Chapter Text
“Alright,” Hagrid says, with tears in his eyes, when he hands them the crate Norbert’s in. It’s unsurprisingly heavy, and though Harry, Draco, and Hermione all grab a side, they nearly drop it when Hagrid lets it go. “He’s all ready. I packed him a lot of dead rats in there for the trip.”
That explains the smell , Draco thinks, wrinkling his nose to try to somehow make it better. He doesn’t like being around dead things – he feels terribly sorry for the little things, even if it’s rats - and though he loves Norbert, he doesn’t like the ripping sounds coming from inside the crate. He doesn’t want to think about it.
“He’ll be alright, Hagrid,” Hermione tells him gently. “Charlie’ll take care of him.”
Hagrid nods, and a few big, heavy tears slip from his eyes.
“Alright, alright,” Hagrid says, blowing his nose noisily. “Go, you should go before I change my mind.”
The three of them nod quickly, and Hagrid throws the Invisibility Cloak over the three of them, making sure it covers them entirely. Ron couldn’t come because he’s still in the hospital wing, but Draco promised to say hello to Charlie for him.
He’d written another letter, saying that he’d had last minute business in England and could come to get the dragon with his friends; Draco’s very excited to meet him. He wants to know all about dragons, and everything he’s heard about Charlie seems to point towards the fact that he’s the right person to talk to about it.
He, Harry, and Hermione, take Norbert in his crate up to the castle, and then begin a slow trip up the stairs; they’re constantly tripping over their feet and the edge of the cloak, and the weight of Norbert’s crate isn’t helping.
When they finally – finally – make it up the astronomy tower, they’re all sweaty, and Hermione’s muttering angrily under her breath. Draco’s biting back the urge to laugh, and Harry is, too, if the amused look he shares with Draco is any indication.
“Oi!” a voice says, and Draco’s spine tightens. “Thought you were never going to make it!”
A man steps out of the shadows, and Draco’s jaw nearly drops. He’s muscled and broad-shouldered, and his red hair’s short and recently cut, as is his beard; his eyes are blue and he’s covered in freckles, and he looks a lot like Ron does, at certain angles. His scent isn’t particularly strong, but he smells like an Alpha.
“Charlie Weasley.” He grins. “I assume you’re Harry, Hermione, and Draco?”
The three of them nod, and Charlie grins.
“Well, come on. My friends are waiting.” And he signals outside.
Draco’s almost afraid to look – he is very, very intimidated by Charlie – but he does, and finds that Charlie’s right; outside, a dozen people are hovering on their brooms, laughing and yelling as though they’re not smuggling out an illegal dragon in the middle of the night.
This will be interesting, Draco thinks.
“It was amazing ,” Draco’s whispering the next day during breakfast, leg bouncing. “He told me all about Norwegian Ridgebacks, even about things you only find in those huge specialized books!”
Harry grins, happy about seeing him so excited.
“And he promised that if I ever go to Romania, he’ll give me a tour of the reserve! We need to go to Romania, now.”
Harry laughs. “I think it’s going to be a little complicated with our exams.”
Draco makes a face. “If I ran away to Romania, I wouldn’t have exams.”
“You’d probably need to study something, ” Hermione says. “Dragon Keeping is a seriously dangerous thing. They make you go through all this training, and it’s insanely hard to be accepted into the program.”
Ron nods. “Especially in Romania. Charlie beat out another three hundred applicants to get accepted.” He seems to consider. “Thankfully they accept applicants pretty often, you know, because of their keepers dying.”
Hermione, Harry, and Draco all shoot him a horrified look, and he rushes to continue.
“ Or retiring,” he amends.
“That sounds horrible, ” Hermione says.
“Charlie loves it.” Ron shrugs. “And he-”
They stop talking when four notes are dropped in front of them by one of the school’s owls.
Your detention will take place at 11 p.m. tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.
It’s signed by professor McGonagall.
“I’d forgotten about detention,” Ron groans, resting his elbow on the table heavily.
“Me, too,” Harry says.
“It’ll be fine,” Hermione says hastily. “How bad could it possibly be?”
* * *
Bad. The answer is it could be bad .
The four of them are standing in the entrance hall, and Filch is whistling .
He must’ve gotten permission to kill them or something, if he’s so happy.
“Insolent little runts, all of you,” he’s muttering as he leads them outside. “But you’re going to get it now... do you good to learn some respect... should hang you up by your wrists like we used to...”
Ron stops listening to his rant then, because he doesn’t really want to hear what Filch wants to say.
“You’re here?” it’s Hagrid’s voice, and the four of them immediately straighten with relief; if it’s with Hagrid, it can’t be that bad.
“Don’t think you’re saved yet,” Filch snickers. “You’ll be going into the forest with that oaf. None of you will come out in one piece.”
“At night ?” Hermione asks with a frown. “But there are all sorts of creatures in the forest!”
“Should’ve thought about that before you broke the rules,” Filch sneers at them.
Harry makes a face. “They think we went into the forest so they’re sending us into the forest as detention? Doesn’t really make any sense, does it?”
Ron gives an uneasy shrug.
“I’ve been waitin’ for half an hour,” Hagrid says, stepping out of his hut. He looks at them kindly. “You all right?”
The four of them nod, and Filch scowls.
“Shouldn’t be nice to them, Hagrid,” he says nastily. “They’re to be punished.”
“And you’ve done your part,” Hagrid says coldly. “And you can leave now.”
Filch does, grumbling all the while, and Hagrid leads them to the edge of the forest.
“That there,” he tells them, pointing towards a spot on the floor; Ron squints and sees some sort of silvery liquid; it’s glittering in the moonlight, reflecting. “That’s unicorn blood. Second one in two days. The poor thing is in there somewhere, and we’re going to try to find it. We might have to put it out of its misery.”
Draco looks horrified at the idea, and Ron pats his shoulder, attempting to be comforting.
“Hagrid?” Hermione asks hesitantly. “Nothing will happen to us, right? We’re not really in danger?”
“No,” Hagrid says. “Nothing in that forest will hurt you as long as you’re with me and Fang.”
“Alright,” she says uneasily. “How do you want to do this, then?”
“We’ll split off into two groups, follow the blood,” Hagrid says, as though it’s the most natural sentence in the world. “Fang’ll go with one, I’ll go with the other. Hermione and Draco, you go with Fang, Harry and Ron, come with me. If any of you find the unicorn, send up green sparks, you remember the charm? Good. If you’re in trouble, send up red sparks, not green.”
They all cast the charms a few times, just to make sure they know how, and then walk together along something resembling a dirt path into the forest. Hermione, Fang, and Draco go left, and Harry, Ron, and Hagrid go right.
* * *
“What do you think it is?” Draco asks.
“I don’t know,” Hermione says honestly. Fang is walking beside them with his head down – Draco scratches behind his ears to make him feel better – and the forest seems to be impossibly dark; Draco doesn’t like the dark, Hermione knows. He’s not scratching at his forearms yet, but he’s already running his nails up and down his thighs. “I don’t know much about unicorns. Have you read about them?”
