Draco Malfoy: Heaven Sent

You're in the arms of the angel,
May you find some comfort there...

"Angel" by Sarah McLachlan

Chapter One - Scowls, Smirks & Snape

Draco Malfoy knew that there was going to be a freaky day ahead from as soon as he'd woken up. Seeing as he'd woken up flat on the cold floor of the sixth-year Slytherins dormitory, when usually he never tossed or turned an inch, he decided that someone was out to get him, and how better than pushing him out of bed in the middle of the night?

Also, someone seemed to have stolen all of his socks. He supposed that if you were out to get someone, maybe socks was the right way to go about it. After all, everybody needs warm feet.

There was some serious thinking that had to go ahead, but for now, it was time to settle his grumbling stomach.

Draco walked into the Great Hall, a frown on his face. He didn't like frowning. According to his Mother, it would cause wrinkles in later life. Draco had decided a long time ago to always pay attention to Narcissa's beauty tips, because hey, who wants to turn out with as many wrinkles as Dumbledore? He must do a lot of frowning.

Draco shook off the thought and headed over to the Slytherin table. By the lack of food gracing that side of the room, anyone would think that the house-elves had gone on strike. Draco knew better that that - Crabbe and Goyle were already seated. He often wondered how long it would take them to polish off all of the food in the Hall, but had never gotten round to carrying out the test.

"Crabbe? Goyle? Why was I lying on the floor when I woke up?"

Crabbe paused from pushing a greasy strip of bacon into his mouth for a millisecond to grunt and shrug.

"We thought you fell asleep there," Goyle replied.

"On the floor?"

Goyle nodded.

Draco looked at him with pure disbelief, "Yes, because I'd rather sleep on the freezing, stone floor than the nice big, comfy bed on top of it."

"Exactly," said Goyle.

Draco turned to Blaise, who was sat across the table, a big grin on his face, "Do you know why I was on the floor?"

"Sorry," Blaise answered, winking at him, "I didn't come in last night."

Draco sighed, pushing his empty plate to the side and considering what could have happened. He came up with the conclusion that someone was definitely out to get him. Possibly Gryffindors, although the though of Potty or The Weasel creeping around his bed at night freaked him out slightly.

His train of thought was lost then, as a hundred or more Owls came hooting down on them all. Draco was disgruntled to see a stack of letters falling on to his head. More requests of world domination from his Father, no doubt.

Draco seized one of the letters and ripped open the wax Malfoy crest holding the parchment together. What he read made his thoughts that today was going to be a freaky day become quite certain.

Dear Draco,

Today will no doubt be a strange day. Do not fear, for The Dark Lord has it all figured out.

Your house-elf had to be disposed of yesterday, as she opened The Secret Vault. Could not risk her telling her little elf friends about what she saw, so have thrown her to the dragon pit. Do not fear, Father will buy you a new one.

I hope your keeping up the family name at Hogwarts.

Yours sincerely, Lucius Malfoy.

P.S. Your Mother sends her regards.

The Secret Vault was one of life's mysteries. Nobody knew what was inside it, but Lucius himself. As a baby, Draco had toddled into the Vault when it had been left open by a clumsy house-elf. His baby eyes had obviously witnessed something bad, because Narcissa was only just in time to save him from being thrown to the dragon pit. Lucius had groaned, but then perked up when Narcissa had pointed out that it was maybe better to feed the house-elf to the dragons, rather then their only son.

Draco rolled his eyes, throwing the letter to the side and not bothering to open the rest. World domination was just going to have to wait.

First lesson of the day, unfortunately, was Potions. Draco wouldn't have minded in any other circumstances, but what he really needed now was a good, boring History of Magic lesson that he could just tune out of and maybe sleep. Forever.

Instead, there was Snape. Not that Draco disliked Snape or anything. What was there to dislike about a man who seemed to have a quest to torture all Gryffindors? They were a lot alike, Draco mused, apart from the obvious fact that he was pretty, and Snape was just a bit, well, greasy. Was there even a shower in those parts of the dungeons?

