White Shadow (Pureblood, Book I)

The class was equally fun. The first lesson was dedicated to basic notes on the difference between charms and spells, the practical values of them, the different types, and other such basic knowledge. Professor Flitwick went over the more common charms first, with most of which Draco was already familiar. After all, his parents had given him his wand when he was only seven, and had taught him helpful spells and charms that could ease day-to-day life.

He left that class satisfied and then separated with his three friends. He was the only one among them who was taking his next course: Muggle Studies. Draco had a very hard time explaining to them why he was taking it ("I thought it might be interesting to learn about the lesser beings") and was glad when he was finally alone.

The Muggle Studies teacher was a kind, pretty young woman named Professor Cringle who was freshly finished with her degree, and she had the bright eyes and bushy tail to prove it. She was very enthusiastic about the lessons, and though Draco found it interesting, he was also rather put-off by the way she talked about them as though they were a separate species.

Regardless, he did learn quite a bit about Muggles, including how they used a very peculiar device called a telephone, which, as Professor Cringle explained, was used for methods of communication and that was powered by electricity. Draco found it absolutely astonishing how well the Muggles had seemed to come along without magic. How clever they were to come up with such things! By the end of the class, he had a newfound respect for them.

Dinner came and went, as did an unusually restful night's sleep (Blaise had not yet finished with Phantom of the Opera), and Draco awoke feeling energetic enough to confuse his dorm mates, who all looked like rejects from Night of the Living Dead. (Professor Cringle had told them about the "movies" that the Muggles seemed to be fond of making, too, and Draco had opted to stay after with a few other students and watch what Professor Cringle described as a "classic" movie called Gone With the Wind.)

After breakfast, he set off with Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle to Transfiguration, which proved extremely interesting and equally challenging. Draco had had almost no experience in the art, but both his father and his mother had graduated at top of their class with a major in it. He knew that there would be hell to pay if he didn't get a decent grade in this class. Therefore, he was a bit anxious when he failed miserably at transforming a match into needle. The match, rather than growing a point, simply turned silver, and then melted. He left that class slightly frustrated with himself and didn't notice when he almost bumped into the large, decorative chess table. Bristling, he wondered why anyone would bother to have a decorative chessboard in the first place.

However, the next class replaced his anxiety with curiosity. After the brisk wind had caught a piece of parchment on which Draco had started an essay for Transfiguration, he'd left Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise to head to Care of Magical Creatures without him. He found himself going on a wild goose chase after the parchment, and by the time the wind settled down, Draco was panting and leaning on his knee. Then he looked up.

He was out back of a hut -- Hagrid, the Gamekeeper's hut. His father had mentioned that he lived there. It was a rather small hut, circular; with walls of stone and a roof of hay that Draco was sure was reinforced with magic. There was a small window that overlooked a patch of discolored ground where the grass ended for about twenty feet, and it was there that he saw quite a curiosity, indeed.

Sitting near the outer edge of the hut was what appeared to be an enormous dog bowl. It was red but stained with dirt to the point where it appeared more of a brownish color, and he could see what appeared to be teeth marks around the upper brim. Beneath the caking of dried mud and dead grass, he could just make out a scrawl done with a large paintbrush:

Fluffy.

Fluffy?

His eyes trailed to the ground. He noticed a slew of paw prints that looked each at least a foot-and-a-half in diameter with claw marks that tore into the dry earth. The eyes kept moving across the ground, and he could make out what appeared to be a definite perimeter to where the marks ended. It appeared that "Fluffy" had been bound by something, and his theory was proved correct when he saw an enormous metal plate bolted onto the stone wall, upon which was dangling a chain of what Draco assumed to be steel.

Draco spent a few more minutes studying the surroundings. This was indeed a curious sight, and he had the most inexplicable feeling that it was of some great importance. He often received such feelings, and had learned that it was normally healthier to follow them. Draco was never sure what caused them; for a long time, he'd assumed it was intuition.

