Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry woke at five o’clock the first morning of September and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. He got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn’t want to walk into the station in his wizard’s robes—he’d change on the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had everything he needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Harry’s huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys’ car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Harry, and they had set off.

They reached King’s Cross just before ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry’s trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him. Harry thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.

“Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine—platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don’t seem to have built it yet, do they?”

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.

“Have a good term,” said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. Harry’s mouth went rather dry. What on earth was he going to do? He was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig. He’d have to ask someone.

He began to stop a passing guard. Before he could get the question out, however, an unpleasantly familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Hey, you! From Madam Malkin’s!”

Harry froze mid-syllable and turned around. The pale boy from the robe shop was standing in front of the barrier with two adults and a loaded luggage trolley.

“Yeah, you!” The boy waved at Harry. “Come over here, my parents want to meet you.”

Harry didn’t see any way out of saying hello. There was no way he could pretend he hadn’t heard the boy. With a mumbled apology to the guard, Harry trudged over to the family and forced a polite smile. The boy had clearly inherited his father’s grey eyes and pale skin and hair, but he’d gotten his sharp features from his mother. Harry privately thought she pulled off the sharp angles a bit better than her son. Her blue eyes and shimmering gold hair reminded him of a sunny afternoon, even if her annoyed expression simultaneously made him feel guilty for daydreaming about sunny afternoons.

“Hello,” Harry said.

The man shook Harry’s hand firmly. “Lucius Malfoy,” he said. “This is my wife, Narcissa, and you've already met our son, Draco.”

Their Muggle clothing was so normal and well-matched, Harry wouldn’t have guessed they were magical if not for the giant eagle owl in its gilded cage. Hedwig ruffled her feathers to make herself appear bigger and glared at the larder owl; it glared back at her, as if planning to eat her. Harry shifted a little in front of Hedwig to make her feel safer.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said politely. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry?” Mrs. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Your surname wouldn’t happen to be Potter, would it?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

Draco and his father both looked stunned. Mrs. Malfoy, however, simply clasped both of Harry’s hands in hers and kissed him very lightly on the cheek.

“Welcome back to the Wizarding world, Harry,” she whispered against his cheek, so that passersby couldn’t hear her.

Harry felt a heat flood through his ears and face completely independent of the mid-morning sun. His parents must surely have kissed him and touched him like this, but Harry couldn’t remember it. The only form of touch he was accustomed to was from Dudley’s fists and trainers, and he tried to avoid that whenever possible.

Mrs. Malfoy straightened and smiled at Hedwig. Now that the smile had replaced her irritated expression, she was rather beautiful. “What a lovely owl. Have you named her?”

“H-Hedwig,” Harry stammered.

“Oh, and a lovely namesake, too,” she said. “May I give her a treat?”

Harry nodded. Mrs. Malfoy opened her small, ordinary Muggle handbag, produced a pouch from within, and fed Hedwig a few owl treats. Still eyeing the eagle owl suspiciously, Hedwig took the treats delicately from Mrs. Malfoy’s long, well-manicured fingers. She was careful not to peck Mrs. Malfoy’s fingers, and Harry fought the urge to tell her she was a good owl.

“Where is your family, Harry?” Mrs. Malfoy asked as she returned the treat pouch to her purse. “We were just about to take photographs. We could take some of you and your family, if you like.”

“My wife has just acquired a very expensive new camera,” explained Mr. Malfoy, his voice a mixture of exasperation and fondness, “as well as an ambition to burn through another dozen rolls of film before lunchtime.”

“Our only son is leaving for school,” Mrs. Malfoy protested. “This is a very big day for our family—and no doubt for Harry’s, too.”

“Er, my parents are dead,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Yes, of course, and I am so very sorry, Harry.” Unlike her son, Mrs. Malfoy did sound truly sorry. “But who has brought you here? Where are the Muggle relations who have brought you up? Surely you are not here alone?”

“It’s all right,” Harry reassured her. “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t.”

“Well, you may not mind, but the station employees no doubt will,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “And I mind, too. I insist you join us for photographs and brunch, Harry. Every first-year ought to have someone seeing them off, especially if they’re one of Draco’s friends.”

Harry felt too awkward to correct her about being Draco’s friend. He also had a suspicion that Mrs. Malfoy was trying to manipulate him, or at least get on his good side for her own reasons. All the same, his stomach was rumbling. Deciding he was in too good a mood about leaving the Dursleys to mind putting up with Draco and his family, Harry nodded.

“Excellent.” Lucius Malfoy clapped a paternal hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Enough dilly-dallying where any Muggle can hear us. Let’s carry on once we reach the platform, shall we?”

Before Harry had fully realized what was happening, the Malfoys had steered him and his trolley directly into the barrier. Harry flinched slightly as he saw the brick wall coming toward his face, but Mrs. Malfoy’s warm hand touched the small of his back. Harry took another shuffle forward, then another, and suddenly he was standing in an entirely new place. 

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o’clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it.

“Thanks,” he said in relief to the Malfoys.

“Don’t mention it,” said Mrs. Malfoy. “Now, pictures! And then let’s get your luggage stowed so we can have our picnic.”

Harry felt exceedingly awkward posing for photos in his oversized Muggle clothing with a boy he barely knew but didn’t like. But he obliged Mrs. Malfoy, and thankfully it was over quickly. Mrs. Malfoy waved her wand, and Harry watched in amazement as his and Draco’s trunks zoomed neatly into a compartment together.

“Wow,” Harry said involuntarily.

Draco was watching with a bored expression.

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” Mrs. Malfoy remarked. “Draco hasn’t been impressed by my magic since he started walking. Let’s lift the owls by hand; they don’t always appreciate magic, either.”

She helped Harry load Hedwig into the compartment, and Mr. Malfoy helped Draco with the eagle owl. When the owls were secured, the other three sat down on the seats of their chosen compartment. Harry quickly did the same. Mrs. Malfoy passed her handbag to her husband, who opened it at once and held it open for her without being asked. Mrs. Malfoy put in her hand, then her forearm, then her entire arm to the shoulder. Harry stared, trying to figure out how she’d done it.

As if reading his mind, Mrs. Malfoy smiled at him again. “It’s bewitched to hold more than it ought to.”

“Will I learn that at Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

“No, but you’ll be able to figure it out once you finish school,” she assured him. “Ah, found it. Hold it steady, Lucius.”

Mr. Malfoy’s fingers curled around the edges of the bag, pulling it wider still. Mrs. Malfoy removed her arm from the bag, and now she was holding a picnic basket. Harry watched, not quite believing his eyes, as she worked the large basket out past the tiny opening of the handbag.

“Aren’t picnics normally held outside?” Harry asked.