Care of Magical Creatures isn’t a subject they’ll take until third year, and even then, it’ll be optional, so she hasn’t begun to read on the subject. Draco has, she knows. She’s seen the books he checks out – and he’s incredibly proud of him, anytime he does – and he ought to know something about the subject.
“Purest magical beings.” Draco nods, looking around warily; Hermione doesn’t look at him, keeping, instead, watch on the trees around them. She doesn’t like being in the forest, and by now they’re so deep in it the path is almost non-existent. “Like women better than men. Their tail hair is used to make wand cores.”
“Mmhmm,” Hermione nods. “What about-”
But she stops, because Draco suddenly has a death grip on her arm. She makes a pained noise, and turns to look at him, before turning to see where he’s looking.
On the ground, gleaming white and shining, the unicorn.
It's dead.
* * *
“I don’t think we’ll find anything tonight,” Hagrid sighs, after they’ve spoken to the centaurs. Harry doesn’t know what Mars’s brightness signals, but now he’s nervous about it.
“What would have happened if we had found the unicorn?” Ron asks with a frown; they’re getting near the edge of the forest, and Harry is relieved to be nearly out of there.
“I was hoping we could heal it,” Hagrid says gruffly. “If not, we could at least have put it out of its misery so it wouldn’t suffer anymore. With how much blood there is, it must’ve been hurt for a while now.”
Harry doesn’t want to think about the poor thing stumbling around, hurt. It makes his stomach twist.
“Alright,” Hagrid says. “If Hermione and Draco didn’t find anything, they should be coming along shortly. We’ll wait for them.”
But minutes tick on by, and there’s no sign of Hermione nor Draco.
“Should we go look for them?” Ron asks uncertainly. “They might be-”
There’s movement somewhere, and Harry hears the distinct sound of walking on dry leaves.
“There they are,” says Hagrid, relieved, but from the path only emerges Fang. “Shit. Fang, what are you doing here? Where are Hermione and Draco?”
Fang whimpers empathetically, and Hagrid looks at Ron and Harry.
“Don’t move,” he orders. “I’m going to look for them.”
And he sets off along the path Hermione and Draco had taken.
Harry and Ron look at each other.
“Go?” Harry asks.
“Go,” Ron says, resigned.
They set off on the bath behind Hagrid, being careful to stay quiet so he won’t hear them.
* * *
“Fang must’ve gotten to them by now,” Hermione says anxiously under her breath. She and Draco are hiding behind one of the trees – it's a good thing they’re so big, tall and so dense the moon isn’t visible, and wide enough for both of them to hide behind the same trunk and still have space left over – quiet, too afraid to move.
It hadn’t taken them long to spot the cloaked figure, coming closer to the unicorn; thankfully, the figure hadn’t spotted them, so they’d sent Fang back to Hagrid – hoping he’ll come look for them – and hidden behind the tree. If they make a noise, the figure might spot them.
“They’re coming,” Draco says. He makes a pained noise, and Hermione looks at him sharply.
“What are you doing?” she hisses. He shakes his head, and Hermione purses her lips; she doesn’t want to risk speaking again, and Hagrid must be near – it's been a while – but she’s worried about Draco.
She leans over to the side of the tree, peaking out an eye so she can see the unicorn; it’s still there, lying dead, and the cloaked figure is knelt over it, drinking its blood. Hermione wants to vomit.
She moves back behind the tree, clenching and unclenching her hands.
There’s movement suddenly, beside them, and then voices.
“Great, we’ve lost Hagrid.” It’s Ron’s voice, lowered anxiously. “What are we going to do now? If he finds ‘Mione and Draco and comes back to find us gone-”
“That’s not going to happen,” Harry says. “Come on, the path continues this way.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re not even along the path anymore!” Ron grumbles.
“There they are!” Draco whispers, and he signals wildly at Ron and Harry to shut them up.
They don’t look at him, and it’s too late. The cloaked figure has looked up.
Ron makes a choked noise, and Harry turns to look at the unicorn, and then at the cloaked figure.
It advances towards them swiftly, and Harry suddenly clutches at his forehead, crying out in pain.
“Harry?” Ron asks, looking frantically between the cloaked figure and Harry, who’s fallen to his knees.
“ Shit!” Hermione curses.
“Stop!” Draco yells, jumping out of their hiding spot.
“Wait!” Hermione cries, jumping out, too. She picks up a rock and throws it at the cloaked figure; it hits it in the back of its head, and the creature rounds on them.
“ Shit!” It’s Draco who curses this time.
“Draco! Hermione!” Ron yells.
Suddenly, there’s galloping behind them, and a centaur leaps out of the trees, hitting Hermione and Draco on their shoulders with his front hooves, knocking them to the ground.
By the time they look up, the cloaked figure is gone.
“Harry!” Hermione cries, as she stands and runs over to Harry, Draco close beside her. Her shoulder is throbbing, but she pays it no mind; Harry is still on the ground, clutching at his forehead.
“What was that?” Harry asks, groaning and looking up. “I - my head-”
“You must leave now,” the centaur says. “All of you.”
“You-” Ron begins, but the centaur interrupts.
“My name is Firenze,” the centaur says. “I already know who you are, and you need to get out. Now.”
Ron helps Harry stand up, and then they all being walking out of the forest, following Firenze.
“What was that?” Ron asks as they walk. “And what was it doing ?”
“It was drinking the Unicorn’s blood,” Hermione says, disgusted. The pain in her shoulder is spreading, and it’s hurting more the longer time passes. “But I don’t know why.”
“Healing properties,” Draco says. He has his arm folded close to his chest, and is clutching at it in a way that makes Hermione think his shoulder is hurting him, too. “Unicorn’s blood will make you immortal.”
“ What ?” Harry asks. “Immortal?”
“A half-life,” Firenze says heavily. “Anyone who drinks unicorn blood will be cursed. To slay something so pure to save yourself, even if it is from certain death, will damn you the moment the blood touches your lips.”
“Well, that sounds horrible ,” Ron says, making a face.
“Who’d want that ?” Harry asks. “Isn’t death better?”
“It is,” Firenze confirms. “Unless you only need to stay alive for long enough to drink something else. Something better.”
“ Better ?” Hermione asks. “Like what?”
Firenze looks at them. “Do you know what is hidden in the castle at this very moment?”
“Yes!” Ron says excitedly. “The Philosopher’s Stone!”
“The key to immortal life.” Hermione realizes.
Firenze nods.
“But - who-” Draco begins.
“Can’t you think,” Firenze says. “Of anyone who has been waiting a long, long time to come back? Someone who might’ve been on the brink of death?”
Realization dawns in all of them except for Draco; he hasn’t heard of Voldemort the way Ron and Harry have, hasn’t read about him like Hermione. The only time he’s heard of him was Hermione’s brief attempt-explanation of why Harry was a big deal, and they didn’t get halfway through the important stuff. After that, Hermione had sort of forgotten about it. She didn’t think it would be important.
She never could’ve imagined this was going to happen.
“You mean that was Voldemort ?” Harry asks.
