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Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy had little to live. No longer was he part of the “purest” wizarding household. People have decided things such as blood purity was a thing of the past. His name — family name - rather — no longer held the quivering power that it once had before its fall. His family, what was left, and what he has know, was breaking apart. 

His father, the once esteemed Lucius Malfoy, was sent to Azkaban for his lifetime sentence. There were no longer dementors. He heard someone lament, but Azkaban still sucked the soul of its captives. 

His mother, bless her heart, chose to sit in one of the parlor rooms in their manor. She would stare into the abyss that was the front of their house. 

Their manor, a family heirloom that housed many of the Malfoy heirs and families, was crumbling. No longer was it the pristine, stuck-in-time home that he grew up in. Left at the Dark Lord's wake were molded walls, chipping paint, ripped curtains, and fallen chandeliers. The peacocks that once welcomed guests were left as corpses at the foot of the grand stairs that led to the front door. His mother's garden, which the house elves had painstakingly maintained, was devastated with insects or wilting to their demise. 

Everything had changed. No longer was it his home.

Draco, after a day of lamenting in his room, was walking along the 4th-floor corridors. He recalled his father, when the man was still sane and healthy (although sometimes cruel), would tell him never to climb to the 4th floor of the manor, especially to the wing that faced the sun. It was, the man said, a special wing that belonged to one of the ladies of the family. 

That side of the manor looked untouched by Voldemort. The walls were bare from molds or chipping paint. The curtains were clean, smelling like fresh flowers. The curtains behind it as well were wiped clean. 

He ran his thin finger along the corridor walls. Unlike the other corridors of the manor that were littered with family portraits, this wing's corridor was bare. 

He stopped in front of a closed door. Frowning, he held the level handle doorknob, pulling it down and pushing against the door. It refused to budge. 

In fact, something felt odd about the door. 

He took a step away from the door, taking out his wand from his pocket. Damn, Potter had returned it to him after his family's trial. 

He had yet to hear about him after that. 

He pointed his wand at the door, and runes appeared. It was complex runes, probably ancient, but were crumbling. Crumbling in a way that half of it had disappeared. 

“Aberto!”

The runes slowly disappeared, seemingly sinking into the wood before leaving the door bare. Draco lowered his wand, reaching out a shaky hand before pulling on the doorknob again. 

The door opened with an ominous creek. Stepping inside, Draco was greeted by the sight of soft, pastel-green walls with silver snakes crawling in the wallpaper. The ceiling was charmed to look like a glass greenhouse. At the center of it was a chandelier made of silver coiled together like a snake. Supporting each green-flamed candle was a smaller snake coiled around it, mouth open. 

Draco turned to the four-poster bed. Like the chandelier, it was silver and decorated with snakes. 

A true Slytherin, he mused. 

Lace green curtains were drawn and tied to the posts with a silver tassel. At the center of the headrest was a floating heavy green cloth. 

Draco took heavy steps as he approached the bed. The mattress near the silk pillow dipped under his weight. His thin fingers grip the cloth before hastily pulling the sheet off and throwing it to the floor. 

Behind the cloth, mounted at the headrest, was a portrait of a woman with long blonde — nearly white like his — hair. She was dressed in dark, green, laced robes. Her lips were in a deep shade of red, sharing the same color with her high cheeks. Her eyes were closed as her head was dipped.

Draco's eyes roamed the portrait. From its dirty gold rectangular frame to its snake and fire accents. 

And suddenly, the portrait started to move. Rolling its shoulders back, the woman craned her neck before blinking open its eyes. 

Grey eyes met another set of grey eyes. 

“Lucius?”

“You look just like my father.” Draco gasped, falling to the bed. He crawled away. “Who… Who are you?” He pointed his wand at the woman.

The woman, unamused, scoffed. “Rude boy. How dare you draw your wand to your own mother. I raised— well, I hoped your father raised you well.”

“Father?” Draco asked. He noted how the woman looked just like his father. From the blonde‐white hair to the piercing cold grey eyes and pointed face. “My father is Lucius Malfoy.”

The woman, his father's mother, blinked her grey eyes. “Dra…co? You're Lucius' and Narcissa's son. Yes, my first grandson.”

“You're my grandmother.” Draco lowered his wand, setting it on the bed. “Why… Why are you locked here? You should be next to grandfather.”

The woman scoffed again. “I'd rather be locked here for eternity than be placed next to Abraxas.” She rolled her eyes. “Where is your father? Did he not tell you not to come here?”

At the mention of his father, dread filled Draco. “He's in Azkaban.”

“What?” His grandmother balked, “He still ended up there after I told him to say he was under the Imperius curse?”

“The second war just finished,” Draco said. “Father is serving his time for assisting the Dark Lord's second uprising.”

Something shifted in his grandmother's eyes, and she looked crestfallen. “What happened to him?”

“To father? Well—”

“No, to Voldemort.”

“He's gone.” A pause. “For good.”

His grandmother shifted in her portrait. “What are you doing here, Draco?”

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 Flying lessons with Madam Hooch were postponed for a week due to unforeseeable reasons.

 Draco wouldn't mind this. Shouldn't mind this, actually. But there was something about it that made him itch. They didn't postpone classes. Even with a petrifying beast roaming the halls back in the second year.

Hogwarts rarely canceled classes.

 Which struck odd for Draco. His maman refused to tell him more about the Philosopher's Stone, claiming she had no idea what it was. She was lying, he could tell. She knew plenty of things. She was the brightest witch of her age.

 Thus, that sent him into a spiral of research. His maman was tight-lipped, going as far as changing the subject or ordering Wimpy to distract him.

 He spent hours upon hours scavenging the Hogwarts library. He was sure Madam Pince was close to banning him for his extensive visits. He started early in the morning, leaving to attend classes and ending late at night when the library was about to close.

 He was close to living in it. All because he had to know what the Philosopher's Stone was.

 “But I'm not doing this for Potter.” He stopped in front of a suit of armor on his way to flying lessons. “I'm doing this to prove a point.”

 He was a changed man—er, boy. He could be good. But not good enough to help the-boy-who-lived.

 “You!”

 Draco quickly evaded a hex his way, ducking behind the suit of armor. Peeking out, he saw Weasely, face red and fuming, and Potter, somewhat bothered, running to him, wands out and ready.

 He jumped out of the armor, scowling. “What, Weasely? Looking for trouble?”

 “You're a bloody coward!” Weasely accused, pointing his wand at Draco. “You didn't show up.”

 “I never agreed to your stupid duel.” Draco answered pointedly. “Move that excuse of a wand away from me, Weasely. Unless you want to know a real hex.”

 He noticed Potter shifting next to Weasely. It was weird. It was always he and Potter. Yes, he squabbled with Weasely, but it was always him and Potter who had memorable altercations.

 It was weird seeing none of it. Was this how it was? How life would have been without his rivalry with Potter. He could cry.

 “Malfoy?” Potter called worriedly. Why was he worried?

 Draco snapped back into reality, his scowl deepening when Weasely's freckled face greeted him. “Out of my way, Potter.” He hissed, bumping shoulders with Potter as he stomped away. He ignored Weasely's offended scream. He'll find another way to Madam Hooch's flying lessons.

 Fortunately, he did find another way. Wimpy, who was wandering around the corridor with a large stack of books, pointed him to a secret passageway that led to the flat lawn opposite of the dark forest.

 Draco realized, to his horror, that he was the only Slytherin missing. He quickly ran over, squeezing between Pansy and Daphne. Potter and Weasley were already there. Standing next to their brooms.

 Moments from now Potter would be called the youngest seeker of the century for his impressive (it really wasn't) catch of Longbottom's remembrall.

 Speaking of Longbottom, the fool looked sick to his stomach and jittery as he stared at the wooden broomstick next to him.

 “Is Longbottom going to cry?” Came Pansy's pitched voice. The girl had a nasty scrowl on her pug-like face. She snickered, seeing Longbottom flinch. “Better run before you break your wrist, Bottom.”

 Draco snorted. That was what would happen mere moments from now. Longbottom was going to break his wrist because the poor fool couldn't ride a broom. Honestly, was the boy even a wizard in the first place?

 Madam Hooch arrived— grey hair and yellow eyes. She looked as terrifying as she did in the past.

 “What are you waiting for?” She barked. “Grab a broom. Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ‘Up!’ ”

 “Up!” Draco grinned, feeling the dull thump of the broom handle against his palm. He wrapped his fingers around the handle. He looked around.

 Pansy's , on his left, broom refused to get up, instead rolled around. Daphne, after five calls, managed to get her broom to hover halfway before falling again. Potter's, again, like in the past, immediately got up, and he gripped it like he knows how to do it. And Weasely— he didn't care.

 Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms. Draco got it right this time. Hooch didn't praise him, but it was better than being told off he was wrong.

 “After my whistle, you kick off the ground. Keep your brooms steady. Now, three— two—”

 And Longbottom goes flying.

 At this point, Draco would bet that Longbottom was cursed with bad luck when he was a child. He continued to rise — twelve feet — twenty feet —

 Draco started a countdown with his fingers.

 And in three — two —

 WHAM!

 “And Longbottom sticks the landing.” His words made the Slytherins — particularly Pansy — snicker and cackle. He watched boredly as Hooch helped Longbottom. He stared at the broken wrist.

 Then he saw something glimmering in the grass. The Remembrall glittered under the sun a couple of feet away from them. He was the one who got it last time. So if he didn't, technically, Potter wouldn't be able to show his seeker skills. That means he would miss the youngest seeker of the century. This means Griffindor would lose. They didn't win the Quidditch Cup anyway.

 He smiled. Oh, he was going to stay in his place. Without him flying and throwing Longbottom's Remembrall, Potter's talent would be—

 He hissed loudly, seeing Pansy pick up the Remembrall from the ground. “Pansy, put that—”

 “Give it here!”

 Draco snapped his head to Potter. Pansy, in some way, rose from the ground before zooming away, cackling as she rose higher and higher. Potter kicked hard against the ground and soared, going after Pansy.

 “Merlin, is that, Pansy?” Daphne asked with too much horror. “On a broom?”

 “While cackling?” Draco added, eyes trained after the Parkinson and Potter chase. “Yes.”

 “She looks like a real witch.”

 Like he did in the past, Pansy and Potter faced midair. They exchanged a few words before Pansy nonchalantly tossed and dropped the Remembrall. Potter followed it. Like bloody clockwork, Potter caught it at the same time McGonagall ran toward him, screaming his name. The Transfiguration professor escorted him off the field, not after silencing Patil's protest.

 Draco turned to Pansy, who landed next to him. “You—” He glared. “Never mind!”

 He turned away and dropped his broom before walking away from Pansy.

 Damn, Potter and his dumb sheer luck.

Chapter Text

 As expected, instead of Potter getting expelled for nearly breaking his neck, he was instead given the position of Gryffindor seeker. This was confirmed by Pansy during dinner when she babbled about the latest fashion robes: feathers and lace.

 “Bloody Potter… bloody Philosopher's Stone.” Draco grumbled, shoving back the book he had taken out. It was now a week since he remembered the stone Potter saved from Voldemort.

 Potter (Draco would give him credit) stayed far away from him. They'd pass each other in the halls but barely said a word to each other. It was weird. Their usual spats were gone. They treated each other like strangers.

 “Technically,” Draco took out a book. It was a book on mermish. Frowning, he shoved it back. “We are strangers. But bloody Potter and his nest of a hair and ugly green eyes.”

 Blindly, he pulled out a book. Added it to the stack hovering behind him. He planned on taking it to a secluded spot in the library. He hoped he wouldn't bump into Granger. Plenty of times did he see the girl barricade herself in a book fort on a lonely table in the library.

 He walked out of the narrow space between the shelves, reeling back when Professor Quirrell suddenly passed by. The professor ignored him, turning to a corner. He peeked out.

 His turban smelled disgusting.

 “What a weird smell.” He grumbled. He checked out the books, ignoring Madam Pince's pointed gaze. The woman was this close to banning him from the library.

 He was consuming magical literature at rapid speed that he nearly finished checking each unrestricted book.

 As he left the library, he bumped into Longbottom. Longbottom jumped, bottom lip jutting out.

 “Your wrist is healed.” Draco noted. Longbottom nodded at his words. “Hopefully that should warn you not to get on a broom.”

 He continued walking, ignoring Longbottom's steps after him. Night curfew would be soon, and he was sure Griffindor Tower was on the opposite side of the castle and way above the Slytherin dungeons.

 They reached a corridor lined by suits of armor. The charmed pieces of metal would turn their heads as they passed.

 “What do you want, Longbottom?” Draco asked, irritated. He stopped and turned around.

 Longbottom tiptoed to see him behind the stack of books in his arms. “Uh, Harry— Harry, you know him—”

 “Yes, I know the bloody savior.” Draco hissed, rolling his eyes. “What about him?”

 “Er, well—”

 “Spit it out Longbottom or I'm turning you into your toad!”

 “Harry wants to know if he did something wrong!”

 “Excuse me?” Draco nearly dropped his books. He watched as Longbottom's cheeks turned red.

 “Er…”

 “Longbottom, one more ‘er’ from you, and I'm going to let bat wings grow from your ears!”

 “He's wondering why you seem to hate him. Ron says it's because he— Harry defeated, you know—” He looked expectantly at Draco.

 “I know who you mean, Longbottom. Get on with it.” He hissed. His arms were cramping with the weight of the books in his arms.

 “Um…”

 “Longbottom.” Draco threatened.

 “I'm sorry! Harry says he wants to say sorry to you if that was it. Ron says he shouldn't because—”

 “I do not care what that blood traitor says.” Draco felt his shoulders sag. His arms were going to hurt tomorrow.

 “Do you need help?” Longbottom asked, eyeing his stack of books.

 “And risk you getting lost in the dungeon?” Draco scoffed. “No thanks.”

 He turned around, walking away first.

 Longbottom was probably lost. He probably forgot the password to their common room. Typical Longbottom.

 He sighed, realizing he was going to do something stupid. He stopped, turned slightly, and found Longbottom standing in the same spot as before.

 “Your tower should be over there.” Using his pointed chin, he gestured to the opposite hallway.

 He watched as Longbottom nodded his head. “Thanks, Malfoy!”

 He sighed, looking back ahead of him. What was he doing?

Chapter Text

 Sleep was a stranger for Draco. It rarely came. If it did, it was in the early morning at the 2nd hour after midnight. If it came late, it would come at the 5th hour after 12. 

 Draco stared at the ceiling of his four-poster bed. He had drawn his curtains, much like the rest of his roommates. 

Blaise's and Theo's were next to his. Goyle was next to Theo while Crabbe was next to Blaise. He tricked the two boulders that it was better that way. Easier to protect him since they'd be the first line of defense. 

 He pulled his left curtain. His maman was asleep, which he found surprising, seeing as she was a portrait. She couldn't possibly get tired. 

 Slowly, he got out of bed and slipped on his sleeping slippers. He glanced around the dark room. Still asleep. He noted Crabbe and Goyle's obnoxious snores. 

 “Draco?” His maman called groggily. She stretched in her portrait, blinking her grey eyes. Even in the dark, he could see the coldness in them. “Why are you up?”

 “Can't sleep.” He moved to the end of his bed where his trunk was placed. Kneeling in front of it, he unlatched it and pushed the top open. 

 “Do you need me to order Wimpy to get you a glass of milk? Do you want it cold, hot, or warm?”

 “None, please.” Draco took out a forest-green journal and placed it on the floor next to him. He had been writing down his theories on what the Philosopher's Stone was. He looked at his grandmother. “Will you tell me what the Philosopher's Stone is now?”

 The woman bit her lower lip. She let it go. “Well, I can only say little. As far as I know, it's supposed to be able to turn any metal to gold and grant one eternal life.”

 Draco closed his trunk with a loud thud. Eternal life. That's something the Dark Lord would need. But why would the stone be here? Where was it kept? 

 “Draco?” his grandmother called softly. Noticing he had no plan to sleep, she beamed. “Well, since you wouldn't sleep even if I tell you off, why don't I teach you how to charm a regular portrait? Did you find a small portrait?”

 Draco nodded his head, moving to his nightstand. He pulled open one of the drawers and took out a small, hand-size oval portrait lined with a twisted silver frame. It was empty with only a dark green background. 

 “Good, good. Now, this charm, if you do it right, would allow me — and only me — to get into that portrait. It's the same thing with this one.” She gestured to her current portrait. “Now repeat after me. Point the tip of your wand at the center of the portrait, then draw circles twice in a clockwise motion, much like a swirl. You should end still somewhere at the center of the portrait. Then say the words: Tniap and Kcol.”

 “It's backward.” Draco noticed how most of his maman's spells were regular words said backward. It would make sense why little would be able to follow it. It gets your tongue twisted.

 He followed the instructions of his maman. As he moved his wand, streaks of bright green appeared like ink. “Tniap and Kcol!”

 The portrait glowed brightly, blinding Draco, who accidentally dropped it. The light persisted until it started to dim. He blinked the dots away from his vision before picking up the portrait. 

 “Don't seem any different.”

 “Are you sure?” Suddenly, the image of his maman appeared on the small portrait. “Now I can go with you. If that is what you want, that is.”

 “You can?” Draco doesn't mind. He feels comforted by it.

 His maman nodded her head. “Yes. Actually, I wanted to take a tour around the castle. It's been at least 50 years since I've been here. Many things probably changed.”

 Draco left the room, walking to the common room. The usual green fire in the fireplace was out. There was 2nd year sleeping on the couch.

How uncouth. 

 He exited the Slytherin dorms, stepping into the hallway. 

 “Ah, I see the common room hasn't changed one bit.” His maman said. “I wonder what else.”

 Draco took her around the castle. To the corridors, some open classrooms, the courtyard, and the dark great hall. He was trying his best to avoid Filch or Mrs. Norris. Sometimes, he wondered if he could kick the cat. 

 “I remember when I was still a student here. My favorite place was a secluded table in the library.”

 “Why was that maman?” Draco waited for one of the moving staircases to move to him. 

 “Only I and someone…” He watched his grandmother blush. “Knew about it. It was our little hideout.”

 “You sound fond of them.” Draco mused, smiling. 

 “Very,” Maman said softly. “They were like me. They— Where are we, Draco?”

 They arrived in a dark corridor. An unsettling feeling fell upon them. Draco frowned, holding tighter his maman's portrait. He didn't think he did a wrong turn. He couldn't really tell with how dark Hogwarts was at night. 

 He slowly trudged forward. Something rumbling around him. Something loud and probably big. As he walked, he had his head turned, looking behind him while his maman looked in front. 

 “Um… Draco, dear…”

 His maman's frightened voice made him snap his head forward. His face paled, and he could feel his heart drop.

 Oh…

 He was in the forbidden third-floor corridor.

 No wonder it was forbidden.

 In front of him, with a big slob of drool hanging off its mouth — mouths — was a large dog (dogs?) that filled the whole space between the ceiling and floor. Three heads. Three glaring heads that bared three sets of perfect sharp teeth.

 “Ma-maman,” Draco squeaked. “What are we—”

 “Run!” The woman shrieked, and Draco did. 

 The three-headed dog howled before it started chasing after him. Large, rumbling footsteps followed him as he ran down the long hallway. 

 Looking around, he spotted a door at the end of the corridor. He slammed himself against it. His shaking hands urgently tried pulling or pushing the door. He looked back at him; the dog was nearing, and it presented its yellow teeth. 

 Suddenly, he felt his right hand move on its own. He took out his wand, which he had slipped into his before they left, and a large white dome formed around him and the door. The dog leaped and attempted to bite through it but was bounced back by the dome.

 “Quick!” Maman urged. “Alohomora!” 
 His hand moved on its own. Draco pushed on the door, cheering when it budged open. He quickly went through the door. The dog continued scratching the dome with its large claws. The dome started to flicker before it disappeared. 

 Draco slammed the door shut, pressing his back against the door. Growls came from the other side until they slowly faded after minutes.

 He let out the gaspe he had been holding, sliding down against the door. “What… What was that? A beast.” He held his palpitating heart. “Why…”

 “Did you see it?” Came his maman's voice. Like him, her voice was breathless. 

 “See what?”

 “The trapdoor. The dog was standing on top of a trapdoor.”

 Oh great.