“My sisters are four and five years older than I am,” explained Mrs. Malfoy. “I didn’t mind so much when Bellatrix left for school, but I was inconsolable the next year, when I was to be left entirely alone. My sisters snuck me and a basket of food onto the train so I could go with them. It became our tradition.”

“Really?” Harry asked in stunned disbelief. “You snuck into Hogwarts every year from the time you were seven?”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Malfoy laughed. “My absence was noticed before the train departed, and my sisters’ backsides were always thoroughly smacked in one of these compartments—in front of their school friends, no less. But that didn’t stop us from trying every year, even once they’d both finished school and it was only me left.”

“It must be nice to have sisters,” Harry remarked.

Mrs. Malfoy suddenly looked sad. “Yes, it must,” she said. “We swore we’d all do it again for any of our children. But that was a long time ago. So much has changed since then.”

Harry said nothing. He felt uncomfortable enough as it was, like he was intruding on their family time. He couldn’t think of anything consoling to say that would not sound ridiculous coming from a near-stranger.

A sudden pop nearly made him jump off his seat. He turned to see Mr. Malfoy opening four bottles with a tap of his wand. 

“We shall simply have to create a new tradition,” he said bracingly, handing his wife a bottle. “Perhaps each year we shall invite a new friend to join us in our picnic for Draco.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Malfoy smiled fondly at him, then turned her warm gaze like a spotlight on Harry. “Harry, it has been so lovely to meet you. Never mind those Muggle relations who left you on your own; it was truly their loss and our gain.”

Once again, Harry had the distinct impression that he was being flattered for ulterior motives. But Mrs. Malfoy was being so persistently kind to Harry, something he had only ever experienced before from Hagrid, that he realized he was starting not to mind. Leaving the Dursleys was good enough for Harry on its own, but if rejoining the Wizarding world meant being showered with food and praise by strangers, he could hardly complain.

Mr. Malfoy handed Harry a bottle. “Butterbeer,” he explained. “I don’t believe they have it in the Muggle world.”

“They don’t,” Harry said.

“Then this will be a special toast indeed,” Mr. Malfoy said, raising his bottle. “To new traditions, new experiences, and most importantly, new friends.”

The four of them clinked their bottles together and then drank. Harry immediately decided he liked Butterbeer. It was sweet and foamy and made him feel warm all over. They sat in a pensive silence, drinking their Butterbeer, until Draco spoke at last.

“What house was Aunt Andromeda in?”

“Slytherin,” replied his mother. “Nearly everyone in our family has been in Slytherin.”

“Except Uncle Sirius. He was in Gryffindor.”

“Yes, but we don’t talk about him, Draco. Particularly not in front of company.”

“Why not?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy exchanged looks that plainly said, “Should we tell him?” However, before they could respond, Draco did for them.

“Well, he went rogue, didn’t he?” Draco sounded almost amused. “Decided he didn’t want to be part of the family anymore. Went to live with your dad, from what I hear, then did the unthinkable.”

“Draco.” Mrs. Malfoy was sitting at the edge of her seat now, her hand on her son’s arm. “Perhaps Harry would prefer a less distressing—”

“What did he do?” Harry asked, feeling both eager and a little apprehensive to hear what Draco might say next.

“He betrayed your parents,” Draco said dramatically. “Told the Dark Lord exactly where to find them.”

The four of them sat in silence again, but it was not the peaceful silence of only a moment ago. In the rest of the train, more people were boarding, loading trunks, squabbling over seats, shrieking delighted hellos to their friends. Harry looked down at the last two bites of his sandwich. He suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore.

“Why did he betray them?” Harry asked.

“No one knows.” Draco shrugged. “Maybe he was secretly a Death Eater all along. Maybe he was just mad. Or maybe he set the Dark Lord up—knew you’d do him in and figured he’d get the Dark Lord and your parents out of the way at the same time. How did you finish him off, anyway?”

“No idea,” Harry muttered. “Wish I knew.”

“Enough of this gloomy conversation,” Mrs. Malfoy said firmly. “Harry doesn’t want to think about this on his first day. Today is about the future, not the past. Perhaps he doesn’t want to know about all that at all.”

“But he does know now,” said Mr. Malfoy. “And all the better, I say. Everyone else knows, so it’s only right that he should, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quickly. “If there are things about me everyone knows, I should know it too.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “I’m sure Draco can tell you anything you want to know.”

“I can.” Draco stuck out his chest proudly. “While most boys our age are still rolling around wrestling in mud puddles, I actually pay attention to the topics my parents discuss.”

The train gave a warning whistle.

“I suppose I should change into my robes,” Harry said. “I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about me from these clothes.”

The Malfoys all suddenly looked amused.

“You needn’t worry about that,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Our kind has never been the most adept at wearing Muggle clothing correctly.”

“You all do a good job of it,” Harry remarked.

“The Malfoys have always prided themselves on fitting in well in any situation,” said Mrs. Malfoy. “Including Muggles.”

“Yeah, but not for their sake.” Draco snorted. “Imagine us trying to use manners on them.”

Harry’s coolness must have showed in his expression, for Mrs. Malfoy suddenly said, “Lucius, perhaps you and Harry can discuss the Hogwarts houses while Draco helps me?”

She waved her wand. The brunch things began clearing themselves back into the picnic basket at once. Looking sullen, Draco followed his mother out to the corridor and shut the compartment door.

“Have you thought about what house you’d like to be in?” Mr. Malfoy asked.

“No,” Harry said truthfully. “I’ve heard Hufflepuff isn’t very highly thought of, though. And Slytherin is the house for dark witches and wizards.”

“That is partly true,” Mr. Malfoy conceded. “But it is also the house for open-minded, forward-thinking witches and wizards. If you want friends who would do anything to help and protect you, Slytherin is the place to be. And what’s more, nearly all of the greatest Aurors of all time have been Slytherin, like Rufus Scrimgeour, the current head of the Auror department. And Kingsley Shacklebolt. Why, even Alastor Moody, who fought the Dark Lord fiercely and is still close friends with Dumbledore to this day. Slytherin is a network, Harry. You would be most well-placed to achieve any—”

Harry was only half-listening to Mr. Malfoy. His right ear was straining to eavesdrop on Mrs. Malfoy and Draco in the corridor.

“—that I love Muggles!” Draco was saying angrily.

“No one is asking for that, Draco. I merely want you to choose your words more carefully. He was raised by Muggles, and his mother was Muggleborn. I’m simply asking you to consider his feelings and background.”

“What are you doing, Mother? What are you playing at?”

“I am making you a friend.”

“I don’t need your help with that! I’ve already got friends.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“So?”