“There you are!” Hagrid’s voice comes booming from a few meters away. “I was worried sick about the lot of you, where did you go?”
“This is where I leave you,” Firenze murmurs.
“Draco and Hermione found the unicorn,” Harry says numbly. “It’s back there.”
Hagrid rushes along to check on the unicorn, and Firenze bows his head.
“Be careful, Harry Potter.” He looks at all of them. “All of you.”
And he gallops away.
* * *
“What the hell is this ?” Harry asks, grabbing Draco’s hands and surveying them with horror; his nails are broken, chipped, fingers covered in blood. “What did you do?”
“I was - I was nervous,” Draco stutters nervously. “And - and my skin hurt from scratching, so I - I – the tree bark-”
“Shit,” Ron says.
“I have band-aids up in my dorm,” Hermione says, grimacing. “It’ll be fine.”
“And what’s wrong with you ?” Ron asks indignantly. “Why are you holding your shoulder like that?”
“Firenze sort of – kicked us while he jumped over us,” Hermione says. “I don’t think I can move it.”
“And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might be trying to come back,” Ron says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tonight was a mess.”
Harry fully agrees with the sentiment.
Hermione’s shoulder turns out to be dislocated. They want to avoid going to Madam Pomfrey, not wanting to explain what happened in the forest, but in the end, they have to.
She sets Hermione’s shoulder and givers her pain numbing potions. Draco’s shoulder isn’t dislocated, but he has a huge bruise on his shoulder blade from the impact. He’d been wearing band-aids around all of his fingers to stop the bleeding – it didn’t work, really, as he’d chipped off bits and pieces of his nails scratching at the tree bark, and keeps trying to scratch when he gets nervous, only to stop when it sends pangs of pains through his fingers – but Madam Pomfrey had healed them, too, so his hands are back to normal.
Right in time for exams, too; they get all put in a room together and given anti-cheating quills. It’s stifling hot, and it makes Draco even more anxious than he already is. He doesn’t know how he gets through the exams; his friends all seem terrified of Voldemort - they still haven’t explained exactly who that is – but Draco can’t concentrate on that, he can only think about the fact that if he doesn’t do well on his exams, he’ll get pulled out of Hogwarts, and that is the last thing he wants.
Still, he gets through the week, relatively fine. He gets through all the practical exams easily enough, but the theoretical ones are harder. Still, he’s hopeful his grades will be acceptable, because he studied so much for them.
Harry’s scar is still bothering him, which worries Hermione, Ron, and Draco. He’s also not sleeping well – Draco can tell, because he gets bags under his eyes and is more irritable than usual – so Draco has been careful around him; he makes himself as quiet as possible, doesn’t speak unless spoken to, doesn’t move much and doesn’t do anything, keeps himself out of sight. It’s always worked on his parents, but for some reason it only seems to be stressing Harry out further, which Draco doesn’t know how to deal with.
When the week is over, he’s more than relieved.
Exam results aren’t for another week, so they have a lull where there’s not really anything to do. For the rest of the students, at least.
For them, it wasn’t a week. It was barely a few hours.
They bask in the shadow of a tall tree, near the Black Lake, in which the Weasley twins and a boy named Lee Jordan are tickling the giant squid. Draco wants to go over – mostly because the giant squid looks, as the name dictates, giant , and Draco wants to touch it - but he doesn’t dare tell his friends.
“I wish I knew what this means,” Harry says, frustrated, rubbing at his forehead harshly. “My scar keeps hurting, I can’t - I don’t know why.”
“Go see Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione suggests, craning her head back so she can get more sunlight. Draco’s never seen her this relaxed; clearly, now that school is over, she feels free to do as she likes.
“But I’m not ill,” Harry complains. “Nothing else hurts. It just – it feels like a warning. Like something might be coming.”
“But Harry, what could-”
Harry shoots up, suddenly, face paling. It startles Draco so badly he nearly scrambles backwards to get away from him. He tries to control his breathing, ignores the pounding in his ears.
“We’ve got to go see Hagrid!” Harry exclaims.
And just like that, he takes off towards Hagrid’s hut, so the rest of them follow, running to keep up with him.
“Harry what are you on about? Hermione asks, panting as they run.
“Don’t you think it odd,” Harry calls back at them. “That a wizard happens to be conveniently carrying around a dragon egg in his pocket, at the same time and the same place where Hagrid is?”
“But what does that-” Ron begins, and Harry continues.
“Carrying dragon eggs is illegal,” Harry says. “You said, didn’t you Draco?”
“Yes,” Draco says warily. This is bad; he doesn’t want Harry’s entire breakthrough to depend on something he’s said; what if he was wrong? Backing out doesn’t seem like an option though, not with the way his friends are staring at him expectantly, so he continues. “They’re a non-tradeable substance.”
“Right!” Harry says. “So someone’s just carrying one around, willing to bet it in a game of cards?”
Draco frowns – this isn’t really making any sense to him – but they arrive at Hagrid’s, and it only takes a few seconds of Harry frantically pounding on the door for it to open.
“What’s wrong?” Hagrid asks.
“Hagrid!” Harry says. “When you were at the Hog’s Head, the night you won Norbert. Did you mention Hogwarts?”
“It might’ve come up,” Hagrid says with a frown. “Told him I was the gamekeeper.”
“Was he interested in Fluffy?” Harry asks outright. There’s no time to lose, and he seems frantic.
“Well, yeah. How many three headed dogs have you heard of in your lifetime?” Hagrid bristles. “He wanted to know if I could handle the dragon, too, before he bet it. But I told him Fluffy was a dream if you knew how to handle her. Just play her a little music, and she goes right down to sleep-” He cuts himself off. “I shouldn’t have told you that. I should not-”
“Thanks Hagrid!”
The four of them run away, towards the castle.
“Hagrid told someone, then.” Hermione pants. “Either Snape or Voldemort.”
“We’ve got to speak to Dumbledore!”
They make it inside, but only as far as the entrance hall before they all realize they’ve missed one very important thing.
“Where is Dumbledore’s office?” Ron asks, voicing the question they’re all wondering. “No one said during the first day.”
“We’ll just have to go floor through floor, I guess,” Harry says, as they start towards the stairs.
“We could ask one of the ghosts,” Hermione says. “The Fat Friar might-”
“What are you four doing inside?” They all turn to see McGonagall standing close beside them, holding a very big pile of books.
“We want to see Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione says boldly.
“Why?” Professor McGonagall asks, looking at all of them suspiciously, as though they might be up to something. They’re not; Draco thinks, at least, that they’re not.
“We want to speak to him,” he says, when none of his friends speak.
“I assumed that much, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall says, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Can we?” Ron asks eagerly.
“No,” McGonagall says. “Professor Dumbledore is out. He got an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic. He’s flown off to London.”
“He’s gone ?” Harry asks, face paling further.
“Dumbledore is a great wizard, and he has many matters to tend to-”
Clearly, Harry doesn’t care for an explanation, because he interrupts.
“Look, it’s about the Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry says urgently. McGonagall drops her books, but she doesn’t seem to notice, because she doesn’t pick them back up, so Harry continues speaking. “We think – we know - someone is trying to steal it.”
