It wasn't until after Gryffindor had been steamrollered by Slytherin in their first quidditch match of the new season that Draco got out of the hospital wing. He had left in the early evening, having had dinner in the hospital wing and gone straight back to Gryffindor tower. He had been expecting to slip through the portrait hole, head upstairs and crash out by himself on his bed in the dorm.

Draco walked up to the portrait hole and said the password. He stepped over the threshold and into the room he'd thought he'd never see again. He ran up the stairs and into the dorm.

'... Philosopher's Stone.' He heard Harry say as he burst through the door. Both Harry and Ron jumped and looked incredibly shifty, as if they had been talking about something they weren't supposed to know about.

Draco sat down heavily on the edge of his bed.

'Hi guys.'

'Hi Draco.' They said, in a manner considerably friendlier than they ever had before. 'Do you know anything about the Philosopher's stone?' carried on Harry, 'just you seem like the sort of boy who would.'

'Never heard of...,hang on, philosopher's stone you say? As in turns base metals into gold and makes you live forever kind of thing?'

'Could be. Something to do with a Nicholas Flamel according to what we weaselled out of Hagrid.'

'Don't know about that, but yeah, I've heard a little about it. Why d'you ask?'

'Well, you remember the Gringotts' robbery?' Harry looked about furtively, 'well, that day I was in London getting my stuff- you remember?- well, at any rate I didn't know about my parent's money or any of that stuff that was in Gringotts, so Hagrid took me there. We got out some money to pay for my school gear, but he also stopped off at another vault, and removed a small package. This vault was number 713 and that vault...'

'Don't tell me, that was the one that...'

'was broken into. Exactly.' Harry completed Draco's sentence for him, as he had stopped, mouth hanging open. Despite Draco pulling off an exquisite impression of a trout, Harry continued his story.

'Yes, that was the vault, and when Hagrid took out this parcel, a tiny, small thing, he saidhe'd appreciate it if I didn't mention this to anybody, Hogwarts' business, top secret. Another thing, the third floor corridor, well apparently that's not been out of bounds before this year.'

'I asked Percy about it.' interjected Ron.

'Now, you were out cold and didn't notice, but when the teachers came to the bathroom after we knocked out the troll, Snape had a limp.'

'The man had a limp, so what?' retorted Draco.

' The point is I oversaw him getting it bandaged up by Filch in the staff room, it was bloody, and well, there's a great big three headed dog in the third floor corridor.'

'A Cerberus? Really?' Ron and Harry nodded vigorously, 'But they're really rare. And what are they doing keeping a thing like that locked up in a school? '

'Exactly what I said' cut in Ron.

'But why's Snape after it?'

'Well, isn't it obvious, you said it yourself, never ending gold and eternal life- who wouldn't want that!'

'I see what you mean.'

'Well, we've been talking to Hermione about it and she's been'

But quite what Hermione had been doing with them, Draco didn't find out. At that moment the rest of the boys came hurrying into their dorm with an irate Percy Weasley behind them.

'Didn't you hear what I said? Half an hour ago I said it was bed-time for first years. Now its way past then. . !'

Harry, Ron and Draco dived under their respective covers and pretended to be asleep, hoping Percy wouldn't notice that they'd been talking for the last half hour.

The next half of term passed very quickly. Draco had to work twice as hard to catch up on what he'd missed, for as good as doing the reading and all of the homeworks is, there is nothing quite like actually being in a lesson for learning every last little detail. Not for no reason then, was Draco glad when Christmas came, even if he would have to spend it at Hogwarts. Even better, he would have some company, since Ron and Harry were staying at school for the holidays too.

Hermione however, who had been badgering him since he had gotten out of the hospital wing to help them research Nicholas Flamel, was leaving which, whilst slightly sad, would bring a welcome break from her incessant nagging about it. Nonetheless, she'd left them with strict instructions to do some more research, preferably in the restricted section. It was a week until Christmas, and finally the hustle and bustle of school life had been exchanged for the holiday lull. Hagrid had brought in twelve freshly felled trees from the forbidden forest and Professor Flitwick had decorated them with baubles and tinsel and lights, made from little fairies trapped in jam jars. The three boys had sat in the great hall watching the diminutive teacher go about his work for at least an hour before they finally got bored and went outside to have a snowball fight. They each had until Lunch to build themselves whatever fortifications they wanted, by whatever means they had at their disposal. Then, after an excellent lunch of cold ham, fried eggs, chips and beans, accompanied with liberal lashings of brown sauce and tomato ketchup, they went back outside, well wrapped up. They walked out through the transfiguration quad and then out past the greenhouses to the grounds outside. Once each had reached their respective snow forts, Harry shouted

'Ready, Set, GO!'