Chapter Text

A week after the accident, Draco swore never to wander the halls at night. He valued his life, thank you very much. His maman agreed to that as well. 

It had also been a week since Draco brought around his maman to his classes. The woman was mostly silent during these times, usually propped against either Crabbe or Goyle's book like a stand. Draco made sure to cover her with his sleeves if a professor walked by. She'd quip a thing or two during the discussion, something Draco would note. The majority of the time, she was right. 

Much like his flying lessons, Potions class was suspended for a week. That meant the first years were a week behind in their classes.

 Not Draco, though, as his maman decided that she was going to teach him and the boys potions in their dorm room. It was successful (if you forget Crabbe and Goyle were there). Theo was next to Draco in terms of potion skills. 

Draco walked into the dungeons, sneering as he realized (remembered) that he shared it with Griffindors. He took his seat at the back. It gave him enough privacy to prop his maman. 

Next to him was (unfortunately) Goyle. Thank Merlin, their class focused on individual work. His grades would perish next to Goyle.

Professor Snape entered the room with a flare of his robes. It was weird the first time Draco saw Snape again. He had known his godfather had died during the war. He probably did it while protecting Potter.

The grip around his quill tightened. He didn't know if he should praise Potter for saving wizarding kind or hate him for dooming it in the first place. 

He noticed Goyle sway his hand above his head. “Quit it!” It was a running joke his friends could see smoke some out of his blonde head. 

“We will be brewing Wiggenweld Potion.” Came the drawling voice of Snape. 

Draco heard his maman scoff. He looked over at Blaise and Theo. The three of them shared confident looks. His maman had taught them the perfect way to make it. He looked over at Goyle, who was visibly relaxed. Of course he was. He knew enough what to do to avoid melting his cauldron.

Snape started talking about the ingredients, occasionally asking Potter why the ingredient was crucial. Granger, the know-it-all and bane of almost every 1st year's existence, insisted on answering. She would raise her hand with every question and be promptly ignored by Snape. 

Good. 

Snape allowed them to start brewing. Draco was quick to grab the ingredients. He barely glanced at the instructions. Going through the ingredients with practiced ease. His maman was silent, although he could tell she was observing him with her cold silver eyes. 

Snape came over, which forced Draco to shove his grandmother's portrait into his pocket, and peered into his indigo-colored potion. “I see you have brewed this… well.”

Draco nodded his head, adding salamander blood. His maman said six to seven drops would be enough to turn it pink. If it didn't, he was already doing it wrong. Instantly, it had turned pink.

Snape hummed, a rumbling sound behind his throat before he finally looked away from his boiling cauldron. “10 points to Slytherin for getting the potion right.”

Draco smiled and smiled even wider as he caught the weasel and mudblood's annoyed expression. Snape, despite his passive face, let his lip curl before leaving. Draco went back to his potion, remembering to take out his maman.

She was beaming. 

In the end, only he got the potion right. Blaise and Theo were close, but Snape said in his drawling voice: “Too blue.”

Draco left the dungeons with the rest of his Slyhterin companions. Pansy was next to him, ranting about Longbottom, who had unfortunately been next to her, and his melting cauldron. Again, Longbottom and his terrible luck. 

They were about to turn a corner when he felt a tickling sensation on his nape. Snapping to twist half his body back, he raised his wand. “Protego!” 

A shield formed over their heads and deflected the hex. Lowering his wand, Draco glared at Weasley. “What do you want, weasel?”

Ron squared up to him, Potter next to him. “The only reason you got points was because Snape favors you. Not because you—”

“If this is your way of projecting your insecurities, you're doing a poor job at it.” Draco knew a better way (still sinister) to project one's insecurities to others. He did it for years. His eyes moved to Potter. Because of him.

His words made Ron go red. “You—”

“There shall be no fighting nor wand waving in my halls.” Snape emerged from his dungeon, like a dark shadow appearing from the dark abyss. “Twenty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin for fighting in the hall.”

Snape's dark eyes met Draco's. “Ten points to Slytherin for protecting their housemates.”

Draco smiled at the news. He looked back at Weasely. “Guess you're right. We are favored.”

Chapter Text

Draco could ignore a lot of things.

He ignored the weasel when he had the guts to glare at him. He ignores Granger whenever she looks at him because, of course, she does. He ignored Pansy and Daphne's concern when they noted how restless he was back in the great hall. He ignored Crabbe and Goyle when they munched loudly next to him. He ignored Blaise's jab on his obsession (“I'm not obsessed with Potter.” he said. “Oh, but you are.” Blaise replied). He ignored Theo's calculating gaze. It came to the point that he ignored Neville and his ability to attract misfortune to himself.

But he couldn't ignore Harry Potter and his insistent stalking.

“Will you stop it?!” He hissed, turning around to see a deserted hallway. Well, a supposed deserted hallway. Potter's hair was peeking behind the suit of armor.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can see you, you know.”

Potter, to Draco's surprise, moved away from the suit of armor with red-dusted cheeks. “Uh…”

“Out with it, Potter. I don't have all day!”

“Why do you hate Ron so much? I mean, he hates you too, by the way. He goes on and on in the common room about slimy Slytherin gits. He said all Slytherins are bad. Is that—”

Draco couldn't believe Potter could be chatty. It appalled him. He was so used to having quick exchanges with the-boy-who-lived. Most of it bearing insults rather than compliments.

He felt faint!

“Hey, you okay?” He felt hands supporting his back and holding his right shoulder.

Draco turned to Potter. Was Potter always smaller than him? The vanquisher of Voldemort was a pipsqueak next to him. He couldn't believe it!

“Get your hands away from me!” Draco growled, pushing away Potter. They were supposed to be close. The closest they were was when he nearly died. “I have my reasons to hate him.” He smoothened his robe. “Reasons I find no reason to share with a half-blood like you.”

Something flashed in Potter's green eyes. Draco couldn't bring himself to think about it. He wasn't going to involve himself with Potter.

“I don't think Ron isn't wrong with how he treats you,” Potter said. Something Draco's heart squeezed. It sounded so… calm. “But I also don't agree with you. Blood purity, right? It matters to you. Like—”

“It matters to me because it keeps me safe!” Draco knew he was lying. His bigoted beliefs in blood purity were his ruin. His parents' ruin. The Malfoy's ruin. “You wouldn't understand. You grew up muggle, I heard. You wouldn't understand my way. Our way. The weasels— Weasely's they love muggles. If you can't wrap your head around it, then leave me. I have my beliefs, and so do you.”

He clenched his fists. Saint Potter wouldn't understand. “Just because others believe yours is right doesn't mean mine can't. No one is entirely right.”

He was right to support the pureblood beliefs. There was history weaved into it. History that he knew Potter didn't and wouldn't ever understand because he was raised a muggle.

“Draco—”

“Just leave me alone!” Draco heaved, eyes downcasted. He felt so heavy. His heart was squeezed like someone wanted to draw out all the blood in it. “You're a hero, Potter. You don't know how much influence your defeat of the Dark Lord is to us— them. But… I know it's enough for everyone to forgive you.”

Forgiveness was never for him. People turned their backs the moment they knew he was done for. He was scorned throughout Britain for his involvement with the Death Eaters. He was a kid. He'd weakly argue this in his mind. He didn't have a choice, or Voldemort would kill his family.

“Draco?”

Draco blinked his eyes, suddenly realizing something wet was sliding down his cheeks. He sniffed, wiping away his tears with the palms of his hands.

“Shut up.” He hissed weakly, looking up at Potter. His green eyes stared into his. “Is this what you wanted?”

“What?”

“To see me at my weakest?” Draco weakly laughed. “To see me break down? You've seen me at my worst Potter.”

He didn't want to remember it, but he clearly remembered the pain. The cold bathroom floor against his back and the warm, tickling feeling against his front. He remembered his labored breathing and heavy tears.

“Draco,” Potter took a step forward. “I… I didn't—”

“Leave me alone!” Draco snapped before running away, bumping Potter.

He didn't care where he was running to. His lungs burned with each turn, yet he found no will to stop himself. He had reached the central courtyard. He ran past Blaise and Theo. He ignored Pansy's call for him as she sat together with Daphne. He barely managed to squeeze between Crabbe and Goyle as they blocked the exit to the forbidden forest.

He continued running, breaking through bushes and thin branches of the trees in the forest until he came to a clearing. He gasped, falling to his knees. He clutched his head, bending down as he cried.

His heart felt ripped. Like someone was clawing and reaching for it. It burned.

He wailed, the sound filling the dark forest around him.

It hurt. It hurt so bad.

“Draco?”

Draco weakly raised his head. Wet snot ran down his nose. He wiped it away with his wrist. With shaking fingers, he took out his grandmother's portrait, placing it on his thighs.

He watched as his grey eyes softened. Like the ice slightly melted. “Maman.”

“Let it out.” She cooed softly. “Let it out.”

His maman listened to him cry, wail, scream, and babble incoherently. He wanted her to hug him. Have her whisper to him that everything would be alright. That he was alright.

But she couldn't do that.

“Oh… my little constellation.”

Warmth started to surround him. It was like someone had placed a soft blanket over him. He blinked. “Ma…”

“Shh… let it out.”

He continued to cry. He thinks he cried for hours. By the time he finished, his throat was hoarse, and he felt tired. His eyelids felt droopy.

“Bloody Potter…” He grumbled weakly. “Bloody Potter and— ah!” He gripped his heart, feeling a sharp pain come from it.

“It's best you rest, dear,” Maman said softly. “Don't worry, I'll protect you.”

Draco looked at her quizzically.

“Close your eyes.” She ordered him softly. “And dream of a dreamless sleep.”

Draco felt his eyelids grow heavier until they had closed. His body had gone lax until his body lay on his side against the cool grass. He briefly opened his eyes. The last thing he felt and saw was the warmth of something against his back and the bright glow of a creature.

Chapter Text

After his breakdown, his maman's icy front started to melt. While she was kind to him before, she now started to coddle him like a child. Much to the amusement of Blaise and Theo, who kept on calling him: “Little Constellation.”

She also started helping him with his search for the Philosopher's Stone. She didn't know much (she claimed before she would say something related to it) about the Philosopher's Stone but was well-versed in how it came to be. She had told him of its creation as a bedtime story when Theo and the rest were fast asleep and he was waiting for sleep to visit him.

“Maybe you're looking too much into the books, little constellation.” She said one night from her large portrait. “Maybe it isn't in a book per se.”

He started to look elsewhere. He had written to his mother one time if they had books about eternal life and how to achieve it. He couldn't directly say it was the Philosopher's Stone. He feared his father might hear of it and try to steal it for himself.

His mother wrote back that they had plenty and promised to owl together with a box of sweets.

His father had written to him as well. Praising him for his marks and asking whether or not his grandmother had taken a toll on his sanity. His maman scowled, telling him to write Lucius that he should expect his worst moments at Hogwarts shared with his son. His father chose not to respond to his letter after that.

All in all, Draco was feeling better now. Yes, he avoided Potter like the plague, but don't we all? Potter was, at some point, enemy number one.

He lazily lounged under the sun. The sky was clear for that weekend. He had transfigured a rock to become a picnic blanket before laying down on it.

He was near the black lake. Today seemed to be ‘Black Lake Day’ as almost every student was down near the lake lounging around. He spotted Potter and Weasley across the lake. Weasely had brought his ugly fat rat with him.

Honestly, he had seen that rat twice and thought, How could a rat be that ugly? The thing looked like a kneazle's hairball that had accumulated and had grown legs and a tail.

“Finally we found you.” Pansy sat next to his head, prompting him to scoot away. “We've been looking for you. You've been distant.”

“Don't tell me you've been ditching us for Potter.” Blaise snorted, lifting Draco's head before placing it back down between his legs.

Draco sneered. “For the last time, I don't care about Potter.”

Pansy and Blaise laughed. “Please,” Pansy wheezed, cheeks red, “You? Not obsessed? It's like saying a Niffler doesn't like gold.”

Draco turned to Pansy, annoyed. “Can't people grow out of it?”

“Growing out of your crush on Potter? I'll believe that when I see a phoenix.” Blaise chortled, laughing together with Pansy.

What great friends he had, Draco mused. He shook his head, looking elsewhere. His gaze landed on a lone Granger reading under a tree. Hmm, it was weird not seeing her with the two idiots.

“Has Granger always been that alone?” He asked, interrupting the laughter.

Pansy looked over at the muggle-born, pug nose scrunching. “I believe so. I heard all the girls from her house hate her. A know-it-all.”

“Weasely was talking bad about her,” Blaise added, gaze intent at the redhead across the lake. “He runs his mouth too much.”

Draco hummed. Pansy started running her sharp nails along his blonde hair, sometimes clawing gently against his scalp.

He felt at peace.

Until a pack of chocolate frogs blocked his view. Then, the upside-down heads of Crabbe and Goyle appeared. The corners of their mouths had smudges of chocolate.

“Free food!” Pansy squealed, taking the pack. She quickly unwrapped the card, throwing the card, and focused on eating the frog. “Delicious.”

Draco's lips curled in disgust.

Blaise picked up the card. “Let's see… Dumbledore!” He announced with faux joy. “Headmaster of Hogwarts. Known for his defeat of Grindelwald. He's also worked with Nicolas Flamel in alchemy.”

Wait. Dumbledore was also involved in this. Dumbledore was the one who hid the Philosopher's Stone in the first place.

He slowly rose, startling Pansy. “Nicolas— bloody hell!”

He hastily got up, surprising his friends. He gave them a look before running back to the castle. He ignored Pansy's shrill call for him to come back.

“That's it!”

Draco slammed open his dorm room door, surprising Wimpy and his grandmother. The two stared at him in confusion as he stumbled into the room.

“What is, dear?” Maman asked, her silver gaze following him as he stumbled and kneeled in front of his trunk. He hastily opened it, took out a heavy book, and threw it on his bed.

“I found it. The Philosopher's Stone.” He flipped open the book. “It's here. Nicolas Flamel owns the Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore has it currently. The Dark Lord—” he gasped. “Eternal life. If this falls into the hands of the Dark Lord, he'll— no, no.”

Draco slammed the book closed. He started pacing around. No wonder Potter and his friends were awarded a hundred and fifty points. They basically saved the wizarding world from Voldemort's resurrection. He shouldn't be bitter about this, but he was.

Hypothetically, Potter would “stop” the Dark Lord around the end of the term. If he got to the stone first, Voldemort wouldn't be able to get it in the first place.

Not only that, but that would secure Slytherin's win for the house cup.

“Of course!” Draco snapped his fingers, shocking Wimpy and his grandmother. “The dog is guarding the stone. It has to be.”

Maman blinked in surprise. “Guarding what, my constellation?”

“the Philosopher's Stone,” Draco said, stopping his pace. “I have to get it.”

“Absolutely not.” Maman hissed objectively. “I do not know what is going on inside your pretty head, but I am not permitting you to face that slobbering mutt alone. Not to mention, surely Dumbledore, as much as I detest him, would include other safety measures other than the dog.”

“But maman!”

“Why are you so set on this anyway?”

“Because if I don't get the stone first, the Dark Lord would get it, and he could end us all.”

Something shifted in his maman's gaze. “The Dark Lord possibly couldn't want that. He just wants to protect us from muggles.”

“Protect us?” Draco parroted in surprise. “There was a war. Wars! 2 wars that only ended with more blood after the other. It was our ruin, maman. He took our family down with him.”

“No, that isn't the Dark Lord.” Maman shook her head. “That couldn't be the Dark Lord. No, that isn't…”

“Maman, you asked me if I was depressed.” Draco knew that look in her eyes. It was disbelief. “I was because of him. I am forever haunted by his mark on my arm.” He pulled up his left to reveal unblemished skin. Despite that, he could see the dark mark across it. “Please, maman. I have to do this.”

Maman showed a conflicted expression. Her light brows creased at the center of her forehead. Her lips clipped. Wimpy glanced nervously between them.

“If I allow you to go after the stone, will you allow me to guide you? To train you?”

Draco's shoulder sagged. His maman eyed him warily. “Maman—”

“Tell me, Draco.” She said, voice loud and clear. “Promise me.”

“Yes.” He breathed out. “I promise.”

Maman pursed her lips, then let out a resigned sigh. “Okay. We'll get this stone. But first, there is a trick, I want you to learn.”

Chapter Text

“It's called the unsupported flight.”

Wimpy let out a surprised gasp, dropping the book. “But my lady, the sir is too young to be learning that. It could—”

“He has to learn this, Wimpy if he wants to get this stone.” His maman's cold voice made Draco flinch. Her silver gaze was set on him, serious and unmoved. “We will begin immediately. Draco, take us to the clearing from last time. In the forbidden forest.”

Draco nodded, taking out the small portrait from his nightstand. His maman's figure from the large portrait disappeared before she moved to the one in his hands.

“Let's go.”

Draco spent the next few weeks training. His maman, together with teaching him unsupported flight, taught him more complex spells. He was at least performing level 5 spells. He feared that Dumbledore or someone from the ministry would catch one, but his maman reassured him that he would go undetected. She made sure of it.

Hallows Eve soon rolled around. Draco had spent most of his nights in the clearing. He was close to mastering unsupported flight, his maman said. He had also spent the rest of the time pacing in front of the closed (and locked) door leading to the third corridor. He didn't know what was beyond the trapdoor.

He was sure Potter never mentioned it before.

He walked into the great hall together with Crabbe and Goyle standing at his sides like two towers of protection.

The great hall was decorated for the festive season. A thousand live bats fluttered around the hall.

Draco's grey eyes slipped to the Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasely were there, scarfing down the feast. He noted the absence of a certain mudblood from their table.

He took his seat between Crabbe and Blaise, putting a good helping of the feast on his plate. He also took out his maman, who was looking at the hovering bats.

As he ate, he tried to recall something. He was sure something would happen that day. He planned on facing the three-headed dog tonight. His maman suggested they create a distraction; something he was happy to involve Longbottom in.

All he had to do was hex Longbottom into something scary. The idiot would be scared of himself and, in turn, would scare everyone else. That would give him the chance to slip away.

“He says he's not obsessed but is staring at Potter from across the hall.” Came Blaise's teasing. The boy was leaning against his chin, a bright, blinding smile on his face. “Potter, Potter, lovely Harry—”

Blaise was interrupted when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, turban jumping. His eyes were wide and frenzied as he ran to the teacher's table. He stopped in front of Dumbledore and gasped, “Troll — in the dungeon —” He turned worriedly pale, “Though you ought to know.”

He then sank to the floor, dead. He didn't, really, just fainted.

Then there was an uproar. The first years were screaming. Draco glanced around. Seeing the prefects and teachers distracted, he quickly grabbed his maman and slipped her into his pocket before scurrying away from the great hall.

He ran, ducking quickly behind a suit of armor when he saw Snape cross the corridor before disappearing from view. He took out his maman, the woman nodding at him.

He reached the grand staircase. Squinting his eyes, he faintly made out the corridor that led to the door with the third-floor corridor behind it. He quickly trudged forward, careful with his steps and the moving stairs.

He reached the corridor in no time. Lit orange-flamed torches lined the corridor. He spotted the door at the very end.

He was about to step forward when he felt something wrap around his wrist and spin him around. He quickly hid his maman behind him.

“Potter?” He spat, glaring at the savior. “What are you — where's Weasely?”

“He's saving Hermione. There's a troll. What are you doing here?” Potter demanded, holding his wrist tighter.

He hissed, trying to shake away the hold. “You— let me go! Don't you have a mudblood and a blood traitor to save?”

Potter frowned, electric green eyes looking dark. “Don't call them that—”

“I will call them what I want.” Draco hissed. “Let go of me this instant.”

“What are you doing here?” Potter repeated. “You should be with the rest of your house. It's not—”

“I know when it is not safe.” Draco fumed. “And are you that stupid to leave poor, defenseless, stupid, and every-horrible-adjective-in-between Weasely to save Granger? He couldn't lift a feather with his wand. What makes you think he can defeat a troll? A troll, Potter!”

“I just want to make sure you were safe.”

Draco sputtered, staring stupidly at Potter. He heard his maman's low gasp. “You— you— ”

He wasn't able to continue when he heard a noise behind him. Turning around, his eyes widened in panic as he saw Professor Snape make his way to them. His robe fluttered awkwardly with every step.

