White Shadow (Pureblood, Book I)

By the time the family left, Draco had a nearly unmanageable urge to beat his head into the nearest wall, but he forced a smile and waved as they vanished one-by-one through the large hearth in the den. Draco made the world's fastest exit to his room, where a very impatient Shadow was circling on his bed. He collapsed onto it and lay motionless for a few minutes as his cat sniffed inquiringly around his ear, then meowed.

"Shadow," he said weakly, "talk me out of suicide."

"Meow?"

"That's good enough."

Draco rolled onto his back, allowing Shadow her spot on his breastbone. "Today has been wretched," he told her as she circled twice before sitting down. "Absolutely wretched. The only good part was that I got to see Mortimer." He reached out and stroked down her spine, which elicited a low, rumbling purr. "Not to mention the general nervousness of school coming up and what have you... it's been absolutely crazy."

There were a few minutes of silence in which Shadow continued to purr, blissfully happy as Draco scratched all the right spots behind her ears. "But mostly... mostly, I'm worried about Potter, of course. That almost goes without saying." He chewed his lower lip nervously. "The worst part is that I think he's awesome... he seems really nice. I don't want to have to hide from him, but what other choice to do I have?" He sighed. "It would be so selfish of me to pull him into my life, and thus drag him towards his certain death and risk the fate of the entire Wizarding World.

"God," he finished lamely, putting his hands over his eyes. "I need to stop bitching."

He moved his hands again, this time away from his face and onto his stomach. "I can't say much for his competency," he said, "though I imagine we'll be able to figure that out fairly soon come the school year. But I don't think any blundering idiot could almost destroy the world's most powerful Dark Wizard before he could even walk. He's got that much going for him. What time is it?" he asked vaguely, turning his head to one side. The grandfather clock informed him that it was nearly eleven and reminded him that he should probably get to sleep.

It was one of those strange things that clocks seemed to affect -- you didn't know you were tired until after you saw what time it was. After scooping Shadow off his chest and putting her to one side, he stood and walked toward the armoire, rapping weakly. Once again, the armoire seemed to heave a great sigh.

"Oh, good evening, Draco," came the pleasant cockney accent. "Pajamas?"

"If you would be so kind."

A flash and a gust of air melted off his robes and replaced them with his favorite black silk pajamas, fringed with silver. "Thanks, Nabby," he said sleepily.

"You're welcome, love," she replied. "Now, off you get! You look exhausted, you do..."

He smiled. "That's because I am," he said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He slipped back across the room and wearily climbed under the covers, pulling them over his head and falling asleep almost instantly, Shadow purring by his head.

The rest of August went much faster than Draco had surmised it would. Every day, the sun set just a little earlier and it got just a little cooler. The cusp of autumn had painted the surrounding grounds on the Manor red, gold, and brown. All around were withered leaves -- the good kind, that crunch underneath your feet and make the air particularly fresh. There was less birdsong though it never seemed to completely vanish. It was the few precious days like these that lingered somewhere on the gray area between summer and autumn that were perfect, or as close as you can get. During summer, it was often too hot, and during autumn, it was almost completely rain and fog.

So, naturally, this was when school had to start.

"Get up!" came his mother's shrill voice. "Up, up, up! Get up! If you don't get up, you're going to be late!"

By the second "up," Draco was more than up -- he was looking for a fire. When the words sunk in, he rubbed one eye and groaned. "What time is it?" he asked as his mother began flicking the wand in her hand, causing a few items and clothing articles into a large trunk near the wall.

"Past the time you should be up," she snipped. "Now get dressed!" She toted the trunk outside with her wand, leaving him alone. Draco, begrudgingly, moved out of bed and shuffled across the room, almost missing when he rapped on the armoire.

Nabby shuddered. "Oh, dear! Look at the time!" The doors flew open, catching him off-guard and nearly throwing him back, though he managed to catch himself. Half a moment later, he was in long, shimmering navy robes with accents of silver embroidered around the collar and sleeve hems.

"Why is everyone in such a hurry?" he asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He turned to look over one shoulder at the clock. "What time could it -- oh, bloody hell!"