“He’s all alone, Draco. Many will try to take advantage of him. You know the politics of our world. You could protect him. You could be a true friend to him. Please, Draco. If not for him, will you do it for me?”

“Fine,” Draco said. “I won’t promise to be his friend, but I’ll look out for him.”

“And?”

“And I promise not to say anything unkind about Muggles, even though his chucked him at the train station without so much as bothering to see him safely onto the train—”

“Thank you, Draco.”

“—before long, perhaps at Christmas?” Mr. Malfoy was finishing.

Harry blinked. He realized Mr. Malfoy had just asked him something, but he had no idea what.

“Er, sure,” Harry said. “That might be nice.”

The door to the compartment opened again. Draco entered and sat next to Harry, clearly trying hard not to look irritated. Mrs. Malfoy followed him a moment later, bringing with her two girls Harry’s age.

“Harry, this is Susan Bones,” Narcissa introduced the first girl. “Her aunt Amelia is the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. And this is Daphne Greengrass; her mother is a friend of mine.”

Mr. Malfoy rose and sidled past the newcomers so they had room to sit. He gave Draco a peck on the head as he passed him. Harry, not for the first time that day, felt a stab of longing for his own parents to be there.

Mrs. Malfoy was in the middle of magically duplicating a little parcel she’d brought for Draco. “Don’t make yourself sick with sweets from the trolley,” she warned Draco, kissing him on his cheek and tousling his hair. “Write to me first chance you get.”

“Mother, you’re embarrassing me,” Draco said, but he didn’t look at all sorry to be getting kissed by his adoring mother.

“And you, too, Harry?” Narcissa stared searchingly into Harry’s eyes as she thrust the second parcel into his hands. “Will you write to me as well? Narcissa Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor—Hedwig will know where to find me.”

Her eyes were such a bright blue it was almost painful to hold her gaze. Harry nodded.

“If you don’t mind,” he said lamely, “I suppose I could write.”

“My days are rather boring,” she said with a small smile. “And I don’t expect Draco to write nearly often enough to occupy me. I would very much like to know how Hogwarts is treating you, Harry. Promise me you’ll write if you need anything?”

“I promise,” Harry said.

Mrs. Malfoy kissed him on his forehead and rose. “Behave yourselves,” she said to the compartment, her eyebrows rising in warning as her gaze passed Draco.

The train blew its whistle again. Mr. Malfoy took his wife’s elbow, and they hurried off together. Harry and Draco waved to them out the window until the platform disappeared from view.

As more students came to greet the other occupants of the compartment, Harry sat mulling over the past hour. He felt rather manipulated, especially by Draco's mother. But to his surprise, he didn't mind nearly as much as he should have. Ulterior motives or not, it had felt very, very nice to have someone fuss over Harry the way he imagined his own mother would have.

Chapter Text

The train ride to Hogwarts should have been exciting, but Harry couldn’t help feeling a sense of dread. Draco relished guiding Harry through each part of the Wizarding world as he first encountered it. Harry was disliking Draco more by the minute, and the constant, smug reminders of everything Harry didn’t yet know were not improving his sentiment. It took everything he had not to get up and leave.

Ten minutes into Draco's third long and rambling monologue, Susan abruptly stood up, said, “Loo,” and squeezed past the others out the door. She returned roughly thirty seconds later, with three boys and another girl in tow.

“Budge up, make room,” she said as she squeezed back in. “Harry, these are our friends: Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, Blaise Zabini, and Hannah Abbott. Everyone, this is Harry. Daphne, do you know Terry?”

"Yes, our mothers went to school together," said Daphne. "Hello, everyone. It's so nice to be going to school together finally, isn't it?" 

"Oh, what a pretty owl!" Hannah admired Hedwig. "Who does she belong to?"

"Me," said Harry.

Blaise sat next to Draco, and the two whispered over some secret joke. Ernie stuck out his hand to Harry.

"Ernie Macmillan," he introduced himself.

"Harry Potter," replied Harry.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence, but then Susan quickly joked, "Yes, he really is that Harry Potter, so in case any of us is You-Know-Who polyjuiced, best not get any ideas."

They all laughed, even Harry. The energy in their carriage improved significantly with the new additions, and even Daphne joined the chatter now that Draco wasn't allowed to dominate the conversation. To Harry's surprise, everyone went out of their way to include him in the conversation. They explained things he didn’t know, and not in Draco’s condescending way, but in an excited, friendly way. They all seemed genuinely eager to get to know Harry. Harry, who had never had any friends at school (nor anywhere else), didn't know what to make of their behaviour.

"Harry, forgive the impertinent question," said Ernie, "but I think we're all dying to know—how did you defeat You-Know-Who?"

"Don't know, sorry," Harry said. "I don't even remember it properly, to be honest."

"Well, you were only a baby," Daphne spoke up. "I don't remember anything before my third birthday party."

"I remember your third birthday party," said Terry. "I got so excited about the baby unicorns that I started crying. My mother had to take me inside so I could calm down enough to pet them. I think I still traumatized one for life." 

They all laughed again.  Then Draco said, "So which house do you think you'll be in?" and they all began eagerly discussing it.

"I'd love to be a Hufflepuff like my aunt."

"My whole family has been in Hufflepuff, so I probably will be too. I don't mind, though. I hear the common room is right near the kitchens."

"I really hope I'm in Ravenclaw. It just seems like the place to really challenge my brain."

"I don't care which house I'm on, as long as I get to play Quidditch at some point!"

They were all talking over each other trying to explain Quidditch to Harry when a little grey-haired witch pushed the sweets trolley by.

"Want anything, Harry?" Draco asked, shaking a coin pouch ostentatiously. "My treat."

"You mean your father's treat," said Susan, and the others all laughed.

Draco scowled.

"Thanks, but I've got it." Harry pulled a few coins out of his own money pack, careful not to flash it around to everyone else. "Actually, does anyone want anything? My treat."

“Wow! Thanks, Harry!”

“Thank you!”

“Real kind of you, Harry," said Ernie. "Thank you. I’ll return the favor next time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. “It's a gift. Honestly, I’ve never had the chance to treat anyone before, and it sounded fun.”

“The Muggles you live with don’t give you enough pocket money to share treats?” Hannah asked.

Harry laughed. “They never gave me any pocket money at all.”

In fact, the Dursleys had never quite given him enough to eat most times, let alone an allowance, but Harry didn’t think that was anyone else’s business.

“Rotten luck to be raised by Muggles,” Draco said.

Blaise nodded his agreement, but the others instantly protested.

“I have Muggle family members,” argued Susan. “They’re perfectly nice people.”

“I’m a half-blood, too,” said Hannah. "My Muggle grandparents are really nice, and they're not afraid of magic at all. I like the Muggle side of my family just as much as the witch side!"