“Potter,” Snape glowered, staring down at the savior. “Malfoy. What are you doing here?”

“I was headed to the library.” Draco quickly lied, moving the hand holding his maman to his side. “And Potter,” he turned to the savior with a glare. “Thought it was wise to follow me.”

“There is a troll in the castle.” Came Snape's drawling voice. “You two shouldn't be…” he glanced behind him, “Near here.”

“I took a wrong turn.” Draco knew Snape was a master of Legilimency. He couldn't risk the man looking into his mind. His maman was yet to teach her ways of Occlumency.

Snape's dark eyes stared into his grey ones. He could feel someone trying to pry open his mind and was failing. Moments later, Snape blinked. “I see. Return to dungeon immediately.”

“Yes.” Draco hissed. Snape took a second to look at him before walking away. His gaze followed the professor, and he noticed him limping. Strange, very strange.

He turned to Potter, the boy looking stupified. He huffed, choosing to bring the savior of the wizarding world to where the troll was. “It's time to save your poor choice of friends.”

They arrived at where Potter last left Weasely: the girl's bathroom. Inside was a disgusting troll that Draco never wanted to see for the rest of his life.

A high, petrified scream came from inside the bathroom. Draco willed himself the powers of Merlin and the patience of his maman.

They stood in front of the bathroom.

He turned to Potter. “Well, save them!”

Potter pointed at himself. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don't know — maybe take out your wand and fight?!”

Another scream made Draco's temples hurt. Ignoring the flabbergasted expression of Potter, Draco pushed into the bathroom, drawing out his wand.

The troll's back was facing him and had cornered Weasely and Granger under one of the sinks.

“Potter!” He hissed at the standing boy behind him. “I'll distract the troll, and you take Granger and Weasely.” He stared back at the disgusting creature in front of him. He pointed the tip of his wand and said, “Expulso!”

The force of the spell threw the troll to the side, making it collide with the stalls that crushed underneath it.

Draco turned to the unmoved Potter. “What are you waiting for? Get them!”

Potter snapped back to reality, rushing over to the two dunderheads under the sink. “Come on, come on!”

Draco turned back to the troll that was starting to get up.

“Better use a spell to keep it at a distance.” His maman said. “Use Ventus.”

“Ventus!”

A strong gush of wind pushed back the troll. It started waving its club wildly, smashing the light fixtures and the nearby stalls in the process.

“Look out!”

Draco conjured a quick shield around him. The troll managed to escape the strong gust of wind and took their change to him. Its club repeatedly bashed against his shield.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the impacts slowly push him back. “A good spell would be nice, maman!”

“I'm trying not to think of the killing curse!” His maman went silent then, “Wait, Incarceous!”

Draco cast the spell, watching as chains wrapped around the troll's body. It dropped its club that landed with a loud thud.

“Quick, have someone use Wingardium Leviosa!”

Draco turned to the frozen trio behind him. “Weasely, if you value your excuse of a life, say the dang spell — now!”

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The troll's club started to rise. Higher and higher before it hovered above the troll, and — BAM!

The club dropped with a sickening crack on the troll's head. The troll swayed on the spot before falling flat on its face with a resounding thud.

Draco broke the chains around it. With the rush of the fight gone, he could feel his anxiety wash over him.

“Draco?” His maman called softly. “My little constellation?”

Draco turned to the portrait, closed his eyes, and nodded his head. As he fluttered them open, he turned around to face the trio. “You—”

A sudden slamming and loud rushed footsteps interrupted Draco. Turning to the door, he saw Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell rush into the room. Looks of astonishment flashed in their eyes as they stared at the ruined bathroom. Quirell moved to the troll and took one look before letting out a faint whimper.

Draco had witnessed McGonagall's angry expression countless times, but he could never find it in him to not feel scared.

“What were you thinking?” Came her leveled voice. Although Draco could pick up a faint strain in it. Her eyes were set on Potter and Weasely. “You could have been killed! What possessed you to face — ” she turned to the creature, “A troll!”

“That goes for you as well, Draco.” said Snape. Draco pocketed his maman as he avoided his gaze.

Then Granger's voice spoke. “It was me, Professor McGonagall — they were looking for me. I thought… I thought I could deal with the troll… on my own.”

“Ms. Granger—”

“Is this true, Draco?” Snape asked.

Draco was a Slytherin through and through. He had to save skin. “Yes. But Potter and Weasely noticed her disappearance. I was supposed to head to the library, but Potter came running, asking for help and wouldn't leave me alone. I simply helped.”

Snape continued to look at him. He could feel something trying to probe his mind again. Then, it stopped. “I see…”

“Foolish actions.” McGonagall sighed, shaking her head. “Five points from Gryffindor for your actions, Miss Granger. However, each of you will be rewarded five points for each of you for taking down a troll. No first year would be able to do this. Other than…” her gaze fell to Draco, “Yes, of course…”

“You may go.” Snape dismissed them.

They hurried out of the bathroom. Draco walked faster, leaving the trio to themselves. Once he put a reasonable distance between him and the trio, he stopped and took out his maman's portrait.

She had a pointed look on her drawn face. “Dra—”

“I know, I know.” He sighed, “I'm never doing that again.”

Chapter Text

November and Quidditch season rolled around, and Draco spent most of his time looking for a book about eternal life and ways to avoid death. He had also spent most of his time avoiding Potter, who was insistent on speaking to him, much to the annoyance of Weasely.

And as much as he knew, Potter should have been busy with Quidditch training to pay attention to him. He couldn't have carved some timeslot solely to track down and annoy Draco Malfoy.

“Don't you have training to do?” Draco spun around, holding the books close to his chest. He eyed Potter, who was dressed in his Quidditch gear. The bloody fool was dragging his Nimbus 2000 with him. “Well?”

“I want to thank you… for saving Ron and Hermione.”

“Do not remind me.” Draco breathed out.

It was weird. Very weird to see this sort of neutrality between them. They weren't (he wasn't) trying to rile each other up. They weren't some sort of rivals.

They were simply Malfoy and Potter.

“Look,” Draco sighed, walking up to Potter. Up close, he realized how Potter's eyes weren't entirely green. There were specks of yellow in it, circling the pupil. “I only did that because — ” Why did he do that?

“Because?” Potter asked, raising his brows. He switched his broom from his right hand to his left hand. “Draco?”

“Don't call me my name.” Draco snapped. He shook his head. He was going crazy. “And leave me alone!”

He stared down at Potter one last time before turning around and started walking away. He heard Potter go after him. From the distance, he could faintly make out Oliver Wood's enthusiastic voice.

“Will you be watching the first game?” Potter asked, finally coming to a stop as they neared the corner of the hall.

Draco looked behind him, brows furrowed. Was Potter asking him — “Why?”

Potter shrugged. “Dunno. Thought you were a Quidditch fan or something. You know what, never mind.”

Draco scoffed, now turning fully around. “So you're taking back your invite? You know what, maybe I won't be watching the game. Yes, I should spend time reading in the library.”

Potter does that thing where he scrunches his forehead and twists his nose into a scowl. “You sound like Hermione.”

Draco's blood started to boil. Did Potter just, “Excuse me, but I am a million times better than that — that mudblood!”

“Why do you call her that?”

“I'll call people whatever I want to. I am a Malfoy.” He huffed, puffing his chest out. “You know what? I really am not going. Goodbye, Potter.” Turning on his heel, Draco started to walk again.

“Wait!”

Draco stopped, looking back at Potter.

“Please watch the game. It would be against Slytherin. You're a Slytherin, right? I mean, you don't have to go there to watch me — not that you would watch it for me. You can — uh — watch it for your house. Yeah…”

Draco stared at Potter's bashful expression. It worried him. Potter looked like he was ready to combust the longer they talked. Which Draco would have appreciated from before, but now he was just itching to get Potter off his trail and read in the library.

“You know what, fine.”

Potter beamed. “Really?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter, but don't expect I went there because of—” As his eyes started to move, he caught the silhouette of Daphne Greengrass at the end of the hallway. The girl squeaked when she realized he saw her before she ran away back in the opposite direction. “you.”

Draco was a team player (he was not). He supported his house during his first year during Quidditch matches. He played Seeker, starting his second year. He was able to rival Potter in the position (he was petty. So sue him if he wanted to best the youngest seeker of the century).

And he was sure he attended the first Quidditch match of the season to show a supportive front for his house.

Not because of Harry ‘the-boy-who-lived’ Potter.

Draco shifted in his seat at the top row next to Crabbe and Goyle. The two were munching on nuts that they had Wimpy get from the kitchen.

He glanced at Daphne, who was seated next to Theo. The blond girl refused to meet his gaze and tried to avoid sitting next to him or talking to him. Really, the girl was scared to her witts ends.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the fourteen players arrived at the pitch on their brooms. He quickly spotted Potter. Who wouldn't with his nest of hair and green eyes?

“Go Slytherin!” Pansy cheered a few heads down next to Blaise. She was waving a small triangular flag with a silver snake on it.

He sighed. His maman was watching the game as well. She had been silent throughout his exchange with Potter. When he had gotten her out to check on her, she had an unreadable expression on her face. He asked her why, and she simply answered that Potter reminded her of someone.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, and the match finally started. Lee Jordan, a friend of the older Weasely twins, was the commentator and would occasionally say rather suggestive comments, which McGonagall quickly chastised next to him.

The first goal went to Griffindor. The House of Lions cheered after Lee announced it.

Draco spotted Hagrid sitting in one of the seats next to Granger and Weasely. “Didn't think he was a Quidditch fan.”

“The snitch is over there.”

Draco jumped at his maman's voice. Although her fingers could only point so little within the canvas, he easily saw what she was pointing at. It was the golden snitch, flying close to the stands. He looked over at Potter, seeing the savior hovering close to the ground, searching for it.

Odd. He didn't think his maman had the skills of the seeker.

He looked over at Slytherin's seeker, Terence Higgs, who was flying close to the goalposts to spot the snitch. He wanted to call over the seeker and point to where the snitch was, but looking back at the scoreboard, even if Slytherin caught the snitch, they would be behind 30 points.

He resigned in his seat. Not to mention that Potter was destined to win the game for Griffindor. Moments from now, he would spot the snitch, and go on a chase against Higgs before promptly eating the snitch and spitting it out. Game over.

And that Potter did. Potter had spotted the snitch, and so had Higgs. Neck and neck did they hurl after the small, winged, golden ball.

Draco was at the edge of his seat as Potter put in an extra kick of speed when suddenly Slytherin Quidditch captain Marcus Flint blocked him and caused Harry's room to spin off course.

Slytherin cheered at the display of cunningness.

Madam Hooch had paused the game to speak angrily at Flint before she allowed a free shot at the goalposts for Griffindor. By that point, the snitch had disappeared again.

“Over there.” Maman motioned to the snitch that was next to the Slytherin goalpost. Draco was impressed. It seemed his maman was an excellent seeker. Although it did creep him out with how fast she found it.

The game continued with the Quaffle in Gryffindor's possession.

Draco cheered with the rest of the Slytherins, but he noticed something was off with Potter's broom.

“It's been tampered with.” His maman sharply hissed. “Draco, look around for anyone with a wand or is muttering something.”

And he did. He spotted Snape with the rest of the teachers. His lips were moving rapidly. “Snape. He's—”

“He's saying the anti-jinx.” His maman interjected. Her silver eyes fell on the man with a turban. “Him! He's—”

Suddenly, Draco saw Granger's small figure fight her way to where Snape stood. She managed to knock Professor Quirrell headfirst into the front row. At that moment, Potter's broom stopped acting weirdly, and the end of Snape's robe caught on blue fire. It took seconds before the potions master noticed.

“She got the wrong person.” His maman muttered, frowning.

Potter managed to clamper back on his broom. Suddenly, he dove down and clamped a hand over his mouth like he was sick. Draco recoiled in disgust. Right, he swallowed the snitch. Potter hit the field on all fours — coughed — and the snitch fell into his hands.

“And Griffindor wins!” Lee Jordan announced, causing the lions to cheer after a stupified second.

Draco nonchalantly clapped his hands. His maman did the same. Looking back at Snape, he saw the potions master fume in his burnt robes. Quirell was still knocked out but was noticed by a Ravenclaw and their friend.

“Draco, look!” Pansy squealed. She was pointing at the field.

Confused, Draco turned back to the field and found Potter looking at him. A wide, teeth-filled smile was directed at him as he waved the golden snitch.

“Looks like a dedicated win from the golden boy.” Blaise teased, snickering with Pansy.

Draco rolled his eyes. Bloody, lucky saint Potter.

Chapter Text

A week passed after the Quidditch match, yet every Hogwarts student was talking about Harry Potter and his seeker abilities.

It was all rubbish to Draco, who was focused on his maman's training and readying for the exams. He still had a few weeks and the holidays before it came, but he was set on getting perfect marks.

His maman shared that thought enthusiastically, having Wimpy create tests that she would give him when he arrived at the dormroom. Blaise and Theo had given up after a week of tests, saying they were only entering their shared room when his maman was asleep in her portrait.

He was nearly able to perform unsupported flight as well. His maman told him he just needed a little more time and a push before he could truly turn into a cluster of dark smoke.

The library at the third hour of the afternoon was decently packed. The majority of the students came from Ravenclaw.

Draco was seated alone in a table near the forbidden section. Today, he was set on finishing his Transfiguration essay and possibly catching up with some light reading on advance potions. His maman was propped against his bag, talking about what he could add for bonus points and McGonagall's interest.

“She was always impressed with mine.” Maman said fondly. “I added extra things about the topic. We were asked to create an essay about transfiguring an apple to a cat, and I had added the similarities in terms of composition between the two. She was impressed and kept my paper as a standard. I think it's still in her office today.”

Draco nodded, adding the bit of why it was dangerous to turn a human to an animal unless it was to be an animagus.

Suddenly, the chair in front of his was pulled back, and Potter, in his robes and messy school tie, sat in front of him. He placed his books on the table and took out a parchment, his quill, and ink bottle before placing it on the table.

“Potter,” Draco placed his maman inside his bag. “What are you doing here?”

“You came.”

“It was a week ago.” Silver eyes were rolled. “Potions assignment?”

Potter nodded, grabbing his potions book and opening it. “Are you finished?”

“Am I finished?” Draco scoffed. “Of course I am. I'm the best in potions—”

“Can't argue that.”

Draco sputtered, blinking at Potter. Did Potter just agree to him?

“Do you know why Bezoar is added to make the Antidote to Common Poisons?”

“We're in a library, Potter, use it.”

“Oh, right.”

And Potter left him to get a book. Hopefully, he wouldn't find one.

“Strange.” Came the voice of his maman in his bag. Draco quickly brought her put and perched back against his bag. She was tapping her chin. “I could almost sense him. Draco, dear, who was that boy?”

“Harry Potter, the bloody savior, who's life is a constant liquid luck.”

“Draco.”

“He defeated the Dark Lord as a baby. Did it twice, actually. Died then came back. Vanquished the Dark Lord for good. Kept me and Mother out of Azkaban. Last I heard, he joined the Aurors.” He hissed, realizing how well he knew Potter. “It's objectively nothing.”

His maman hummed. “Well, taking down the Dark Lord is not an easy task. Yes. What spell did he use?”

“Expelliarmus.”

His maman's silver eyes blinked. She looked stupified for a second before she started laughing. “Expelliarmus?” She parroted, doubling over in her portrait. “He lost to that spell again? Hah!”

Her reaction made Draco scratch his neck. His maman continued to laugh, muttering about how he was stupid enough to fall of it again.

As she continued laughing, Draco was about to return to his essay when Daphne suddenly stopped in front of his table. The girl blinked her brown eyes at him before turning red. She sprinted away.

“Daphne, wait!”

Draco chased after her. The pureblood girl was quick, weaving her way through the students who walked the corridor. They had reached the Transfiguration courtyard. Daphne took a sharp turn, entering a door before climbing up a set of stairs. Draco was close to her heels until they reached the second-floor girl's bathroom.

“Daphne!” He slammed the door open. The girl squeaked. “Why are you running?”

“I'm sorry!” She cried. “I didn't tell anyone! Not even Pansy.”

“What?” Draco took a step toward her, but the girl continued to move back until her back hit the faucet behind her. He heard loud crying from one of the stalls. “What are you—”

Daphne's lips quivered, and fat tears ran down her face as she broke down. “I didn't mean it. I wasn't following you or anything. Promise!”

“Daphne, what in bloody Merlin are you talking about?!” He hissed. He held Daphne by her shoulders, shaking her. It only made her cry harder. “Daphne!”

“You and Potter!”

“What about me and Potter?”

“You two — are talking!”

“People talk, Daphne, for goodness sake.”

“But you like him!”

“I don't!”

“What?” Daphne blinked her brown eyes, sprinkling the tears into his face. “But — but — when we were kids — you — you— ”

“Spit it out, Greengrass!” Draco was losing his mind with the witch. He sighed. Daphne had gone back to crying, babbling incoherently between sobs.

“You said you like him!” She wailed. Her face had gone red at that point. She started hiccuping, “Then — hic — you said you — hic — become his friend then — hic — you said you met this boy — hic — said he — hic!”

“You're getting off-tracked, Daphne!”

“I just thought you didn't want us to know!” Daphne wailed. Draco let go of her shoulders, searching his pocket, and found a handkerchief and gave it to Daphne. She blew her nose loudly. “I'm not telling Pansy!”

“There's nothing to tell Pansy.” He stressed. He ruffled his blonde hair. “Stop crying. People are going to think I bullied you or something.”

Daphne nodded her head, nose covered by the lace handkerchief. “By the way — hic — did you hear Professor Quirrell's turban groan?”

Chapter Text

The first week of December rolled in and the castle had gone cold. Some students had decided to wear their scarfs indoors and put on thicker robes.

Draco walked out of Charms class, class book in his hand. Crabbe and Goyle trailed after him. He saw Daphne. The girl's lower lips quivered before putting up a front face, sniffing loudly before as she walked away with a group of Slytherin girls.

He spotted Potter, Weasely and Granger absent. The savior waved, but he chose to ignore it. Bloody Potter can wave his hand to thin hair.

“Anyone notice Daphne acting strange?” Blaise asked, spotting Daphne and her red nose. “Is she sick or something? Has she gone to Madam Pomfrey?”

Draco acted like he didn't know. It's not like Daphne didn't break down, thinking she was in trouble. He had spent an hour in the girl's bathroom trying to calm down the girl. By the time they left the bathroom, they had to find a way to avoid Filch and Mrs. Norris.

“Hello, Draco, dear!” Maman greeted the moment Draco stepped into the dormroom. Wimpy was seated on a stool, an open book with a Basilisk's anatomy. “I was just reading about an interesting creature.”

“Basilisks are the lady's favorite creature, yes.” Wimpy closed the book, hopping off the stool before placing the book on it. “Wimpy shall get tea and the sir's test papers. Lady Malfoy has made one covering mythical beasts.”

“I don't think I'll ever use that one.” Draco shuddered at the memory of the hippogriff in third year. He tossed his bag on his bed.

“How was school dear?”

Draco unlaced the string holding his robes, taking off the heavy garnment before tossing it next to his book. “Quite fine. Although Quirrell had been jumpier and stuttered more. I got us 20 points in History of Magic.”

“Oh good, good. Speaking of Quirrell, dear, there's something wrong with him. It's best to avoid him.”

“I don't think I'll be seeing him next year.” Draco sat on his bed. “Hogwarts can't keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. They change every year.”

“How weird. I remember Dumbledore being my professor. Although, he was my Transfiguration professor first. He was during my first year. I believe McGonagall replaced him the year after.”

“That must have been torture.”

Draco wasn't the biggest fan of Dumbledore. He had some sort of favoritism to Griffindors. Not to mention how he always protected Potter.

His death suddenly flashed in Draco's mind. Hissing, his gripped his left arm. There was nothing there.

Maman eyed Draco worried. “Dear?”

“Did you ever like Dumbledore?”

“Never. I never forgave him for what he did to my namesake.” Maman pursed her lips. “I haven't — I couldn't. He — he made sure I wouldn't be able to leave the castle. I haven't seen him since then.”

Draco could sense that this was a difficult topic for his maman. The woman looked dejected, gripping her skirt with pale fists.

