He braced himself to find a body there, but there was nothing. No blood either, so Draco released a heavy sigh of relief.

With the fear of murder accusations off his mind, Draco was free to be terrified again for his own safety. He had no choice but to trust the path he walked to end up at Hogwarts.

Thankfully, it did. Draco almost couldn't believe his luck when he stepped out onto the castle lawn. Hagrid's cabin was dark. Draco had no idea if that meant the others had made it back.

He headed for the dungeons. Draco didn't realize how slick he was with sweat until he undressed inside his bed curtains. He started to tremble. Even though he was cold, it had more to do with the night's events catching up to him. Draco wondered if a shower would help him feel better.

Physically, yes, but the dark dorm left him unsettled. Every time Draco nearly drifted off, fear that he remained in the Forest would jar him back into full consciousness. Draco lit his wand again just to make sure he wasn't curled up under a tree somewhere, delirious with fatigue from wandering around for hours.

If it wasn't that, it was fear that something in a dark cloak stood over Draco. It didn't help that, one time when Draco opened his eyes, someone was standing over him. He yelped.

It was Snape, backlit by the early dawn coming down through the lake.

"He's here," Snape said to someone, and then he was gone.

Draco didn't feel like he'd slept at all when murmurs woke him. He blinked blearily when his bed curtains opened. All four boys from his dorm poked their heads in.

"You're still asleep?" Crabbe asked. "It's coming on noon."

Draco closed his eyes, sighed, and rested his head on his pillow again.

"Were you really missing?" Nott broke the silence. "We overheard the prefects say you were lost in the Forbidden Forest."

"No," Draco tersely answered. "I found my way back."

"All by yourself?" That was Blaise.

"It's not hard if you know the sky." Draco pulled the blanket over his head. "Honestly, what are any of you going to do in a tight spot if you don't think of that?"

"Well, we're glad you're all right," Goyle said. "Are you getting up?"

Draco said no, but it wasn't until hours later that he realized he might as well have. There was still no sleep to be had between horrible dreams and an otherwise racing mind. It came up on dinner when Draco emerged from the dungeons. Through a yawn, he heard the castle's front doors open.

"Oh, eh. . .Malfoy."

Draco opened his eyes. His face curled immediately into a scowl to see Hagrid standing there.

"Disappointed to see me back, are you?" Draco asked.

"Nah, 'course not." Hagrid shifted on his feet. "Glad, actually."

"Didn't much care to get the sack, I suppose," Draco said. "It could still be arranged, you know. You just wait until my father hears about you abandoning me in there. I would imagine nobody thought it worth mentioning to him. Why would anyone want a school governor to hear about how some mad brute nearly had a student done in?"

"Yeh weren't gonna be done in." Hagrid found some force to put into his voice, but it still lacked in complete conviction. "A lot was goin' on. Why didn' yeh put up red sparks like I told yeh? None of us could be blamed fer ferg—" He stopped suddenly.

"For what?" Draco closed the gap between them, anger rearing. "For what, Hagrid? Forgetting about me?"

Hagrid stood stone still.

"I know what I saw," Draco said to him when they stood toe-to-toe. "You had a dragon in your hut. You let Potter and Granger get in trouble to get rid of it. You let Weasley get bit. I've read about Ridgebacks, you know. He could have lost that hand if it wasn't treated properly. So how did Madam Pomfrey know what it was? You had no choice but to tell her, did you? Or maybe Dumbledore recognized it. Aren't you so lucky he takes pity on savages? Where would you be, if not for him? Somewhere cold—wet—and depressing," Draco finished, relishing how pale Hagrid had gone. "Wouldn't you?"

"I. . ."

"I don't care how long it takes me," Draco kept on in a low, even voice. "Days, months—years. You'll pay for this. I'll make you wish something got me in the Forest, and that all it cost you was your pathetic job."

As good it felt to tell Hagrid his mind, it didn't help Draco forget what he had seen in the Forest. He suffered a few more sleepless nights and a complete loss of concentration before he decided it needed to be addressed.

Potter didn't look any better. Anytime Draco saw him, he appeared ready for something to come charging into the school and attack him. He'd seen the same thing, after all. It wasn't a Dementor—Draco didn't think—but it was still something capable of digging its fingers into their psyche.

Draco waited in the Entrance Hall after dinner on Wednesday. When Potter emerged, flanked by Weasley and Granger, Draco stepped out in front of them. They all came to a stop, similar expressions of loathing all setting into place.

"I need a word." It nearly pained Draco to say that to Potter.