He dashed across the room, suddenly feeling much more awake. He grabbed Shadow off the bed and tucked her in his hood, which brought a few highly offended meows but eventual submission. He snatched his wand, slid it in his pocket and made for the door. "Goodbye, Nabby! I'll see you at Christmas!"

"Goodbye and good luck, dear!" he heard her say when he was halfway down the hallway. He turned and scurried down the steps, where he was met in the foyer with a very frazzled Narcissa, who shoved a croissant in his mouth.

"Just eat it; there's no time for a proper breakfast thanks to your sleeping habits."

Draco rolled his eyes and took a large bite out of it. "Alright, let's go."

"You have to go by yourself."

The rush settled down. Draco turned around, confusion etched onto his face. "What? I have to go alone? But why?"

"Because your father is in Toulouse at a very important conference, and I have to be China in about --" (she checked her wristwatch) "-- ten minutes ago."

His heart sunk in his chest. "But... but, Mum, it's my first year. Don't you want to at least--"

But she was gone before he could finish his sentence. He stared at the door through which she left, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. No goodbye hugs or kisses, no tearful partings, no waving from the platform as the train took off -- just "You have to go by yourself."

He felt something in his chest tie in knots. He swallowed hard and slowly walked into the den, where he saw his trunk waiting for him by the hearth. As he reached up to the porcelain container full of Floo Powder, he inadvertently snuffled. Then he stopped, shook himself and sighed. What are you, four? You don't need a goodbye kiss.

But even he knew he was lying.

"Incendio," he murmured, and the hearth roared to life. He tossed the powder into the flames and they turned a bright emerald. Dragging his trunk with him, he moved into them. "H-Hampshire Halfway," he said in a strained voice.

Hampshire Halfway was a small shop that had been set up for wizards just outside King's Cross station, where many Hogwarts students went before they caught the train. It was just across from the nearest entrance to the platform -- it sold food and reading material; a very business-savvy act if there ever was one.

The spinning subsided and he landed once again on his own two feet that were, incidentally, covered in soot. He did a quick charm to clean them and stepped out of the hearth.

Hampshire Halfway was decorated with predominantly grays and whites, with a few cafe tables set up in the center of the room and a gnarled old witch behind vending foodstuffs. He'd only been here once before to take a train that went from Platform ¼ to Vienna, Austria, and he barely remembered it at all. As he moved toward the door, he felt Shadow shifting around in his hood as well as the occasional glances that burned on the back of his neck. He'd noticed but didn't want to see that all the other kids had one, if not both parents sitting with them. How strange he must have looked; an eleven-year-old boy with his school trunk, all alone.

He pushed the thought out of his mind and walked through the door and into Muggle London, with which he wasn't particularly impressed. As he made for the station's entrance, he took a few deep breaths and concentrated on getting into his character. Snooty, cocky, cowardly, pretentious. Snooty, cocky, cowardly, pretentious. He repeated the four adjectives to himself over and over and was surprised when he found that he'd made his way to the proper platforms almost blindly.

For a few moments he looked back and forth from the large stone barrier. On one side was a sign with a large "9," the other with a "10." Draco surmised that to get to Platform 9 ¾, he would need to get somehow between them.

"Well, what the hell," he mumbled before setting off in a brisk walk towards the barrier. The wall came closer and simply seemed to vanish. He kept walking. He opened his eyes.

A long scarlet train sat on its tracks, hot smoke billowing upwards from underneath the wheels and from the metal funnel at the head of the train. The platform was crowded with people in robes and pointed hats -- yes, he thought, this is the right place. He heaved his trunk a bit closer and walked further toward the edge of the platform.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of bright red hair, and he turned. A large, friendly looking woman, three boys and a girl were standing near a compartment door when a much older boy approached them, a silver badge flashing on his chest with each step.

"Can't stay long, Mother," Draco heard him say as he moved into earshot. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves--"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" cut off one of the boys. Draco noticed that two of the four boys were twins, and the one that had just spoken was one of them. "You should have said something, we had no idea." Sarcasm was dripping from his voice.

"Hang on," said the other. "I think I remember him saying something about it. Once--"

"Or twice--"

"A minute--"

"All summer--"

Percy the prefect was bristling. "Oh, shut up," he snapped.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" one of the twins demanded with a frown.

