25 Sept 1991 - Wednesday
Draco woke at seven in the morning, and just as Harry's bed was neatly made yesterday, it was so again. Draco frowned at it. What was going on? Where was Harry?
Shrugging the mystery off as one he couldn't solve this second, Draco slid from bed and went into the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. A half hour later, he finished getting dressed, smoothed the covers on his bed, and ran out of the dorm.
Draco was just about to head into the Great Hall when he saw Harry pushing through the tall, oak doors into the Entrance Hall.
"Harry! Where were you?" Draco ran over to the boy who looked as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep.
Harry smiled gamely as he met his friend. "I was just taking a walk."
Draco frowned. "Bit early for that." He peered at Harry. "I know you went to bed last night, but did you get any sleep?"
Harry hesitated. It was natural for him to do so. Nobody had ever asked after him, and certainly nobody ever cared enough to know what he was thinking or feeling. But, Draco was his friend, right? Friends cared. They wanted to know if you were feeling all right or not. Harry knew that if something were wrong with Draco he'd want to know so he could help.
"Sort of," he hedged cautiously.
"Nightmares again?" asked Draco softly, as though it were a big secret.
"Yeah..." Harry stopped as they entered the Great Hall and made their way to the Slytherin table.
There were pitchers of juice and milk and teapots with hot water. Food wasn't served, yet, as it wasn't quite 8:15 in the morning. Harry poured some milk and Draco had some as well.
"So?" asked Draco, after he took a big swallow of his cold milk. For a brief second he sported a milk mustache until he wiped it off with his sleeve. "Same stuff you've been dreaming about or something else?"
"Something else," Harry said quickly, trying to dismiss any further talk about his nightmares.
Draco did continue to talk about nightmares, but instead he told Harry about one of his. "When I was five I kept having this terrible nightmare about these really scary guys in black robes and silver masks. They were coming to take me away, but my father was there and he was killing them with all sorts of spells. Only thing is, everytime he killed one, another would appear." Draco's voice dropped to a hush. "Then, the nightmare would really get awful because they weren't after me anymore, they were after my father. And... and... they'd get him." Draco shuddered at the memory of the nightmare.
Harry had been listening intently and was horrified by the dream. "So what happened? Did you wake up?"
Breakfast appeared and for a moment the nightmares were forgotten as the two boys prepared their oatmeal. Draco liked honey, so he had fun pouring the honey in a thin stream all over the oatmeal's surface in intricate little patterns. Harry liked butter and maple sugar so he stirred in a pat of butter and then added a spoonful of the maple sugar. After a few bites, their conversation resumed.
"Don't tell anyone, but I screamed really loudly," Draco replied.
"Did you cry, too?" asked Harry sympathetically.
"Oh yeah. I was a mess but my father came and... well, he'd do what fathers do." Draco looked up to see that Harry was frowning in puzzlement and was about to ask, what did fathers do? "You know. Like when Professor Snape helps you with your nightmares? That sort of stuff."
Harry seemed genuinely surprised by this information. "Your dad would hold you... and...?"
"Yeah, cause that's what fathers are supposed to do," Draco insisted firmly. "I think mums probably do that for girls. Father would hug me and tell me that the bad guys couldn't get to me because the wards around Malfoy Manor were really strong." Draco's voice again dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Want to know what's really scary?"
Harry didn't, but his head had other ideas and nodded in the affirmative.
"They were Death Eaters."
"Those sound terrible, Draco!” gasped Harry.
“What are Death Eaters?" Harry had the same question on the tip of his tongue, but Hermione, who had arrived early for breakfast, sat down beside Harry and dropped her heavy book bag onto the floor. She planned to move back to the Gryffindor table when breakfast officially began. "So? What are they?"
"You-Know-Who's followers," chimed in Marcus Flint. Draco and Harry both shot the smart aleck seventh year matching scowls. "Dear old daddy was one and he pleaded the Imperious didn't he, baby Malfoy? What a bleedin' coward!"
"Shut up, Flint!" Harry yelled sharply.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut as inwardly he tried to tell his temper not to do anything.
"Awwww, the ickle baby's gonna cry," Flint continued nastily as he ignored Harry.
"Flint! Leave him alone!" ordered Tara who had no idea what was going on since she just arrived. She could see Flint looming over Draco who seemed hunched in upon himself. Hermione was standing firmly between Harry and Flint.
"Zip it, bitch!" growled Flint towards Tara though he did not take his hungry eyes from Draco. "C'mon, baby Malfoy. Give up those tears now!" His laugh grated over them all.
Draco's fists clenched tightly and his breathing became shallow. He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder, and that small bit of compassion was nearly his undoing. Just as he thought he was going to lose, and to cry in front of Flint…
"AWK!" Flint let out a strangled shout as he felt someone, very strong, grasp the back of his collar and yank it. He coughed from the brief choking sensation, and was about to give his attacker a few boils with the Boils Hex when he realised the person he'd just pulled his wand upon was a very angry, stormy-eyed Head of Slytherin House.