And the fight began. Harry and Ron started by ganging up on Draco. Draco had anticipated this and hid in his fort, biding his time, whilst their snowballs bounced off its mighty snowy exterior. Nor was this time spent idly; he spent it moulding more frigid ammunition from the snow beneath his feet, readying himself for his inevitable counter-attack. When the dull thud of the snowballs against the wall of snow had died down, he cautiously stuck his head up above the parapet. Then, Down! A snowball sailed past where his head had been but a couple of moments before. It was time. After blindly launching a handful of snowballs over his wall, Draco stuck his head over and then aimed a snowball each at Harry and Ron. Two high pitched wails told him he had found his target and he laughed, just for long enough for Harry to throw a snowball at him smack! in the middle of his face. Now Draco's adrenaline was up, and he turned into a human snowball gun, lobbing balls at the other two until he had no more left to throw. After that, he calmed down slightly, and took cover to make more snowballs, but there wasn't much snow left inside his snow-fort now. He'd have to go outside if he wanted to make more. He'd have to go outside, where they could attack him. He ventured out the back, and heard the sound of a snowball hitting someone. Harry and Ron had finally changed this from a two on one to every man for himself- about time too! - thought Draco.

The fight carried on like this until the bells, mounted high up in the great gothic bell towers tolled out 4 o'clock. At this point it was pretty much pitch black outside, so the boys headed in and went to bed, tired but with a warm, rosy glow in their cheeks from the exercise.

The next day dawned. The boys eventually got out of their four-posters and headed down for breakfast. A glimpse of the stone fireplace in Gryffindor common room suddenly reminded Draco of home, a home that had been taken away from him and a home he longed to return to. He felt slightly glum as they pounded down the stairs, taking two at a time before jumping the bottom four on every flight of stairs, as they always did. They burst into the great hall. There, Draco's thoughts were distracted from his self-pity by the smell of breakfast. Hurrying to Gryffindor table, they greedily tucked in. Fat, sizzling pork sausages, lightly toasted bread with marmalade, everything was there.

Draco started with a bowl of porridge, one spoonful of sugar, a handful of raisins and. Oh! That was good. After the porridge, Draco moved onto his cooked breakfast. Back bacon, with a thin layer of fat around the edges, still white and juicy, the sausages, cooked to within a nuance of perfection, three slices of toast, thickly spread with glorious marmalade, two poached eggs, with runny yolks, cooked plum tomatoes, fried mushrooms , brown sauce and

'Black Pudding!' Draco exclaimed, spotting his favourite breakfast treat on the platter in front of him. There was nothing quite like the unique flavour and texture of a good black pudding, Draco decided as he tucked into his breakfast. Nothing like it at all. Some people liked bacon best, Draco knew, but he also felt that they didn't know what they were on about.

After breakfast Draco felt much better, his early black thoughts had been washed clean away in a stream of breakfast. They spent the day in the library looking for references to Nicholas Flamel, before giving up and heading back to the common room for a quick chess tournament in front of the fire with Fred, George and Percy until it was bedtime.

The next morning they were woken up by Ron yelling something about Christmas. He had a large stack of parcels at the foot of his bed, Harry had five or six. Draco had two. This was something of a come-down from previous years, but to be honest, Draco was surprised to get that many. One proclaimed itself to be from Uncle Noctifer, It was a very thick, and by the looks of things, boring, book. Gilded on one leathery cover was the book's title:

1001 ways to prevent the spread of dry rot in early thirteenth century triforia.

There was also a short note.

Draco,

Sorry I can't have you over for Crimbo, but the ministry's having difficulties processing paperwork viz me adopting you. Anyway, I hope this proves useful.

Yours,

Noctifer Malfoy.

Useful? What did he mean? Dry rot in thirteenth century triforia? Is that even English? Draco threw the book aside, irritated that the one gift he got from his family would be so bloody useless. The front cover flopped open, to reveal a cut-out hole. Inside were a vast collection of Bertie Botts' beans, Drooble's gum and, best of all in Draco's mind, a small, but perfectly serviceable set of ebony and sandalwood chessmen as well as a matching board. Draco's face burst into a grin and he finally noticed the other note.

Ha! Thought I bought you a book on dry rot for Christmas? The book might be useful for sneaking stuff about in once you've finished with it. Even if it isn't now- it will be later.

Merry Christmas.

N

Having read the note, Draco started to look at his other package. Wrapped up in a silvery paper, no note on the outside. He tore it open, a small piece of paper fluttered out.

I am sorry about the situation with your parents,

Merry Christmas

In a strange, loopy handwriting that Draco didn't recognise. Inside there was an antique collection of pocket-sized textbooks, one each on charms, transfiguration, potions and defensive magics. Who could have sent them?

Over on the other side of the room, Ron gave out a sudden yell and Draco was dragged from his self-absorbed state.

'That's an invisibility cloak that is!-They're incredibly rare!'

Draco's mouth dropped- who would've sent Harry an invisibility cloak?

'There's a note too "This belonged to your father, now it is time it was returned to you." That's funny- no name, who'd send you something like this and not give you their name?'

None of them had any idea, but Draco thought it funny that the mystery person had given so many mystery gifts to the first year Gryffindor dorm that year – the others didn't know who had sent him the textbooks – and he felt that something peculiar was going on. Invisibility cloaks? Who had them spare to give away? A good cloak could cost more than the entirety of the stock of Quality Quidditch Supplies when they had a new broom in. It was ludicrous. But Draco's thoughts were interrupted, as was usual, by a quick trip downstairs for the greatest of meals, breakfast.