"Because he's a prefect," crooned the mother. "All right, dear, well, have a good term -- send me an owl when you get there." She kissed Percy on the cheek and he turned, vanishing into one of the prefects' compartments. Then she rounded on the twins.

"Now, you two -- this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've -- you've blown up a toilet or--"

"Blown up a toilet?" said one of the redheaded twins inquiringly. "We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum," said the other with a smirk.

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

That must be the first year, Draco thought, his eyes turning to the younger boy. Yes, he certainly did look the part.

"Don't worry," laughed one of the twins, "ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

Draco saw a hint of pink move across his face. "Shut up," he murmured fitfully, and his mother suddenly snatched a handkerchief from her pocket and began rubbing at his nose, much to Ron's horrific dismay. Once again, one of the twins spoke up:

"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of black. His eyes quickly moved towards the direction of the movement. It must have been Harry... no one else had hair that was quite that stunningly black. Draco moved onto the train in a concentrated manner and the voices began to fade away as he dragged his cumbersome trunk behind him.

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum...?" But by then, the voices had been drowned out by the sea of new noises that entailed entering the train. As stealthily as possible, he made his way past Harry's compartment door. He set his trunk against a wall and pressed his back to the corner nearest the entrance to the compartment. And then, he waited.

There was a loud whistle. Draco didn't move, but he heard the opposite door slide open.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls!" Draco could tell it was one of the twins.

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"George!"

"Only joking, Mum."

He heard the voices draw closer as the train began to move. Draco reached into his robe pocket and produced his wand, which he kept close to his chest. In the reflection of the window, he could see the twins turn into a different compartment, leaving the youngest (Ron, was it?) alone. He looked intent on walking right past Harry's door.

But Draco was prepared. "Praestigiae incantatem," he whispered.

Out of the end of his wand was produced what looked like a very large, burly man walking forward and blocking the way. Draco watched as Ron recoiled, and opened the door to Harry's compartment, instead. He grinned triumphantly.

"Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full," Ron said. There was a moment's pause before he walked inside and closed the door behind him.

"Finite incantatem," he said with a particularly proud flourish of his wand. The image seemed to be blown away as sand would in the wind, and he then put the wand away. That went well, he told himself, grinning. A moment later, he heard yet another door open. Once again, he pressed himself against the wall and strained to hear the conversation going on a few feet down.

"Hey, Ron." It was one of the twins.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train -- Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there," the other said, just a hint of glee audible in his voice.

Draco froze. They wanted to go to the middle of the train. That meant they would be passing him! He made for the door, trying to be completely silent as he moved through the doors connecting the two cars, which proved extremely difficult with his trunk. On a sheer stroke of luck, he heard a familiar voice coming from a nearby compartment. He quickly opened the door.

Sure enough, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were sitting across each other, with one of the single ugliest girls Draco had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes thereupon. Also with them was a skinny black boy, who was sitting across from the girl. They all looked up when he came in.

Character. Get into character, damn it!

"Room for one more?" He made sure there was no room for argument in his voice, and he allowed himself a particular drawl. The black kid and the girl looked to one another in mutual confusion, while the others seemed to light up.

"Hey, Draco!" said Crabbe, standing up. "I haven't seen you in a long time!"

"You saw me three weeks ago, you idiot," he snapped. Crabbe's enormous face seemed to fall.

"I did?"

Draco pushed his way in and put his trunk against the wall. "Yes. I can't believe you don't remember." He sat down between Goyle and the black boy. "Knockturn Alley, Aubrey's Apothecary?"

A moment passed in which Crabbe looked baffled. Then it all seemed clear. "Oh, yeah! I do remember now!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Congratulations. Sit down, you idiot." And he did. The black boy, looking thoroughly impressed, turned towards Draco in his seat and offered a hand. "Blaise Zabini," he said in a firm, adult-like manner.

He took it without reluctancy or eagerness. "Draco Malfoy," he said.

"This is Pansy Parkinson," Blaise said, motioning toward the girl who, now that Draco was closer, he noticed looked remarkably like a pug dog. "She's a first year, too."