“Here, here,” said Terry. “My Muggle family is just fine. Well, one of my cousins keeps getting caught by the police for breaking into houses. But aside from him, the Muggles on my dad’s side are all normal, decent people.”

Harry got the impression Daphne and Ernie were waiting to voice their opinions until they heard Harry's.

“What do you think, Harry?” Daphne asked. “Are Muggles as bad as people say?”

“No,” Harry said. “Not all of them. The ones I lived really were rotten luck, though. I wouldn’t wish them on anyone, wizard or not.” 

“I suppose there are good and bad people in all communities,” Ernie said, as if he were dispensing sage wisdom to the other eleven-year-olds. "Maybe we ought to give everyone a chance before judging them."

"Yeah, sure, Ernie," Susan said. "Does anyone want my Dumbledore?"

"Nope," said Terry. "I already have a dozen of him. Here, Harry, ever seen a Chocolate Frog before?"

The train compartment door opened, and an older boy stood there. 

"Which one of you is Harry Potter?" he asked.

Harry raised his hand, and the boy took it and shook it. 

"Marcus Flint," he said. "Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. I'll see you around."

From then on, someone came to the compartment every few minutes. Most wanted to gawk at Harry, though once a boy called Neville came in frantically searching for a lost toad named Trevor.

"Poor Neville," said Daphne quietly once Neville had gone. "Didn't his uncle buy him that toad for not being a squib?"

"I honestly thought Neville was a squib," Susan admitted.

"We all did, even Neville," said Daphne. "He did magic once when he fell out a window, but everyone still thought maybe he was a squib—"

"He didn't fall!" Hannah giggled. "His uncle Algie accidentally dropped him!"

"Hannah! That's not funny! I'm glad Neville didn't break his neck!"

"I think my mother would probably kill anyone who dropped me out a window," Draco remarked. "Accident or otherwise."

"Oh, definitely!"

"She absolutely would."

"No offence, Draco, but your mother can be terrifying," said Ernie. "Remember when we were playing Quidditch and I accidentally knocked you off your broom and gave you a bloody nose?"

Draco snorted. "I mostly remember you screaming like a girl while she chased you and then crying for your mummy when she caught you."

"In fairness, I was six," Ernie said. "And it was my first sleep-away. And I didn't know she was chasing me because my trousers were caught on my toy broom."

"Listen." Susan raised her voice over the chatter. "I'm not saying Draco's mum is scarier than You-Know-Who, but I am saying we probably could've ended him a lot earlier if we'd started a rumour that he was coming for Draco."

Everyone chuckled or voiced their agreement, except Harry, who didn't feel like he knew Mrs. Malfoy well enough to comment. Draco turned pink. He opened his mouth to retort, but the compartment door slid open again.

"Harry Potter?" asked an eager-looking boy.

"Out!" Susan said, jumping up with her wand out. "I said get out!" 

The boy scampered off. Susan shut the compartment door then pointed her wand at it and said, "Colloportus!" She tugged on it, and it didn't move.

"Am I supposed to know how to do that already?" Harry asked nervously.

"No, of course not," Susan said. "Technically, it's illegal to do magic outside of Hogwarts."

"Not for everyone!" 

"Yeah, only when you're underage."

"What happens if you get caught?" Harry asked.

"You get expelled!"

"Hush, no you do not."

"You do so!"

"You get a letter."

"You get a letter, and then you get expelled. My aunt works at the Ministry, trust me on this."

"But you do get expelled."

"Only if you do something really mental!"

"The Hogwarts Express doesn't count, I heard."

"No, not really. We can do magic here because there are no Muggles. That's mainly what they're worried about."

"Got it," said Harry. "I'll try to avoid doing magic around Muggles, then."

Before Harry knew it, the train was slowing to a stop at a station in a small town. Susan unlocked the door, and they got off with the others. After a few moments shivering on the cold, dark platform, Harry was relieved to hear a familiar voice:

"First years! First years over here! All right there, Harry?" Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. "C’mon, follow me—any more first years? Mind yer step, now! First years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh’ll get yer first sight of Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus’ round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!".

The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more’n four to a boat!’ Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

Harry scrambled into a boat, and Draco, Daphne, and Blaise climbed in after him. 

“Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then—FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

Once they reached the castle, Hagrid escorted them to the front door and knocked loudly on it. The door swung open at once. There stood a tall, black-haired witch wearing emerald-green robes and a very stern expression.

“The first years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

Chapter Text

After explaining the sorting ceremony to them, Professor McGonagall led the first years into the Great Hall. She placed the Sorting Hat on a stool and then called the students up alphabetically, one by one. Harry felt increasingly sick as he watched everyone else get sorted.

Hannah was sorted into Hufflepuff, followed by Susan and Ernie. Terry went to Ravenclaw. After a long deliberation, Neville Longbottom was sorted into Gryffindor—and then promptly tried to dart off with the Sorting Hat still on his head.  Daphne and Draco were both put into Slytherin. 

At least,  Harry thought anxiously, he would be vaguely acquainted with at least one person in each of the houses. Assuming, of course, that the hat didn't decide that actually there had been a terrible mistake, and Harry didn't belong at Hogwarts at all. Harry rubbed his sweaty hands on his robes, but it didn't help. 

After what felt like an eternity, Professor McGonagall finally said, "Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the Great Hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Harry almost thought, "Not Slytherin." But then he remembered Draco's Gryffindor cousin who had betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort. Besides, even if most dark witches and wizards came from Slytherin, so too, apparently, did many of the Aurors who hunted them down.

“You could be great too, you know. It’s all here in your head."

Harry gripped the edges of the stool. He didn't want to be great. He just wanted to get off this stool. Harry didn't care where he ended up, as long as it wasn't with the Dursleys. He didn't have any family who'd care which house he was in, not like the other kids on the Hogwarts Express, so why prolong this misery? He didn't have any family at all, come to think of it. The only hug he could ever remember having gotten in his entire life was the one Mrs. Malfoy had given him on the train earlier that day. 

"Hmm, yes," the hat mused. "She was particularly tricky to place, too. Another clever mind. A loyal streak worthy of Hufflepuff. A potential for daring, perhaps, in the right circumstances. But as I told her in the end, if family is your heart's desire, then I'd better put you in SLYTHERIN!" 

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole Hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table. The hall had gone silent, and everyone was staring at him in a mixture of fear and awe. The teachers looked concerned, while Hagrid looked disappointed. Harry stared down in his feet in shame. He wished he had gone with his first instinct of telling the hat not to place him in Slytherin. He wondered if it was too late to rush back and snatch the hat back and put it back on. Maybe he could refuse to take it off until it agreed to put him somewhere else. 

