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"They've gone down! Merlin's baggiest pyjamas! They've really gone down!"
Hagrid's huge voice echoed through the empty room, full of panic. He lay at the edge of the trapdoor, peering down uselessly into nothing but a terrifying darkness.
"What's the use of just standing there shouting?" Draco forced down his fear, his voice sharp with tension. "Go down and find them!"
He did not hesitate any longer. He took a deep breath and jumped into the pitch black opening. The fall was shorter than he expected, and he swung his wand in time.
"Arresto Momentum."
A gentle force caught him for a moment, but he still stumbled on landing, stepping on something soft and wet.
All around was pitch black, with only a faint glimmer of light from the trapdoor above.
Before he could see his surroundings, something tightened around his ankle! Something cold, wet, and slimy wrapped around his ankle.
Devil's Snare! He realised at once.
The vines, like living snakes, quickly coiled around his ankle, then his thighs, his waist and abdomen. The strength was astonishing, squeezing him painfully, and they kept spreading upward, pressing against his chest, dragging him deeper into the darkness with a suffocating force.
The feeling was awful. The sticky touch made his stomach churn, and the instinctive fear of being bound seized him instantly.
"Malfoy! Don't move!" Hagrid's voice came from above, full of anxiety. "The more you struggle, the tighter it gets! Relax! Think of something happy!"
Something happy? Think of something happy when he could be strangled at any moment or face Voldemort?
Draco forced himself to stop struggling and relax, even though it felt awful, like being buried alive in a cold, wet, slimy grave. He could feel himself sinking slowly.
Above, Hagrid was clumsily trying to squeeze his huge body through the trapdoor. He poked himself with his pink umbrella, only getting more stuck, and finally resorted to a spell, though it was clear he had not used magic for quite some time.
"Alohomora! Oh, hell, not that one..."
Listening to Hagrid's frantic fumbling and random spells above, the feeling of helplessness made Draco close his eyes in despair. He could feel his body still sinking slowly, and the Devil's Snare tendrils had reached his chest.
"Reducio!"
Finally, after a violent struggle and the sound of splintering wood, Hagrid crashed down with a heavy thud, crushing a large patch of Devil's Snare with his sheer weight and giving Draco room. The vines recoiled into the darkness as if scalded.
"Merlin," Hagrid panted as he got up, brushing dirt and broken leaves off himself. "That stuff is nasty. Are you all right?"
Draco ignored him, only slapping at the slime left on his clothes in disgust. They had landed at the entrance to a stone corridor. A faint buzzing came from ahead. The two exchanged a look and walked forward cautiously.
The next room was strange and beautiful. The ceiling rose so high it vanished into darkness, as if they had entered the inside of a giant stalactite cave.
Beneath the high vault, thousands of keys glittered like jewels, their silver wings fluttering as they flew wildly through the air like a startled flock of birds, filling the room with a dizzying hum. At the far end was a heavy wooden door.
Draco frowned. He had no patience for this find the key game. He raised his wand directly at the door.
"Reducto!"
A blinding red light hit the lock with a loud bang, bursting into a small cloud of smoke and sparks. But when the smoke cleared, the lock and the wooden door were completely intact, without even a scorch mark.
"Hey!" Hagrid waved the smoke away with his hand and looked at Draco in surprise. "You... you're only a first year. How do you know that spell? The Blasting Curse?! That's dangerous!"
"This is not the time to discuss it!" Draco snapped. He looked around, his gaze falling on an old broom in the corner. Then he looked up at the dazzling keys in the air.
"Looks like we have to play by the rules." Draco walked over reluctantly and picked up the broom. "Big oaf... which one is it?"
He watched the madly dancing little things and felt a wave of irritation.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The light from his wand tip did not target a single key but spread outward. In an instant, all the keys in the air froze, holding their last flying positions as if paused, then clattered down like hailstones, covering the floor.