Pansy batted her eyelashes. Draco, for a moment, thought he might wretch. He kept his face firmly indifferent with an enormous act of will as she extended her hand, palm down. If she thinks I'm going to kiss her hand, she's got another thing coming. He took it in a rigid, respectable handshake, which seemed to send her into a crestfallen look. She mumbled, "Nice to meet you."

"Charmed."

"It seems you already know Crabbe," Blaise said, motioning one hand towards the enormous monstrosity of a boy. "Do you know Gregory Goyle?"

"We've met," Draco said calmly.

Goyle smiled an idiotic smile. Draco chose to ignore it. Goyle said, "Our three fathers do a lot of work together," almost sounding proud. He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way; making sure that the other two knew that the story was cock-and-bull. For emphasis, he said:

"Not so much work together, is it, rather than just working for my father?" He turned back to Blaise, thinking that he might be able to get along with him. "Lucius Malfoy. Maybe you've heard of him?"

"I have," said Blaise. "Your surname's not unknown up in my neck of the woods."

Draco grinned, letting a bit of pride show on his face. "I imagine as much," he said. "Where is 'your neck of the woods?'"

"Up near Bristol. It's a little wizarding village called Caeben," Blaise said, leaning back in his seat. "It's not much, but it is home. What about you?"

"I live up near Ravenspurgh," he said. "My family owns a private estate near the coastline, though we own several summer homes where we like to holiday on occasion." Pansy seemed even more taken when he said this, and Draco made a mental note to brag in front of her. "One in Bordeaux and another on the northern Sicilian coast." And it was true. Draco adored the home they owned down in Sicily. He had very fond memories of horseback riding through vineyards and fields with grass so tall you could barely see over it, even if you were riding. He'd spent many a lazy summer there.

"That sounds lovely," Pansy said, looking dreamy. Again, Draco was about to lose the croissant he had for breakfast, but he stifled the sensation.

"It is," he replied with a nod of his head.

"I live in Kent," she elaborated, looking more than happy to talk about herself. "A few miles west of Dover. My father is the mayor," continued Pansy, almost literally swelling with pride. "So he's always doing important things, you know, with others around England, and..."

Draco quickly tuned her out, as did the others. Blaise reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet. Draco didn't pay it much heed until he glanced at the title.

He cut off Pansy's soliloquy with: "There have been robberies at Gringotts?"

Blaise had been reading through a story in the middle. When he heard Draco, he looked casually at the front page. "Yeah," he said. "That's all the Prophet has been talking about for almost a week now; haven't you heard?"

"No, I don't really keep up with the news," he said offhandedly. He reached out inquiringly, hand hesitating at the edge of the paper. "May I?"

"Sure," Blaise said with a shrug. He handed it off to Draco, who closed it and folded it in half to get a better look at the article.

"Read it out loud," grunted Goyle, who was obviously looking for an excuse to keep Pansy from running her mouth. Glad to go along with it, Draco complied, holding the paper up to look at it in proper light.

"'Security officials were patrolling the halls of Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley earlier today in search of clues that might lead them to the answer of the recent break-in,'" he read. "'Though the word of mouth is that it was a Dark Wizard who shattered its defenses, officials are saying that the whole thing might have been one large misunderstanding.

"'The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was quoted saying, "There was nothing stolen from the bank and hardly any signs of violent entry, which leaves the evidence inconclusive." He goes on to say that whereas the sentence would be breaking and entering as well as thievery, that after recent conclusions that have been drawn, the latter has been cancelled out.

"'However, the Minister has said several times that he will not be slack in picking up the security. He says that within the next few months he plans to ship some twenty beasts from Arabia, Istanbul, and the Ivory Coast in order to keep safe the possessions of the witches and wizards who store valuables there. "There will be no leaf left unturned," he says at a press conference on Saturday afternoon. "We will find the perpetrator in due haste."'"

Draco looked up when he finished reading. Crabbe looked as though he hadn't heard a word of it, while Goyle just looked confused. Pansy seemed skeptical, and Blaise looked completely indifferent and said, "Load of bollocks, if you ask me. That pathetic excuse for a Minister couldn't find his own shoes if they were on his feet. He's an idiot."