Then, as one, the Slytherin table rose to its feet and clapped and cheered loudly enough to make up for the rest of the hall's silence. People were wringing his hand, clapping him on the back so hard he stumbled. He automatically sat beside Draco, who had just shoved Goyle out of the seat beside him and gestured for Harry to sit.

"Well done, Harry," Draco said. "You'll love Slytherin house."

Harry wasn't so sure. But he felt suddenly lighter—he wouldn't be sent back to the Dursleys after all. As the ball of anxiety in his stomach dissipated, Harry suddenly realised how hungry he was. The treats on the train seemed ages ago.

"Congratulations, Harry!" said an older girl across the table from Harry. "I'm Gemma Farley, one of the prefects for Slytherin. Welcome to the best house in Hogwarts."

"Thanks," Harry said awkwardly.

After the last few students were sorted into their houses, McGonagall took away the hat and stool, and Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or not. But he soon forgot about Dumbledore's oddness as the plates in front of him filled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, and ketchup. He piled his plate high and ate as if it were his last meal.

"I can't wait to tell Mother that Harry Potter was sorted into Slytherin," Draco was saying to Crabbe. "She'll be beside herself. Maybe I ought not to, though. She might try to adopt him."

Crabbe snickered. Harry pretended not to have heard. But even though Draco's words were dismissive, Harry felt a ridiculous little spark of happiness at the idea that maybe, just maybe, there actually was adult in the world who cared about Harry right down to his Hogwarts house.

A silver ghost covered in blood and chains sat down on the other side of Harry.

"Er, hello," Harry said.

"Hello, Baron," said Gemma. "Good summer? Any luck with the Grey Lady this time?" 

The ghost shook his head somberly.

"I'm sorry," Gemma said. "Have you met Harry Potter? Harry, this is our house ghost, the Baron."

"Nice to meet you," said Harry, who was not at all certain he was telling the truth. 

The Baron didn't reply. He simply stared at Harry for a long moment before gazing wistfully over at the Ravenclaw table, where the silvery ghost of a young woman was greeting students. Gemma grinned at Harry and shrugged.

After dinner came pudding, though Harry barely had room by then for his helping of treacle tart. Then, long after he had finished eating his fill (and then some), the food finally disappeared from the golden plates. Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell’s turban straight into Harry’s eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry’s forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What's wrong?" asked Draco.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had got from the teacher’s look—a feeling that he didn’t like Harry at all.

"Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Draco.

"Who?" Draco asked.

"The one in the turban. Who is he talking to?"

"Oh, that's Snape," Draco said. "He's the Potions Master and Head of House for Slytherin. You'll want to stay on his good side, but I doubt you'll have any trouble, as long as you stick with me. He and my father go way back."

Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn’t look at him again.

At last, Professor Dumbledore rose and gave some start-of-term announcements. The hall fell silent.

“Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

Gemma gave some of the second-year Slytherin boys a stern look at that.

“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term, Dumbledore continued. "I am also delighted to announce that, for the first time in more than 50 years, we will be resurrecting our intramural Quidditch club. Anyone interested in playing for their either their House teams or the recreational Quidditch club should contact Madam Hooch."

Several students broke into excited murmurs at this.

"We'll have to join for sure," Draco said to Harry. "I wonder if this means we'll be allowed to bring our brooms after all?"

“And finally," Dumbledore raised his voice slightly over the chattering. "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

“He’s not serious?” Harry asked Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Father always did say Dumbledore was battier than a cave. They're probably remodeling the castle or something. The forest is full of werewolves and things, so no surprise we're not allowed to go there. I don't know why we'd want to, anyway."

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore.

A few people groaned. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the lyrics flew out of it like golden ribbons. 

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

It was a strange cacophony, and everyone finished at different times. Harry yawned hugely as the last two students, a pair of red-headed twins from Gryffindor, finished singing long after everyone else. 

“Ah, music." Dumbledore wiped his eyes when they'd finished. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Gemma and an older boy with a matching prefect badge led the first years out of the Great Hall and down into the labyrinthine passages of the dungeons. They walked deeper and deeper under the school. Harry's legs felt like lead from sleepiness, and several other first-years lagged behind.

The prefects stopped at last in front of a stretch of bare, damp stone wall. Several people yawned—Harry included.

"Parselmouth," Gemma said in a clear voice, loud enough for the students to hear.

A stone door concealed in the wall slid open, and they all filed inside, feet shuffling and heads drooping.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, around which had been placed matching carved chairs. Marble statues and old skulls were tucked away in alcoves, and an old-fashioned phonograph sat silent on a table. Grey-green velvet curtains hung from the windows, which, rather than showing the Hogwarts landscape, instead cast an eery green glow over the entire common room. Something floated ghost-like past one of the windows, and Harry realised with a start that they must be under the lake.

"The boys dormitory is this way," said the male Slytherin. "Follow me."

They followed him through a series of drafty, torch-lit stone passages, across metal grates over flowing water, and finally through a heavy wooden door. Seven massive four-poster beds circled the edges of the room. Each had a small table beside it and a student's trunk and belongings at its foot. Another fire burned in the room's hearth, and the warmth combined with the soothing sights and sounds of the flames only made Harry sleepier.

Too tired to talk much, the boys pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

"Decent feast," Draco yawned. "Mother hasn't thrown one since my birthday in June, and we didn't have half as much food then. I'll have to tell her to work the house elves harder this Christmas."

Harry didn't know what a house elf was, but he didn't ask. His brain was too tired to absorb a single new magical fact until morning. He meant to ask Draco if he’d had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell’s turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he was destined for greatness. Harry told the turban he didn't want to be great; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was the hook-nosed Professor Snape, only Harry knew he was really Sirius Black, laughing at Harry as he struggled with the hat—and then his laugh became high and cold—there was a burst of green light—

Harry woke, sweating and shaking. He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he didn’t remember the dream at all.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Harry didn't hear back from Narcissa the next day, nor the day after that. When Hedwig again arrived without a letter Monday morning, he began wondering if his delay in reply had offended Narcissa or prompted her to similarly take her time responding.

'If she has, then I'm glad to know now, because that's the sort of person I'm better off avoiding,' Harry thought darkly.

Writing off Narcissa as a potential ally, Harry tried to push the letter out of his mind and focused instead on his classes. They went as poorly as the they'd done the week prior.

However, a distraction came that afternoon in the form of a notice pinned to the Slytherin common room. Flying lessons would begin on Thursday, and Quidditch Club would have its first meeting on Saturday.

"Finally," Draco said to his cronies. "It's about time we got some time on brooms. Too bad we'll be with the Gryffindors for flying lessons. Come on, let's go ask Snape if we can have our brooms sent to us for Quidditch Club."