“How did you-” McGonagall looks at the four of them critically. “Look. I don’t know how you know any of this, but I assure you, the stone is safe here.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry insists.
“Harry’s right, professor,” Hermione says pleadingly. “They already know how to get past Fluffy-”
“How do you know about Fluffy?” McGonagall asks, face paling.
“We know about everything.” Harry waves it away. “ Please , professor, you’ve got to help us!”
McGonagall looks at them critically, and then picks up her books.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy.” McGonagall takes a deep breath, and, for a moment, Draco thinks she’ll believe them. “I assure you, the stone is safe here. It is none of your concern.”
“But professor-”
“I will double check everything,” Professor McGonagall tells them. “But no one is trying to steal it.”
And with that, she walks away.
“It’s going to be tonight,” Harry whispers. “It has to be.”
Hermione nods. “Snape must’ve sent the note from the Ministry of Magic to get Dumbledore out of here.”
“We need to stop Snape. But how can we-”
“Professor Snape,” Draco greets loudly. “Good afternoon.”
His friends snap around, and find Professor Snape staring down at them with arched eyebrows.
“What are you doing inside?” Snape asks, surveying them warily. “You should be outside, enjoying the... sunshine .”
Draco begins, “We were-”
“You should be careful,” Snape says, looking at them once again, eyes lingering on Draco when he continues. “Some might think you are up to something. I’m sure none of you would like to get in trouble, and face the consequences that might bring.”
Draco shrinks back, tightening and loosening his fists anxiously.
“Good day.” And Snape takes off in the direction of the staffroom.
“Someone should follow him,” Ron says quickly. “Hermione, you do it.”
“Why me?” Hermione asks indignantly.
“You can make up some excuse about waiting for Flitwick!” Ron tells her. Then, in a high voice imitating Hermione’s. “Oh, professor Flitwick, I think one of your questions might be wrongly phrased-”
“Oh, shove it,” Hermione says, but she takes off after Snape.
“We can go to the third floor corridor,” Harry says. “Come on.”
* * *
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Professor McGonagall exclaims, when she finds them standing in the third-floor corridor. “Do you think you three are going to be harder to get past than trials made by professors and a three headed dog? Get out of here! If I see you here again, I’ll take points from Gryffindor.”
They go to the Gryffindor Common Room reluctantly.
“Well, at least Hermione’s still tailing Snape, right?” Ron asks anxiously. “At least he can’t-”
The portrait swings open, and Hermione steps inside.
“I lost him,” she cries. “He found me outside of the staffroom, and I told him I was waiting for Professor Flitwick, and he went to go get him! I got stuck speaking to him and couldn’t follow Snape!”
“Shit,” Ron says.
“We’ve got to get in, then,” Harry says resolutely. He won’t let Voldemort come back, no matter what it takes. “We’ve got to get the Stone first.”
“What?” his friends ask at the same time; Draco’s the only one who remains quiet.
“We’ll get expelled!” Hermione exclaims.
“Or we’ll die, ” Ron points out.
“Don’t you get it?” Harry demands, standing from the couch. Draco flinches, moves further away from him, and though it only frustrates Hary further, he tries to soften his tone. He doesn’t succeed. “If Voldemort comes back, there’ll be no Hogwarts to get expelled from . We might die, anyways! He’ll kill any muggleborns and muggles,” Hermione pales. “Blood traitors,” Ron purses his lips. “ Or Omegas.”
Draco looks away. Harry knows the reason there aren’t many Omegas in England, but many in Rome, is because when Voldemort was on the rise, anyone who had Omega children sent them away, or, if they could, went with them. Rome took a lot of refugees, so now their population is mostly Omegas, while in England next to no one is – or knows – an Omega.
He never thought listening to Hermione’s rants while Draco was unconscious in the hospital wing would be useful.
“And he’ll certainly want to kill me, because I’m the reason he’s half dead in the first place!” he exclaims. “He already killed my parents. I’m not going to let him kill anyone else.”
His friends are quiet, and then Hermione says, “You’re right, Harry.”
Ron and Draco nod.
“We’ll go with the Invisibility Cloak,” Draco says, chewing on his lower lip. “Hopefully it’ll cover all of us.”
“What?” Harry asks, momentarily confused.
Ron rolls his eyes. “What, did you think we’d let you go alone? Come off it, what are friends for?”
Harry stays quiet as he watches Ron and Hermione bicker over the best course of action. He, Harry thinks, might be the luckiest wizard in the world to have friends like this.
* * *
They go to dinner, because they have to; McGonagall and Snape would both notice their absence. Draco barely eats anything, and, for once, his friends don’t nag him for it, most likely because they’re all in similar states.
They don’t talk much, either. Hermione reads her notes anxiously, hoping to come across a spell that might help them, or a charm they’ll be up against. Draco secretly thinks it’s unlikely. The manor had books upon books upon books on dark magic, and though Draco could never read any of them, he thinks there’ll be much more advanced magic guarding the stone than is in Hermione’s first year notes.
He doesn’t tell her so, though, because going through her notes seems to be calming her down. Ron is deep in thought, but he doesn’t say anything, and Harry’s anxiously bouncing his leg and playing with his fork.
To avoid making their nerves worse, Draco barely moves. This time, no one notices, not even Harry.
After dinner, they go back to the Common Room, and stay by the fireplace – even if there’s no fire – until it empties out. It takes a long time; the older students – the seventh years in particular – are celebrating their last exams, which then turns into crying because they're all leaving.
A girl with a nice nose and a mole near her mouth sits beside him on the couch, speaking loudly with her best friend and crying; Draco tries not to move too much then, either, but because he’s scared she’ll notice him and cry on him. He’s terrible at dealing with any sort of interaction – funnily enough, eleven years locked inside a manor will do that to you – and he doesn’t particularly want to awkwardly comfort her.
After, when the seventh years finally leave, followed by Lee Jordan – the last one in the Common Room, apart from them – Harry goes to get the cloak. When he returns, he’s carrying that and a small wooden tube that Draco doesn’t recognize.
“What is that?” he asks.
“Flute,” Harry says, with a wry smile. “Hagrid gifted it to me for Christmas. Figured this is easier than singing.”
Draco nods; he hadn’t even thought of what they’d play to put Fluffy to sleep.
They step huddle together under the cloak, wands gripped tightly, and then step out of the Common Room.
“Oh, let’s kick her,” Ron whispers excitedly when they run into Mrs. Morris.
“You cannot kick a cat , Ron,” Draco says, affronted.
“She’s not like Philippa, she’s a hideous cat!” Ron argues. “She’s got to be at least fifty percent demonic!”
“ Still.”
Hermione tells them to shut up, and they continue. They get to the third floor corridor unbothered, and find the door ajar.
“Snape’s already been here,” Harry says.
The four of them stand in front of the door. What they’re about to do seems to have suddenly hit all of them.
“I won’t blame you if you want to go back,” Harry says quietly. “You can take the cloak-”
“That’s stupid, Harry.” Ron rolls his eyes, even if he’s clenching his fists.