"I'll agree with you there," Draco confirmed as he looked over the article a second time. "But what I'm more interested in is the break-in itself. You lot been to Gringotts?" The other four nodded wordlessly. "Then you know how impossible it would be to get in unnoticed. I want to know how he--"

"-- Or she," Pansy interrupted.

"... or she managed to get past the security."

"They did say that it was probably a Dark Wizard. Think they found any evidence of dark magic about the place?" Blaise asked.

"Seems logical to me," Draco reasoned, leaning back, when suddenly there was a highly offended meow. He jerked forward. "Shit, I forgot she was back there!" He quickly pulled the small white cat out into his lap and inspected her for any injuries. Pansy was absolutely crooning.

"Oh, Draco, she's so adorable!" she swooned. "What's her name?"

Shadow was wriggling in his hands and mewing. Awkwardly, Draco said, "Shadow," as he held her in place with one hand.

Pansy blinked. "Shadow? What kind of name is that for a white cat?"

Draco was going to spit something back, but Blaise got to it first. "You don't seem like much of a cat person to me," he said.

He sneered. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Zabini." Of course, when you're trying to be a different book...

The compartment door slid open and a cheery witch with a cart was visible through the doorway. On the cart was an assortment of candies. "Would you all like anything off the trolley?"

There was a sudden scrambling for money, and before too long, each of them had at least a few sweets. While Crabbe and Goyle had spent what Draco assumed to be half their life savings on more candy than they could possibly eat before the train made it to Hogwarts, Blaise and he preferred to buy a few Chocolate Frogs and split a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. A very broad range of conversation occupied the next few hours. They debated about politics and laughed at jokes. They talked about literature and the new songs out by Celestina Warbeck. Or, at least, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco did. Crabbe and Goyle seemed content to gorge themselves on sweets and occasionally grunt at one another.

After a long, intellectually satisfying debate on the purpose of meaning and the meaning of purpose, Draco looked casually out the window and said, "It's almost sunset. Seems as though we'll probably be arriving soon. Best get changed."

So they pushed Pansy out of the compartment and began rummaging through their respective trunks, looking for their uniforms.

"What do you reckon the castle will look like?" Goyle asked as he yanked his muddy black robe over his head, revealing an absolutely grotesque body with ripples of hairy fat. Draco felt somewhat nauseous and looked away.

"Don't know," said Blaise, who also appeared to be averting his eyes. "I read somewhere that Dumbledore enchanted it to make it look different to Muggles. Make it look like an old-run down place so they don't suspect it or anything." Draco raised one eyebrow as he, too, unfastened the clasp on his outer robe and set it to the side before working at his robe. He got the strangest sensation, then, of a pair of eyes on him. He pushed the feeling aside.

"I bet it'll be really big," declared Crabbe as he tried to squeeze into a white shirt.

"No, you think?" Draco said. "I always imagined that a school with over five hundred students would be no bigger than a bungalow in Southampton."

"No," said Crabbe, "you can't fit five hundred students in a bungalow."

"It's called sarcasm, nitwit."

"What?"

"Never mind." He finished buttoning the shirt and pulled on his black dress trousers before sitting down and attending to his shoes. Blaise sat down next to him, perhaps a bit closer than was entirely necessary, but Draco ignored it though their thighs were brushing. He reached for his tie without standing up and began securing it around his neck, under the starch collar of his shirt.

A few minutes later all four of them were dressed in their black Hogwarts uniforms, and were about to return to conversation when there were three sharp raps on the door. Not a moment later, they heard Pansy on the other side. "It's me. You're not still changing, are you?"

"No," Blaise said, reaching for the door and pulling it open. "We've finished."

Pansy looked unusually excited. "You won't guess what I just heard."

"No, I imagine we won't," Draco said. "Though I'd bet you're about to tell us." He calmly adjusted his cufflinks.

"Harry Potter is one car down from us!"

Zabini's eyes went wide, as did Crabbe and Goyle's. Draco stayed perfectly calm. "Yeah, so?" he said thoughtlessly. "He's our age, isn't he? And he lives in England, so he goes to Hogwarts. What were you expecting?"

Pansy frowned. "That sullen attitude of yours ruins everything."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. The five of us, we'll go down there right now and I'll prove to you that he's nothing to wet yourselves over."

