Chapter One: Who, me?—Fourth Year

Fast forward to fourth year. The last of her baby fat has receded from Rachael Coy's face. Her dark curls hang to mid-back, and the piercing blue eyes no longer seem too large for her button nose and vulnerable mouth. Puberty is well under way, and her slender, pale form has started to garner notice from members of the opposite sex. Her quick mind has garnered the attention of her teachers, and she is teased not only for being a blood traitor but also for being a teacher's pet. She has yet to make lasting connections with her peers.

This didn't bother Rachael much, or at least she didn't show it. She had had to learn to fend for herself, but despite the ambition the Sorting Hat had noticed in her when she had been sorted, Rachael did not see fit to do more than that. She was quite content to be on her own, both socially and ideologically.

She was particularly content to be alone on a cloudy day, reading by Hogwarts Lake. The school was alive with the excitement of hosting the Triwizard Tournament, which Rachael didn't have an opinion on aside from "Well, if they want to get themselves killed, that's their choice." She turned a page, not really concentrating on the text, but rather thinking on something rather odd that had occurred yesterday.

Yesterday, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had been after her like hellhounds, knocking her precious books out of her hands and even going so far as to kick her when she bent to pick them up. They had flung all manner of curses at her when no teachers were around and made her miserable all day. Until…

Rachael had had enough. That was the last time they were going to hex her! She drew her wand and cast a bat-bogey hex on Goyle. However, at the same time, Crabbe shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Her wand had flown out of her hand. She tried to scrabble after it, terrified. Crabbe had gotten rid of her bat-bogey hex, and now both boys were grinning horribly, raising their wands. Rachael closed her eyes, prepared for the worst…

"Stop! Leave her alone!"

Rachael opened her eyes. She had to be hallucinating, because wasn't that Draco Malfoy standing between Crabbe and Goyle and her prone form?

"Well? I said leave!"

Crabbe and Goyle turned slowly. Draco turned to her and offered his hand. "Are you all right, Rachael?"

Rachael had been too stunned to take his hand at first, but eventually got herself together and let him help her up. "Um, yeah—they cursed me a lot, but I think I'll be okay. Um—thank you," she said sincerely, "Thank you so much. I'll tell you right now that I don't understand what you just did, but I am grateful."

Draco had just smiled back at her mysteriously.

What reason could he possibly have had for saving Rachael? He had never been her aggressor, sure, although others in his group of friends definitely had. But they hardly ever talked; in her four years at Hogwarts, she had barely said twenty words to him, all told. And besides, he was a Malfoy. He was supposed to hate her blood-traitor guts! And yet…

Rachael sighed, closing her book and leaning against the tree she was sitting under. This train of thought is quickly getting circular. She stared out at the lake, hopelessly confused.

A sudden warmth next to her alerted her of the presence of another human being. She figured she knew who it had to be, but waited for him to speak first.

"So, you're probably wondering why I called Crabbe and Goyle off you yesterday." The voice of Draco Malfoy said next to her. He laughed a little. "And probably wondering why I'm talking to you today."

"Yes, I am," said Rachael. Her eyes wandered to his chest, where a button flashing 'Potter Stinks' in green letters was pinned to his shirt.

Draco smiled, following her gaze. "My own invention of course." He sighed. "But anyway, there are a few answers to the questions you've posed me, and they might be a bit hard for you to understand. Hard for anyone to understand. But I'd appreciate it if you'd try, and of course I in turn will attempt to explain this in the clearest terms possible."

Rachael nodded. "Sure."

Draco took a deep breath. "To start with, Slytherin is the hardest House anyone can be sorted into. People are obsessed with family and names, and if you can prove that someone else is 'less' pureblood than you, your status is raised considerably. It's a vile caste system, and vicious. I'm not proud of quite a few things I've done as a result of its teachings." He stared out into the lake for a moment, a faraway sadness coloring the pale, sharp lines of his face.

In that moment, Rachael felt an aching sympathy for him. She knew what it was like to grow up pureblood, but she had been lucky because of her mother's liberal views and because by being excluded by Slytherin society, she was exempt from its rules and mores. In that moment, she could forget that she was speaking to Draco Malfoy. In that moment, all she could see in front of her was a boy whose pain ran deep into the marrow.

Draco started to speak again. "There are very few true friends in Slytherin. Everyone is necessarily out for themselves. Everyone keeps all their hurt and all their poison inside, except that which they're allowed to show—for instance, hatred, if it's directed at the right people." Draco's pale hands took Rachael's, and his gray eyes were locked desperately onto her blue ones. "Rachael, I'm going insane! I need someone to listen to me, and to listen to! I need honesty. I need trust. And I've seen you. You're alone. You're not polluted by pureblood ideals or by Slytherin codes of behavior." Draco sighed. "I just need a friend. A real friend." He laughed, running a hand through his white-blond hair. "You probably think I'm crazy by now."

Rachael put up a slim finger. She thought, which was what she did best, and after about five minutes, she came up with three conclusions. One: Draco Malfoy was serious, and was offering her friendship. Two: Draco Malfoy was in pain. Real emotional pain, as real as anything physical. And three: that her own pain was a firm supporter of the dictum "misery likes company," and that she would love to finally have at least one friend at Hogwarts.

So she said to Draco, "No. I don't think you're crazy. I think you're hurting. And that's far from the same thing." Draco took her hands in his again, unable to say anything, and a friendship was born.

Rachael was used to eating alone, so she always brought a book with her to breakfast. However, before she had even really settled in, a pale hand shoved the book away from her face. She frowned, staring up into the face of Draco Malfoy, who was deserting his goggle-eyed friends in order to sit with her at the edge of the Slytherin table. "Hi there," said the Slytherin Prince, quiet amusement lighting his gray eyes.

"Good morning, Draco. I'd be much obliged if you'd get your hand off of my book."

"Well," said Draco, sliding in next to her, "that depends on whether you'll keep talking to me if I remove my hand."

Rachael's eyes sparkled. "You have about a fifty-fifty chance."

Draco laughed and took his hand off of her book. "So have you done the bloody Divination assignment yet?"

They talked amicably. At first, Rachael was worried about the murderous looks being sent their way by Draco's friends, but upon seeing her anxious glance, Draco had said, "Don't worry, Rachael. They won't hurt you. I'll do any explaining they want me to do later." And he had smiled at her, and Rachael felt safe.

However, as soon as Draco had gone—he had had to leave breakfast early, muttering something about "Harry fucking Potter getting me into detention again,"—Pansy Parkinson marched up to Rachael. "Are you dating Draco Malfoy?" she asked loudly.

Rachael's eyes grew as wide as saucers. Then she started to laugh.

"What the fuck is so funny, Coy?"

"Nothing, just—oh my god. No. I'm not dating Draco."

"Is he fucking you?"

Rachael gave Pansy a dumbfounded look. "No—I—I mean—we're fourteen, that's—I mean—"

"Yes or no, Coy." Pansy's tone was dripping with venom.

"No. We're friends."

"You weren't friends yesterday."

Rachael blinked. "Um—well, that's a bit complicated. You'll want to ask Draco—" but then Pansy grabbed her by the robes, shaking her a little.

"You stay away from Draco Malfoy," she hissed, "He is my man, you hear me? Mine!"

"I don't want to be his girlfriend, Parkinson! Calm down!" Rachael said hurriedly. "Please, I—we're just friends."

Soon after, Pansy left. And as she packed up her books and got ready to leave for class, Rachael Coy wondered just what in hell she had gotten herself into.