He brushed past Harry without a word. The pair of them had done a decent job ignoring each other since their row in Snape's class, and Harry felt both relieved and a little lonely. To his surprise, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and the other boys in their year hadn't instantly sided with Draco. Instead, they alternated in sitting beside Harry in classes, as if they'd come up with a secret roster, even though they never had much to say to him.

Harry had been looking forward to flying lessons more than anything else. But as the first lesson drew near, he grew more and more anxious about making a fool of himself in front of everyone. Draco complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn’t the only one, though: everyone from Wizarding families—in other words, everyone in Slytherin except Harry—talked about Quidditch and flying and brooms constantly.

The only person Harry knew who had also never been on a broomstick in his life was Neville. His grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, Harry felt she’d had good reason, because Neville managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents even with both feet on the ground.

Harry was listening to the others talk yet again about Quidditch over dinner on Wednesday night when Snape suddenly swooped up behind him. Harry choked on his last bite of mashed potatoes and had to chug pumpkin juice between coughs.

"Potter, Malfoy, come with me," Snape said coldly.

Draco and Harry exchanged looks of shared alarm before remembering they weren't speaking to each other and quickly looking away.

Snape led them to a chamber off the side of the Great Hall and held the door for them. Draco and Harry entered, and Snape followed them in and shut the door behind them. Harry looked around, but before he could properly notice his surroundings—

"Draco! Harry!"

Mrs. Malfoy was hugging both of them and kissing all over Draco's face.

"Mother! What are you doing here? Who's died? Is it Grandmother Black?"

"No one's died," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I only wanted to see you both. I hear you've been quarrelling?"

Harry and Draco both looked away uncomfortably. Harry focused on a fire that was crackling merrily in the hearth.

"It was nothing," Draco muttered. "Just a misunderstanding."

"Well, I want you boys to sort it out before I leave," Mrs. Malfoy said. "It's too early in your first year to be holding grudges. And Draco, I need a word with you while Harry talks to—oh, I've almost forgotten! Harry, I received your owl but haven't had a chance to reply yet. Then I thought, since I'd be able to come here tonight—"

"Why are you here, Mother?" Draco demanded. "Parents aren't normally allowed, are they?"

"No, but your father had a governors' meeting tonight, and he kindly allowed me to tag along." The way she said it made Harry quite sure Mr. Malfoy hadn't had much of a choice in the matter. She went on, "It was perfect timing, as I've arranged a little surprise for Harry. And besides, I wanted to make sure you're both doing well. How are you sleeping? Not staying up too late? Are you eating enough? You look thinner to me, Draco."

"They're fine, Narcissa," Snape said. He sounded a bit exasperated, but his tone was far less hateful than Harry would have expected. "I assure you, the quality of the food has not deteriorated from your own time at Hogwarts. And both of them have been faring perfectly well in my house."

"That's not true," Mrs. Malfoy protested. "I hear you've been giving Harry a terrible time in Potions, Severus!"

Unless Harry was imagining it, Snape coloured slightly. Harry wanted to do the same. Had Draco told her?

"Whatever Potter has said—" Snape began, flustered.

"Perhaps Harry wasn't the one who said anything," Mrs. Malfoy said, sticking her chin out in the same defiant way Draco often did. "I play Bridge with the mothers of half your students, Severus. Children tell their mothers far more than you'd expect. You ought to be more careful if you're going to pick on someone as popular as Harry. And anyway, how can you hate him? Doesn't he remind you an awful lot of Lily?"

Snape stiffened as if he'd been hit by the petrifying jinx. Harry watched him curiously.

"Hardly," Snape said icily. "He reminds me far more of his father."

"Do you really think so? I certainly don't." Mrs. Malfoy's tone was polite, but her blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "I wasn't in her year, of course, but I do remember Lily was always the first to stand up to bullies. And she was rather gifted at Potions, wasn't she? At least as good as you, if Professor Slughorn is to be believed."

"A talent her son does not appear to share," Snape said sourly.

"How can you tell after only one week?" Mrs. Malfoy asked. "However talented Lily might have been, I'm sure she didn't come to Hogwarts straight from the Muggle world as a Potions prodigy. That came later."

Snape just looked mutinous. Harry was amazed he didn't throw Mrs. Malfoy out.

"Was my mum really a Potions prodigy?" Harry asked.

"Lily Evans was a prodigy at damn near everything she tried," growled someone from an armchair by the fire, making Harry and Draco jump. "So talented that You-Know-Who himself tried to recruit her three times, Muggleborn and all. Would've made a fantastic Auror. The world lost something special with her. At least she took the bastard out with her."

The man rose from the chair. He limped over to them with a clunk, clunk, clunk, as if one of his legs was made of solid metal. He was shrouded in a black travelling cloak and leaning on a long staff.

"Boys, I'd like to introduce you to Alastor Moody," said Mrs. Malfoy. "He's one of the best Aurors in all of Europe."

Moody lowered his hood, revealing a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair and a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man’s eyes that made him frightening. One of them was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The large blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye—and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness. It finally fixed on Harry's forehead.

"Harry Potter, I presume." He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face.

"Call him Mad-Eye," said a younger and higher voice. "Everyone does."

A woman with bright pink hair followed behind Moody. Draco openly gawked at her, and she grinned at him.

"Never seen a metamorphmagus before, Draco?" She winked at Draco and shook his hand. "Wotcher. I'm Tonks, Mad-Eye's protégée in the Auror training program. I'm also your cousin. My mum's Andromeda, the sister your mum isn't allowed to talk about."

Draco shook her hand awkwardly, looking to his mother for guidance. Mrs. Malfoy ignored his gaze and smiled with closed lips at both the people she'd brought.

Tonks shook Harry's hand and grinned at him. She wasn't much older than him at all. She wouldn't have looked out of place sitting with the older students back in the Great Hall.

"I bet you've seen loads of people with pink hair, though, haven't you, Harry?" said Tonks. "Grew up with Muggles, right?"

Harry returned her grin. "Yeah, I've seen a few. My aunt and uncle never let me get too close, though. They don't think much of anything out of the ordinary."

"Bet they were thrilled when you got your letter," Tonks said, giving Harry a look that felt uncomfortably perceptive.

"You could say that," Harry said.

Narcissa gestured for Draco to join her. He slipped out of the conversation without so much as a goodbye. They stepped through another door that seemed to lead into a corridor. Snape stood sentry over them from his corner, arms crossed. Harry's attention returned to the two newcomers.

"So, Harry," said Tonks. "What trouble have you gotten into so far? Found any secret passages yet?"

"No," Harry said, curious. "Where are the secret passages?"

Snape interrupted before Tonks could answer. "Potter has already disrupted my class by shouting at a fellow student."