"I can't," Blaise said. Draco turned to him. "I said I'd meet someone a few cars away before the train stopped."

"I can't, either," admitted Pansy. "I've been helping look for a toad."

Draco finally looked to Crabbe and Goyle. "Well, what're your excuses?"

They looked at each other, then back at Draco wordlessly. "That's what I thought," he said. "Come on, let's go meet the living legend, shall we?"

Draco was very worried about how things were moving along between Ron and Harry; his decision on with whom to set Harry up was a shot in the dark, and there was no way of telling if they would be best friends or bitter rivals. His anxiety was bottled up, however, and invisible on his pale exterior. He made his way across to the next car and pretended to glance from compartment to compartment, looking for him. Finally, he "found" the correct one and pulled the door open.

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment." He looked past the redhead and towards the boy with the bright green eyes. They locked instantly in a manner that could only be described as fiery. "So, it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry quietly. Draco could see him looking over his shoulders to the two standing behind him.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and Goyle," he said, motioning to them respectively. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Ron coughed into his hand, obviously hiding down laughter. His eyes moved over to him and narrowed. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask you who you are. My father told me that all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

The words seemed to hit home exactly like he wanted them to. A faint blush crept across the boy's face, and through the mask, Draco felt a pang of guilt. That was pretty low of him. He swallowed and turned back to Harry.

"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter," Draco said, his tone completely expressionless. "You don't want to go hanging out with the wrong sort," he finished with a very sharp look in Ron's direction, who glowered at him. Then he returned his attention back to Harry, who looked like he might punch him. "I can help you there." He held out a hand.

Harry stared at the hand for a long moment before he looked back up. "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said, his tone icy.

Perfect.

His plan had worked -- everything was going seamlessly. Not a single hitch could be found; this was exactly the way he wanted it to go.

Wasn't it?

He felt a slight flush of anger color his cheeks. You're such an idiot, Draco, he said, chastising himself. You're such a bloody idiot! "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter." He had to speak slowly in order to keep his voice from trembling. "Unless you're a bit more polite you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either." He motioned to Ron. "You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Ron stood up in his seat, red fury coating his cheeks. "Say that again," he warned.

He tried to smirk, but with the raging emotions just beneath the surface of his mask, he feared it came out more like a sneer. "Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?"

"Unless you get out now," affirmed Harry, looking very resolute.

Just stay in character, no matter how much it hurts. It's for the greater good.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys?" he said in a casual voice. "We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

With that, Goyle reached out one enormous hand towards a pile of candy on the seat. Ron threw himself at him, but he hadn't touched him when Goyle let out a scream. Draco took an impulsive step back and had to keep his hand from grabbing his wand. Nothing other than a rat was dangling from Goyle's knuckle, which he swung around between screams. A moment later, the rat was released and it hit the window. Draco cringed, hoping to God that it was all right.

They quickly made their way back to their own car, Goyle simpering all the way. "Oh, you baby!" Draco snapped, grabbing his wand and pointing it at the injured knuckle. "Curatio integro," he said, and shortly after a blue, ribbon-like thing curled tightly around the finger. A few seconds later, there was little more than a scar on the knuckle. Goyle sniffed and held his hand protectively.

"What do you want me to do -- kiss it and make it better?"

He looked suddenly misty-eyed. "Would you?"

"No!"

"I think we're almost there," said Goyle suddenly, looking past a compartment door and through the far window. "Seems like we're slowing down a bit."

As if that were its cue, a voice echoed from an indefinable location: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." Then it was silent.

Draco frowned thoughtfully, then reached behind him to the back of his neck, fishing a finger into the hood, where he felt a tiny little nose press against it, to which he smiled. Shadow was all right, which meant that all was quiet on the western front -- at least for now.

They caught up with Blaise and (much to his dismay) Pansy a few minutes later, and together, they followed the crowd that pushed their way through the doors on the train and out onto a cold, slippery cobblestone path. The sun had long since vanished from the sky, and replacing it was a long, endless blanket of milky black twilight with scattered rags of white stars. Draco would have taken a longer time to admire it if he hadn't been pushed along.

"Firs' years!" came a sudden booming voice. "Firs' years over here!"