"Yeah, no thanks."

They all brushed past, Weasley making sure to bump Draco with his shoulder. Draco grabbed Potter's elbow, but he yanked it back as if Draco's hand burned hot.

"Go away, Malfoy," Potter said over his shoulder. "I've nothing to say to you."

How Draco managed to focus on his exams the week following, he had no idea. Well, the short answer was that he didn't. Draco still couldn't sleep properly, unless he wanted to find himself back in the Forest being stalked by something. He became prone to crying fits at night, given how frustrated he was. Finally, after nearly dozing off during the History of Magic exam, he broke down and went to Madam Pomfrey for a Sleeping Draught. She wouldn't give him one.

Draco headed for the dorm. The other boys were all outside celebrating the end of exams, and all Draco could do was sob into his pillow out of combined fatigue, frustration, and defeat. It was the worst fit of it he'd had. Maybe that was why he finally fell asleep. Even aware he dreamed, Draco grew terrified. The curtains around his bed turned into that cloaked figure. Draco couldn't move as fingers ran over his neck, searching for somewhere to feed from. When Draco finally gasped himself awake, he laid in a pool of sweat. It had gone dark outside.

This couldn't go on. Draco snuck through the full common room and the dungeon corridors to knock at Snape's office. Snape didn't answer, nor did he at his personal quarters. Draco took a seat beside the door. Surely, Snape would turn in sooner than later.

Footsteps approached about half an hour after that. When Snape rounded the corner in the corridor, his shoe scuffed the stone floor.

Draco's brow furrowed. Snape looked pale, almost waxen.

"Malfoy," Snape spoke. "What are you doing here? You should be in the common room, if not asleep at this hour."

"I needed to see you, sir." Draco grimaced as he stood. His bum had gone numb, and his tailbone felt flat from sitting on it for so long. "I need a Sleeping Draught."

"A Sleeping Draught," Snape repeated. There was no mistaking it, he sounded completely distracted. "What for?"

"To sleep?" Draco said. "Sir, are you. . .are you all right?"

Snape beckoned Draco to follow him with a couple fingers. "I'll give you a Draught, but it's kept in my office."

Draco rushed to catch up. "Sir, has something happened?"

Snape exhaled while staring ahead. "A teacher died tonight."

Draco stopped. Whatever chill had afflicted him in the Forest had nothing on what crawled down his spine to hear that.

"Who?" he practically demanded. "How?"

"Professor Quirrell," Snape answered, "and I can't tell you how."

"Because you don't know, or because I'm not allowed to know?"

Snape looked back at Draco, also stopped. His face was too much in torch-shadow for Draco to see it.

"Come along, Malfoy," Snape said. "Do you want the Draught or not?"

Draco never would've slept without it. As soon as it wore off come morning, he startled awake.

Everyone had already heard about Quirrell. They were all in shock. Through that, more of the story started to emerge as tidbits of gossip reached the Slytherin common room.

Draco had completely forgotten about Dumbledore's warning at the beginning of the school year not to venture into the one third-floor corridor. Apparently a three-headed dog was behind it—of which some older Slytherins claimed to already know after having poked their heads in. It guarded a trapdoor that led down into the dungeons somewhere. Whatever was hidden down there had drawn in Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Professor Quirrell.

Of those four, only Weasley and Granger were seen walking around the castle. Quirrell was dead, and Potter unconscious in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey might as well be the three-headed dog for how difficult getting in there to glimpse Potter was.

Stories began to emerge about what else had been down the trapdoor. There were protective enchantments set by several of the professors. Draco furrowed his brow at tales of a life-sized chessboard, but he was far from the only Slytherin whose eyes widened at mention of a troll. So that was where it had come from, on Halloween.

Granger had only been able to get to the second-last enchantment with Potter. Everything beyond there, where Potter and Quirrell had gone, was a complete mystery. A lot of the older Slytherins got carried away wondering what on Earth had been kept in the castle. Guesses ranged from Dubán, to Pridwen, to Dyrnwyn, to an alchemy stone, to Lorg Mór, to the Deathly Hallows, to the Lady of the Lake's necklace, and on and on from there.

While this all raged on around Draco, his mind went elsewhere.

"He killed him, don't you realize?" Draco spoke loudly enough for the other first-years to hear.

Nott's head snapped toward him. "What?"

"Potter," Draco said. "He killed Professor Quirrell."

Blaise shifted beside him. "You can't say that. He wouldn't have. Besides, he got hurt too."

"Did he?" Draco asked. "Has anyone actually seen him?"