“Would you like to roam the halls later tonight?” He offered. He smiled as his maman perked at the idea. “I could go on a walk.”

“Oh yes, yes. I think we should visit the trophy room. I hope my awards are still there.”

Draco reached the top of the stairs. He glanced left to right. Finding no sign of Filch and Mrs. Norris, he ventured forward, moving with familiarity to the trophy room. Nights sneaking in and out the castle were finally paying off.

The trophy room was always unlocked. His father told him so. Hence why he told Potter and Weasely to duel here. Fond memories.

Draco moved into the room, walking past the crystal displays until he stopped in front of a list of head boys and girls. He spotted his maman's name next to —

“It's us.” Her eyes were set on her name and the name next to it. She raised her hand, showing her palm as if she was caressing the barrier in front of her. She smiled tightly. “Always us.”

Draco looked around. He spotted other awards belonging to his maman. She was the greatest witch of her time.

“He was a good man, Draco.” Maman said suddenly, slowly lowering her hand. “He treated me well. Understood me. Understood how the two of us were different from the rest of Hogwarts.” She laughed bitterly. “Shared the same annoyance with Dumbledore.”

“You loved him.”

“Love.” She corrected. “But he couldn't love me. Never would.”

Draco knew it wasn't his grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy. He recalled the old man telling him that his father was the product of a business arrangement. His maman never had feelings, almost like she was never born with it. Except, there was someone who she would look softly at. Almost like she was in love.

A loud, chilling meow echoed in the room. Draco snapped to the trophy room extrance where he saw Mrs. Norris' approaching shadow. He hissed, wishing he could hex the darn cat, but that would end him with detention with Filch. He was not risking that.

He looked around, finding an ajar door. He sprinted toward it, forcing it open before rushing in and slamming it shut. His back pressed against the hard wood.

He heard Filch's steps. “Sniff them out, Mrs. Norris.” It was followed by a meow. “None? Where could that slippery rat be?”

Draco sighed in relief as Filch's footsteps grew faint. He pushed himself off the door and finally noticed the room. It was dark, saved for the moonlight seeping past the windows. He could faintly make out the dark silhouettes of desks and chairs. His eyes found something glimmering under the moonlight.

“A mirror?”

Propped against the wall was a large mirror. It height reached the ceiling and had an ornate gold frame. It stood on two clawed feet.

“I show not your face but your heart's desire.” Maman voice was quiet. “It's the inscription at the top.”

Draco looked up. He squinted his eyes, made the letters move closer, then flipped it. “What's it doing here?” He moved closer. As he did, his reflection started to appear.

His eyes widened at the sight in front of him.

“What do you see, Draco?” His maman's soft voice asked. She took was staring at the mirror.

“I see myself…” without the dark mark. “With Potter, Weasely, and Granger. They — I'm part of their group.” His eyes moved further above. “I see Professor Snape.” The image of Goyle during 6th year appeared. “Goyle…”

“I see him.” Draco looked down at his grandmother, seeing tears run down her cheeks. “I see him slip on a ring on my finger. We're — we're — We have to go.”

“What?”

“I sense Dumbledore.” Maman hissed, wiping away her tears. “Go, go. There should be a door over there.”

Behind a stack of desks was a door.

“There should be a portrait outside. It should take you near the dungeons. Go before Dumbledore arrives.”

Chapter Text

Draco found the portrait. It was that of a headless horseman carrying their lance. He spelled the portal behind it open before stepping in. He stumbled into a dark corridor.

“Draco?”

Draco flinched, slowly turning around, and came face to face with Professor Snape. The potions professor eyed him, dark eyes locking into his silver ones.

“Professor.”

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I was — I was —”

“Regardless,” Snape cut off. “Detention. 10 points from Slytherin for roaming the halls past curfew.”

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor. Turning around, Draco saw Quirrell appear behind a corner. The DADA professor jumped as he saw him and Snape.

“S-Snape.” He greeted as he stopped in front of the two. “What — what lovely evening to see you.”

Snape frowned, black eyes moving to Quirrell. “Malfoy, you are to spend helping Quirrell in his class for a week. Immediately after dinner.”

And with one last look and flutter of his long, dark robes, Snape turned and walked away. That left Draco with Quirrell.

Draco turned to the professor. Quirrell looked like he was ready to faint in the middle of the dark corridor. He couldn't look at him in the eye. In fact, the man's brown eyes were looking at his shoes.

“Professor.”

“I expect to — to see you tomorrow evening…”

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Quirrell nodded, turban bobbing. “Yes, Malfoy.” He collected his nerves, turned around, and walked back to the corridor corner before disappearing

Draco frowned. What kind of idiot would leave a student — who was caught loitering around past curfew — in the middle of a corridor and not escort them back to their dorms?

He blinked at the corner from where Quirrell had disappeared. That man was a fool. And smelled disgusting.

“That's weird,” Maman said, reminding Draco of her presence. He made her face him. “I could sense two magical signatures in him. One him, but the other… It was different.”

“He smelled like onions tonight.” Draco muttered, walking in the direction Snape went. There should be a staircase that led to the dungeons somewhere. “And —”

“Death.”

Draco came to an abrupt halt. “Death?”

“I don't know. Maybe I might be wrong, but it did smell like death. The one you would pick up after someone used the killing curse.”

“That has a smell?” Draco descended a spiral staircase. His fingers glided against the stone wall.

“Every spell has a smell.” Maman said matter of factly. “Everyone's magic does. Yours, my little constellation, smells like green apples and the autumn morning with a hint of cinnamon.”

Draco came upon the snake that guarded the entrance to their common room. He quickly said the password: Salazar. He stepped into the common room. The green fire in the hearth was extinguished, and the second year previously on the couch had moved. He quickly ran to his dorm room. Slowly twisting the doorknob, he peeked his head inside the room.

Theo's and Blaise's curtains were still drawn and had no sign of having been moved. Crabbe and Goyle were still asleep. He saw Goyle's left hand dangle off the bed.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a sharp click before running to his bed. He deposited the small portrait on his nightstand before getting under his covers. He raised his cover to his chin, turning to his Maman's portrait. She had returned.

“There are a lot of scents depending on the caster, but the killing curse is known for only one scent, and that is death. It's similar to a rotting human heart that has been left to dry.”

Draco scrunched his nose at the description. He couldn't imagine wanting to smell different spells.

“It's best if you sleep now, dear,” Maman said softly. “3 hours past 12, yes. It's the witch's hour.”

“Will you leave?”

“Never. I will always be by your side.”

Draco entered the DADA classroom. His maman was tucked safely in his pocket. Quirrell was seated behind a desk, tall stacks of paper in front of his. His turban seemed to have grown bigger.

He sniffed, nose scrunching at the strong garlic smell that lingered in the room. He knocked on the door, startling Quirrell, who jumped in his seat and dropped his quill.

The professor looked up. “Oh, yes — oh, right. Um, M-m-malfoy, I believe. Y-y-you can help me with my papers. ” He gestured to the table in front of him. “H-have a seat.”

Draco nodded, sitting down, and picked up a spare quill. “Shall I be scoring based on certain criteria?”

Quirrell blinked. “Er — um — yes. I believe you a-are the smartest in my class. Grade as you deem fit.”

Draco shook his head. He took the first paper. It belonged to a Cedric Diggory. He hissed. This wasn't a pleasant encounter. He quickly marked it, easily finding good and bad points. Good points earned you a grade; bad points earned a deduction.

The two spent an hour in silence. Only the sound of quills scratching filled the room. The pile seemingly never touched with how high it still was.

“Professor,” Draco raised a paper on eye level. “According to their essay, a curse such as the killing curse is easily avoided and prevented. Shall I mark this wrong?”

Quirrell stopped writing, looking up. “Um — um, leave that there. I will g-go over it.”

Draco followed, placing the paper to the side. He took another one. It belonged to a Cho Chang. If he recalled right, she was Ravenclaw's seeker.

“Mr. Malfoy, if I may ask—”

Draco was surprised that Quirrell knew how to talk without stuttering.

“But do you happen to be related to Effimia Rosier?”

Draco's right hand immediately fell to his pocket. He gripped the outline of the portrait. “I am. She is my grandmother.”

Quirrell let out a surprised sound. “That explains it. Your assignments.”

“What about them, professor?”

“They are like hers. Similar in pattern.”

The nib of Draco's quill hovered above the parchment, dropping red ink. “I never knew you had a copy of her old works.” His maman told him she only left a single copy of her assignment, and it was probably in McGonagall's office.

Quirrell blinked before he flinched. “I think that's enough grading for tonight.” He got up and willed Draco to follow. “It has been a long night.” He forced Draco to the door. He looked rushed and panicked. “Thank you for the assistance, Mr. Malfoy. Rest assured, I'll tell Professor Snape to lessen the duration of your detention. I believe tonight is enough.”

Draco was shoved into the corridor in front of the classroom. He stumbled, hopping as he twisted around to face Quirrell. The professor looked at him with panic-filled eyes before he slammed the classroom door loudly. The undeniable sound of a lock clicking followed it.

He stared at the door in confusion. One, Quirrell didn't stutter. Two, he knew of his maman's work back in Hogwarts. He shouldn't have been alive during that time. Lastly, the third, the garlic smell came entirely from his turban.

After a minute to collect himself, Draco decided to return to the common room. He took out his maman. Her expression was filled with suspension.

“Something is not right with that Professor.” She said as they rounded a corner and arrived at the grand staircase. “His turban hissed. It hissed.”

Chapter Text

Draco gasped, falling on all fours on the soft grass of the clearing. Black wisps dispersed around him. His entire body was convulsing, and his breath ragged. His maman was propped against a rock he had transfigured from a twig. Her expression was disappointed as she crossed her arms over her laced chest.

“You need to focus more.” She chastised. “Think of being off the ground. You are air. Think of the place where you want to go.”

Draco gritted his teeth. The air was freezing, and he realized how he had lost his robe in the process. He plopped on his butt, face scowling as he looked at his maman. He had the heart to cast a warming spell around her portrait. He was sure she didn't need it.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around him as a strong gust of cold wind swept past him. “I'm tired, maman.”

“That's too bad.” she hissed, piercing silver eyes set on him. “If you want to get the stone, you have to master this.”

“Exactly, why?” He picked up his wand and cast a warming spell on him. He was going to freeze before he mastered the stupid unsupported flight. “Why do you even know this spell? Who else knows this spell?”

“Him.” His maman quickly answered but covered her mouth, red blooming on her pale cheeks. “And I. It's not hard.”

“Is it always dark?”

Draco could only see darkness when he tried it. It made it hard to fly because he couldn't see where he was going or if he was off the ground. He could only feel pinches around his body, and his ears would go deaf with the loud thrashing in his ears.

“I'm not sure. Mine took the form of a blue flame.” Maman said. “Shall we take a break?”

Draco shook his head. He stood up with shaky legs. His wand had rolled a few feet away from him. He grabbed it with a wandless Accio. He closed his eyes, stretching his arms in front of him. Slowly, he felt a cold sensation travel up his legs. It wrapped around his torso, giving him a tight squeeze. The breeze had picked up around him, and he felt himself slowly lift in the air. Then, the familiar pinch on his skin started. He hissed, feeling his arms start to shake. His torso was tightly squeezed, and he could feel his ribs nearly breaking.

Maman stared at Draco. Well, what was supposed to be Draco. In front of her was a ball of black smoke. It was hovering where he stood, accumulating a strong gust of wind that slowly wrapped around it. She closed one eye, hissing as the wind was slowly sucking her in. Her portrait swung back and forth.

“Draco.” She called. She released some of her magic, anchoring her to the ground. The trees rustled loudly around them. “Draco!”

A sharp gasp left Draco's lips as he opened his eyes. The darkness dispersed around him, sending a powerful gust of wind outward. He fell on all fours, clawing on the grass as he tried to catch his breath. He heaved, his entire body shaking. He glanced at his maman, seeing her worried expression.

“That should be enough.” She muttered. “We'll take a break. It seems that the spell has been taking a toll on your body and core.”

Draco shook his head, spraying his sweat on the grass. He sat on his butt, staring at the wand in his hands. He was so close. He looked up. The clearing showed the bright, waxing moon and several constellations.

“I'll never get it, would I?” Draco muttered dejectedly. A shooting star crossed the sky. “Maman?”

“You will.” She said, smoothening her skirt. “You always will.”

Draco sighed. He had no time to cry. The holidays were approaching, and he planned on getting the stone after that. Maybe the day after they returned to Hogwarts after the break.

“Why are you doing this, Draco?” His maman asked cautiously. She leaned left, resting her hands against the corner of her portrait.

“I…”

He didn't know. At first, he wanted to make sure Voldemort would never get his hands on the stone, but Potter was destined to do that. Potter didn't need his help or anything. He wasn't the chosen one. Bloody hell, he isn't supposed to be doing this in the first place. He was supposed to make Potter's school life a living hell. Instead, he was avoiding Potter like the plague and forcing himself to find a stupid stone that turned you immortal.

What use does he have for immortality? He wanted to survive. Surviving meant knowing you would die at any moment. He had a will to live. He believed himself he had one.

“Draco?”

“I don't know, maman.”

“What happened in the past? During this year?”

“Potter and his followers earned fifty points each. Because of that, they won the house cup. I'd say Griffindor won the house cup succeedingly because of them. Dumbledore's favorite lions.”

He lay down on the grass, his wand resting heavily on his open palm above his head. “Slytherin worked hard for it, you know. I worked hard for it. Hell, even Crabbe and Goyle managed to earn points, and suddenly, Potter and his gang of lions managed to snag a hundred and fifty points under our noses.” he turned to his maman. “And you would think a logical reason was behind it. Something about a chess game, cool logic, and bravery.”

His maman hummed, listening as he ranted.

“Potter always wins. I — even in Quidditch, he's expected to win. It's like he's constantly drinking Felix Felicis. A life with liquid luck. I'm surprised he hasn't gone insane. I would have. Always getting my way, then build up everyone's expectations that you have you to fill then — ” he choked in sadness. “— and suddenly you can't meet their expectations, and suddenly you learn that your life is held against you all this time. It's suffocating. You're on a constant alert because one second you're free to live, and then suddenly you're on the verge of death because — ” he sobbed, “because everyone expects you to be evil. Evil.”

He wiped away his tears. His maman looked at him with sad eyes. He moved to lie on his side. His finger pressed against one of her palms. “Everyone loves him, maman. What about me? Who's going to love a broken boy?”

His maman opened her mouth to speak, but a loud, pained sound echoed in the forest. Rolling to his front, Draco gripped his wand, casting a Lumos to the direction of the sound. At the edge of the clearing lay something shiny.

Draco got up and picked up his maman before cautiously approaching the shiny figure. As he neared, he realized that the figure was a unicorn. A white unicorn was being feasted upon a cloaked figure.

“Depulso!”

The figure was thrown off the unicorn, but the damage had been done. Blood pooled from a large wound in its stomach. The figure hissed, moving to face Draco. It seemed to hover above the ground. It hissed a shrill sound that made Draco's hair rise.

“You shouldn't have done that.” Maman scolded, looking as terrified as Draco. “We have to get away.”

“How?” Draco's eyes were trained on the figure. Something about it looked familiar. Like he had already seen it in the past. “Ma—” He flinched, quickly casting a Protego totalum. It shielded him from red sparks that rapidly hit the shield.

“They're using crucio.” Maman hissed. Looking up, the shield started forming cracks. “We have to get away now, Draco. Use unsupported flight.”

“What?” Draco gritted his teeth, his arm strained as he tried to keep the shield up. “I can't—”

“You can.” Maman looked frantically around. “And you will.” She looked dead at the cloaked figure. “Now!”

Draco closed his eyes. Letting the sensation take over him. He felt himself get lifted off the ground, the pinching of his skin, the deafening sound in his ears. Maybe it was his want to live, but somehow, he felt himself move in the wind. Opening his eyes, he realized he was a few feet away from the figure in the air. Looking around him, he realized he was covered by black smoke.

“Draco, watch out!”

He dodged the curse aimed at him. The figure let out a bone-curling screech. Wasting any more time, Draco quickly flew away, but he could still hear the figure. Glancing behind him, his eyes widened in fright as the figure chased after him.

“To the forest.” His maman ordered.

Draco flew down and zigzagged past the dense forest. He passed a swarm of spiders. One was bigger than the rest. He spotted Hagrid's cowardly dog sniffing a tree root a few feet away from the spider nest.

Another shrill scream ripped him out of his reverie. Glancing behind him again, Draco saw an arrow graze the figure's shoulder. The figure stopped, hissing as it gripped the wound. He looked down and spotted a centaur with its bow raised. He descended downward.

He landed next to the centaur, stumbling as he returned to his body form. He grasped the dirt underneath him. The figure lingered up in the sky before the centaur shot another arrow, scaring it away.

Draco held his chest, smearing dirt on his white top. He turned to the centaur, finding the creature looking at him. He crawled away before stumbling to sit on his hind.

“Y-y-you're not going to k-k-kill me, r-r-right?” He stared at the bow that the centaur lowered to his side. “Maman!” He searched frantically for her portrait. Feeling it not anywhere near him, he started to panic. What if he had dropped her?

“This belongs to you.” The centaur lowered its front legs and extended its human hand with his maman's portrait.

“Draco!” She cried in relief. Draco took her portrait, bringing it to his chest for a tight hug. “Oh, you're safe.”

“You shouldn't be here.” the centaur said, standing at its full height.

Draco looked up at the creature. “We were supposed to leave. Um, thank you — ”

“Ronan.” The centaur nodded his head. Draco realized that the centaur had red hair (not Weasely red), a beard, a chestnut-colored horse body, and a red tail. “You shouldn't be here. Is Hagrid with you?”

“Hagrid?” Draco repeated dumbly. He looked at his maman. “No, no. Um — ”

“You sneaked out.” Ronan pointed out. “That is a bad idea. Something has been causing trouble in the forest.”

“Like killing unicorns?” Draco offered but regretted it as Ronan's dark gaze bore into him.

“Yes, killing unicorns.” He looked around the dark forest. “I shall escort you to the edge of the forest. You can find yourself back to the castle on your own, right?”

“Certainly, sir Ronan.” His maman said. “Come on now, little constellation, it's best we follow.”

Ronan led them to the edge of the forest. Whatever chased after them was gone for good. Draco sighed a breath of relief for two reasons: 1, he wasn't dead yet or had gone insane, and 2, he managed to do the unsupported flight.

“We have arrived,” Ronan announced. The Hogwarts castle was in front of them. Hagrid's hut was close by. Its chimney let out smoke. “I hope that you wouldn't find yourself in danger in this forest.”

“Thank you, sir Ronan.” Draco said, bowing his head at the centaur. He found it absurd that a Malfoy was thanking someone, but the creature did save his and Maman's life. “It was nice meeting you.”

Ronan nodded his head. “As do I, Draco.” His gaze fell on his maman. “And it was nice seeing you again, Lady Effimia.”

Chapter Text

Draco snuck in back at the castle through a hidden passage connected to the kitchens. He spotted Wimpy, the house elf perking up as her large eyes saw him. He pressed a finger on his lips, signaling her to keep quiet. Looking around, he noted the small number of awake elves. Wimpy nodded her large head, making a zipping motion with her long, thin fingers. 

Draco walked to the side, behind the barrels of pumpkin juice, crates of ingredients, and large pots. Reaching the door, he looked back at Wimpy, giving the elf a thumbs-up before leaving. He exited through a painting of a fruit basket with a ticklish pear. 

He stepped into a corridor near the great hall. Looking around, Draco slowly made his way down the corridor, heading to the Slytherin dungeons. 

“That was eventful.” Draco huffed, turning over his maman where she would face him. “I could use some sleep after tonight. Can I skip History of Magic tomorrow?”

“Technically, my little constellation, it's already tomorrow. It's an hour after 12.”

Draco pursed his lips. He didn't think of that. He should really get a watch to keep track of time. At this point, he would be returning to the castle an hour before classes. 

He was about to round a corner when Quirrell suddenly emerged. Draco sucked in a deep breath, pressing himself close against the wall. 

Quirrell walked past him. The old man looked haggard in his black robes. His turban was slowly coming off. He limped as he walked forward. He held his side. He soon reached the end of the hallway and turned left at a corner.