"Oh shite!" gasped Flint as he tumbled backwards into Harry, Hermione, and Draco.
Draco had opened his eyes in surprise, and seeing a perfect target, Flint's ear, the boy grabbed the sensitive lobe of the ear, and with a tight-lipped scowl upon his face, twisted as hard as he could.
Flint let out another yell and before he could hex the boy he'd been teasing, Snape's voice countered, "Accio Flint's wand!" The wand flew from Flint's hand and slapped firmly into Snape's empty hand.
"Get up, Mr. Flint!" ordered the professor.
Marcus Flint scrambled to his feet without any help from anyone. Although he was almost as tall as his Head of House, he still felt small. To compensate, he tried to sneer imposingly at his teacher.
It didn't work.
"Go to my office, Mr. Flint." His gaze was dark, and cold, and Snape was very angry.
"But I haven't had my breakfast, yet!" he whined.
That was a mistake and the boy instantly knew it. "Do I look like I care about your breakfast?" sneered Snape.
Flint shook his head, and before he could make things worse for himself, he shouldered his way past Tara and jogged out of the Great Hall.
Snape leaned over Draco who had dropped his head so he was eyeing the surface of the table. He touched two fingers to the child's chin, and gave him a small smile as Draco looked up. Draco returned the smile wearily as he saw the warmth and concern in his teacher's eyes.
Snape spoke so only those around Draco could hear. "You did very well, Mr. Malfoy. I am pleased that you did not retaliate. Ten points." Snape straightened and then turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger, you are welcome, again, to eat here at breakfast. I have spoken to Professor McGonagall, and she agrees with me that we must be an example to the other Houses in promoting House Unity. I believe you ought to invite Mr. and Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Longbottom to share in this venture.”
Hermione beamed. “Oh! I will, Professor! Thank you.” Hermione trotted over to the Gryffindor table where the Twins and Neville were just seating themselves at the end. She bent over to speak to them, and moment later the four Gryffindors made their way to the Slytherin table.
Fred sat next to Tara Anglaise and grinned at her. For a third year he was quite a tall boy. “Fancy younger men, my lady?”
“As tempting is your offer, Mr. Weasley, I am bespoke for all ready,” she lifted her hand to show a silver ring that ended with the head of a serpent that held an emerald in its mouth.
Fred smiled then held his hand over his heart. “My heart breaks, lovely lady. Your betrothed is a lucky wizard.”
Tara simply smiled, and then tapped the spot between herself and Harry. “Please sit here, Neville.”
Neville smiled shyly, and then sat himself down. “Hi, Harry.”
“Hi, Nev,” Harry smiled back.
Tara tapped the table. “Seven bowls of oatmeal, please,” she asked. Moments later seven bowls of oatmeal appeared before herself and the other Slytherins and their guests. Playing mother, Tara poured milk or juice, and made sure that everything from fruit to maple sugar to butter was available.
They all ate in companionable silence until Tara left when she was finished.
When the friends were alone, Draco said softly, "My father wasn't a coward."
Fred and George listened carefully. "What was Flint talking about?" Harry asked gently.
Draco stirred his spoon idly in his oatmeal, but didn't eat any of it. "I don't want to talk about it here," he finally said. He glanced up at Fred and George. “Sorry, guys.”
George patted Draco’s head, and the blonde jerked away from the affectation. “Gred and I have to get ready for Charms.” George took no offence and only grinned at Draco who finally relented and gave the twins a smirk as he smoothed his hair.
Hermione let out a gasp. “We have to get to Potions! Hurry everyone!” she urged.
Harry patted Draco's back and Hermione nudged his arm as she held up his bookbag.
Right before lunch the trio of friends went outside to sit on the bank of the lake. It wasn't, yet, too cold, so the giant squid was showing a tentacle or three languidly every now and then.
The three sat in companionable silence until Draco began talking softly.
"My grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, was a really bad man. I think he was probably as insane as Aunt Bellatrix is. Anyway, my grandfather was a follower of You-Know-Who." Draco glanced up worriedly at Harry. Everyone knew that it was Voldemort that had killed Harry's parents and Draco was a bit worried that Harry might think he was evil, too.
"Did your grandfather know about my parents?" Harry asked quietly.
Draco nodded miserably. "I don't know for sure, but he probably did. He was really close to the Dark... I mean to You-Know-Who and everyone says that those wizards and witches did some really horrible things." Draco swiped his arm at an errant tear and Hermione took his other hand in hers, offering what little comfort she could.
"Flint said your dad was a... a... Death Eater?" asked Harry warily.
"Yeah, but he never wanted to be!" Draco blurted quickly. "Father had to do what grandfather said to do or grandfather would use one of the Unforgivables on him."