"I don't know, Malfoy," Nott replied. "I heard Weasley telling someone that they went down there to stop Quirrell from getting whatever was being kept safe. They knew he was going to try to steal it. They've known for months, apparently."

"And how do you reckon Potter stopped him? Death is a pretty good way, isn't it?"

But nobody wanted to think about it. Even if Potter had, some of the older Slytherins reasoned, wasn't it necessary at that point? Potter had come so close to it himself. Could he be blamed if that's how things went? Would any of them have done any differently, had they found themselves in that situation?

Draco felt as though they all ignored something crucial. If Potter had killed Quirrell—for any reason—this wasn't the first time something like that had happened. What about the Dark Lord? Potter had killed him ten years ago. And nobody thought it strange that this happened again?

News went around on Monday that Potter was awake. The end-of-year feast had been delayed from Saturday because of everything to do with Quirrell, and would take place Tuesday instead. Slytherin had won the House Cup, and it would be time to celebrate that where the rest of the school would have no chance to ignore it anymore.

Seeing how annoyed the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors were about it pulled Draco tentatively out of the mood he'd been in for the last few weeks. Sleeping again at night helped too.

Dumbledore arrived in the Great Hall and stood at the front.

"Another year gone!" he addressed them all, "and I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts."

Draco laughed, finally feeling like he'd taken Nott's advice to loosen up.

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding. The points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three-hundred and twelve points. In third, Hufflepuff, with three-hundred and fifty-two. Ravenclaw have four-hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, four-hundred and seventy-two."

Slytherin roared anew. Draco banged his goblet on the table along with the rest in his year, grinning broadly.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin!" Dumbledore told them. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

Draco's stomach fell. Even without Dumbledore saying he had some last-minute points to award, Draco had a strong feeling what was about to happen. He wasn't the only one. Further along the table, Hazel Selwyn wiped a few times under her eyes. Ellie looked like she trembled beside her, but it was just from the force of her foot bouncing against the floor. Higgs, who had caught the Snitch during the last match and won the Quidditch Cup for them, looked ill. Flint clenched his fists.

". . .Third, to Mr Harry Potter," Dumbledore kept on, "for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

"That's even," someone whispered. "They're drawn with us."

"There are all kinds of courage," Dumbledore said again once the other three houses had fallen quiet from their shouting and cheering. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom."

Draco fell numb in the utter roar that filled the Great Hall. When all the green and silver hangings turned scarlet and gold, he bowed his head so that no one could see the angry tears in his eyes. It probably didn't even matter if he had cried at the table. Draco certainly wouldn't have been alone in that, much to the ignorance of everyone celebrating the robbery of Slytherin.

The seven-year magical boon Slytherin had earned turned into a bane, and it started the very next morning. As per the request of summons Draco had received at breakfast, he took a seat opposite Snape in his office.

"Despite everything that's happened this last week," Snape said, "the teachers have been working through marking exams. After seeing the results of yours, I'm compelled to speak with you."

Draco's heart started to pound. He wanted to ask if that was good news, but he hardly even remembered writing or performing any of them thanks to the exhaustive fog he'd been in.

"What happened?" Snape asked when Draco said nothing. "I am utterly baffled as to how you performed so poorly, and I am far from the only teacher. Were I not eyewitness to your potions-making all year, I might have suspected that your homework marks were manufactured."

"Manufactured, sir?" Draco hollowly repeated.

"That either you copied someone else's, or had them do it for you."

As Draco's breath came with difficulty, he wished now that he hadn't forbidden himself to cry last night with so many others in the Slytherin common room. He'd done enough of that this year, and he was tired of feeling like a baby. However, sitting in front of Professor Snape, who both sounded and looked so very disappointed, hurt like a knife to the stomach. Draco gasped for air, suddenly nauseous as he thought about how his parents were going to react to this news.

"Did I fail?" Draco managed. "Did I not pass?"

"You passed your classes. Luckily for you, the exams are weighed quite lightly against everything else in first year." Snape quietly cleared his throat. "It's. . .concerning, that you test so poorly. It will not bode you well in later years. Even in second year, exams will comprise roughly thirty-percent your final—"

"I'm sorry," Draco rasped while wiping his face. "I didn't—I'm sorry. I'll do better next year."

"It's had me thinking," Snape said. "You had come to me for a Sleeping Draught the night after your exams ended. I was perhaps too distracted at the moment to notice how out of sorts you were. Did something happen to put you off?"

Sniffling, Draco nodded.

"What was it?"