Draco felt a churning feeling in his stomach. “I'm going after him.”

“What?”

Draco ignored his maman, running after Quirrell with quick, silent steps. His feet were like air as he dashed down the hallway, turned left, and reached the grand staircase. Quirrell led him to his chambers, leaving his door slightly ajar. Draco peeked through the gap, the strong orange glow of the candles reflecting in his silver eyes. 

Quirrell had his back turned to him. The man hissed in pain as he walked closer to his wardrobe. He opened the wooden furniture, revealing several colored turbans and his teaching robes. Slowly, he peeled off his robe and revealed his teaching attire under it. On the side he was holding was a large, red, and irritated gash. He hissed, pressing a finger against the skin. He turned slightly, showing his arm that had a cut with dried blood on its sleeve.

Then, the professor slowly unwrapped his turban. His movements were slow and sensual. Turban slowly unraveled and fell to the floor near his feet. 

Draco gasped but quickly opened his mouth. His eyes shook.

Behind Quirrell's head, a face started to form. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes, slits for nostrils, and looked almost like a snake. A very ugly snake.

But Draco knows that face. He'll never forget that face. Ever. 

He slowly walked backward, feet shaking before they tangled with themselves. He fought back a scream as he fell to the ground on his butt.

He had to get away.  He glanced at his maman, seeing the woman freeze in her portrait. Her form was shaking, and her pale hand clenched tightly on her skirt. 

“We have to go.” He closed his eyes, letting the sensation of unsupported flight surround him.

He didn't care where he was going. He just needed to be away from the monster.

After what seemed to be hours of flying, Draco collapsed on the plush ground. Looking around, he realized he landed on the carpet of their dorm room. He let out a shaky breath, shifting to lie on his back. His maman's portrait next to his head. 

“Vol—” He couldn't bring himself to say their name. It scared him. The Dark Lord was in the castle, and no one seemed to know. 

“He's after the stone.” His maman's voice rang clear in his ear. Other than that, it was the wind current outside their window. “He's—”

“He's using Quirrell,” Draco said. That explained the hiss and groan his maman and Daphne heard. He groaned, remembering the Weasely twins hit the professor's turban with snowballs. “Oh Merlin, the twins threw snowballs on the Dark Lord's face.” Maybe their karma in the war was warranted. 

Then he realized something. “We have to get the stone. We have to get it first. I'm not coming home for the holidays.”

“What?” Maman gasped. “Draco, you said Potter and his lions got points toward the end of the year. Enough to override the number of points for the house cup. That means Quirrell will strike during that time.”

“But we have to get it now.” Draco hissed, turning to lie on his side. He grabbed her portrait, propping it to its side. “The Dark Lord is here at Hogwarts, and who knows, with our meddling, how much the timeline has changed.”

“Do you know where the stone is?”

“What? It's underneath that trap door.”

“Yes, but knowing Dumbledore, he wouldn't keep it in a box and call it a day. I hate to admit it, but Dumbledore is peculiarly smart. He's not just keeping it behind traps, but somewhere in plain sight as well.”

Draco frowned. His maman had a point. “Where do you think Dumbledore hid it?”

“That's something we have to figure out next,” Maman answered. “Best get ready for bed now. Have some Dreamless sleep potion. Wimpy!”

Wimpy appeared with a crack of apparition, holding a small vial. “Wimpy brings the lady's orders.”

Draco sat up, took the vial, and uncorked it before downing it in one gulp. He fought back to lurch, instead returning the vial to Wimpy. The house elf smiled before disappearing with a crack. He felt his eyes grow heavy and picked himself up, not forgetting his maman. He placed her handheld portrait on his nightstand and climbed on the bed. He went under his covers, eyes nearly into slits. The last thing he saw was his maman returning to her large portrait.

That night, Draco dreamt of a glowing red orb inside a gold mirror.

Chapter Text

The holiday break came around, and Draco took the chance to return home with his maman. They were greeted by his father mother, and the house elves Pint and Pont. His father quickly took his maman's portrait, grunting under its heavy weight. He led them to a carriage drawn by two Scottish stags. Seated on the driver's seat was Pont.

They arrived at Malfoy Manor after five grueling hours in the compartment. Lucius was first to exit, stepping down the carriage blindly as he carried the covered portrait. Next was Draco, who extended a hand to his mother as she got off.

Lucius turned on his heel, facing Draco. “I shall be taking your maman to your grandfather. Hopefully, they would talk.”

“Your father had commissioned a lovely painting of the garden with a tea table and two albino peacocks.” His mother told him, leading him to the house with her palm pressed on his back.

They entered the manor, the grand foyer decked in Yule decorations. Several house elves were running around with garlands and other holiday decorations. Draco spotted Dobby, the peculiar elf looking amazed at his maman's covered portrait.

“Out of my way!” His father snarled, pushing Dobby with his foot as he ascended the grand staircase.

“You'll see maman very soon,” Narcissa said softly. “Shall you tell me about Hogwarts over tea?”

-----

Draco entered his maman's bedroom. His father had returned her portrait at the head of the bed, but it was empty. She must be stuck with his grandfather. From what his mother said over tea, the two should be in a heated conversation about raising Lucius.

That made Draco snicker as he sat on his maman's plush bed. He looked around the room. It looked like a typical Slytherin room. Green and silver decorated the place. Snakes were at every corner. He spotted her trunk, pushed against the wall with a Basilisk toy perched on top. He got up and walked over to the trunk before he kneeled in front of it. He took the toy, placed it next to him, and worked with the trunk. He cast a few unlocking spells as it was locked by runes.

Finally, the lock clicked open. He forced open the trunk. Inside were books and notebooks. He found a copy of Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them By Newt Scamander. Digging more, he found a spellbook for dark curses and hexes. Next to it was an empty wand case.

“They broke my wand.”

Draco flinched, heart racing as he turned around. In the portrait was his maman looking somber. “Maman.”

“Broke it to four pieces before burning it next to me. I saw them do it. It felt like my soul was being purged.” She said sadly. “Muggles. I hate them. They hurt us.”

Draco pursed his lips. Muggles were dangerous. His family on both sides kept records of their ancestors, most of whom died after being caught possessing magical abilities by muggles.

“I see you've found my spellbook. That has more curses than the books in the forbidden section.” Maman gestured to the book in his hand. “I have one that would force you to murder your family. Used it once as a child on a muggle family, and I got into trouble because I missed one. It was a baby. My summers were exciting.”

Draco smiled wearily, throwing back the book inside the trunk. He wasn't going to murder muggles any time soon. Turning back to the trunk, he continued digging around. He found moving pictures of his maman during her time at Hogwarts. Most of which was next to his mother's aunt, Walburga Black, and his grandmother on his mother's side, Druella Black. In other pictures, she was next to a boy with light hair (he couldn't tell the color since it was black and white). Both wore their Slytherin robes.

He found a black album decorated with lace. Once the cover, written in elegant calligraphy, was the title: TMR and EGR. He took it out, turning around to show his maman.

“What's this?”

His maman blinked, and her silver eyes fell on the album. A deep blush appeared on her cheeks. “That's — that's nothing, dear. Put that back. I'm sure I cursed that to poison people who weren't me who tried to open it.”

Draco quickly threw the album back in the trunk. He found another photo, although this one was in a picture frame. It was his maman as a younger, probably 8 or 9, next to a tall man. He resembled his maman in a way. The way they posed made them look identical. They were dressed in black robes and were standing in front of a castle.

“Is there a ring there?” His maman asked.

Draco dug again. His hands found enchanted (and probably cursed) quills, ink bottles, potion vials, and books. But no ring was found. “No. How does it look exactly?”

“Silver band with a large green gem. Inside the gem should be a Basilisk's fang.”

Draco turned to her. Basilisks were large creatures. “How?”

“Shrank to fit the gem. It's not complicated magic.” She nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders. “The gem is made of crystallized Basilisk's venom.”

“Where did you even get that?” Draco went back to the trunk. He found a book about soul-binding and horcruxes. “The Complicated History of Horcruxes and How To Make Them.” He read the cover before shoving it to the side.

“I was supposed to make a Horcrux.” Maman suddenly said, surprising Draco. “But, well, as you see, I didn't have the time. I was lucky enough to bind my soul and consciousness into this painting.”

Draco furrowed his brows. He turned around fully, resting his back against the trunk. “What do you mean bind?”

“If a Horcrux can contain someone's soul, only true evil and the desperate can make more than one, then soul-binding is different from it. In soul-binding, the caster may they be evil or pure of heart, is able to anchor their soul in a nonliving object, and reside there. The soul occupies that object and brings life into it. Similar to my portrait.” She patted the corners of her frame. “This was a still painting, but I decided to bind my soul before I died. When I did die, my soul, instead of being collected by death, was able to evade him as I moved to this painting. My magic and the rest of me reside in this portrait.”

“You mean, you can do magic? Use a wand?”

“Not really.” Maman pursed her lips. “I am only able to channel my magic into you, seeing as you bring me around. As long as I am close to you, I can supply you with my magic. It isn't as powerful as before, unfortunately, but it should be enough to assist you.”

“Creating a Horcrux is a painful dilemma.” She shivered. “Someone tried it on me once, and it felt like I was being split in half by a dull knife. I never wanted to repeat it.”

Draco nodded his head. He looked back at the book of Horcruxes. Something inside him told him he was going to need it in the future.

“Enough of this Dark Arts talk. It's bringing painful memories.” Maman shook her head. “Did you know your grandfather called me a drama queen? He's complaining that it wasn't fair that he was stuck with your father in the manor. It's not my fault he spent most of his time preaching blood purity than studying. Honestly, the dullness of your father's mind comes from your grandfather.”

-----

Christmas day came, and Draco was the first to rise from his bed and raced to the large Christmas tree in one of the sitting rooms. Presents of varying sizes that were wrapped with enchanted wrapping paper filled the bottom of the Christmas tree.

He took one of the presents, this one coming from Pansy, and gave it a shake, pressing his ear against it. It tumbled inside. It's probably a vase or something.

The sitting room door opened, and his mother walked in. She was still dressed in her sleeping robes; a light, white laced material that pooled on the floor.

“Happy Yule, Draco.” She pressed a kiss on his cheek before sitting down on the armchair near the fireplace.

Next came his father carrying his maman's portrait. However, this time, the portrait wasn't covered and showed his maman's happy expression.

“Happy Yule, Draco.” his father grunted from behind. His voice wasn't cold. In fact, it sounded cheery. He set his mother on the opposite armchair next to the fire. “We hope we managed to get all you wished for.”

Draco beamed, going back to the present. He ripped open present after present. From his father was the Nimbus 2000 and a book on Wizarding politics. From his mother were new silk robes that had enchanted embroidery. The one he liked best was the one with a golden dragon. From Pansy was a bottle of perfume: Lover's Essense. It was supposed to be like Amortentia. It made you smell like the attractive scents of whoever you desired. Blaise gifted him a Wizard's chess kit made of jade and ruby. Crabbe gifted him sweets from Paris and Sweden. Goyle gifted him a calligraphy set from Wizarding Japan. Daphne (he'll write her a letter and ask how she's doing) sent over flowers made of rare gems. And Theo gave him a potion set that was yet to be released in the market. Even his grandfather got him something: a key to a Gringott's vault.

All in all, he got everything he wanted.

“That isn't the last of it.” Came his maman's cheerful voice. He turned to her. His father was seated on the arm of the armchair. “I have one as well.”

Lucius rose, digging into his robe's pocket before bearing a small wrapped box. He gave it to Draco, smiling slightly.

Draco took it, carefully peeling off the wrapping paper, and revealed a diamond box. He looked at his parents and his maman. The adults were looking at him expectantly. Opening the box, he saw a gem rose hair clip.

“It's a family heirloom,” Maman said, shifting in her portrait. “It's supposed to be passed from one Rosier daughter to another. Daughters are rare for the Rosiers, thus its tradition that we gift them this. The rose amongst the thorns. Unfortunately, last I recalled, there hasn't been a female Rosier since…”

“Since Pandora.” Lucius clipped. “Well, we believe there hasn't.”

“I never got to pass it on to her.” His maman said. “I left Hogwarts before she was of age.”

“Of age?” Draco asked. He took out the rose from the box, realizing that it was a brooch.

“Yes. The Rosiers would hold a debutant ball when the rose would reach 18.”

“Then Pandora should have had one,” Draco muttered. He stared at the rose.

“Unfortunately, war was brewing, and well,” His father shrugged his shoulders, “Us purebloods were busy.”

“I think that's enough family tracing, no?” His mother rose elegantly from her seat. “The elves have prepared us breakfast. I believe Dobby has prepared your favorite, Draco.”

Chapter Text

The holidays passed, and Hogwarts was once again filled with young witches and wizards.

Hogwarts was a safe place for students: purebloods, half-bloods, and muggle-borns alike. There were fights here and there between houses (Griffindor and Slytherin) and the occasional (subtly )dangerous pranks (Weasely twins).

Hogwarts is a safe place for the formulative years of a young witch and wizard.

Which was why everyone was scared to their witts end when 1st year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, stalked the hallway with deadly intent. Her dark, glaring eyes shooed the lingering students out of her way. It caused a certain Griffindor, Neville Longbottom, to jump to his right and landed into a pot of wild pansy.

Pansy rounded the corner, reaching the library. She walzed right in, ignored Madam Pince and her disdainful gaze, and walked to one of the tables.

“Where is he!?” She bellowed, slamming her palms against the table. The wooden furniture shook, and Blaise and Theo, the occupants, held on their things as it rattle on top.

The two boys shared confused looks. “Who?” Blaise asked, right palm falling on top of the open ink bottle.

“Draco!” Pansy shook the table, making rolled parchment fall to the ground. “He's — he's hiding from something. Hiding from us.”

“What do you think he's hiding?” Theo asked, picking up his wand and levitated the fallen parchments.

“I don't know, and Daphne won't tell me.”

In that moment, Daphne had reached their table. Her head turned to their direction at the call of her name. Pansy rejoinced, grabbing the girl and dragging her to their table. Blaise and Theo cleared the top, allowing Pansy to push Daphne against the table. She pointed her wand against the blonde girl's neck.

“You're hiding something.” Pansy accused. Blaise and Theo had gone out of their seats and were standing behind Pansy. “This is about Draco, isn't it.”

Daphne's lower lip quivered, and tears were threatening to fall. She shook her head. “No. Of course not. He's not hiding anything — I mean, I'm not hiding anything.”

“Aha! You are.” Pansy lowered her wand. “What are you hiding, Daphne? What is Draco hiding?” She looked at the girl dead in the eye. If there is one thing she knew she could do without magic, it was to intimidate someone until they followed her.

Daphne's lip quivered even harder before she broke down with a large wail.

“Shh, shh.” Blaise pressed his palm against Daphne's lips, silencing her. “You have a death wish with Madam Pince or what?”

Daphne shook her head. Her muffled voice came behind Blaise's hand. Blaise asked her if she would scream again if he were to remove it. She shook her head. “I promised Draco not to tell you — ” her gaze returned to Pansy. “but I will tell you that he's been sneaking out. I think he's —”

“He's sneaking out to see Potter, and he didn't tell us.” Pansy gasped. She turned around, looking at Blaise's and Theo's surprised looks. “We need an intervention.”

Theo's brows raised before he pursed his lip. He turned around, Blaise following and planned to walk away, but Pansy was having none of it.

“Don't you see,” She grabbed them by their robes and turned them around. “He's been frolicking around with a Griffindor.”

“It's Potter.” Theo scoffed. “Isn't that what we've been pushing him to do? Be with Potter?”

“Something is coming out of it, and I don't like the sound of that. Come on, lads, we'll grab Crabbe and Goyle on the way. We have an intervention to do.” Pansy announced, letting go before leaving the table. Daphne trailed after her, wiping her tears. Blaise and Theo looked at each other, exchanging exasperated sighs before following.

They had found Crabbe and Goyle in the middle of their search for the kitches. Pansy grabbed them, pinching their arms and dragged them around the castle, looking for Draco. Theo suggested they look in the dungeons where their commonroom was, but Pansy said Draco wouldn't be anywhere near the dungeon at this hour.

In their search for Draco, they passed the cowardly Griffindor named Longbottom. Pansy seethed as she approached the lion. It seemed he had managed to get out of the bushes next to him.

“You're Longbottom, right?” She arched a dark brow, looking intently into Longbottom's eyes. She held him with one hand on his shoulder.

Longbottom started to shake from where he stood, turning pale. “Um… yes?”

“How can you be not sure of your own name?” Blaise sneered, raising his long, pointed nose. “Pureblood, yes?”

Longbottom nodded his head. It made Pansy seeth even more. “Where is your golden boy?”

“Who?”

“Potter.” Theo replied, shaking his head. “We're looking for Potter.”

Longbottom looked alarmed. “Why — why are you looking for Harry? You're not going to hurt him, are you?”

“Do we look like we plan on hurting anyone?” Pansy asked, gesturing to herself and the rest of the Slytherins. Although, if you asked Longbottom, it was Pansy who looked like she planned on hurting someone.

Blaise placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, giving it two pats. “Only you Pansy, only you.”

“Well?” Pansy barked.

“I think he should be training. Why are you—”

“To the pitch, everyone!” Pansy announced, suddenly letting go of Longbottom. That threw him back to the bushes of wild pansy.

Needless to say, they did not find Draco in the Quidditch pitch. They had searched far and wide; Pansy nearly got hit by a bludger from Griffindor. They did, however, spot Potter on his Nimbus 2000 soaring in the pitch like a beacon.

They debated (argued loudly) between themselves whether or not they should call over Potter and ask. To settle it, they decided to play a game of short wand. Whoever got Daphne's (she was the shortest in their group next to Draco and Pansy) wand blindly was to call over Potter and ask him. In the end, they didn't as it was Daphne who got her own wand and refused to talk to the-boy-who-lived. She threatened them with her tears.

Dejected, they returned to the library as Theo reminded them of a potions assignment they needed to pass the next day.

“Honestly,” Pansy sighed, “Where is—” She extended her arms, stopping the group. Her large dark eyes grew and shined. Walking out of the library was Draco Malfoy. “Crabbe, Goyle, get him!”

Crabbe and Goyle jumped into action, grabbed Draco by his arms, and lifted him off the ground. Draco flailed, asking what they were doing. They followed Pansy down the corridor. They carried him until they reached the Transfiguration courtyard.

“You!” Pansy seethed, pressing the tip of her wand against Draco's neck. “Have been frolicking around with a Griffindor. A Griffindor! Not any Griffindor but Potter!. Harry Potter!”

“Potter? What about Potter!?” Draco's silver eyes set on Daphne. The girl jumped. “I'm sorry! Pansy is scary!”

Pansy pushed the tip of her wand against Draco's neck. “I know what you are.”

Draco's eyes widened. He turned to Blaise. The tall boy looked unamused. Theo, who was beside him, crossed his arms over his chest.

“We do?” Theo asked, raising a brow.

At that moment, the Griffindor team walked into the courtyard carrying their brooms. Wood was leading them. Next to him was Potter. Potter caught their eyes, although his green ones found Draco. He waved, ignoring the fact that Draco was being held up by bulky students. Potter smiled at Draco before he left the courtyard. His fellow Griffindors sneered at their little group.

“See!” Pansy hissed. “Frolicking. I know what you are!”

“For Merlin's sake, Pansy, what are you bloody talking about?” Draco huffed. “And get your wand away from my neck, you evil witch.”

“You've been sneaking out.” Blaise pointed out. “If you think we haven't noticed, we have. Except Crabbe and Goyle, obviously.”

“Sneaking out?” Pansy sneered. “Draco, your — you — your chastity!”

Red bloomed on Draco's cheek. He started thrashing in Crabbe's and Goyle's hold. “If you let me explain, maybe you wouldn't be throwing such accusations. Especially in the middle of the courtyard!”

Pansy nodded her head, and they started moving. They reached behind the greenhouse. She motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to let him go. The two boulders let Draco down, and he quickly spelled his robes clean.

“Honestly,” He grumbled, fixing his hair “I'm not seeing Potter behind your backs. Against all your odds and theories, I'm trying to prevent the resurrection of the Dark Lord.”

“You mean,” Pansy leaned, “You-Know-Who?”