"Merlin..." Hagrid exclaimed again, but then his eyes widened and he pointed somewhere in the air. "There! That one! The silver one, its wings are drooping a bit, like it's been beaten!"
Near the ceiling, a key with damaged wings, clearly older than the others and flying somewhat crookedly, was wobbling downward under the spell's effect.
Draco grabbed a broom at once and mounted it.
The broom shot upward, far less responsive than the Nimbus series he was used to, but he steadied it, flew toward the falling key, and caught it precisely in his hand.
The key struggled in his hand for a moment, then went limp.
After landing, Draco quickly inserted the key into the lock and turned it gently. Click. The lock opened.
He pushed the door open. The next room was like a giant chessboard, its floor made of black and white squares. At once they saw Hermione and Ron standing at the edge of the board, looking utterly bedraggled.
Hermione was struggling to half drag, half carry Ron. Her hair was even more dishevelled, her face smudged with dust, sweat soaking her temples.
Ron was pale, his eyes closed, apparently unconscious. His left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and his robes were torn in several places. He had almost all his weight on Hermione's small shoulders, making it hard for her to move.
"Ron, Hermione!" Hagrid called urgently, rushing over with heavy steps. Carefully, as if picking up an injured bird, he scooped Ron up with his huge arms and held him.
When Hermione saw them, especially Hagrid, her eyes immediately reddened, tears welling up, though she fought not to cry.
"You must have been terrified, child," Hagrid looked at Hermione's small face, all his intended scolding swallowed, his tone turning clumsy and gentle. "But you shouldn't have... really shouldn't have come in here on your own."
"No... it wasn't us, Hagrid!" Hermione explained urgently, her voice tearful. "When we came in, the harp was already there, the trapdoor was already open. Someone got in before us! Harry... Harry went into the innermost room. He's been in there a while and hasn't come out! I heard spellcasting..."
Just then, from behind the door across the chessboard, from deep down the long, downward stretching stone staircase that seemed to have no end, came a faint scream, a grown man's scream, full of pain and despair!
They all froze instantly, nerves stretched tight. But the scream was clearly not Harry's voice.
Right after, a cold, evil wind carrying a thick stench of death rushed up from the depths of the staircase, as if mixed with some inhuman, furious roar.
Draco's goosebumps rose at once, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. It was that feeling! Exactly the same as in the Forbidden Forest, even stronger!
Fortunately, the cold wind came and went quickly. Almost the next second, it rushed upward and out, and the depths of the staircase returned to dead silence, with only the lingering cold air proving it had not been an illusion.
Draco's discomfort slowly faded, but his limbs were still weak, his heart pounding.
Hagrid's face turned incredibly serious. He carefully handed Ron to Hermione. "You look after him! I'll go down and check!" He gripped his small pink umbrella as if it were a war hammer.
Draco followed almost without thinking.
The two left Hermione to care for the unconscious Ron and hurried down the long, steep stone stairs.
The further down they went, the higher the temperature became. The air grew dry and scorching, and the stone walls felt hot to the touch.
At last, they reached the bottom of the stairs. A stone door stood open, but the doorway was blocked by a wall of roaring fire, crackling and giving off tremendous heat, completely blocking the way.
The flames instantly reminded Draco of the Fiendfyre Crabbe had released in his previous life, which had nearly burned him and Harry to death in the Room of Requirement. A pang of palpitations hit him.
But the flames before him seemed confined within the door frame, burning purely by magic, much smaller in scale, raging only at the doorway. The surrounding walls were bare stone, and the fire was far less terrifying than that time.
"Aguamenti."
"Aguamenti!" Draco raised his wand without hesitation. A clear stream of water burst from the tip and poured onto the flames. The water met the magical fire with a hiss, sending up a large cloud of white steam.
The flames resisted stubbornly, but were finally overwhelmed by the water, gradually dying out and revealing what lay beyond.
It was a small stone chamber, empty except for a person lying on the floor in the centre.