Draco was halfway through trying to shake off the thought of Snape cleaning himself, when the door to the classroom opened and in came the bane of his existence. Bloody Potter, followed closely by Weasley and the Mudblood, of course. If the two of them tried to get any closer to Potter, they'd be falling over him. Draco laughed, realised he'd done it out loud, and glared at everyone giving him weird looks. They soon turned round as quickly as humanly possible. Draco grinned to himself, lent back in his chair and surveyed the classroom. That's right, feel the Malfoy wrath.

"Sit down everyone," Snape barked, "Today we're doing theory work. That means, you sit, you stay, you take down everything I say, and if any one of you so much as moves a muscle, you'll be cleaning out the dungeons for a week!"

A few Gryffindors actually gulped. Hermione Granger was already hurriedly scribbling everything down. Draco had to duck his head to cover up the snigger that escaped his lips. Good man, Snape. Shame he wasn't really as evil as he made out. Draco bet that Voldemort had thrown a right diva fit when he found out Snape was spying. What fun it would've been to witness it. He wondered how his Father had managed it? After all, Lucius could hardly control his wife's diva fits, nevermind The Dark Lord's.

Half of the lesson passed without much trouble. Snape stood at the front of the class, reeling off ingredients for some potion that Draco had forgotten to study, while everyone copied everything down, panic-stricken looks adorning their faces.

Draco glanced around from where he was sprawled on the desk. He was about four sentences behind Snape's lesson, but the rest of the class seemed to have pens poised, just waiting for Snape's next word. That was everyone, apart from Potter, Weasley and Granger.

Draco sat up, forgetting totally about whatever Snape was talking about and concentrating on the bench infront of him. What were the Three Musketeers up to? Weasley passed Potter something. A note. Potter read it, scrawled something down, and then passed it along to Granger. Granger looked annoyed that something was disrupting her major write-a-thon and wrote something on the bottom of the note quickly, while still keeping her eyes on Snape. She then passed it back along to Weasley before resuming note-taking. Her quill looked burnt out and there was practically steam emitting from the end of it.

Draco frowned, and then cursed himself for doing so. He would not let the strangeness of Dumbledore's favourite pets upset his skin, even if they were completely defying Snape. But, it was unlike them to defy Snape so well. What were they writing on that note?

Weasley was glancing about. He then turned round, looking straight at Draco. Draco looked back. Weasley scowled and whirled back round. Draco's frown stayed put. Were they writing about him on that note?! He gasped. Were they plotting against him?! The thought that it might actually have been Potter and Weasley pushing him out of bed made him feel quite ill.

Weasley scribbled a couple of words down and then passed the parchment along to Potter, who lifted it up from the table slightly to read it. A-ha! If he lent forwards, then he might be able to get a look at the note.

Glancing up, Draco saw that Snape was busy drawing out a diagram on the blackboard, and everyone else was busy copying it down. He noticed that Crabbe and Goyle had given up a long time ago. As casually and as quiet as possible, Draco raised himself faintly from his chair and lent forward.

Damn Potter, move your overlarge thumb!

Draco lent further and further forwards, getting closer to Potter than he would've initially liked.

Yes! He could see!

...we could... Malfoy... dead... broomstick...

Well, he could only make out a couple of words, but it was a start. Just move forwards, Draco told himself, just a little bit more.

Just as he got close enough to be able to read the whole note properly, Potter whirled around, smacking his head into Draco's. Potter cursed. Granger screamed. Weasley pushed him away. Draco fell.

Ouch! Draco flinched from his new position on the floor. Well, that wasn't dignified. He wondered if Snape had heard the commotion? Maybe right as he'd hit the floor, Draco had become magically invisible and no-one could see him right at this moment as he floundered on the floor, having got his head caught in his robe.

Well, he could hope.

Draco managed to struggle with his robes for a minute, until he got it away from his head to see everybody staring apprehensively at him.

Snape was looming. If he came any closer, Draco would be able to see up his robes. Draco hoped for everyone's sake that Snape didn't go commando.

"Mister Malfoy, pray tell what you are doing lying on the floor?"

Ah yes, the floor. Draco's new friend.

"Errr . . . Potter pushed me!"

"I did not!" Potter screeched. "Malfoy was leaning over me!"

Snape didn't look amused. "No need to go ultra-sonic on us, Potter," He snapped. "I'm sure Malfoy has a good reason to be leaning over you."

"He fancies him!"