Draco looked up to see Hagrid the Gamekeeper wielding a large lantern that was obviously magically enhanced to make it glow brighter than was possible for such a feeble little thing -- or at least it was obvious to Draco. His large, bearded head was scanning the crowd, and he put one hand around his mouth and bellowed a second time: "C'mon, follow me -- any more firs' years? Mind your step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

He found himself clinging onto Blaise's shoulder multiple times, proving that following Hagrid was no cakewalk. Blaise grinned every time he grabbed onto his shoulder and laughed when the stumbles were particularly ungraceful. Draco had never been blessed with a decent center of gravity; in fact, he was known for tripping over rugs, shoes, his own feet, or perhaps nothing at all.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here."

Blaise and he had migrated to the edge of the crowd where they found it phenomenally easier to walk, but, alas, Draco still managed to trip. This time he really stumbled, falling backwards and subconsciously bracing himself for a very nasty fall...

... That never came.

He opened his eyes. There was a hand on his waist -- Blaise's hand was supporting him. For a very long moment, they stared at one another, Draco blinking owlishly and Blaise slowly growing a smirk. Finally, Draco squeaked, "I think I can get up now, thanks."

Blaise helped him up to his feet when there was a collective "ooh" that caught both of their attentions. They turned and saw, illuminated by little yellow rectangles of light, an enormous castle set up on a mountain across a river. Draco blinked, taken aback by the sheer feeling of being completely overwhelmed by the sight. He didn't know what he was expecting, but this wasn't it.

There were spires and turrets aplenty, long stone walls and cathedral doors. He was rendered momentarily speechless, as was Blaise. It was lucky that Goyle doubled back to get them, otherwise they would have forgotten to move.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Draco heard Hagrid bellow. Sure enough, there were a few dozen boats, each with a lantern hooked onto the bow. He, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle managed to squeeze into one boat, leaving a flustered Pansy to find another boat with a few other girls.

"Wonder where we're going in from," mused Blaise aloud as he searched for a viable entrance that wasn't completely shut off my gates or the like. Draco shrugged.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid from behind, who was in one boat all to himself. "Right, then -- FORWARD!" he bellowed.

The boats pushed off the shore in a synchronized movement and sped off across the still black water towards the ever-growing castle on the other side. Once again, Draco became enraptured with the sky that seemed to mock the water with its glittering white flecks. He rarely had a chance to admire such a sky, and as he gazed into the deep, beautiful blackness, he began to dismally wonder why. The Milky Way was streaming its way over his head, tangent to the zenith and Polaris. A whimsical smile danced its way across his face, but was cut short by another order from Hagrid.

"Heads down!" he yelled, making Draco snap back to reality. By the time he processed the words, it was too late -- he'd already been smacked in the face with an ivy-covered vine. He let out a surprised noise and heard the other three on his boat snigger.

"Oh, shut up," he snapped, rubbing a bit of mud off his face with his sleeve.

The ivy, it seemed, was hanging off the round entrance to a tunnel that was set up beneath the castle. In the tunnel, it was very black and rather cold. Draco, who hadn't much body mass to begin with, felt a particular sting in the damp air. They continued forward for a few more long moments until they ported at what looked like a gravel harbor on one side of the tunnel. Draco was the last one out, stumbling slightly as he moved onto the grayish pebbles, turned nearly black with the lack of light.

Hagrid's light tempted them up a narrow passageway that lead onto a long plane of damp grass that was overshadowed by the enormous castle. A few more "oohs" and "ahs" could be heard before they took a large flight of steps up to an enormous cathedral door. Hagrid, who reached it before anyone else, turned and made sure they were all present. "Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" he said, glance at a particularly clumsy-looking boy who was holding said wriggling toad.

With that, he turned and knocked thrice on the door with one giant hand.

Immediately, the doors were pulled open and light flooded the stairs. Draco, along with most others, cringed against the light and shielded his eyes. A moment later, he could make out a tall witch with a very taught black bun standing, framed in the doorway. Draco made a mental remark to not cross this woman if it could be at all avoided. The stern expression and rigid posture were more than enough evidence against it.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said cheerily, motioning over his shoulder.