"The way Dumbledore tells it, Potter was just standing up to a bully," Moody said.

"Professor Dumbledore told you that?" Harry asked. "He knows about me?"

"Of course," Moody said. "Dumbledore is keen to find out whether you have plans to become a dark wizard like You-Know-Who."

The warm feeling inside Harry was abruptly extinguished. Snape gave Moody a warning look, but Moody didn't seem to care.

"It's lucky for all of us that Harry doesn't seem like the type," Tonks piped up. "You're not a dark wizard, are you, Harry?"

"I…" Harry blinked. "I don't think so. How do you know if you're a dark wizard or not?"

"Well, for starters, do you think Muggles are scum?"

"No," Harry said, a little too quickly. He could think of three Muggles he thought were scum, but he didn't want to give the wrong impression. He was sure anyone would think the Durleys were awful.

"Do you go around destroying other people's property?"

"No!" Harry said. "Well, I did knock a telescope off the astronomy tower last week, but that was an accident."

"Really?" Tonks said with interest. "You might have broken my record. Are you often clumsy, Harry? Pity our school years just barely missed out on overlapping. I could have used some backup accidentally destroying things."

Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to laugh or not. His insides were still squirming at the idea that other people, not just the Malfoys, thought he might be as evil as the dark wizard who had murdered Harry's parents.

"Are there any other signs of dark wizards?" he persisted.

"Well, you could have a Dark Mark," Tonks said, then seeing his bewildered expression, "A tattoo on your arm with a skull and a snake. It was how You-Know-Who used to summon his followers."

Was Harry imagining it, or was Snape's hand twitching as if he were fighting to keep it by his side? A quick glance revealed that Moody's magical eye was staring right at Snape.

"No," Harry answered. "I don't have any tattoos. What else?"

"Do you make it a habit to hurt people with magic?"

"No!" Harry said. Then, with a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach, he said, "Well, one time I accidentally, er, liberated a snake from the zoo, and it teased my cousin like it might bite him. But I didn't ask it to, and my cousin was completely fine. And it was an accident!"

"If that's the worst you've done, then you're probably all right," Moody reassured him. "Every young witch and wizard accidentally causes mayhem at one point or another. What separates the good wizards from the evil ones is their choices, when things get hard. Evil ones take the easy or selfish choices, the ones that protect them at the expense of someone else." His non-magical eye seemed to narrow at Snape, who was determinedly not looking at Moody or Harry. "The good ones do the hard thing, no matter what it costs them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised Dumbledore a visit before I left. If you have any more questions, Potter, just send me an owl."

Without saying goodbye, Moody clunked off through the same door as Draco and Narcissa. Harry caught a glimpse of Draco sulking while his mother seemed to be gently chiding him about something. The heavy door shut loudly, and Tonks dropped gracelessly into an arm chair and grabbed a biscuit.

"So, Harry," she said in between crunches. "You're thinking about becoming an Auror?"

"I don't know yet," Harry said. He'd suddenly started having second thoughts upon seeing Moody.

"Don't worry," Tonks said, as if reading his mind. "They don't all look like Mad-Eye."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Do you like being an Auror?"

"I like training so far," Tonks said. "I can't really say if I like being an Auror or not, though. Mad-Eye's all right, and I like the work. It's important. You-Know-Who might be gone, for now anyway, but there's still plenty of evil in the world."

"How do you become an Auror?" Harry asked.

"Well, you'll have to earn top marks in your classes," Tonks said. "Five N.E.W.T.s of Exceeds Expectations or better. Oh, N.E.W.T.s are—well, they're like, er, I think Muggles call them A-levels? You've heard of A-levels?"

Harry nodded. Tonks looked relieved.

"You'll take those at the end of seventh year," she explained. "And you'll take O.W.L.s—like GSECs, GECS, oh, whatever the Muggles call them—at the end of your fifth year. We use a lot of Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and of course Defence Against the Dark Arts. And I would recommend Muggle Studies, since it never hurts to know how to craft a plausible excuse on the fly, but I don't imagine you'll have any trouble with that."

She grinned again. Harry nodded. He had a million more questions he wanted to answer, but Mrs. Malfoy and Draco joined them just then.

"Nymphadora." Mrs. Malfoy greeted her with a forced politeness. "How are you two getting on?"

"It's just Tonks, Aunt Narcissa." Tonks rose again and stretched. "And I ought to find Mad-Eye. Nice chatting with you, Harry. You can send me an owl any time, too."

Mrs. Malfoy looked around, dismayed. "Oh, has Alastor gone already? I'd hoped to catch him. I thought perhaps he was just patrolling or something."

"He's speaking to Professor Dumbledore," Snape said coolly. He didn't seem to think much of Moody, which intrigued Harry. "I'd be happy to escort you to his office."

"No, thank you, Severus." Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "If Professor Dumbledore is already back in his office, then I'm sure the board meeting is long since finished. Lucius will be impatient to get home and cross if I tarry. Thank you again for bringing the boys to me, Severus. I promise not to make a habit of it."

Snape looked slightly less sullen. "Of course, Narcissa."

Mrs. Malfoy kissed Harry on the forehead. "Did you enjoy meeting the Aurors, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said, and mostly meant it. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Malfoy."

"It was nothing." She smiled at him, and as always, it made her seem truly beautiful. "All of us owe such a tremendous amount to you, Harry. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you need only ask." She stroked his cheek gently, leaving the skin tingling all the way through to his teeth.

She turned to Draco and kissed his forehead as well. "I love you, Draco," she said. "Remember what we discussed."

Draco scowled, but he didn't pull away or wipe away the kiss as Dudley would have. He simply muttered, "Yes, Mother," and then held still while she hugged him.

When they parted, Draco was holding a small gift box.

"I'll escort you to Lucius," Snape said. "You two—" He turned his sharp black eyes on Harry and Draco. "Return to the common room."

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

The two boys walked in silence through the corridors. It was as they were passing Harry's favourite suit of armour that Draco abruptly said, "Sorry."

"For what?" Harry asked.

"For bullying your friend," Draco replied. "I didn't know you and Longbottom were that close."

"We're not," Harry said. "I just can't stand bullies. My cousin, the Muggle—he's the biggest bully in the world. Literally and figuratively. I don't reckon anyone deserves to be bullied."

Draco nodded, looking unhappy.

"Did your mum tell you to apologise?" Harry asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Yes," he admitted.

"So you don't mean it?"

"No, I do mean it," Draco said, stopping. "I am sorry I broke my word to my mother after promising to be your friend and look out for you. And even though I don't understand what the big deal is with teasing Longbottom, I wasn't trying to be a bully. I was only trying to have a bit of a laugh and make the others respect me. But Mother said I probably lost the respect of everyone except Crabbe and Goyle because of what happened, so I should probably find a different way to seem funny and clever. Just because I'm from a rich Wizarding family doesn't mean I know how to be the perfect friend."