“Yes, Pansy, You-Know-Who. He's in the castle.”

“But that can't be.” Blaise shook his head. “He's gone. Potter got rid of him. He's the bloody savior. The-Boy-Who-Live.”

“Just because he's called that, doesn't mean he got rid of Voldemort for good.” A sharp gasp left their lips as Draco's words left his lips.

“You say he's here. Why? Does Dumbledore know about this?” Daphne asked.

Draco shrugged. “I'm not sure, but we saw her. Maman and I.” He took out maman's portrait, presenting it to the group. His maman's calm demeanor greeted the group.

“She looks exactly like you.” Pansy muttered with awe. She looked between the portrait and Draco. “You've grown your hair out.”

Draco consciously tucked a strang of his blonde-white hair behind his ear. His hair had grown a lot. It now reached the top of his shoulders.

“What are we going to do?” Theo asked. He had a serious and troubled expression on his face. “Do — do our parents know?”

“I believe not.” Maman answered, pursing her lips. “I don't think they would religiously follow a rumor. They would try to find a way.”

“So wait, you're saying the Dark Lord is here at Hogwarts. Why?” Pansy asked, moving to lean her side against the greenhouse.

“I think he's after the Philosopher's Stone.” Draco answered.

“The what?” Crabbe asked. His entire face was filled with confusion.

“It's a stone that can make the elixir of life. Grant immortality if you will.” Maman explained. “Right now, he's trying to find a way to get it. My little constellation and I found where it is, but it's now the matter of getting to it first.”

“What are you waiting for?” Theo asked frantically. “You have to get it now!”

“It's not as easy as you think.” Draco hissed. “Dumbledore has a three-headed dog guarding the entrance, and who knows what else is behind it. I have to approach this with caution. I don't want to die… yet.”

“Well, if that's the case, what are //we// supposed to do?” Theo gestured to their little group.

“I think should help shake off Potter from trying to stalk me.” Draco grumbled. “And help me sneak out.”

“Draco has been sneaking out to train to get the stone.” Maman said. “It's been hard for him, but he persevered.”

“That explains the eyebags.” Blaise pointed at the dark, puffy circle under his eye. “Well, I'm okay with that. I mean, Crabbe and Goyle just need to be next to you. That'll shake off Potter.”

“Hey,” Pansy gripped his shoulder, digging her long, sharp nails. “Does Potter know?”

Draco sighed. “I believe so. I'm not sure. Right now, I'm just waiting for the right time to get the stone. And try to find a way to get past that dog.”

Chapter Text

Exam season was rolling around the corner, and Draco planned to use the remaining time revising his notes and figure a way to avoid getting mauled by a three-headed dog. His friends, Pansy's Minions as the namesake decreed, did their best in suggesting ways to get rid of the dog. The best one and most feasible one came from Daphne, who suggested they find a way to get the dog to sleep. It was less barbaric (Theo suggested they get rid of it forever).

Draco sighed, soothing the skin between his eyes and nose. He had been stuck in a creatures book for an hour now. He still couldn't figure out what kind of creature the three-headed dog was. It was obviously a dog, but there should be an actual name to it.

He raised his arms over his head, hearing his bones pop back into place. His maman, bless her kind and very much intact soul, had left him to mingle with the other magical portraits in Hogwarts. Last he remembered, she was going to attend a tea party with Griffindor's fat lady.

He slumped against the back rest of his seat. He found himself in a table near the forbidden section. As much as he wanted to sneak in, he couldn't risk it. He wasn't that confident with his flight skills to get away.

“Hagrid?” Draco furrowed his brows, seeing the large man emerge from the forbidden section. Clutched under his arm was a book. “Didn't know you could read.”

Hagrid jumped, nearly dropped the book. “Oh, er, I can. Um, interesting book ya got there. Didn't think you like creatures.”

Draco looked back at his open book. It was on the Hippogriff chapter. “Not really. I'm looking for a creature, actually.”

“And what is that? Maybe I could help yer.”

Draco was pleasantly surprised he could hold a conversation with the giant. As he recalled, he wasn't overly fond of him seeing his obsession with dangerous animals and inability to teach properly.

“A three-headed dog. One that has yellow teeth and slobbers much.”

“You mean like Fluffy?”

“Fluffy?” Draco saw the alarm in Hagrid's eyes. “You named a three-headed dog Fluffy?”

Hagrid started to sputter. “Er, not exactly. No, I don't have a dog named Fluffy.”

“You do.” Draco said pointedly. “Fluffy's the one in the corridor.”

“Shh, shh,” Hagrid hastily looked around. “Don't go screaming it. How did you know?”

“It almost bit my face off.” Draco hissed. “What is it doing there in the first place?”

“Professor Dumbledore borrowed her.” Hagrid replied. “Anyway, I shouldn't be talking more of this to you. Let's keep this between the two of us, yeah?”

Draco frowned. At least he got the name of the dog. His silver eyes fell to the spine of Hagrid's book. “You're reading about dragon eggs. You have a dragon, don't you.”

Hagrid shushed him again. “Don't announce it. I'm trying to know what it is for the big day.”

Of course, Draco remembered. Hagrid hatched a dragon in his hut, and he managed to catch them. He tattled to McGonagall, and it earned him detention in the forbidden forest!

“Well, good luck with your egg.” Draco clipped dismissively. “I should ask my grandmother if she has some advice.”

Hagrid furrowed his thick brows. “Now that you mention it, ya do look slightly familiar.”

“It's the hair.” Draco muttered. “Good bye, Hagrid.”

An hour and an apparent back ache later, Draco finally decided to call it a night. The library had long gone deserted, minus Granger's table that left its lamp on. He packed his things, slowly standing up and hearing his bones crack back into place. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his hip as he pushed his seat.

He'll work on this tomorrow.

“Found anything about Nicolas Flamel?” Came Granger's voice.

Draco paused, moving to stand behind a bookshelf. He peeked between the space, seeing the golden trio huddled together. Weasely and Potter shook their heads, and Granger sighed dejectedly.

It was good that Potter seemed to be on the right track of defeating the Dark Lord. It was just concerning that they hadn't gotten that much progress. He was tempted, but he wasn't that willing to serve the golden boy the answer to his woes in a silver platter embellished with snakes.

Suddenly, Weasely's eyes met his. Blue eyes met silver, and the next thing Draco knew, he was being pushed against the wall by an aggitated Weasely.

“What are you doing here?” Weasely demanded, shoving his arm against Draco's pale neck. “You're spying on us.”

“Spying isn't exactly the word,” Draco grunted. He grabbed Weasely's arm, trying to pull it away. “When your voices are loud. You three are up to something.”

“Maybe he knows something.” Potter offered, standing between him and Weasely.

“His father is a death eater, Harry.” Ron gritted, glaring into Draco's silver eyes. “He's evil.”

“And your father is a blood traitor, but I don't call yours evil.” Draco spat, glaring back. His hand itched to grab his wand and cast a quick Depulso. “Get your facts straight, Weasely. It's not like your family is better off.”

“Yours is all evil. Isn't that the Malfoy thing? Evil, slimmy, and lying gits?”

Draco gasped. Sue him if he wanted to crucio Weasely. “You know what? You're nothing against me. At least my parents care for me. At least they focus on me. How about you? Overshadowed by your older brothers. One is a prefect, right? How does it feel to be never the best? The apple or orange of no one's eye.”

Weasely's eyes twitched. “You slimmy —”

“Git? I'm a git, right?” Draco scoffed. “It's better than a runt. The only achievement you ever got was befriending Potter and that nasty mud—”

Granger screamed for Ron to stop, and Potter moved to hold back Ron.

Draco hissed, falling to the floor. His right cheek was stinging. He looked up at Weasely, smirking. “Does that make a difference? Were you hurt?”

“You—”

“Ron, he isn't worth it.” Granger looked between him and Weasely. “We're going get expelled if we get caught.”

Draco snorted, standing up. “That's what you're worried about?” He turned to Potter and Weasely. “You two could have done better than this know-it-all.”

Maybe it was the pent-up jealousy and anger. Maybe it was the ringing in his head. Maybe it was looming thought of the Dark Lord lingering near them behind Quirrell's stinky turban. Maybe it was everything.

Draco scoffed. “I don't have time for this.”

“You're a coward!” Ron shouted at his retreating figure. “A bloody coward!”

Draco stopped walking, looked over at his shoulder, and raised a mocking brow. “And what does that make you, Weasely? A bloody sidekick?”

Draco waltzed through the deserted dark corridor. There was a joy in rilling up Weasely. It wasn't the same as with Potter, but he would take what is offered.

As he twirled, he didn't realize Potter was there until a hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping his movements. Green eyes met silver ones.

“You—” Draco hissed. “What do you want?”

“You know,” Potter let go of his wrist. “I tried to understand you. When Ron said your entire family is evil for supporting Voldemort, I didn't believe him right away. I even forgot about what you said about Hagrid the first time we met. I thought you would be different.”

“Me? I didn't think being the bloody savior would dull your senses, Potter, but I'm like the rest of my family. I am evil.”

Potter looked conflicted. “You — you can't be.”

“I am.” Draco spat. “Frankly speaking, I wouldn't fit in with your trio of weirdos. A half-blood, a blood traitor, and bloody mudblood in one group? You're a walking disaster.”

A disaster that would save the world in the future.

Potter frown. His arms at his side clenched and shook. “Ron was right about you.”

“I should applaud the weasel.” Draco clapped sarcastically twice; loud and slow. “He finally got something right.”

“You are a git.” Potter glared. He stared at Draco with green, anger-filled eyes before huffing. “I was wrong to think we could be friends.”

And then Potter left.

His words should sting. Being Potter's friend was his original goal. But not anymore. He just wanted to survive.

Draco stared at where Potter disappeared. He was feeling elated. It was like a huge burden was removed from his chest. He smiled, shaking his head happily and leaping in joy. “I made bloody Potter hate me!”

Chapter Text

The second Quidditch game came on a sunny afternoon. It was a match between Hufflepuff and Griffindor. The house of snakes were more elated on cheering for the head of their house, Professor Snape, than the players. It wasn't like they were eye candy or good players to begin with.

Draco took his seat next to Pansy. The two of them were squeezed between Theo and Blaise. Blaise brought with him his binoculars. It gave him a better view, he claimed. He took out his maman's portrait, propping it against his torso. Like before, they had occupied the top seats.

“Hopefully they'll get a decent score.” Blaise scanned the crowd with his binoculars. He zoomed in when he spotted a pretty Ravenclaw girl. “At least a ninety before Griffindor beats them.”

“Have some other house's spirit.” Pansy chastised, eyes set on her manicured nails. “Professor Snape is refereeing. Maybe they'd win.”

“They have Potter.” Blaise moved his binoculars to find the Griffindor seeker. “They'll win. He's like their good luck charm. You think if he was sorted to Slytherin, we'd be winning left and right?”

“Potter has no qualities fit for Slytherin.” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. He spotted Dumbledore taking his seat next to Quirrell. How strange. Very strange. “When are they going to start this game?”

Blaise turned to look at him through his binoculars. From there, he could see the pores in Draco's fair skin. “You sound like you weren't a Quidditch enthusiast before.”

“Get that away from me.” Draco pushed Blaise's binoculars away from his face. At the same time, a whistle was blew, and the match officially began.

Draco was enjoying the first few minutes of the game until a familiar head of red hair and bushy hair sat in front of them. He scowled, realizing who it was immediately.

“What are you doing here, Longbottom?” Pansy asked, making the aforementioned boy jump in his seat. He slowly turned around, meeting Pansy's dark gaze. “W-w-watching the game.”

“Leave him alone.” Granger growled, turning Longbottom that he was now facing forward. “Aren't you a little far away from your slithering house?”

“This is our spot mudblood. If someone is far away from home, it's you.” Draco spat venomously. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled loudly. He kicked Ron's head. “Didn't see you there, Weasely.”

Pansy giggled next to him. “Oh yes, he didn't.”

Ron glared, turning around. “You —”

“Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?” Draco smirked, seeing Weasely's red face grow redder. Blaise took out a pouch full of galleons from his pocket, handing it to Draco. He still had his stupid binoculars.

“I think I know how Griffindor picks their members.” Draco said. He briefly looked down, seeing his maman's silver eyes trained elsewhere. She had spotted the snitch. “They probably pick the ones they feel sorry for. Look at Potter; dead parents. Then the Weaselys,” He sneered at Ron. “no money, boohoo.” Together with his friends, they snickered. “Can't wait for your time on the team, Weasely.”

Nevilled turned in his seat to face them, face red. “I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy.” he stampered.

“Excuse me?” Pansy asked. She and the rest of the Slytherins howled in laughter as Longbottom reddened with her words.

“Longbottom, if you knew any better, you wouldn't be even sharing the air with us.” Pansy sneered. “You're a pureblood like us, but you sure don't act like one.”

“If your brain was worth gold, you'd be poorer than Weasely, and that's saying something.” Draco added.

He smirked. He could tell that Ron was itching to punch him again. His placed a hand on his cheek. Blaise had healed him using one of his maman's spells without question.

“I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word — ”

The loud gasps and cheers from the crowd disrupted their heated exchange. Potter had done a dive and streaked through the ground like a bullet.

“At least he isn't completely blind.” Draco snickered. “Could see the snitch, but can't see anything else. Sad — ”

And it happened too fast. Ron had gotten out of his seat, shoved Draco to the ground, and topped him. Draco hadn't realized his maman had fallen off his torso and laid against the stands floor. Longbottom's eyes met Pansy's, and he hesitated. The girl looked ready to pounce before he decided to just go with it. He clambered over his seat to help Ron.

Pansy looked around her. Theo avoided the trouble by sticking his head in a book. Crabbe and Goyle were too busy munching on their snacks to realize that Draco and Weasely were wrestling under their seat. She cleared her throat, catching their eye and turned to the three boys. They ignored her. It wasn't Draco ordering them.

“Boys.” She sighed, rolling her eyes. She got off her seat and then joined the scuffle. She pried Longbottom off Draco, scratching him with her talon-like nails and caused him to yelp. “This should teach you to stick with your wild pansys.”

The stand suddenly erupted. The four looked up. It seemed Potter/Harry had caught the snitch. Based on Lee's announcement, it was a record. The fastest one yet.

“This isn't over, Weasely.” Draco spat, being carried away from Crabbe as the stands started to clear out. Goyle was busy trying to pry off Pansy from Longbottom.

The two Slytherins looked like proper disasters. Pansy fixed her messed hair, screaming bloody murder when she felt it stick up at places where it shouldn't.

“I'm going to kill you!” She hissed, about to attack Longbottom again, but was held back by Goyle. “Unhand me this instant! Let me turn him to Shortbottom!”

“It's better if we go.” Theo announced his presence. He slowly rose from his seat in the stands, closing his book. “We shouldn't be lowering ourselves to a bunch of savages.” He motioned for them to leave.

Draco gave Weasely one last glare before he allowed Crabbe to carry him away. Stupid Weasely.

Chapter Text

“Has anyone seen the little portrait?!”

The boys' dorm room was in disarray; covers were thrown out of the beds together with silk pillows; nightstands were left open and its contents littered the floor; and almost every surface looked like it was ripped off of something.

“It's not in the commonroom.” Blaise returned, closing the door behind him. He was greeted with the sight of Draco going through Crabbe's trunk.

“It's not in the hallway.” Goyle reported, forcing open the blocked door.

“Where could it be?” Draco rose from where he had kneeled in front of Crabbe's trunk. He bit his thumb nervously. “Oh, maman.”

“Couldn't your grandmother just move to other portraits or that one?” Theo asked, pointing at the empty portrait beside Draco's bed, busy going through their shared bookshelf.

“I know, but it's illegal to bring your dead family's portrait to Hogwarts!” Draco moved to look through Goyle's trunk. He grimaced at the ‘mess’ in it. “I can't believe Father did this first. How was no one wondering why he carried a large covered portrait?!”

He slammed shut Goyle's trunk, no longer admitting himself to the awful stench inside. He paced around the room. “My maman could be everywhere. What if — what if Voldemort got her? Oh Merlin — he's got her — I'm so stupid!”

Theo moved away from the bookshelf, walking over to Draco. He placed his hands on the blonde's shoulders. “Hey, calm down. We'll find your grandmother. The girls are looking in the hallways.”

Draco couldn't calm down. From what he remembered, his maman's soul was binded with her portrait. If her portrait was damaged, that meant she would die. She can't die a second time. How was he going to explain it to his father?

Hello, Father. I have unfortunate news. I seem to have lost your mother, my grandmother, in the middle of scuffling with the blood traitor Weasely. Unfortunately, our search took time, and we were too late. Maman died for a second time. This time, permanently.

The horror!

“I hate to rain on our operation, but we still have potions.” Blaze reminded, levitating their books from underneath a blanket. “And as much as Professor Snape favoring us, I don't think he'd appreciate us being late to his class.”

Draco could barely sit still in his potions class. He was so used to his maman's presence that he couldn't help but look over where her portrait would be. He was well enough to get his potion — Pompion Potion — right, but he could tell he wasn't doing it as efficiently as he would. Snape noticed, breathing down his neck the entire class. When asked if he was feeling ill, Draco shook his head no, absent as he stirred his potion.

Snape dismissed their class, not before announcing to prepare for their upcoming potions exam. Those who will fail are expected to be sitting in his class once more. He said that as he stared down at Longbottom.

Draco exited the dungeons, looking pale and dejected. He didn't notice Weasely's and Potter's stupid attempt to start a fight. He ignored Longbottom, who had subjected himself in Pansy's wrath.

He was about to round the corner headed to a spiral staircass when deep purple robes appeared in front of him.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy.” Came Dumbledore's warm voice.

Draco raised his head, meeting the headmaster's eyes behind his half-moon glasses. “Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore. Is there a problem?”

“I believe this belongs to you.” Dumbledore digs in the pocket of his robe before taking out a familiar empty portrait.

Draco rejoiced, taking the portrait. “I — where did you find this professor?”

“It was left in the stands.” Dumbledore answered. “I planned on making an announcement for it but found your initials engraved on the back.”

Draco flipped the portrait. At the bottom, written in gold ink, was his initials: DL Malfoy.

“It's a strong artifact.” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. “Anyhow, I best not keep you waiting. I believe dinner should be starting soon. I think they will serve Treacle tart for dessert. Do you like Treacle tart, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco waited patiently for his maman to return. He had forgone dinner, choosing to roam the empty halls with his portrait. He had scanned the portrait for any damage. Everything was intact. Dumbledore hadn't tampered with it.

In his roaming, he arrived outside the DADA classroom. Draco paused, turning to the room. The door was close, but he could hear Quirrell moving inside.

He debated ambushing Quirrell. Kick down his door and duel the professor until he managed to get rid of him. Getting rid of Quirrell meant getting rid of Voldemort.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco's silver eyes squinted at the bright light that suddenly casted. The door had opened, and Quirrell peaked outside. “Oh, I'm sorry, professor. I haven't been feeling well.”

“Have you gone to Madam Pomfrey?” Quirrell asked, voice quiet and without a stutter. “You do look extremely pale.” He moved away from the door and slowly approached Draco.

Draco's eyes widened, and he took a step back, extending his arms as if to hold Quirrell away. “I — I'm sorry, professor. I've had a rough day.”

“May I ask why?”

“I lost something.” Draco glanced at the empty portrait. “But I found it now.”

“A portrait.” Quirrell stared at the portrait in his hand. Something rustled inside his turban. His eyes looked blown. “A powerful portrait. Where did you get it?”

“My — I'm sorry, professor, but I have to go. Dinner should have ended, and I have curfew.” Draco pressed his lips. It was obvious Voldemort was behind the noise inside the turban. “Have a nice evening, professor.”

Draco quickly walked away. His steps turned to strides until he was running entirely. He left the castle, running to the forbidden forest. He ran past Hagrid's hut where excessive smoke came from the chimney. His curtains were tightly drawn, barely allowing anyone to peek inside.

He entered the forest, going through a familiar path until he reached the clearing. The sky was clear that night, showing the full moon. A distant wolf's howl resounded around him.

“Maman?” Draco called, walking to the center of the clearing. He stared at the empty portrait. Was he too late? What if Quirrell had found the portrait first and got rid of his maman? Or was it Dumbledore?