Hermione nodded knowingly, "Your father was part of the Death Eaters Tribunal."
Draco hung his head in shame. Harry asked, "What's the Death Eaters Tribunal?”
Hermione sighed. "I read about some of it in Hogwarts: A History, but I found out more in Babbage's History of the Wizangamot. It was a huge trial of all the followers of Voldemort, and some of them were Death Eaters." Hermione had looked up the Death Eaters for a bit of a refresher during their History class as Professor Binns droned on about some goblin war. "Death Eaters had this Mark that Voldemort put on all his closest and most loyal followers. The trials were to figure out how many followers were actually loyal because Voldemort..."
"Quit saying his name, Hermione!" snapped Draco who had been wincing each time she spoke the dark wizard's name.
"Sorry, Draco. Anyway," she continued, "You-Know-Who used the Imperious Curse a lot on those followers who wouldn't do what he wanted them to do. There were a lot of Death Eaters who claimed they were Imperious'd."
"Well, a lot of them lied!" Draco huffed defensively. "My father didn't! But it's because he's a Malfoy and my grandfather ruined our honor that everybody thinks my father's a liar and a... a..." he stuttered as he looked up at his friends in horror.
"A what?" asked Harry, almost demanding.
"A m-m-m-Muggle killer!" Draco turned away as he felt Hermione's comforting hand slip from his. To his surprise, Hermione was soon engulfing him in a hug, and a few seconds later, Harry was hugging them both.
Draco sighed in relief. His friends understood.
You-Know-Who - DADA Class
Harry, Draco, and Hermione were just in time to flow into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with all the other students. Draco started to go towards the seats at the front of the class where they sat last week, but Harry urged him to remain in the back. Draco frowned, then shrugged and the three sat down.
Professor Quirrell arrived soon after everyone was seated. Halfway to the front of the class, he paused, looking around for someone. When he spotted Harry, his watery blue eyes stared at the boy.
Harry winced and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. Hermione stopped him. She whispered, "Don't, Harry! It's all inflamed. Maybe you should see Madame Pomfrey."
Harry just shook his head as Quirrell finally stopped staring and made his way up to the front of the class.
"Why was he staring at you like that?" asked Draco in a concerned whisper. "That was creepy."
"I don't know," Harry said tightly. It was creepy but Harry felt as though a thin, skeletal finger was running down his spine and trying to insinuate itself into his blood. It made him feel a touch ill.
"M-m-mister Potter!" called the professor. His smile seemed friendly enough, but Harry couldn't help pushing his back against the back of his chair.
"Sir?" he replied as respectfully as he could.
"Y-y-your assistance? P-p-please?"
Harry felt a heavy dread in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to move.
"Q-q-q-quite harmless, M-m-mister Potter. Do c-c-come up," encouraged Quirrell with a very genial smile. He waved his hand in a beckoning gesture.
"Just do it and get it over with," Draco hissed, and nodded to his friend.
"I'm sure he won't hurt you, Harry," smiled Hermione.
Harry sighed, but then left his chair and headed up towards his teacher. He touched his scar, thinking it might hurt, but it didn't. Puzzled, he still warily approached his teacher.
"T-t-today, st-st-students," Quirrell addressed the class, "we'll b-b-be learning about..."
“Harrrrrry Potterrrrrrr…”
There was still no pain in his scar, but he felt as though something was inside of him. Slithery, slimey, icky.
“Oh yessss... I remember you, Harry Potter. My young nemesssissss.”
Harry felt hatred dripping down his spine… that skeletal finger dug painfully into the base and he shivered. He was no longer aware of where he was.
“You weakened me, Harrrrry Potterrrrrr, but each day I grow sssstronger. Have you sssseen me in your dreamssss? Do you hear your mother'ssss delightful sssscreamssss?”
Harry saw a flash of red and he felt something, arms tightening around him; protectively.
"Please! Not my son! Not Harry!" screamed a voice whose timbre Harry had once known as it sang softly to him at night when the Dursleys locked him in his cupboard. Now the voice was heavily tinged with fear... terror... and he let out a whimper.
“...delightful sssscreamssss…” the hissing voice laughed.
And her voice screamed as green light suffused everything! Somewhere, a baby cried in terror.
"Harry!" screeched Hermione as Harry dropped to the floor like a boneless sack of skin.
Draco pushed ahead of everyone. Professor Quirrell was leaning over his friend, muttering something. Whatever it was, Draco only saw a threat. Without analysing the situation, he plowed his body into the professor and knocked him away from Harry. Quirrell's head impacted with the leg of his desk, knocking his awful smelling turban slightly askew and him out.
Draco, ignoring his teacher, turned around to see how Harry was. Harry was still unconscious but Hermione had knelt down by her friend and was holding a handkerchief to his forehead. Draco grimaced.
The handkerchief was almost all red.
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