It was Harry!
Harry lay motionless in the middle of the stone chamber beyond the door.
Draco's breath stopped. His heart felt gripped by an icy hand. His mind went blank, with only one thought screaming.
Something went wrong! The Saviour was dead!
He almost stumbled over, fell to his knees beside Harry, lifted Harry's upper body with trembling hands, and anxiously patted his cheeks, his fingers instinctively checking for a pulse in his neck.
"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"
Beneath his fingertips came a strong, regular beat. Once, twice. He was alive! Just unconscious! Only unconscious.
The immense tension and worry receded like a tide, and what rushed in after was an inexplicable, intense resentment.
This resentment gave Draco's actions a hint of venting. He twitched the corner of his mouth, then deliberately pretended to still be very anxious, while his hands showed no mercy, slapping Harry's cheeks left and right with considerable force.
"Wake up! Potter! Potter!"
The left and right slapping made Hagrid, who had followed in, stare blankly, his mouth open, before he quickly reacted. "Malfoy, stop! Are you trying to beat him to death?"
But the effect was remarkable.
Amid the smacking sounds, Harry frowned in pain, as if disturbed by Draco's actions, and struggled to lift his heavy eyelids.
Those green eyes had lost their usual brightness, looking tired and unfocused, but when they saw Draco's terrified face so close, they seemed to regain a little light.
He gave Draco an extremely weak, almost silent smile, then, with the last of his strength, painfully raised one hand and pushed a small, cold, hard object into Draco's hand.
That done, his head lolled to the side, and he fell into complete unconsciousness.
Draco instinctively gripped the object, the cold touch clearing his mind a little. He looked down and opened his palm.
A dark red, smooth stone lay quietly in his sweaty palm. It was not striking, even rather plain, but inside it seemed to hold a faint flowing light, giving off a gentle yet powerful magical pulse.
It was the Philosopher's Stone.
"Harry? Harry?" Hagrid called anxiously, his huge figure looming over them.
"He's just unconscious." Draco carefully closed his hand around the Stone and said to Hagrid, "Carry him up. He needs Madam Pomfrey."
Hagrid carefully lifted Harry, and only then did Draco have the presence of mind to look around the room.
Apart from the ragged clothes belonging to Professor Quirrell lying beside Harry, and some scattered things that looked like ash or earth, the room was empty. At the far end stood a very impressive mirror with a golden frame.
"How did Professor Quirrell's clothes get here?" Hagrid muttered in confusion, but he was more concerned about Harry now and did not dwell on it.
The two quickly retraced their steps and met up with the anxiously waiting Hermione. Hagrid carried Harry in one arm and the still unconscious Ron under the other, with Draco and Hermione following close behind. The group made their way back with difficulty.
What followed was dealt with quickly.
Hagrid fetched Professor McGonagall and explained the situation in a stammering, incoherent way. Of course, he left out the part where he had revealed information about the obstacles.
When Professor McGonagall saw the unconscious Harry and Ron, and the Philosopher's Stone Draco handed her, her face was filled with shock and belated fear. She immediately notified Dumbledore, who was in London.
Harry and Ron were taken to the hospital wing.
Ron woke the next morning. He had only a broken leg and some scrapes, and had taken a bad fright, needing rest. But Harry, whom Draco had thought merely unconscious, slept for much longer.
By then it was nearly Christmas, and the Hogwarts castle was filled with a festive atmosphere.
The story of how Harry Potter, to protect something, had fought and defeated the evil Professor Quirrell alone spread rapidly among the students in various exaggerated versions.
Many students would make a detour to the hospital wing during breaks, look through the window at the unconscious "hero," and leave a chocolate, a packet of sweets, a card, or a small wrapped Christmas gift on his bedside table.
Looking at the growing pile of gifts by Harry's bed, Draco kept remembering the way the boy had let out a long breath at the sight of him and trustingly pushed the Philosopher's Stone he had risked his life to protect into Draco's hand.