“Maman?” He asked desperately. He willed himself not to cry. He was a Malfoy. He wasn't supposed to cry. “Maman?”

He felt stupid for calling his grandmother. He didn't have her in the past. He only had himself, but he couldn't help but cling to her. Despite being in a canvas, she brought him comfort in the walls of Hogwarts.

He fell to his knees. The portait fell on the grass under his. His knuckled turned white as he gripped the tall grass. “Maman?”

He doesn't want to imagine the disappointment in his father's eyes. His father may not say it, but he clearly loved his maman. His silver eyes would shine and soften when he was with his maman. During their holiday break, his father had spent his mornings in the manor sharing a cup of tea with his maman in one of the sun rooms. He tried to peek once and saw the mother and son exchanging jokes. For once, he saw his father as a human and not an imposing shadow over their family.

“Maman?”

“Draco?” His Maman's familiar elegant figure materialized in the portrait. She looked relieved. “I've been looking for you. I couldn't — I couldn't get through this portrait.”

Draco broke down into sobs. “Maman!”

“Now, now,” Maman cooed, “Let's not try to get a cold. Where have you been? I've been trying to find you through every portrait. I even moved to the paintings in the grand staircase.”

“What do you mean?” Draco recalled looking through the paintings in the grand staircase. “I've looked there.”

“I've been waiting there.” Maman said, pursing her lips. “Actually, I was forced there. I'm not sure why, dear, but I remembered being pushed out of my portrait. I tried to move to my original portrait, but I couldn't. I had to share a portrait with Mirabella Plunkett. The number of times I had caught her as a fish is —” his maman shuddered, looking disturbed. “In fact, I was stuck there for five hours. It wasn't until that squibb with the cat arrived and noticed a stray portrait. He called me a stray, dear. A stray! A squibb called me a stray!”

Draco could only chuckle at his maman's declaration. Based on her description, she was talking about Filch and Mrs. Norris. “What happened next?”

“After five hours, I could finally leave. You won't believe the only place I could move to. I ended up next to the fat lady. Do you know how rowdy those Griffindors are? I heard someone named Wood talk about his Quidditch strategy. It was, unfortunately, a bad one. Training before the run rises? My dear, you're setting your team into a quick trip to St. Mungo.”

Draco shook his head. Despite his maman's complaints, she obviously enjoyed it.

“And hear this, my little constellation, Harry Potter and his friends are convinced Snape is after the stone. Snape may be a grouch, but he certainly isn't after immortality. I don't think he ever would with his Griffindor gone.”

Draco blinked, confused. Snape had a Griffindor? He couldn't believe his reclusive godfather interacting with someone out of their house, let alone a lion.

“I think it's best we return.” Maman muttered. “Best avoid what happened last time.”

Draco agreed, picking up the portrait and standing up. He quickly made his way to the forest. He arrived at the edge, close to Hagrid's hut. The curtains weren't drawn tightly, allowing him to peek inside.

What could Hagrid be hidding?

He let out a silent gasp. On the table was a dragon. It wasn't pretty, Draco thought. It looked like a crumpled rat with wings.

“It's a Norwegian Ridgeback.” Maman said, her eyes and forehead peeking past the windowsill. “Violent they are, yes. Rode one once as a child and nearly got decapitated.”

Suddenly, Hagrid had leaped to his feet and ran toward the window. Draco pushed himself away, using unsupported flight to escape. He hovered above the hut, seeing Hagrid shut the window, and Potter looked out the door. They wouldn't find him.

Suddenly, Draco's lips quirked. Oh, he's going to get Potter and his minions in trouble. He quickly flew to the teacher's quarters, finding Professor McGonagall.

He found her door. He materialized back into his magical, human self before rapping his knuckles against the door excitedly. A McGonagall dressed in a tartan bathrobe and hairnet opened the door. She looked unamused.

Draco, unwavered, beamed. “Professor McGonagall, I have terrible news.”

Chapter Text

Despite his good intentions, his tattling earned himself detention with the golden duo who were caught by Filch in the astronomy tower as they sent Hagrid's dragon away (he saw it this time).

He expected it. It happened in the past. He was blindsided by his pettiness to realize how it would get him into trouble as well.

“Are you sure you don't want me to come?” His maman worriedly asked, her silver eyes following him as he readied himself for detention with Filch.

Draco turned to his maman, straightening his green and silver tie. “No need. It's just detention in the dark forest. You should get some rest or help Crabbe and Goyle study.”

The two boys jumped from where they sat on Crabbe's bed. They shook their head no. Their heads were going to explode if they studied even more.

Draco laughed at their misery. He bid his maman goodbye before leaving for detention. He passed Professor Snape in the commonroom. The man stared at him, trying to prod his mind. Then, he passed Draco a note from McGonagall. He smiled at the professor before leaving. He'd deal with Snape when he's ready.

Draco was first to arrive at the entrance hall. Filch was obviously happy that he was there. There is something in that ugly man that made him wonder if he always looked terrifying or if the years took away his soul and fed it to dementors. He's obsessed with wanting to hang students using chains.

Later, Potter and his fan club arrived with the addition of — “Longbottom?”

“Oh,” Longbottom jumped in surprise, “Hello Malfoy.”

Potter looked at Longbottom like he was possessed: frightened and confused. Granger had the decency to look civil and ignore the fact that Longbottom was friendly with a Slytherin.

Filch led them to Hagrid's hut. Now Draco remembered. He was going to be paired with Longbottom. The fool was a coward and would end up sending green sparks. Should he scare Longbottom again?

He glanced at the frightened boy. He was close to passing out with how pale he was under the moonlight. He should, actually.

Hagrid told them they would be splitting up. Like before, Draco was paired with Longbottom. He stared at Hagrid's one-headed dog. At least Hagrid had a normal pet.

“I'll pick Fang.” He pointed at the slobbering dog before walking down the second path. He's unlikely to encounter the unicorn killer. But with Longbottom's luck, he likely would.

Longbottom trailed close to him. So close that he could feel the boy vibrate in his body. He gave the boy their lamp. Best keep the light next to him.

The forest was still around them. Fang walked ahead of them, occasionally stopping to sniff a tree. Then Draco saw it. Splattered on an exposed tree root. He extended a hand sideways, stopping Longbottom. On the ground was silver unicorn blood.

“It's fresh.” Draco crouched near it. He pressed a finger against the cooling liquid. Longbottom hiccuped in fear behind him. He lifted his head, hearing something rustling.

“What was that?” Longbottom whispered. His shaking eyes looked around the forest. He clutched tightly his wand.

Draco slowly stood up, drawing out his wand. The rustling grew louder and nearer. He casted Lumos. The light caught a shadow jumping from one tree to another. Then, loud, frantic galloping noises came from behind them.

He and Longbottom turned around. A white unicorn galloped toward them. Draco hissed, ducking down, pulling Longbottom by his tie to do the same. The unicorn, injured at its side, jumped over them, landing back on the ground with a loud thud before it galloped away.

Longbottom turned to Draco. “What — ”

Draco froze. A shadow leaped over them. Cold senstations touched their skin and made Longbottom scream, sending green sparks in the air.

Draco slapped his forehead at Longbottom's stupidity. There was his plan to leave Longbottom stranded in the middle of the forest. Fang, who had dove to a nearby bush for cover, barked as it returned to them.

“Longbottom you idiot.”

Hagrid soon came to get them. He was obviously pissed at Longbottom's incoherent rambling of the prior events. So much so that he accused Draco of scaring Longbottom intentionally.

As if! If he planned to, he would have done that before they got in this stupid forest.

“Neville — ”

So Neville is Longbottom's first name. Who knew? Draco mused next to the trembling boy.

“You stay with me an' Hermoine, Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot.”

Draco's mouth fell once Hagrid called him an idiot. Did the giant oaf call him an idiot? The smartest person in their level? Absurd!

“You — you — ”

Hagrid sent him off with Potter. He was still seething. “I can't believe it. Calling me an idiot. My father and grandmother will hear about this.” He grumbled.

“You are one.” Potter said, shining to the lamp on his face. Fang walked next to him. “Neville gets scared easily. You should know better than to scare him.”

Draco gawked, scoffing. “My fault? How dare — I can't believe you claim Longbottom as a Griffindor. He's a coward. A coward!”

“He has a name, you know.”

Draco flinched, hearing something howl in the shadows. He looked behind him in case the figure returned.

Potter thought he was doing this because he was scared. “You know, Malfoy, I'm starting to think you're scared.”

“Scared?” Draco scoffed. He had his fair share of frights in this forest. He shook his head. “I shouldn't be talking to you. You're not worth my time.”

He couldn't believe he wanted to be friends with Potter in the past. So much so that he became so bitter. Potter wasn't all that special. He just had a scar that looked like a lightning bolt. His maman told him he had a great distant uncle that only had one eye at the center of his head. Potter wasn't a spectacle.

He wasn't a spectacle in his Howarts robes, askew red tie, outdated and ugly glasses, and green eyes. Nope. He wasn't a spectacle.

They walked deeper and deeper into the forest until the path became impossible to follow with how thick the trees had become.

“Look — ” Potter muttered, extending an arm to stop Draco.

Draco furrowed his brows, ready to sneer at Potter when his silver eyes caught the silver liquid. It was splattered on the root of the trees. It looked fresher than the ones he and Neville saw. That meant —

He looked around and gripped his wand tightly. The figure should be close by.

Potter wrapped his fingers around his palm, tugging him to follow him. They crouched behind the tangled branches of an old oak tree. A familiar clearing was in front of Draco.

A few feet away from them was a dead unicorn that gleemed. Draco would have thought the sight was beautiful yet traggic, but he already saw a dead unicorn. It must have been the one he and Longbottom saw.

“Potter? Potter!” Draco lowly hissed. Potter had taken a step forward. He heard something slither close to them. “Come back here!”

Then, a bush near the edge of the clearing rustled, and the black figure from before came crawling across the ground. The figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side and began to drink its blood with loud slurps.

“Potter!” Draco hissed urgently. He kept glancing between Potter and the figure. Fang was whimpering next to him. He started vibrating. Looking around, he sighed in defeat. He raised his wand, summoning bright green sparks that shot to the air.

The loud explosion in the air made the figure raise its head and look at Potter. Unicorn blood dripped down its front in silver droplets. Draco stared, horrified.

Then, Potter staggered backward as the figure got to its feet and moved swiftly to Potter.

Draco pointed his wand at the figure. “Depulso! Depulso!” Spell after spell the figure dodged with swift movements. Draco moved away from the tree, clicking his tongue as he stood next to Potter. He pushed Potter behind him, who then fell on his knees. “Cru —”

Something jumped over them and charged to the figure, bow raised. It was enough to scare the figure off.

Draco didn't recognize it as Ronan or Bane, who Hagrid had introduced earlier. Instead, the centaur (he read more about them) was younger with white-blonde hair (not like his) and a palomino body.

“Are you alright?” The centaur asked, turning to them. He pulled Potter on his feet.

“Yes — thank you — what was that?” Potter asked in his disoriented voice.

The centaur didn't answer. Draco thought he was being rude. Instead, he stared at Potter, blue eyes lingering on the stupid scar on Potter's exposed forehead.

“You are the Potter boy,” he said. Draco fought back his scoff when he wasn't acknowledged. He was about to save Potter's life. He deserved some recognition.

Then the centaur turned to him. “Ronan tells me about you. You are who he calls Effimia's son.” A grave expression settled on his young face. “The forest is not safe at this time — for the both of you. Can the two of you ride? It would be better if we leave immediately.”

Draco doesn't understand how he was involved. He simply saved Potter. He wasn't part of his hero team.

“My name is Firenze.” The centaur added as he lowered himself on his front legs for them to clamber on his back.

“You first.” Potter muttered. Draco stared at Potter for a second. “You might fall.”

Draco scowled at the inclination that he didn't know how to ride. He did. He huffed, getting on first. He ignored Potter as he clambered behind him.

Firenze rose and was about to move when loud galloping came from the other side of the forest. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

“Draco!” Bane bellowed. “What are you doing here? Where is your mother?”

“She's my grandmother.” Draco corrected, grumbling. “I'm aware you are not the type to have humans on your back. You are not a common mule.”

“This is Harry Potter.” Firenze gestured to Potter on his back. “The sooner we get him out — them out — of the forest, the better.”

Ronan sighed. “Yes, but — never mind. We do not move against the heavens.” He looked at Draco. “It's best if we get them out of the forest.” He ignored Bane's angry huff. “Draco, come. It's best if I take you back.”

Firenze lowered himself and allowed Draco to clamper off. He moved to Ronan, who had lowered himself to be clampered on. Draco quickly did. Ronan was comfier than Firenze.

Ronan gently rose. “Hold on. It's going to be a bumpy ride.”

And they were off. They made their way through the trees. Firenze was behind them with Potter. Draco wrapped his arms around the sturdy torso of the centaur.

“Draco,” Ronan called. “Do you know what unicorn blood is for?”

“It keeps you alive.” Draco recalled reading it in one of his maman's notebooks in her trunk. Unicorn and How To Use It. “But it's a terrible thing to kill a unicorn.”

Ronan nodded his head and jumped over a large boulder in the middle of their path. “Your grandmother protected those unicorns. She had the purest heart when she first entered this forest. Her pure intentions attracted the unicorns.”

Ronan slowed down until he came to a stop. “Your grandmother hid them from the likes of her greedy potions professor. Even the likes of her namesake. She kept them under a fidelius charm with her as the secret keeper. Unfortunately, it seemed that she had died. No one else was told about the unicorns until Hagrid arrived.”

“Danger is looming over Hogwarts.” Ronan said gravely. He started trudging. “It is best that you help the Potter boy. You and your grandmother possess the blessing of time. Use it wisely — we are here.”

Draco realized that they had reached Hagrid's hut. He clampered off Ronan. The centaur moved to face him. His tall stature casting a shadow over Draco. “This were our paths will break again, Draco. I wish you and your grandmother the best.”

Draco stared at the centaur as he returned to the forest. He reached out one hand and then clenched it. He needed to help Potter.

Bloody perfect.

Chapter Text

Draco stared at Potter from across the great hall. Since the night at the forbidden forest, he had kept an eye on Potter. He made sure to sit where he could clearly see Potter. Potter and his gang of lions were planning. Based on their whispers that he eavesdropped as black smoke, they would be warning Dumbledore of someone wanting to steal the stone.

“Smoke is coming out again.” Blaise swatted the invisible smoke avove Draco's head, earning chuckles from the group. “I thought you said there wasn't anything between you and Potter.”

“Darling, when they say nothing, they meant nothing.” Pansy teased, twirling his hair around her finger. “You are obsessed.”

Draco ignored them. Potter could rot for all he cared. But he cared too much for the wizarding world to be ignorant. He turned to his maman. She has been leaving her portrait to hang out with the fat lady. She's been eavesdropping on the Griffindors. The last she heard was their prefect dating the Ravenclaw prefect. She loved to gossip.

Professor Quirrell walked into the great hall, turban tightly wrapped above his head. Draco briefly glanced at the professor, then back to Potter. Potter touched his scar and looked to be in pain.

“I need to freshen up.” He muttered, standing up. He got out of his seat, walking away from the table and the great hall. He was about to turn left when Professor Dumbledore's purple robes suddenly came to his line of sight.

“Draco, my boy.” The headmaster beckoned for him to come closer. “Just the person I was looking for.”

Draco reeled. It didn't feel right being all chummy with Dumbledore. It wasn't the guilt. He just didn't feel safe with Dumbledore. His gut was telling him not to trust Dumbledore.

“Yes, professor?” Draco asked, standing in front of the old man.

“I need you to do me a favor.” The man crouched to his height. He then passed Draco a yellow tin box. “I need you to give this back to me tonight at the eleven minutes after the 11th hour.”

Draco stared at yellow tin and then back at Dumbledore. “Will do, professor.”

“Be sure not to open it. Wait for me in front of my office.” Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. He stood up at his full height. “Thank you, Draco. Now I must be off. The Ministry of Magic awaits.”

Draco's silver gaze followed Dumbledore as he made his way to a nearby portrait. The man was odd. Very odd. He looked down at the yellow tin.

“He's a sly git.” Came his maman's muffled voice from his pocket. Draco quickly moved to a secluded spot, taking her out and propping her against the glass window. “He's trying to keep you away from Potter. Quirrell will strike tonight. Potter and his friends, too.”

“What's it this?” Draco gave the tin a shake, bringing it up to his ear. Something rattled in the inside. “It sounds heavy.”

“Better not open it.” Maman advised with a shake of her head. “Dumbledore won't be back tonight. We'd be stuck waiting for him and miss Potter.”

“Now why would he do that?” Draco grabbed his maman. He made his way to the commonroom.

“Dumbledore is no seer like me, but he can predict. He's good at that. His way of thinking is unique.” Maman said bitterly. “I see it. If we don't interfere, he'd only reward points to Griffindor, as you said.”

“Why would Dumbledore care of the house cup?” Draco descended down the staircase that led to the dungeons.

“He's a Griffindor. A proud one at that. I think he started to dislike Slytherin by the time I came. Though, he wasn't that strict with me. He distrusts me.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do with this?” Draco raised the yellow tin. “What's in this anyway?”

“A port key.” Maman answered. “He said the eleven minutes after the 11th hour, right? That will take us somewhere.”

“How do we avoid that?” Draco whispered the password to the stone snake. It hissed in return before uncurling itself and presented the entrance to the commonroom. He stepped it, waiting for the entrance to close before continuing his way.

“Well — ”

At that moment, the entrance reopened and revealed Crabbe, Goyle, and an upside down Longbottom. Goyle shook Longbottom, making his wand and Remembrall fall out of his robes.

His maman smiled, silver eyes twinkling. “I think I know how.”

Draco's knees bounced as he sat on his bed. His maman waited somberly in her large frame. Their dorm room was quiet, saved from the snores of Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise and Theo were fast asleep as well behind their drawn curtains. Dumbledore's yellow tin sat a few meters away from Draco.

“We should get moving.” His maman announced quietly. She left her large portrait, reappearing in the portable portrait propped on Draco's nightstand.

Draco nodded his head, picking her up and then the yellow tin. He slipped on his shoes and spare black robes over his pajamas, and left the room. He crossed the commonroom. Marcus Flint had occupied the sofa asleep. He quickly slipped through the entrance.

He climbed up the stairs. As he reached the top, he looked left and right for any sign of Mrs. Norris or Filch. Seeing none, he made his way to Griffindor tower. He couldn't believe he was making his way to the lion's den.

They reached the portrait of the fat lady.

“Elizabeth, dear,” Maman called the fat lady, waking her up. “I apologize for the inconvenient disturbance.”

The Fat Lady, Elizabeth, groggily woke up. “Who — oh, it's you, dear. No, no — I'm sure there must be a reason for you to wake me up.”

“I have a gift.” Maman gestured to the tin that Draco presented. “It's for a Neville Longbottom.”

“Longbottom?” Elizabeth's expression pinched until it relaxed. “Oh yes, the boy who forgets the password, yes, I remember. Is it his?”

“Yes, his grandmother sent it over, but he seemed to have forgotten it. My grandson,” Maman gestured to Draco, “Saw it and decided to return it. Would you put aside some house rivaly to return such a precious object?” Maman smiled brightly, pearly white teeth on display. “Oh, would you?”

The fat lady thought for a moment before sighing. “Do be quick.” She swung open, revealing the Griffindor commonroom.

Draco balked at the sight of red and yellow. The horror of the two colors. He was about to step inside when he slippers hit something. Looking down, he found a petrified Longbottom.

Draco quickly took out his wand. “Who — finite.”

Longbottom first started to wiggle his toes, then his head, and finally, his body as he got up. He turned to Malfoy, raising his fists. “Don't — I'm ready! Harry might have gone through me, but not you Malfoy!”

Draco stared at Longbottom. The boy had lost it.

“Draco, the tin!”

Draco looked back at the tin. Suddenly, it felt warm to touch. He looked back at Longbottom. A quick glance at a close, slightly hidden behind a blanket told him he had a minute before the port key activated.

