Two days later, Draco was finally beginning to feel warm again (He had even smiled at Greg when he fell on his rump down the stairs in a hilarious pratfall), which of course meant that it was time for Potions Class, held in the creepiest, coldest room in the dungeons. (He was privately convinced Snape had done something to get the class moved to that particular classroom. Perhaps he had simply annoyed Dumbledore one time too many.) Oh, and one could never forget the Gryffindors.

Still, it was not for nothing that Draco Malfoy counted this his favorite class. He was both good at it, and well, Prof. Snape was nicer to his Slytherins than to everyone else - at least in public. Not one Slytherin, or any student really, ever dared call him soft. It was simply unthinkable.

Two thirds of the way through the class, when Draco had all of his ingredients snipped and ground and measured, and was spinning the rod slowly while counting the stirs, there was a sudden explosion from the back of the classroom. Bottomlong and right on schedule too.

Knowing the potion rather better than anyone else in class (except perhaps Granger, who never bothered to look up what could go wrong, Miss Perfect herself), Draco Malfoy hit the floor, all thoughts of having a perfect potion cancelled.

Draco heard the explosion reverberating around the room, but he didn't hear any screams. Cautiously, he got to his feet. Bottomlong was encased in a shield spell, and Prof. Snape was stalking over to him. Bottomlong looks atrocious. His clothes are dropping off him in shreds, and his skin is half doing the same thing.

Prof Snape hissed, in that peculiar carrying tone, "Mr. Longbottom, your potion skills are atrocious. Surely you must have some concept of how arrogant you are, to think that you might be able to perfect this potion during my valuable classtime? You're more arrogant than Potter, and that's quite an achievement." Prof. Snape finished that with a sneer - and Draco entirely lost track of what Prof. Snape said after that.

In fact, his vision had gone quite white. Draco Malfoy thought, and thought hard. Because he knew his godfather, and his godfather wouldn't have referenced Potter if he was dead. No, he wouldn't. Contrary to common belief, Draco Malfoy knew that his godfather took his students' deaths hard. There hadn't been any in his potions lab, of course, he was far too watchful for that. But there had been a few instances of children harming children - sometimes in rage, sometimes in true despair. Draco Malfoy remembered, listening on the edge of the room (looking out around the doorframe), Prof. Snape yelling, screaming - and Lucius Malfoy, who never let anyone scream around him, just letting him get it all out.

No, Potter wasn't dead.

Draco Malfoy didn't do a single thing right for the rest of the potions class, however, that put him slightly above Greg and Vince, who never did a thing right from the start to the end of class, so he escaped immediate detention. He hoped his godfather wouldn't call him on his inattention, but, Draco had to think - what in the blue blazes did this mean?

[a/n: write a review? I wasn't seriously going to make a story without Harry in it.]