Snape stayed quiet while Draco told him about what he'd seen in the Forest, and how it had kept on scaring him long after his detention ended. Draco wasn't sure what Snape thought about all of it. He was completely unreadable when Draco had finished.

"Potter saw it too," Draco quietly said. "It isn't like the dragon. I wasn't alone."

"It's rather unfortunate that happened. I wish you had come to me sooner about it, so that your schoolwork didn't suffer."

"Me too."

While everyone else at Hogwarts was counting down the minutes until Saturday morning, when the Express would take them all back to London, Draco was not.

Just as he expected, his parents greeted him with subdued happiness laced with disappointment. Draco didn't want to let his mum go while they hugged on the platform. He knew that as soon as he did, she and Father would take him home so that they could properly discuss the letter Snape had to send home along with Draco's marks.

They'd barely arrived in the manor house's lobby when Father sighed. He looked down at Draco with his lips pressed.

"I know." Draco put his head down. "You don't have to say anything."

"We need to talk about it anyway," Father said. "Come, to the drawing room."

Draco took a seat in there, wishing beyond hope that he could just sink through the floor.

"Professor Snape told me about the discussion you had earlier this week," Father spoke after he and Mum sat down across from Draco. "About the Forbidden Forest."

Draco looked up.

"Naturally, I spoke to Dumbledore about it." Father's nostrils flared. "It was incredibly irresponsible to let Filch and Hagrid organize a detention like that. Going into the Forest. . .ridiculous. It shouldn't happen again."

"Right," Draco said quietly.

Father turned more serious. "I also spoke to Dumbledore about what you said you saw."

Draco's stomach leapt. "What about it?"

"He said he happened to speak to Potter about the Forbidden Forest after everything with Professor Quirrell." Father and Mum exchanged a quick glance. "Potter saw nothing like that."

"What?" Draco stood up. "Yes he did. He had to! He was all out of sorts—"

"Because of Quirrell," Father said.

"No!" Draco yelled, making his parents start. "I know what I saw! Why is everyone doing this to me? I saw that cloaked thing twice! Why would I lie? Why would I fail my exams on purpose?"

Mum spoke after a moment. "Darling, please sit."

Draco was too winded. He looked back and forth between them.

"I know what I saw," he asserted.

Father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just like Potter's dragon, right?"

Draco's lips parted. The phantom knife that still poked out of his stomach made itself known again as it was twisted.

"You don't believe me either," he said, "about any of it. Nobody does."

"Draco." Father sighed. "Potter was alone until Hagrid found him. How do you think he would have survived if there was something sinister there?"

"Why would I lie?" Draco demanded. "When have I ever lied about something like this?"

"I don't think you're lying," Father carefully said. "I believe that you believe you saw something. A dead unicorn—you never were very good with blood. . ."

The entire thing was hopeless. Draco's heart started to pound against his rib cage. Everyone thought Draco was seeing things in the Forest because he hadn't really seen a dragon. But he had seen the dragon!

Hadn't he?

"I think I need to go lay down in my room." Draco felt weak, stupid, confused, and everything in between. "I'm not feeling very well."

"All right, but this conversation isn't over," Father replied. "You need to prepare better for next term. I don't think a repeat of this year would have you keeping pace with your friends."

That was about the last thing Draco needed to hear. Stuck somewhere between wanting to kick a wall or throw himself off the second-floor gallery, he already had a wet face by the time he fell onto his bed. Out of everybody in the whole world, he expected his parents to believe him.

He wasn't a fool—or maybe he was. Was there something wrong with Draco, or with his brain, that led him to see the things he had? Had Draco imagined everything with the dragon? Was the note he'd accidentally nicked off Weasley real? Had Potter actually staged it all to get Draco in trouble? Were his eyes playing tricks on him in the Forest? Had Potter really seen him run off like an idiot at the sight of blood? Or was Potter lying? But why would he lie? And why was he all right, if they had really been in danger? And what about Quirrell? How did he fit in? Or was he completely irrelevant?

Draco ignored summons to dinner. He wasn't hungry at all, and hadn't really been since the ruined end-of-year feast. He fell asleep for a little while. When Draco woke up, the manor house was dark and stone silent.

His trunk had been brought up. Sniffling, Draco dug to the bottom of it for Tom's diary. He took it to his desk and opened it underneath a lamp.

Tom, he wrote. Are you there?

Hello, Draco, came the reply. How are you?

A/N: Well, that's it for Year 1 in this series! Year 2 continues with Draco Malfoy and the Bane of Slytherin, which can be found on my profile page.