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

With both hands, she pulled the doors wider, revealing a large entrance hall, roughly the size of the one at the Malfoy Manor, though differently decorated. There were torches on the walls, and the ceiling was too high to be seen properly. The floor was a sprawling flagstone, and a large staircase made of marble was the centerpiece that lead to the upper levels.

Professor McGonagall led them across the foyer, past a door in which Draco could hear the low buzz of a large crowd. They passed the door, however, and were put into a separate chamber a few doors down, where they squeezed in with a particular lack of personal space.

McGonagall walked before them and clasped her hands together. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." She took a moment to glance across the crowd. "The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts." She paused a second time. "You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleeping in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

There was another pause that was probably for dramatic effect. "The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year," she said, "the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony," she continued, "will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while waiting."

There was a sudden shuffling noise as people began raking their fingers through their hair and brushing off the shoulders of their robes. Draco did no such thing, though Crabbe and Blaise, who were on either side of him, did.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," Professor McGonagall said. "Please wait quietly."

A few moments of awkward silence passed. A few braver students began to whisper excitedly amongst themselves -- or was it anxiously? Draco didn't particularly care. He wasn't the least bit worried about the Sorting Ceremony, though he did seem to be the odd one out in that respect. It didn't matter what needed to be done -- he was fairly confident that he had sufficient magical skill that a first year student required. He yawned lazily as Blaise adjusted his tie.

"You seem lax," Blaise noted.

"That's because I am," he said. "And I don't know why you aren't, either."

"You're not nervous?" Crabbe asked, fidgeting. "How come?"

"I'm not nervous," Draco said, "because only an idiot would be nervous. Why should I be?"

"What if you make a fool of yourself?" challenged Goyle.

Draco rolled his eyes as though the answer was startlingly obvious. "Well, I guess I'll just have to work against that, then, won't I?"

"I admire your laissez-faire outlook. It's very--"

There were a few shrieks behind him. Compulsively, Draco whirled around on his heel to see what looked like two-dozen ghosts drifting forward mournfully from the back wall. A chubby man who looked like a friar was talking to a tall man in a silly amount of ruffles and frills; it seemed as though they were having an argument.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we out to give him a second chance--" started the friar earnestly.

The one in ruffles scoffed and cut him off. "My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost." He stopped short when he saw the amassing of students in the room. "I say, what are you all doing here?"

There was a stretch of silence in which nobody answered. Draco was used to ghosts; both the Malfoy Manor and his home in France had a few that he'd gotten to know quite well.

"New students!" chirped the friar happily, answering the question. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" The crowd all seemed to nod mutely. Draco didn't move. "Hope to see you all in Hufflepuff," he said with a grin. "My old house, you know."

A new voice resonated about the room, causing a few more high-strung students to jump, turn, and gasp. "Move along now!" said Professor McGonagall, who had returned. The ghosts made their way out through the opposite wall. She then turned her attention to the crowd. "Now, form a line," she barked. Her orders seemed to get much faster results than Hagrid's -- everyone scrambled to get into a single file. "And follow me."

She lead them out into the entrance hall again and this time through the double doors into a much larger hallway with four long tables that lie perfectly perpendicular to one another, each one filled with students, save the farthest ends. At the opposite wall was set up a u-shaped table at which sat what Draco assumed to be the professors. As his eyes scanned them one by one, he noticed a familiar face in the crowd: Severus Snape.

His father and Snape were on very good terms with one another, and it was he who had introduced him to potion making when he was no older than six. They'd visited each other regularly since then and sent cards on Christmas and New Year's. He smiled as the line moved forward towards the head of the room, before the elevated platform that had the teachers' table. Snape saw him and smiled back, just as dry and wiry as he remembered it.

Snape was a tall, gangly man who looked as though he'd been built with tinker-toys. His hair was black and oily, his nose hooked and his eyes beady. Despite the shortcomings, he was by no means an unattractive man -- in fact, he looked quite handsome in proper light.

The line stopped moving and Draco noticed that, in the center of the tables was a small, rickety stool upon which sat an old, tattered hat. He quirked an eyebrow and watched it carefully; he could sense something just a bit out-of-the-ordinary about that hat. The rest of the school as well as the professors were all watching it silently, expectantly.

Sure enough, it twitched and its brim opened up. The hat began to sing.