Harry didn't know how to feel about all that, but he admired Draco's honesty.

"I've never had any friends," he admitted to Draco. "Dudley, my cousin, he made sure everyone was too afraid to be my friend. So I have even more to learn about than you do. But I'm game to give it another try if you are."

He held out his hand. Draco shifted the package to his other arm and shook Harry's hand.

"Want a cake?" Draco asked. "Mother always gives me far more than I could ever eat alone."

"She probably thinks you'll make friends if you share," Harry said.

"Yeah?" Draco opened the box and handed Harry a little Cauldron Cake. "Is it working?"

"I don't think I can be bought off quite that easily." Harry grinned at Draco and took the cake. "But it isn't not working."

"She also told me about something you might like to see," Draco said.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Something in the trophy room. Want to take a look?"

Snape had told them to go back to the common room, but there was at least an hour left before curfew. And besides, Harry was curious to see the trophy room, regardless of whatever Mrs. Malfoy thought he'd find interesting there.

"All right," Harry agreed. "Lead the way."

Draco started off confidently enough. They ate their cakes as they climbed up and down staircases and traversed corridors. By the time they reached the library, Draco was tense and nervous-looking.

"Should we ask for directions?" Harry asked cautiously.

"No! I know where the trophy room is!" Draco snapped.

His raised voice caught the attention of the bossy Gryffindor girl, Hermione Granger, as she exited the library.

"The trophy room?" she asked. "That's on the complete other side of the castle. And it's nearly curfew time. Shouldn't you be getting back?"

"Shouldn't you be minding your own business?" Draco retorted.

Hermione huffed and stuck a large book into her bag. "Well, if you're determined to go to the trophy room, I can show you where it is. It's not far from the Gryffindor common room, which is where I'm headed."

"Thanks," Harry said before Draco could rebuff her. "That would be great."

Hermione led them straight to the trophy room. Once there, she didn't leave, however.

"Weren't you in a hurry to get back before you turn into a niffler at the stroke of nine?" Draco asked, more nastily than was warranted.

"Yes, so you'd better hurry if you want me to help you find the right staircase to get back to the dungeons," Hermione said, reminding Harry of Professor McGonagall.

Draco ignored her and started searching the trophy room. He soon called Harry over to look at a display.

"That's it," he said. "Your dad was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He was their Seeker."

Harry stared at the moving picture below the trophy. He could easily tell which player was his father: he was the one with messy black hair and glasses. Harry felt a rush of emotion and couldn't tear his eyes away from the image.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked nervously.

"It's brilliant," Harry said. "I've never seen either of my parents before."

"What?" asked Draco and Hermione simultaneously.

"I mean, I'm sure I saw them when I was a baby, but I don't remember them," Harry said. "My aunt didn't have any pictures."

"Harry, that's horrible!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yeah," Harry said. "But I've seen my dad now. Thanks, Draco. Your mum was right—this is great."

Draco nodded without speaking.

Harry knew they didn't have time to dawdle, but he couldn't help himself. Neither Draco nor Hermione interrupted him as he stared hungrily at the photograph of his father, watching his every move. Catching the Golden Snitch, releasing it, being hoisted in the air by his teammates—

Suddenly, the bells began to chime. The three of them exchanged panicked looks.

"It's nine o' clock!" Hermione fretted. "We're out past curfew!"

"Come on," Harry said, turning and grabbing the other two. "If anyone catches us, we'll just say we got lost. Let's go!"

They started off, but they didn't get far before they heard the sound they'd most dreaded.

"What's that, my sweet?" Filch was saying to his cat Mrs. Norris. "You smell troublemakers? Never fear… we'll catch them, and when we do, we'll break out the thumbscrews until those nasty students are expelled."

All thoughts of 'just saying we're lost' vanished from Harry's mind. He couldn't go back to the Dursleys. He wouldn't. He tugged Hermione and Draco down another corridor.

"This way," he hissed.

They ran without purpose or direction, simply trying to escape from Filch. They finally stopped in a corridor Harry had never seen before. Draco and Hermione were both breathing harder than Harry, who was still in shape from running away from Dudley his whole life.

"Where are we?" Hermione panted, clutching the stitch in her side.

"No idea," Harry said breathlessly. "But I think we've lost Filch."

Cackling above them made them freeze. "Ickle first years are out of bed, are they?"

They all moaned.

"Please, Peeves," Hermione begged. "Please don't tell on us. We're only trying to get back to our common rooms."

Peeves only laughed more loudly. He zoomed into one of the coats of armour and began marching it toward them, swinging its axe wildly at them.

"Wheeeeee!" he cried loudly. "Sir Peevesie will escort the ickle first years to their common rooms, yes he will! Sir Peevesie will make sure Filch is the least of their problems!"

He swung his axe over their heads, cackling maniacally as the helmet from another suit of armour behind the trio crashed noisily to the floor, bouncing along the stones.

"PEEVES!" Filch screamed. He sounded close, perhaps only a corridor or two behind them.

"Run!" Harry said.

All three of them sprinted away, Peeves still laughing as he took wobbling, clanking steps after them.

"In here!" Harry said when they collapsed against a door. He tried the door, but the handle didn't turn. "Wait, it's locked!"

Hermione's wand was already in her hand. "Alohomora," she gasped, pointing it at the door.

Draco turned the knob, and all three of them stumbled inside. They threw themselves against the door, gasping for breath and listening. They heard Peeves amble by a minute later, clunking like Mad-Eye Moody, followed by a very loud crash that sounded as if he'd launched the armour down the nearest staircase. Filch ran by another moment later, swearing loudly.

"I think it's safe now," Harry said after a moment. "Everyone all right?"

Hermione nodded. Draco, who was looking into the room, whimpered. Harry turned.

The room they had hidden in was not, as Harry had expected, a broom closet. It was a large room, and standing at the end of it was a giant three-headed dog. It snarled, and then all three of its head lunged at them. Slobber dripped from its bared teeth, all three sets. The three of them screamed and ran back out of the room. They ran until they recognised where they were, the Charms Corridor, and threw themselves into their Charms classroom.

"Did you see the size of that thing?" Draco demanded. "I'm writing to Father! It's completely unsafe!"

"Who cares about that?" Hermione asked impatiently. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

Harry and Draco shook their heads.

"It was standing on a trap door!" Hermione said. "It's clearly guarding something. Now, if you two are done making idiotic choices, I'm going to my common room before you get us all killed. Or worse, expelled. Good night."