“Hold this!” Draco shoved the tin to Longbottom. The tin started to glow. Longbottom started to panic. “What's — ”

“Bon voyage.” Draco muttered as white light consumed Longbottom and took his somewhere. Hopefully, Longbottom likes spontaneous trips.

“Draco!” His maman snapped. “We've got to get to Potter!”

They reached the third-floor corridor. Fluffy was fast asleep, and the trapdoor was left open.

Draco kneeled in front of it, clicking his tongue. “Do I have to do this?”

“We don't have much time.” Maman urged. “Use unsupported flight. It should take you to where Potter is.”

Draco sighed. Why was he saving Potter? If he didn't care about the wizarding world, he wouldn't be doing this.

“I shouldn't have asked about that stupid stone.” He muttered bitterly, closing his eyes and letting the familiar feeling of using unsupported flight.

He felt his body move. Opening his eyes, he passed a room full of Devil's Snare. The snake-like tendrils tried to reach for him but quickly evaded in his gas form. The next room was a room full of flying keys. He spotted an opened door. A silver key hung from the lock. Next was a room with giant chess pieces. He spotted Weasely and Granger. He'll not worry about them. They'll survive. He passed a room with a passed out troll. Disgusting.

“Over there!” Maman pointed a small gap on the wall. Draco braced himself, inserting himself inside the small gap.

Harry stood in front of the mirror. He saw his reflection holding the Philosopher's stone. It was bright red in his reflection's hand.

“What do you see?” Quirrell pressed.

“I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore.” He lied. “I — I'm talking to Malfoy.”

Quirrell cursed, roughly pushing him to the side. He gripped the sides of the mirror, pressing his face close to the mirror's reflective surface. “No, no … it should be here —”

Potter felt the weight of the stone in his pocket. He dared to make a run, but a high voice spoke. It wasn't Quirrell. It was his turban.

“He lies … He lies … ”

Quirrell turned around, eyes wild. “Potter, come back here! Tell me the truth! What did you see?”

The voice spoke again. “ Let me speak to him … face-to-face…”

Quirrell argued, but the voice ignored him. Harry froze in his place as he watched Quirrell unwrap his turban. The turban fell to the floor, and he slowly turned around.

His green eyes widened at the chalk white figure with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils. Voldemort.

“Harry Potter…” It whispered. “Give me the stone … ”

Harry clenched his hands into fists. “NEVER!” He sprang to the framed door, but Voldemort Quirrell to go after him. The professor wrapped a hand on his wrist but screamed in pain, letting go. The pain in his scar dulled once Quirrell let go. He stumbled and fell on the ground. The professor withered in pain, blisters forming on his fingers.

“I can't — ”

“Kill him! Kill him!”

Quirrell took out his wand, pointing it at Harry. “Cru — ”

“Glacius Maxima!”

Harry closed his eyes, preparing for the hit, but it didn't come. Opening his eyes, he saw Malfoy in front of him. The pointed blonde boy spelled a protective dome over them.

“M-m-malfoy?”

“Not now Potter.” Draco hissed, raising his wand again. “Disintegration!”

Quirrell used protego, bouncing off Draco's spell. It hit a stone pillar, causing it to collapse. Fire burned rapidly around them.

“Are you alright?” A woman's voice asked. Harry's gaze fell to the woman hanging from Draco's slim waist. She looked exactly like Draco except for the longer blonde-white hair.

Harry nodded his head, turning back to Draco and Quirrell. They had exchanged blows, deflecting each other easily. Draco, however, was growing tired and weak. A particular strong spell broke Draco's dome, nearly hitting Harry behind him.

“Draco!” The woman hissed worriedly.

“You — ” Quirrell seethed. “I knew — I knew there was something wrong with you! You and — ”

“Show me to her … ”

“But master — ”

“NOW!”

Quirrell slowly turned around, showing Voldemort. Harry watched as Draco and the woman froze.

“Effimia … ” Voldemort called longingly. “You found me … ”

“I wouldn't exactly say find.” The woman, Effimia, muttered grimmly. “I'm not letting you hurt the boy.”

“Why? He is stopping us from ridding this world of those detestful muggles.… isn't that what you want? A safe world for us to live. For the two of us … Come with me, Effimia. Let us rule this world together … ”

Effimia frowned from her portrait. “I would never go with you. You are not the man I know … ”

“It is still me …” Voldemort pressed. “Give me the stone, and we can be together … I will bring you back. Let us continue your namesake's fight. Let us — ”

“NEVER! CRUCIO!” Black sparks came from the tip of Draco's wand after the words.

Quirrell turned around and quickly produced a shield, but the sparks broke through, hitting Quirrell's arm. He whithered in pain, clutching his arm. “ You — you'll pay for that! Avada Kedarva!”

“Avada Kedarva!”

Green beams clashed, trying to push each other. Draco gritted his teeth, face flexing as he dug his shoes on the ground. Quirrell's spell was slowly pushing him backward. He held his wand using both hands, giving it a slight twist.

“This your last chance, Effimia, join me!”

“Never!”

 Suddenly, bright blue light surrounded Draco. Effimia's portrait started to glow.

Draco could feel himself slipping. Quirrell's Avada Kedarva was easily pushing his back. It won't be long until it would break through his. He'll die!

Suddenly, a warm senstation washed over him. Blue, nible fingers wrapped around his wand, slowly taking it from his hold. He looked behind him, seeing his grandmother out of frame and instead standing like a blue ghost. With the wand in her hand, his Avada Kedarva was slowly pushing back Quirrell's.

“Draco,” came his grandmother's strained voice. “Grab Potter. Once our spells cancel, have him touch Quirrell.” She grunted, adding more force into her spell. Their magic cracked, fragments flying to the side and hitting random spots, leaving dark scourged marks.

Draco quickly moved to Potter, helping him up. “You heard my grandmother. Touch Quirrell's face.”

“Draco,” Potter stood in front of him. “You — ”

“Not now, Potter.” Draco hissed, grabbing him by the shoulder and making him face Quirrell. “Be ready.”

Effimia's and Quirrell's spells cracked rapidly, releasing more sparks. It started to converge at the center, creating a growing green orb bursting with dark magic.

“This is your last chance, Effimia … join me …”

“Never!”

The orb burst, sending shards of the spell around them. Effimia expertly flicked the wand, bouncing and blocking each spark their way. The impact forced Quirrell backward, throwing him against the wall.

“NOW POTTER!”

Draco pushed Harry, and he ran to Quirrell. He forced his hands on Quirrell's face, covering his eyes. No later did boils and blisters appear on the professor's skin. The professor screamed in agony. Harry grabbed Quirrell and hung on tight. The professor wailed, trying to shake him off.

“Potter, out of the way!”

Harry turned back to Draco and Effimia. He looked between them and Quirrell. Should he? His haze fell to Effimia, she had Draco's wand raised. It was dark against her blue glowing skin. Green sparks came out the tip. She gave him a nod.

He let go of Quirrell, pushing him closer to Effimia and at that moment, Effimia screamed, “AVADA KEDARVA!”

The spell hit Quirrell like lightning. Instantly, Quirrell's body froze. Color drained from his face. But instead of leaving an injury-free body, it had disintegrated Quirrell's body. Leaving at its wake were dark green ashes.

“Potter!”

Harry felt something crash on his chest. Draco had brought him into a tight hug. He laid his head nimbly on the tall body's shaking body. His hands fell to his side. He felt the stone for the first time.

“Are you okay?” Effimia slowly walked up to them. She looked breathless despite her clean appearance. “Rid — Voldemort shouldn't be bothering you for now.”

Draco pulled away, looking at the ashes of Quirrell's body. “The killing curse … ” He muttered shakily, “It shouldn't — ”

“I wanted him gone.” Effimia said, voice clipped. “I was never a normal witch. Spells work differently for me.”

“Draco,” Harry held the blonde boy's shaking hand. “Are you … okay?”

Draco shook his head. “I never want to face that again.”

“You wouldn't.” Effimia said softly. “It's best if you boys get the rest you need.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Effimia didn't answer, instead, she flicked Draco's wand. Suddenly, fatigue washed over him. He turned to Draco, seeing the boy passed out against his shoulder. He looked back at Effimia.

“What — ”

“Sleep now, Harry, and dream of a time you desire.”

Chapter Text

Effimia stared at her little constellation's peaceful figure. She wished to run her hands through his blonde-white hair like hers. She wished to hold his hand as she waited for him to wake up.

The sound of the infirmary curtains being drawn made her look up. Dumbledore, in his purple robes and half-moon glasses, walked into their small space.

“Hello, Effimia.”

“Dumbledore.” She nodded her head, choosing to look back at Draco. She heard him sit on the stool at the foot of her grandson's bed. “Is there anything you need?”

“You're raising a wonderful boy.”

“I know.” Effimia smiled proudly. Oh how she wished she could hug Draco and whisper love and adoration into his ears. “I know … ”

“Your — ”

“Stop, Dumbledore, please. I know you believe to understand me, but you don't. I'm not like him. I stopped being like him.” Effimia sighed. She finally looked over at the old headmaster. “I'm trying not to be like him.”

“Why?” Dumbledore asked, a knowking look on his twinkling eyes.

“Love.” Effimia answered softly. “Because of love.”

“Will this love be enough for you to fight?”

Effimia blinked, lips pursing. Was it enough? Could her love for Draco be enough for her to fight against him. Something flashed in front of her eyes. She closed them, stopping the vision.

“What do you see?” Dumbledore asked with an edged voice. He looked at her. He at least had the decency to prop a large portrait on a chair next to Draco's medical bed. “Effimia?”

“A war, Dumbledore.” She spat, opening her eyes. The warmth had gone and was replaced with its usual coldness. “You and I both know that.”

Dumbledore held her icy gaze with his twinkling one. After what seemed to be hours, he finally looked away. “I see.” He muttered dejectly. He bobbed his head. “You knocked the boys out good, yes.”

“I strained Draco's magical core when I got out of my portrait.” Effimia replied. “It wasn't supposed to take the same effect on Potter. He should — ”

A hearty chuckle came from Dumbledore. “You three sound the same when you utter the name. Po-Ttah — ” the man wheezed, long beard and glasses bouncing. “Some things run in the family. Don't you think so, Effimia?”

Effimia grumbled under her breath, shifting in her portrait. “I guess so, Dumbledore.”

The old man then rose from the stool. “I better check on Harry. You say the spell would wear off now?”

“A few minutes from now, yes.” Effimia nodded her head. Her silver eyes followed Dumbledore as he pushed the curtains. She pursed her lips. Here goes nothing. “Have a lovely evening, Albus.”

Dumbledore paused. He then looked over his shoulder and at her, smiling widely. “And you too, Rose.”

When Draco came to, the first thing he heard was soft humming. Then his vision started to blur until it focused on the flying blue birds flying in circles above him.

He blinked. It wasn't ordinary birds. It was glowing much like a patronous. He tried to raise his arm, reaching out, but it felt heavy on his body. He blinked again.

“Draco?” Called his maman softly. He groaned, trying to find where she was.

The birds suddenly disappeared and the humming soft. Draco blinked again. He squirmed in his sheets.

“Wait there, dear. I'll call Pomfrey.”

A minute later Madam Pomfrey came into view. She checked him, using spells as she checked his body. The only thing he caught was her vague mention of a strained core.

“Maman?” His voice was hoarse. He coughed, panting with each breath.

Madam Pomfrey handed him a glass of water. “Drink now. Professor Snape added a potion to help your core recover faster.”

Draco nearly spat the bitter liquid. Once Madam Pomfrey drew away the glass, he cough again. “Where — where am I?”

“The infirmary dear. You had quite the adventure.” Madam Pomfrey said lightly. “We'll keep you for one more night then we can release you to see your friends.”

“They were worried sick, my little constellation.” came his Maman's voice somewhere next to him. “They brought gifts.”

Madam Pomfrey moved to the side, presenting Draco a cart filled with candy, books, jewelry, a potions kit, and flowers. “I had to force them to stop bringing you gifts.”

“How long was I out?” Draco groaned, feeling a sharp pain in his head. He was never saving Potter again after this.

“A week. Could have been more, really.” Madam Pomfrey replied with a small huff. “You were very brave, my boy. You and your grandmother.” She glanced at Effimia. “It's not every day you face the Dark Lord and survive.”

“It's by Merlin and Morgana we survived.” His maman muttered. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell.” Draco grumbled. “I'm never helping Potter. Never again. I don't know how Weasely and Granger tolerate his magnetism to trouble. Urgh, I'd rather take that port key.”

“Speaking of port key,” Madam Pomfrey changed his sheets with a simple flick of her wand. “Thanks to you, Neville Longbottom found his missing toad. As it turned out, it was hiding in the greenhouse.”

Draco scoffed. Of course it was. Longbottom probably forgot frogs moved. He closed his eyes, feeling his head start tk throb. “Quirrell?”

“Best have Dumbledore answer that, dear.” Pomfrey took one last look of his vitals. “Like I said, one more night before you're free to go. Feel free to call me if you feel somesort of discomfort.”

“Will do, Madam, thank you.” Effimia said to Pomfrey. The matron offered her a smile before leaving.

“You were very brave, Draco. Very brave.”

“That makes me a Griffindor.” Draco grumbled. “Let me guess, Griffindor won the house cup.”

Maman shook her head. “I believe they postponed the announcement until both you and Potter are well enough to join. Dumbledore said it was a must.”

“He's got his screws loose then.” Draco spat weakly. “So, Quirrell?”

“He's gone and so is Voldemort … for now.”

“For now.” Draco muttered.

He'll deal with that on another day. It wasn't like he needed to save Potter again. That's a one-time thing. Merlin and Morgana can strike him with lighting for all he cared.

He wasn't going to care about Harry Potter.

Chapter Text

Draco looked up at the full moon. It was the night before they would depart for summer break. Everyone was excited to leave the school and finally relax in their home with their families.

He leaned against the stone banister. He had wandered into a lone tower of the castle. It didn't seem like Filch or Mrs. Norris would find him here.

His maman was back in the dorm room, indulging Blaise and the rest with the story of his adventure. He chose to be tight-lipped about it despite Pansy's threats and Daphne's forced water works. He doesn't want to recall fighting the Dark Lord.

“Hey.”

Draco turned his head to the left. The wind blew his hair, making it push against his cheek. Next to him was Potter.

Potter was looking at him softly with his vibrant green eyes. In the past, he used to compare Potter's eyes with the glow when Voldemort casted Avada Kedarva. But now, he realized how wrong the shade was. It wasn't a glowing bright green.

Potter's eyes resembled high quality jade. It matched well with his slighty tanned skin from Quidditch.

“What do you want?” He asked, the bite not there. He was tired. Still tired from before.

“You weren't there are the year-end-feast.” Potter looked away, stealing the green jade from him. “I was worried something happened to you.”

“Harry Potter is worried about me?” Draco's sarcastic posh voice asked. “His best mate's worst enemy? Am I sure you aren't someone else using polyjuice potion?”

Potter's face scrunched in confusion. “What?”

“Never mind.” Draco rolled his eyes. He looked back at the view in front of him. It overlooked the dark forest. He saw smoke coming out of Hagrid's chimney. “Only Potter would be asking me what polyjuice potion is. Don't you read, Potter?”

“You sound like — you know what? Never mind. You'll probably push me off this tower if I finish that.”

“Good that you know.” Draco mused.

Silence fell after that. It wasn't suffocating. It wasn't exactly comfortable. It wasn't weird. It was just right.

“Thank you … for saving me. You and …”

“Grandmother.”

“You look exactly like her.”

Draco rolled his eyes, amused. “I'm sure that's how genetics work, Potter. You probably looked like your father at his age.”

“Not sure.”

Draco hummed. “What are you doing here, Potter?” his finger drew circles on the ledge of the tower.

“Your house won the house cup.”

Draco's finger paused, creating a half-circle. “Excuse me?”

Potter faced him again. His green eyes shined vividly under the moonlight. “Your house won. Dumbledore awarded your house a hundred and fifty points to you for protecting the school from evil forces. Then, he awarded ten points to you again for reuniting Neville with Trevor.”

“Who?” Draco's brows furrowed as he turned to Pottery. Finally silver met jade.

“Neville's toad. He named it Trevor.”

Draco was appalled. “Who names — I'm not even going to think about it.”

That made Potter chuckle. “Yeah, it's kinda weird.”

“But Dumbledore awarded you too, right?” Draco couldn't believe that he earned a hundred and sixty points for his house.

“Yeah, but you beated us by a hundred and sixty points. Congratulations, by the way.” Potter beamed. He then leaned back from the banister. “Shall we shake to it?” He offered his hand.

Draco stared at the hand in front of him. He was getting a sense of deja vu. An odd case of deja vu. His silver eyes moved upward until it landed on Potter's face. He looked expectant.

He sighed, pushing himself off the banister. “Possibly, Potter, but we aren't exactly friends, are?” He smirked at Potter's embarrassed expression.

Draco stared at the waiting train in front of him. Students were excitedly boarding the Hogwarts Express to finally go home for summer break.

He heard Goyle huff behind him. Turning around, he watched as Goyle stagger as he carried his maman's covered portrait.

“Be careful with that. It's a family member.” He said to Goyle, watching him step on the train. He waited until Goyle stepped inside. He heard someone ask Goyle what he was carrying. The idiot with gorilla arms easily answered: “A family member.”

“Oh, Draco, good that I caught you.”

Turning around, Draco saw Dumbledore. “Hello, professor.”

“Has your grandmother boarded already?” He peered through the raised train windows. “I have a gift for her.” His right hand dug into the pocket of his robes before he took out a small green pouch tied with silver string. “I think it would go well with her portrait.”

Draco took the pouch. He pulled on the string. Inside was a small fragment of the red Philosopher's Stone. “Is this — ”

“It would fit well for your grandmother's name. Rose. A stone red as a vibrant rose.” Dumbledore chuckled to himself. “Best board the train now, Draco, lest you want to miss it.”

At that moment, the train released a loud whistle, signalling it close departure. Draco tied the pouch and then slipped it inside his pocket. “I'll be sure to give it to her, professor.”

Dumbledore nodded his head. “I know you will, Draco. Now go before the train leaves you.”

Draco turned around, stepping on the train. He held on a railing. Dumbledore continued to stand from where he was, eyes twinkling at him.

The train released another whistle again. Draco took one last look at Dumbledore, his purple robes, half-moon glasses, and twinkling eyes before he entered the train.

What a weird man.

“Lucius, fix that hair of yours.”

“Mother, please, I already did.”

“Well, fix it again. Don't slick it too back. You look like you have a receding hairline.”

“Mother!”

Draco chuckled, allowing his own mother fix his hair. His mother stood in front of him, adding finishing touches to his look, particularly his hair that how reached past his shoulder.

“You look dashing, love.” She kissed his blushed pink cheek before moving to stand next to his chair, a hand resting on his shoulder.

“Mother!” Came his father's exasperated shout. “I look fine.”

“Maroon looks hideous on you, dear.”

“It's not maroon. It's vampiric red.”

“Same thing, dear.”

Lucius sighed, moving to stand in his place on the right of Draco. “Why do I even try?”

Draco laughed. “Maybe because you love Maman?”

Lucius' silver gaze fell on Draco. Draco wondered if he said the wrong words. Then, suddenly, Lucius smiled. “That I do, Draco. That I do.”

Ambrose Turner, their hired magical artist, smiled wearily at the unique family in front of him. He was well aware of who the Malfoy's were. He just caught off guard at how lax and close they were to each other. The current Lord Malfoy, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, was in the middle of a losing battle with his late mother's portrait that was perched on an easel next to the current Lady Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy. Next to Lord Malfoy was his late father's magical portrait, looking bored as ever.

And at the center of it all was the Malfoy heir, Draco Lucius Malfoy, smiling brightly at the small chaos around them.

“Everyone, please.” Narcissa stressed, ceasing the chaos. “Let us not take up much of sir Turner's time.” She gestured at the artist. “Shall we have our portrait painted?”

“This wouldn't take much time, Lady Malfoy.” Ambrose said, picking up a brush. “Will this be your final positions?”

Draco glanced at his grandmother. His father had added the Philosopher's Stone at the bottom-center of her gold portrait. It stood out in its red glow.

“Draco?” Lucius asked, gaze worried.

Draco blinked his silver eyes. He settled in his seat, smiling at Ambrose. “Ready!”