“We’re not going back,” Hermione says, at the same time Draco says, “We’re not leaving you alone.”
They push the door open; Fluffy is awake, and growling at them.
Harry takes out the flute from his pocket, and begins playing; it’s not really a tune, but it’s soothing and melodical, and Draco wonders if Hagrid gifted Harry an enchanted flute. Draco’s heard of them. With how much time he had at the manor, he learned various instruments, mostly piano and violin, and he knows there are enchanted songs. He doesn’t know if there can be enchanted instruments.
Once Fluffy falls asleep, they walk past her – Draco pats her three heads lovingly, until Ron drags him away – and towards the trap door. There’s a harp near one of her paws, and Draco frowns.
Snape doesn’t play the harp. He plays the piano, and Draco knows because he taught him.
“Guys,” he begins, anxiously, but then keeps silent when Fluffy’s ear twitches.
Harry keeps playing as Ron throws the trap door open.
“What’s in there?” Hermione asks, leaning in to take a peek. “Can you see anything?”
“No,” Ron says, hesitant. “It’s dark. There are no stairs, either, so we have to jump. Draco, want to go first?”
Everyone looks at him, and Draco’s heart pounds.
“Alright.” He swallows. If there’s anything dangerous at the bottom, it’s probably better he warns his friends than them getting hurt. “Yeah.”
He walks towards the trap door, and though Harry’s frowning, he doesn’t stop playing the flute.
“Alright,” Draco says again, and jumps.
He doesn’t scream – there's no time for it, really – and, before he can even think, he lands with a funny, muted sort of thump .
“Are you alright?” Hermione calls from above him.
“Yes,” Draco calls back. “There’s nothing, it’s - it’s soft .”
The moment after he says it, the soft thing begins to move. Vines wrap around his feet, his torso, his arms. Draco breathes in deeply and holds his breath, doesn’t move; from his experience at the manor, being still and quiet is the best way to get through anything even remotely dangerous.
He used to do it all the time with his parents.
The plant begins pulling him down, deeper into it, and though he hears someone else land with a soft sound, he can’t see them, because the vines knit over his eyes. His heart seizes, for a moment, until one of the vines slips across his nose and Draco catches its scent. He recognizes it immediately.
Devil’s Snare. It was one of the plants that grew in the garden underneath the manor at some point, with his mother. It had only been there briefly, because his mother had been much more interested in poisons and venomous plants than ‘tame vines’, as she’d called Devil’s Snare, but Draco still remembers what she taught him.
“Draco?” He hears Harry calling. A minute later, he’s dropped into hard, tile floor.
“ Shit!” Someone exclaims, and it must be Ron.
“What’s going on down there?” Hermione asks. She lands over him a second later, and she huffs heavily. “What - what is this?”
“Where’s Draco?” Ron asks.
“I don’t-”
“I’m here!” Draco calls. “I’m here, I – you've got to stay still! Stop moving, and you’ll just go through-”
“Stop moving ?” Ron asks. “It’ll kill us!”
“No, it won’t!” Draco tells them desperately. He knows that if they don’t stop moving, it will kill them. Draco had the bad luck of watching a bird get caught in it once; the poor thing wouldn’t stop moving, and the Devil’s Snare had wrapped one of the vines around its neck until it suffocated. Draco had been inconsolable for hours afterwards. “You need to stop moving, trust me! It’s Devil’s Snare, you- ”
“Well the name really fucking calms me down!” Ron snarls, and Draco fights the urge to throw a jinx at him. “I can’t - I can’t breathe-”
“Stop moving !” Draco calls frantically. “It’ll-”
It’s evident his friends aren’t listening.
“He’s right!” Hermione says. “He’s right, Professor Sprout taught us about this, I - we need fire-”
“Well then, cast it!”
“There’s no wood!” Hermione cries.
“HAVE YOU GONE MAD?” Ron bellows. “ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?”
“Oh, right!” Hermione says. “But - I – It took my wand!”
“I’m sorry,” Draco whispers to the plant, before lifting his wand and casting bluebell flames toward the plant. It shrinks away from wherever Draco moves his wand, and he struggles to find his friends; once he does, they drop next to him, breathing frantically. “You couldn’t just listen to me?”
His friends look up at him, a little dazed.
“Let’s keep going,” Harry says, instead of answering, and Draco helps them up.
* * *
“What is that?” Harry asks. He’d thought he was imagining the soft rustling, at first, but it’s getting louder.
“Sounds like-” Ron makes a face. “Wings. But we’re under Hogwarts, there’s no way there are birds here.”
“There are birds that live underground,” Draco says, because he’d read about them. “In caves, in mines, in-”
They arrive in a wide room as Draco rambles on; Harry’s not really listening to the words, he’s too nervous to, but he finds the sound of Draco’s voice relaxing, no matter what he’s saying.
“ Look !” Hermione cries, pointing upwards. The rest of them turn to look towards where she’s pointing, and Harry sees hundreds of glittering birds.
“Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross?” Ron asks warily, looking across the room at a door on the other wall.
“Probably,” Hermione says.
“No other way, though,” Harry says, and starts to cross the room.
“Wait, Harry-” he hears the frantic edge on Draco’s voice, and it puts him on edge; he stops, instinctively, but he’s already stepped into the room.
Nothing happens.
“Guess not,” Ron says, frowning.
They cross the room warily, but nothing happens, even when Harry grabs onto the door handle and pulls.
“It’s locked,” he says, frowning. Ron, Hermione, and Draco grab onto the handle, too, and the four of them try pulling on it at the same time.
It doesn’t work.
“ Alohomora,” Hermione says, waving her wand at the door. They pull on it again, and nothing happens. “Well, the key’s got to be here somewhere, then. Let’s start looking.”
Harry looks around; the room’s empty, except for the birds and a stack of brooms at the corner of the room. He looks up at the birds again; they can’t just be here for no reason, can they?
“Draco?” he calls. “What kind of birds are these?”
Draco looks up with a frown; the birds are glinting, glittering, faint metallic sounds coming when they fly too close to each other.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never seen birds like that.”
Harry squints and tries to look closer; one of them swoops lower than the rest, and Harry can finally see it clearly.
“They’re not birds!” he says. “They’re keys!”
With glittering, paper-thin wings, speeding around the room.
“One of them has to open the door!” Hermione says. “That’s what the brooms are for, we have to catch it!”
“Look for an old, silver key,” Harry says. “It has to match the lock.
They each grab a broom, and speed into the air; the keys fly away from them, avoiding their fingers, so fast it’s hard to see them.
Harry’s not the youngest seeker in a century for nothing, though.
“I’ve got it!” he calls, waving the key in his hand.
His friends cheer, and they speed back down to the ground and throw their brooms to the side; Harry pushes it into the lock and turns it, and the door opens.
* * *
It doesn’t make any sense; Draco’s been turning it over in his head, over and over for a while now. If he’d come looking for the Stone and hadn’t wanted anyone to catch him, he would’ve vanished the brooms. No one would’ve been able to follow him. It’s not like he’d need them coming back out.
