-O-

The Christmas holidays in 1991 were a quiet affair at the Manor, with the notable exception of his mother's New Year's Eve gala. Draco stood boredly in his nicest robes near the enchanted orchestra, wondering when this night might finally end and he could get upstairs to his room. Blaise had introduced him to an interesting bit of muggle technology that he quite enjoyed, something he had gotten for his birthday from his muggle side of the family. A small gray rectangle with a smaller green square upon it and several buttons on its surface seemed to provide him with hours of fun. Slide a button near the top, and the box came to life, little shapes on the green square dropping down slowly to form lines which then disappeared. You could use the buttons to position the shapes however you would like. The object was to get as many lines as possible.

For several days, Draco had gotten into the range of ninety or so lines before the game ended, and he was sure that very soon, he'd crack one hundred lines. Blaise had shown him a simple spell to power the box so that he did not need to "charge the battery" inside, whatever that meant. Draco was fairly certain there were no actual bats living inside the box, but with muggle things, you could never be entirely sure of anything, he supposed.

His gaze fell upon the dancers waltzing nearby. Maribel Bulstrode lumbered by in the tightest orange dress robes he'd ever seen, pushed deftly around the room by his own father. Father and son caught eyes for a moment and Lucius's lips thinned momentarily, as if to say, when we must, we must. Stiff upper lip and all of that. Mr. Bulstrode was a solicitor and Mrs. Bulstrode organised some sort of charity organisation that his mother helped with on occasion. Draco shuddered to think of his own future, dancing with frightfully boring witches who stank of heavy French perfume. He'd much rather dance with-

His mind flashed a picture in his head so quickly, it took him by surprise. Why would he want to dance with Hermione Granger, of all people? She was not a pureblood, not even very pretty with that seemingly sentient cloud of hair following her around. Her teeth were too big and her eyes were too much like copper and her lips were too pink and when she smiled, her face lit up like she'd just shared a secret, and-

No. That was stupid. She was smart, that was all. She was intelligent, and interesting to talk to sometimes. She was smarter than most of the people in Hogwarts, some seventh years included. Too smart to hang around with the jerks with whom she kept company. Too nice to be in Slytherin. His mind drifted to her recent Flamel obsession, and he reminded himself to ask his father about this philosopher's stone business the next day.

-O-

"Ah, yes, I have heard of a philosopher's stone. It supposedly offers everlasting life to the one who possesses it. Are you working on some History of Magic project?" Lucius asked idly. He pressed a hand over his eyes in an attempt to push away the headache he often got on New Year's Day. To Draco, it seemed as though he did not wish to have this conversation.

"Hmm. Yes, just- just something I'm working on in school." This was technically correct, so Draco felt no compunction about misleading his father. "It seems like quite a dangerous thing in the wrong hands." Draco imagined Weasley wielding this kind of power, and he didn't like it. Why were they wanting this stone anyway?

"Yes, well, eternal life is something that fascinates a great many wizards, you know. I still remember the stories my father Abraxas would tell of his grandfather Olivier. He tried all kinds of potions and herbal remedies to prolong his life. It must have worked for something. He was, I believe, one hundred and sixty eight years old when he died. Father said he was an ornery old shit though." Lucius laughed and then winced, sipping his watered down firewhiskey that he used to stave off a bad hangover.

There was a moment of silence before he continued. "And of course, you know my mentor- Lord Voldemort," these last two words, Lucius whispered reverently, "He spoke many times of wishing to have eternal life before he died. If only he had succeeded, Draco - the world could be a very different place now. We would have had the right people in power, the right things being taught at Hogwarts. None of this letting in mudbloods nonsense. The natural order would have been restored to the wizarding world, and it would have been highly beneficial to all of us who served him."

To Draco, none of that sounded good. He didn't know much about this Voldemort fellow other than the bits and pieces his father had shared over the years, but in general he didn't sound great to be around. After all, Potter was an absolute git, but why did Lord Voldemort kill his parents in the first place?

And theirs weren't the only deaths that the man seemed to be responsible for. Draco had once overheard his father discussing some people named Prewett and others named McKinnon with his friends. Curious, he had gone into the Malfoy Manor library and searched for the names. There were articles from years ago detailing the gruesome deaths of families with these names, only months apart, with mentions of a person they had termed "He Who Must Not Be Named" being connected to the deaths. It had not taken Draco long to determine that this was Lord Voldemort. What was his father's obsession with this man?

"Do you have many mudbloods in your classes?" His father suddenly asked, and it was Draco's turn to feela bit ill at ease with the conversation.

"Yes - a few." Draco made as if to stand up and go. But his father raised a hand from across his large desk, as if to push him back into the seat.

"And are they as stupid and as brainless as expected?" Lucius smirked.

"Yes, well all but one. There is one who's doing very well, uncommonly well with the classes in fact." The word slipped out so quickly, and Draco willed himself to shut up.

"But surely he is not besting you?" Lucius's smirk widened into a sneer.

"It's, ah. A girl, actually. A witch." Draco coughed.

Lucius's look of disgust and distaste was evident. "Well, so Dumbledore says. For all we know, she is just a stupid muggle who lucked her way into Hogwarts."

Draco cleared his throat in a way that he hoped sounded like agreement to his father. "Yes. Well, she's... very good. In classes," he finished firmly. Did his father really believe they'd let an actual muggle attend Hogwarts?

"Still, I'm certain she's no match for you," Lucius smiled in a way that was somehow both endearing and threatening.

"I'm sure," Draco said effusively.

He hurried out of his father's study and returned to the scion suite upstairs. He most certainly was not sure that Hermione Granger was no match for him. In fact he would almost bet that Hermione held the top grade in most if not all of their classes. But there was still months to go before that was a concern.

-O-

It was an hour or so later, as Draco lay on his bed playing the little game, that something clicked in his brain. The philosopher's stone gave eternal life. Lord Voldemort had wanted eternal life. Potter had faced off against Lord Voldemort ten years ago. Now Potter was searching for the stone. What if Potter and his friends weren't looking for eternal life for themselves, but was looking to keep it away from someone else?

No.

Lord Voldemort was dead. His father had said so. The Daily Prophet had said so. Surely they knew best? And yet...

The man had once wanted to gain eternal life. What if he was still alive and still looking for a way? Like a philosopher's stone?

No.

Draco leaned back and closed his eyes, hearing the tinny musical sounds of his game round ending in defeat but not caring.

-O-