Perhaps... he should prepare a gift for the boy who lived.
"What are you thinking about?" a calm voice said beside him.
Draco came back to himself. He was sitting in Charms class with Theodore Nott.
Because Professor McGonagall needed to deal with "very important matters" with Dumbledore, the class had been turned into a study period. The classroom was filled with a relaxed yet slightly restless atmosphere.
Theodore, sitting beside him, was watching him with those grey misted eyes, his tone carrying a trace of barely noticeable displeasure.
"Nothing." Draco brushed it off, his gaze drifting to the fine snow falling outside the window.
Theodore was silent for a moment, unconsciously drawing tangled lines on his parchment with his quill. His voice was still flat, but with a sharp edge.
"You seem... to have grown close to Potter and the others lately. Involved in these... dangerous and pointless things."
Draco belatedly realised that, worried about being seen through by this overly perceptive childhood friend, he had indeed been deliberately or unintentionally distancing himself from Theodore.
He looked at Theodore's face, which showed little expression but hinted at dissatisfaction, and sighed inwardly.
"Just got caught up in some... trouble by accident." Draco tried to soothe him, using the familiar tone from their childhood. "You know Potter always attracts trouble."
Theodore's expression eased a little, but he continued, "We're the ones who grew up together, Draco. Best friends, aren't we?"
His gaze held a kind of stubbornness. "The Potter family... now there's only him left. If one day he accidentally..." He did not finish, but the meaning was clear, carrying a subtle contempt typical of pure blood families for those with thin bloodlines.
"Theodore." Draco cut him off, his tone carrying a displeasure he did not notice himself. "Don't."
Theodore looked at him, a flash of surprise and deeper gloom passing through his grey eyes. He seemed about to say more, but the bell for the end of class rang just then.
Draco picked up his things and stood. "I'm going to the hospital wing." He needed to check whether that troublemaker had woken up.
Theodore watched his retreating back and pressed his lips together.
Draco walked toward the hospital wing, thinking that when he had been in the hospital wing before, Potter had run there almost every chance he got. This was just returning the favour, nothing more.
He pushed open the door of the hospital wing and happened to see Albus Dumbledore coming out.
The old headmaster wore deep purple robes dotted with stars and moons. Behind his half moon spectacles, those blue eyes were still sharp and full of wisdom, but now, looking at Draco, they held a gentle light, as if they could see through everything.
"Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy." Dumbledore's voice was gentle.
"Good... good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore." Draco said, his voice dry.
Facing this old man, his emotions were extremely complicated. In his previous life, Voldemort had threatened his family's lives to force him to assassinate Dumbledore.
Although he had ultimately not spoken the fatal curse, Dumbledore's death was still tied to him. That guilt, even after rebirth, still weighed heavily on his heart.
Dumbledore seemed not to notice the turmoil inside him, only smiling. "I just had a chat with Harry. He's awake, and in good spirits. I think he would be very happy to see a friend come to visit."
His gaze rested on Draco's face for a moment, as if he had seen many secrets, including some feelings Draco himself had not yet fully understood.
"Sometimes fate connects us in the most unexpected ways, Mr Malfoy." Dumbledore's tone carried a unique, meaningful gentleness.
"And true courage is not always about the way one waves a wand. It is also about facing the choice of one's own true feelings. It is good to be young. There is still enough time to recognise and cherish those... sincere friendships."
Draco's heart was filled with the burdens and guilt of his previous life. In truth, he had not really taken in Dumbledore's words. He only gave a vague reply. "Yes, Professor."
Dumbledore said no more and left.
Draco took a deep breath and walked into the hospital wing.
Harry was indeed awake. He sat propped against the headboard, his face still a little pale, but his green eyes had regained their light.
When his gaze landed on Draco, the pure joy and obvious dependence that burst forth in them was like a faint light, unexpectedly shining into the complex and gloomy depths of Draco's heart.