He thinks it’s what Snape would've done, too. He’s taught Draco, raised him more than his father has. If he’s learned anything at all about Snape, it’s how he thinks, and if he wanted to be alone for something, he would’ve made sure no one would be able to follow, Draco’s certain.
He thinks anyone – any sort of wizard with a wand and half a brain – would've done it, too.
Unless they wanted someone to follow them.
Unless they were expecting it.
Draco’s stomach is sinking steadily the longer they’re here.
The next chamber is lightless, so dark it’s nearly impossible to see. When the door closes behind them with a bang – that makes all of them flinch – they're immersed in complete darkness.
“ Lumos ,” Draco’s shaky voice whispers, and, a moment later, the tip of his wand’s lit up.
“What is-”
A second later, the room lights up, and a huge, marble game of wizard’s chess is revealed.
They stand behind the black pieces, all bigger than them and faceless.
This has got to be McGonagall’s , Draco thinks, because who else would think of this ?
He doesn’t think they’ll all make it past this room. A wizard’s game of chess against McGonagall with four players that must survive? It’s not going to happen.
He sets his jaw.
* * *
Hermione chews at her lower lip; across the room, the white pieces stand, just as tall and faceless as the black ones. They’re meant to play, she knows. She’s no good at wizard’s chess, has never won a game, but Ron’s magnificent at it. Draco’s good, too, and though he hasn’t been playing for as long as Ron has, if they took control of the pieces, one of them would undoubtably win the game, but that doesn’t make any sense.
Of course one of them is going to win, one of them has to. The trial doesn’t make any sense unless-
“We’re meant to play,” Ron says. “We have to win to get across the room.”
There’s a door, behind the white pieces.
Hermione’s stomach tightens. Wizard’s chess is brutal; the pieces rebuild themselves automatically, yes, but she and her friends won’t.
Ron steps forward, touches one of the knights, and its horse paws to the ground; the knight turns its head to look at Ron.
“Do we have to join you to get across?” he asks.
The knight nods, and then straightens up again. Ron exhales, steps back again.
“I guess we must each be a black piece,” he says, looking at the board thoughtfully, and then at his friends. “Don’t be offended, but ‘Mione you suck at chess, Harry, you’re not that good, and Draco, you’re good, but I’m better.”
“Not offended,” Hermione says immediately, shaking her head. “Just tell us what to do.”
Draco and Harry nod in agreement, and Ron chews on his lower lip.
“Alright,” he says thoughtfully. “Harry, take the place of that bishop, Hermione, take the place of that castle. Draco, you’ll be a knight and I’ll be the other.”
Ron begins to direct chess pieces; they listen to him, move where he tells them to silently, and Hermione can’t help the continuous tightening of her stomach. Her hands won’t stop trembling.
“Harry, move diagonally four squares to the right.”
Harry does. The game continues, and though Hermione doesn’t understand what’s happening, she understands the looks on her friend’s faces, so she knows something bad is about to happen when both Ron and Draco grimace.
“Draco,” Ron begins shakily.
“I know,” Draco says, nodding, and Hermione looks between them frantically. “I know. I’ve - it’s alright. I know you can win.”
“What are you talking about?” Harry asks. “What are you going to do?”
Ron calls out a chess move, moving the bishop that’s not Harry. Draco tightens his fists at his sides.
The Queen steps forward, and, a moment later, her stone arm is extending and hitting their Draco across the face so hard he slumps against the board; Hermione and Harry scream at the same time, and the Queen drags him off the board and throws him to the side.
“Draco!” Harry’s about to step off his square, but Ron yells, “ Wait!”
“It had to be that way,” Ron says. He's trembling all over, eyes darting between Draco, slumped on the side, and the board, attempting to keep them safe. “We have to keep going.”
“But-”
“We can’t-”
“I won’t lose after this!” Ron says fiercely.
So they keep going: he takes out as many of the white pieces as they’ve taken of theirs; Ron realizes just in time to move them when his friends are in danger, and Hermione’s heart is beating in her throat the entire time.
She half listens to Ron, half keeps an eye on Draco on the side of the board; he’s not waking up, but he’s alive, he must be. There’s already a dark bruise forming across his face, and his hairline is dripping with blood. Hermione can’t bring herself to look any longer, and at the same time can’t make herself look away.
At one point, Ron pauses; he looks around the board, at the white Queen – whose head is now turned towards him – and his face seems to set.
“No.” There must be very few moves left if Harry realizes what Ron is about to do.
“I have to.”
“ No .”
“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Hermione says; the curse word sounds foreign on her lips, but she doesn’t understand, and she hates not understanding.
“I have to sacrifice myself,” Ron says. “Then Harry can take the King.”
“What?” Hermione asks. “But-”
“It’s the only way.”
“Ron, you can’t-” Harry begins.
"Right,” Ron says heavily. “So give up, then? Let Snape take the stone, give it to You-Know-Who? Make Draco’s piece being killed by the Queen useless?”
Harry and Hermione stay quiet, and Ron nods decisively.
Hearing him call out the order makes dread pool in Hermione’s belly, but watching him get taken down is another thing entirely; it nearly makes her want to throw up, but, as it is, she can hardly do anything other than let out a strangled scream. Harry’s bishop moves automatically, destroys the Queen, and they’ve won.
“We need to keep going,” Harry says; they’re both staring, horrified, at Ron’s and Draco’s bodies – lying limp on the side of the chess board – but Hermione thinks she can see them breathing. Maybe she’s not, maybe it’s a product of her mind, but she’s not willing to believe otherwise.
“Right.” And with that, they set forward, shaken, and scared, and frankly, more than a little out of their depth.
They reach another door, and, when Harry pushes it open, the two of them gag, covering their noses with their shirts.
“What is that?” They step inside, and find, unconscious and on the floor, a troll, like the one they’d fought on Halloween.
“Oh.” Hermione shudders.
“I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one.” Harry pulls a face, as they step over the troll’s body. “Let’s go.”
Harry opens the other door, and they step through together; Hermione’s hands are already fisted at her sides, body tense at the thought of what might come next. To her great surprise, the room is empty other than for the table in the middle; it has seven different bottles on it. Snape’s, then.
“What are we supposed to do here?” Harry asks with a frown.
There’s a loud sound behind them, and they turn to see purple flames lit all across the wall; a loud sound from in front of them, and they turn to find black flames across the other side.
On the table, beside the potions, is a riddle written in Snape’s handwriting. Hermione chews on her lower lip while she reads it; one to go through, one to go back, two are wine, but three will kill them.
“This is brilliant,” she exclaims, when she’s done reading. “It’s not magic, it’s just logic! We’ve only got to figure it out!”
“Right,” Harry says, frowning. “How are we going to do that?”
Hermione gives him a look. “It’s only logic, Harry.”
She reads the note several times over, and then continues to recite it out loud as she works, discarding potions but leaving them in their place so the riddle will make sense.
“There!” she says happily. “This will get us through the black fire, and this will get us through the purple.”
Harry looks into the bottle that will get them through the black fire, and his stomach sinks.