Seamus Finnigan, ladies and gentlemen, the un-funniest guy in the world.

"Sit DOWN, Finnigan, before I take so many points off of Gryffindor you'll still be working to get them back in ten years!" Snape cried.

Draco shook his head. Not one of Snape's scariest retorts. He was losing his touch.

Snape turned back to Draco, who was just thankful that the Professor hadn't decided to step any closer. "So Malfoy, what were you doing to Potter?"

"Nothing, Professor," replied Draco, flashing him the best I'm-innocent-and-hurt smile he could muster.

Snape nodded. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No, I just need to, er, get off the floor."

Snape stooped down and pulled him to his feet with such force that Draco was sure his arm had popped out of its socket.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, for causing a disturbance in the middle of an important Shrinking Potion ingredient, Potter!"

Potter looked like he was about to argue, but a quelling hand-on-arm from Granger made him reconsider. Hmmm, Draco thought, Potty and Mudblood? Who'd've thought?

Draco decided to head back to his seat. Keeping his head up high and his nose turned up, just like Mother had taught him, he stalked proudly round the table and to his seat, ignoring the rest of the classes gawps.

"Hey, Malfoy," Finnigan called. "Lost your socks?!"

The rest of the class laughed as Draco glanced down to where the slightest bit of skin was showing between his shoes and trousers. He looked back up at Finnigan, scowling. "Some of us don't need trivial things like socks!" He cried, for total lack of anything better to say. Stupid Finnigan.

Thankfully, the lesson ended soon after that little incident, and Draco hurried out of the classroom so he could think for a moment without having Crabbe and Goyle pestering him about some trivial let's-torment-Hufflepuff's idea they usually came up with. The two of them lumbered after him, knocking a few Ravenclaw second-years into Oblivion as they did so.

All this thinking was hurting his head. And, his ankles were cold. Draco pouted.

...we could... Malfoy... dead... broomstick...

The few words he'd managed to see on that note swam round in his head. Why were Dumb, Dumber and Actually Reasonably Clever writing notes about him? What were they planning to do?! Kill him with a broomstick? Maybe whack him over the head with Potter's Firebolt at the next Quidditch match? The possibilities were endless, and all quite random.

As if on cue, The Trio came in to view amongst the thronging crowds. They all had scowls on their faces, most of which were directed straight at Draco himself.

Honestly, Draco thought, the three of them have some serious anger management problems.

"What's with the angry face, Potter? You're scaring the children!"

More scowls, followed by a menacing glare on Granger's part. Ooh, scary.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Weasel growled.

Draco rolled his eyes. Wow. How original.

What happened next, Draco wasn't completely sure. He didn't bother coming up with an answer to Weasley's terrifying retort and strode on faster, quite enjoying making Crabbe and Goyle get some exercise for once. He could hear their desperate breaths and grinned to himself. How fun.

It happened when he was walking down the stairs. The crowd was thick and students were pushing, hurrying to their next class.

"Hey!" Draco snapped at a third-year who had just trodden on his foot. The third-year quivered and scurried away. Draco laughed, oh, how heartless I am.

There was a slow grind to a halt and a collective groan rang out as the staircase jolted and began its slow grind upwards. Draco sighed, frustrated, from his position near the bottom.

"What's the hold-up?" Someone cried, completely oblivious that the staircase he was standing on was moving.

Draco glanced round. Harry, Ron and Hermione were just behind him, still sending him glares. He smirked back at them and turned around.

All of a sudden, someone moved. People pushed each other, wriggling in the crowd. Draco was just standing there, and the next minute he was off of his feet, crashing on to the floor. There was nothing he could do. The wind was knocked out of him as he went falling on to each step, down and down, knocking in to people. He pushed out his arms to try and stop himself falling, but it happened too quickly and there was nothing he could do to stop himself tumbling towards the edge of the moving staircase.

Falling. Falling. Falling. Ouch. Everything went momentarily black.

Draco Malfoy and his amazing sidekick - the floor!

Draco tried to open his eyes. Everything was swimming, completely blurry. Then came the blinding light and everything went incredibly white. It hurt to open his eyes, but it pained to keep them closed. He groaned as the world blinded him, and he fell into unconsciousness.

He hoped his hair looked okay.