“There’s not enough here for both of us,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll drink it, I’ll go forward. You need to drink that one, and get back to Ron and Draco. Find someone – McGonagall, or Madam Pomfrey, or anyone else – and get them here. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold Snape.”
“Are you sure, Harry?” Hermione asks, frowning tightly. “I want to help you, I want-”
“You’ve already helped,” Harry says. “So much. Draco and Ron need help, you need to go to them.”
Hermione purses her lips, and, a moment later, she throws herself at Harry and hugs him. Harry hugs her back, a little embarrassed, and, a second later, she pulls away.
“You’re a great wizard, Harry,” she says. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“Not as good as you,” Harry says, embarrassed.
“Better than me.” Hermione shakes her head. “You can do this.”
She drinks the potion, and, a minute later, disappears through the purple flames.
* * *
When Harry steps through the black fire, he expects almost anything.
He does not expect Quirrell.
“You?” he asks, confused.
“Me,” Quirrell says calmly; there’s no trace of the stutter, or the continuous twitching he’s been haunted by all year. “You took a long time to get here, didn’t you, Potter?”
“What?”
“I was expecting you,” Quirrell says, almost bored .
“But I thought – Snape-”
Quirrell’s laugh is cold. “Oh, yes, I know what you thought. Saw you running around all year, following him and coming up with theories . You really should’ve listened to your little blonde friend.”
Draco.
Harry’s blood runs cold. “Snape tried to kill me.”
“No, I tried to kill you!” Quirrell snarls. “And I'd have managed to, too, if Snape hadn’t been muttering a bloody countercurse!”
“Snape... saved me?” Harry asks, uncertainly.
“Yes,” Quirrell says. “And he wasted his time on it, too, since I’m just going to kill you tonight.” He waves his wand, and, out of nowhere, ropes shoot towards Harry, wrapping themselves tightly around him. “Now stay quiet and don’t bother me. I need to figure this out.”
And he turns, staring right into the mirror of Erised.
“I see the stone,” Quirrell mutters to himself. “But where is it?”
Harry needs to buy himself time; at any moment, Hermione will be alerting McGonagall, and Harry has no doubt she could take Quirrell. She could take anyone. Harry only needs more time.
“But Snape hates me,” he says.
“Oh, he does,” Quirrell agrees, waving him away. “He and your father were together in school, they loathed each other. Petty, isn’t he?”
“But I heard you arguing!” Harry continues; he’ll think about Snape loathing his father later. “I heard you sobbing-”
“That was not Snape,” Quirrell turns to him, suddenly, a horrible look on his face. “You think Snape could scare me , when I’ve got the Dark Lord on my side? No, Potter, I was not speaking to Snape that night. My Master-”
“Voldemort was with you?” Harry’s voice is choked. Fear, real fear, not like anything he’s felt before, is running in his blood, making it hard to do anything other than take shallow breaths. “He’s evil-”
“He is with me, wherever I go!” Quirrell says. He barks out a laugh, shakes his head. “Good and evil! You’re a child, Potter, and you know nothing . There’s no good and evil, there’s only power, and those too weak to seek it.”
And with that, Quirrell turns to the mirror again, muttering to himself.
“How do I find it?” Quirrell asks, but he doesn’t seem to be speaking to Harry. “How do I find it, Master, help me.”
“Use the boy,” the voice is hoarse, scratchy, like it hurts to speak; Harry looks round, but there’s no one else in the room with them. “Use the boy.”
“Of course!” Quirrell waves his wand again, and the ropes binding Harry fall away; he drops to the floor. “Potter, come here.”
I only have to lie , Harry thinks desperately. Only one lie .
Inexplicably, he thinks of Draco and how lying to Snape had gotten him into the infirmary with the worst anxiety attack possible; he’s glad Draco’s not here to be put in this position.
“What do you see?” Quirrell asks urgently, as soon as Harry steps in front of the mirror.
In his reflection, Harry can only see himself, for a moment. Then, his reflection winks at him, and, slowly, out of his pocket, he pulls out a blood-red stone, like the one they'd seen in the book Hermione had found Nicolas Flamel in. His reflection puts it back in his pocket, and, at the same time, Harry feels something heavy drop into his own pocket.
“I’m sitting with my friends in the Common Room,” he lies. “We’re just talking.”
“You’re useless!” Quirrell shoves him out of the way, and Harry stumbles and lands on the steps.
“He lies!” the scratchy voice from before accuses angrily. “He lies!”
Quirrell turns to Harry. “Tell me the truth, Potter!”
“Let me talk to him,” the voice says, and Harry stands, legs numb; Quirrell begins unwrapping his turban, and though Harry wants to run, he stays rooted to the spot, unable to feel his legs or make them do anything.
Quirrell turns away, and, where there should be the back of Quirrell’s head, there is a face; it’s the most terrible face Harry has seen, with shining red eyes and slits for a nose, looking more snake than human.
“Harry Potter,” the voice hisses. Voldemort. “Do you see what I’ve become? Do you see what you’ve made me? Nothing but a shadow, nothing but a name! But soon, soon I’ll have my strength back. Give me the stone that is in your pocket.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit .
“No,” Harry says, simply, because what else is there to do by this point? Maybe he’ll die for this, maybe he’ll suffer, but he’ll never let anyone think he went along with Voldemort’s plans.
His parents died for this, before him; his parents died trying to stop him, and Harry will do the same before he lets Voldemort return to power.
“Give it to me!”
“No.”
“ Give it to me!”
“ Never !”
“Seize him!”
The moment Quirrell touches him, pure pain concentrates itself into Harry’s scar, and he yells in anguish, attempting to pull away. The pain is splitting his head in two, it’s horrible, he can’t-
Quirrell lets go of him.
“My hands!” he’s yelling. “My hands!”
Harry looks at them, and sees them red, shiny and blistering, much like Draco’s hand when he put it in the fire after Harry woke him up.
“Grab him! Don’t let him escape!” Quirrell grabs him again, and the pain to his scar returns; Harry struggles with all his might, and, a few moments later, lets go again.
“I can’t!” Quirrell cries. “My hands!”
“Kill him, then!” Voldemort booms.
Quirrell raises his wand, but Harry’s faster; he lunges himself at Quirrell, and puts his hand directly on his face; Quirrell howls in pain, and Harry’s scar is burning, and there is yelling, and Harry can’t think-
The world fades to black.
Harry has a lovely dream. He’s playing Quidditch, and he catches the snitch, and then everything fades away; he’s left standing alone in the Quidditch pitch, and, when he looks around, he finds Draco sitting on the grass a few steps away. He walks to him and sits across from him.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Draco asks. His face is bruised, and his hairline is bleeding, like the last time Harry saw him; his face is deathly pale.
“What’s going on?” he asks, swallowing tightly. Is he dead? Is Draco dead, too, is that why they’re both here?
Draco doesn’t answer; Phillipa is in his lap, but it’s not Philippa, it’s evil, and horrible, and Harry thinks he needs to get Draco away from it but he can’t-
Thunder roars in the sky.
“You need to wake up,” Draco doesn’t look away from him; his eyes are hollow, dead.
“What’s going on?” Harry asks again, desperately. “How can I help you?”
“You need to wake up,” Draco says again, and though his voice is calm Harry can see panic rising. “You need to wake up, you need to wake up, you need to wake up-”
Harry opens his eyes and stares into Albus Dumbledore’s face; he shoots up, nearly head-butting the headmaster.
“Sir, the stone – Quirrell – we've got to-”
“Calm down, my dear boy,” Dumbledore says calmly. “Quirrell does not have the stone.”
“Then who does?”
“Everything’s alright now, Harry, don’t get upset. Madam Pomfrey will throw me out.”
Harry has no doubt that she would throw anyone out, even if it were the Minister of Magic, if she thought it was better for her patient. He looks around and recognizes the infirmary, and, slowly, he sinks back into the pillow, closing his eyes in relief.
“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger will be happy you’re awake,” Dumbledore says.
Harry’s eyes immediately open again. He swallows drily. “And Draco?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore says. “How could I forget?”
Harry has a feeling it wasn’t a mistake, but he says nothing; Dumbledore has a glint in his eyes, and, for now, Harry doesn’t care about figuring it out. In the bedside table, there is what seems to be half a candy store.
“Gifts from your friends and admirers,” Dumbledore says. “I believe-”
“What happened?” Harry interrupts. “To the stone?”
His entire body is aching; he thought pain potions could do anything, but apparently, he was wrong, because he can feel every inch of his skin in pain, from his forehead to his toes. He can feel the pain even in his fingernails.
He wants to be asleep again, but he forces his eyes open when he remembers the way hollow-eyed Draco had looked at him.
Dumbledore smiles. “It’s been destroyed.”
“ What?” Harry asks. “But what about Nicolas Flamel and his wife? Won’t they die?”
Dumbledore seems gleeful. “Oh, you did do proper research, didn’t you? Well, yes, Nicolas and his wife will die. But they have enough elixir to get their affairs in order. They both feel it’s time.”
Harry feels – numb. He takes a deep breath, and asks what he really wants to ask, because he feels he deserves the truth. “Voldemort is not gone, is he? He’s going to try to come back again.”
Dumbledore’s smile turns sad. “Yes, Harry, I’m afraid he will.”
“If I ask you - I want to know the truth,” Harry says. “Will you tell me?”
“To the best of my abilities,” Dumbledore swears.
Harry takes a deep breath and begins asking questions.
* * *
After a long, long talk with Dumbledore, in which Harry finds out many things, the headmaster leaves, and Harry is left begging for Madam Pomfrey to let his friends in.
“Five minutes!” he pleads.
“No.”
“Please!”
“You need to rest, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey says.
“I am resting!” Harry exclaims, signaling to himself, lying in a hospital bed. “Lying down and everything! I swear I won’t get up again if you let them in!”
Pomfrey gives him a look, but she sighs. “Alright. Five minutes only .”
With a wave of her wand, the infirmary door opens, and Draco, Ron, and Hermione step inside, grinning brightly; it is a testament to Madam Pomfrey’s healing abilities that neither Ron nor Draco look like they were almost killed by a chess piece.
Harry tells them everything that happened – they are a really good audience, gasping in all the right places, and even screaming when Harry reveals what was under Quirrell’s turban – and then asks them how they got out alright.
“Oh, it was ages,” Hermione complains, as if that was the hard part of what they went through. “Bringing Ron and Draco back around took horribly long, I was afraid they’d never wake again!”
Harry’s chest seizes, and he gives a grin to his friends. “I’m glad you were wrong.”
Draco’s smile is blinding.
“Do you think Dumbledore meant for you to go after him?” Ron asks, suddenly, and Draco’s smile disappears, replaced instead, by a pretty scowl. “Sending you the cloak and everything?”
“Draco thinks he did,” Hermione says.
“He yelled at Dumbledore.” Ron grins excitedly, and Harry looks at Draco, surprised, who is looking away, cheeks burning.
“You did?” Harry asks in wonder.
“He put everyone in danger on purpose,” Draco says, affronted. “Who thinks keeping an invaluable thing like the Philosopher’s Stone in a school is a good idea? He’s mad! And letting you go fight Voldemort? You’re eleven!”
Harry doesn’t know if he agrees with Draco, but he’s pleased he was so indignant about it he yelled at the headmaster. It’s flattering.
“Alright, I’ve given you nearly fifteen minutes, get out!” Madam Pomfrey says.
“We’ll see you at the feast tomorrow!” Hermione calls back, while Madam Pomfrey ushers them out.
“Gryffindor won the house cup!” Ron yells back excitedly. “I got a ton of points from McGonagall for beating her death chess game!”
“He did!” Hermione agrees. “She said they’ll have to have a rematch sometime!”
“Get better soon, Harry!” is what Draco yells.
Even after Madam Pomfrey’s shut the doors, Harry can’t stop grinning.
* * *
The end of the year feast is glorious. There is food everywhere, anything and everything Draco could ever want, but he’s not hungry; it hadn’t really occurred to him that, in only a couple of days, he’ll be right back where he started, locked in the Manor again.
The hall is adorned with red and gold banners, Gryffindor’s crest everywhere, and Draco knows he should be happy, and he is, but it’s - a little melancholic.
“Eat more,” Ron demands, shoving a full plate at him. “I swear, what are you going to do this summer without me? Disappear ?”
He might as well; he’s practically invisible in the manor, and his only hope is that now that he’s gone to Hogwarts, his parents will let him outside, even if it’s just to the manor grounds.
“I’ll be fine,” he says instead, rolling his eyes and smiling. “I don’t eat that little.”
“Yes, you do,” Ron says.
“Yes, you do,” Harry says.
“Yes, you do,” Hermione says.
Draco rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at them, and they grin.
“How did you do on your exams?” Hermione asks excitedly, and Ron and Harry groan. “I got a hundred and twelve percent in charms, and-”
As Hermione keeps going on and on about exams, Draco relaxes. He’ll be back here in no time, and with his friends, everything will always be alright.
“Are you ready?”
Ron, Hermione, and Draco nod. They step out of the train together, and Hermione immediately finds her parents, as well as Ron his. They're all speaking loudly, and Harry feels truly happy for his friends.
“There are my parents,” Draco doesn’t sound happy; Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are – well, they’re somehow exactly what Harry expected and not at all. Draco is clearly a mix of the both of them, with his mother’s sharp bone structure and his father’s eyes. They look – cold. Regal. More like marble statues than real people. They stay still enough to look like statues, too, barely even blinking. “I - well, I have to go.”
Harry nods; he wants to hug Draco, but he doesn’t think his parents would appreciate that, so, instead, he smiles at him.
“We’ll be back soon,” he tells him.
It’ll feel endless, for him; time with the Dursleys always does, and he can hardly believe he’s going to go back to that after he’s known this; it’ll somehow be worse, even if he wouldn’t trade what’s happened for the world.
Draco smiles and nods. “We’ll be back soon.”
Harry doesn’t know if he believes it.
He watches him walk to his parents, and then watches them apparate away.
He goes to find the Dursleys.