The next thing to catch his eye was a curiosity upon a curiosity. He noticed, straying out from the cluster of paw prints, was a particular row that was heading straight out of the semicircle and in the direction of the castle. Next to it were very large, deep footprints that were much more human, but almost too large to be allowed. They looked more like they belonged to a--

"What're you doin' out 'ere?" came a sudden loud voice.

Draco jumped and whirled around, instantly seeing none other than that man that had accompanied Harry to Diagon Alley that day before term. Hagrid. The name came to him from the back of his mind. "Oh..." he said, blinking gray eyes rapidly. "I... I'm sorry. I just -- I was kind of lost, and then my essay got blown away..."

Hagrid's sneer turned into a grin. "Don' worry 'bout it," he said with a chortle of laughter. "You look like a firs' year, so I won' hold it against yeh." Then he bumbled forward and offered one enormous hand. "Rubeus Hagrid," he said, "keeper of the keys and grounds."

Draco extended his own hand, but found that his whole arm was shaken rather than just his hand. He said, "Yes, I know about you," with a smile. "I've heard all about you, in fact."

"Have yeh?" Hagrid asked, looking mildly surprised beneath the wild tangle of black hair on his head and face. "How so?"

"Well," said Draco, improvising at this point, "everyone tells me that you're the one who pulls all the real weight, especially when it comes to Care of Magical Creatures." Draco saw a slight swell in the large man's chest, and he knew he was hitting the right buttons. "Everybody knows that you're much better with creatures than Professor Kettleburn."

His large shoulders pushed back, causing his enormous olive green cloak to move with an unusual noise. Draco heard what appeared to be clicking, clanking, rustling... and maybe it was just his imagination, but he thought for a moment that he heard the disgruntled hoot of an owl. "Yeh, well," said Hagrid, "mind you that Professor Kettleburn ain't got much goin' for 'im... 'specially after 'e lost his leg during that nasty incident with a chimera."

Draco decided not to push a question that he wanted to ask. "Still," he said earnestly. "I've heard all about you from my friends. They all say -- and I agree -- that you look like a real natural when it comes to association with animals."

Another direct hit, Draco noticed as he saw Hagrid's chest swell with pride again. "Well, I won't disagree with yeh," he said as he pulled at the sleeves of his coat, sending another wave of clicks and clacks and thumps out through the fabric. "I 'ave been workin' with 'em fer the better part o' me life."

"It shows." Draco looked around. "Did you used to keep one here?" he asked, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to arouse suspicion.

But Hagrid looked suddenly skeptical. A moment later, however, he smiled again. "I did," he said. "I recently had to take 'im away, though, but I still take care of 'im and what."

"Why'd you take him away?" he asked innocently. When the look of skepticism suddenly returned, he added, "I mean, this little spot seems such a nice place for..." He cast a glance at the dog dish again and finished with, "... Fluffy."

Hagrid's beetle-like black eyes followed Draco's to the dish. "Well, I'd tell yeh," said Hagrid, "but it's very secret Hogwarts business, the reason I did, it is." Draco could detect more than a hint of pride in his gruff, friendly voice. "Dumbledore's orders, y'see. Trusts me more than my job's worth."

Draco gave him a smile. "One would beg to differ. You know," he said, "I've always been interested in magical creatures, as well." This wasn't untrue -- Draco was always very interested with animal life, but he had perhaps stretched the truth just a bit. He probably wasn't as interested in them to the degree that he put across to Hagrid, but he decided that the white lie wasn't quite bad enough to stir any guilt.

"Really, now!" said Hagrid joyfully. "Well, ain't that a sight! I 'aven't 'ad anyone say somefink like that t'me since Charlie Weasley some odd years ago."

"Oh, yes," Draco insisted, shifting his textbooks from his hip to his front, lacing his fingers around the edges. "They fascinate me -- especially sentient creatures like werewolves, vampires, centaurs and the like."

A look of nostalgia suddenly passed across Hagrid's large face. "Crikey," he said, "but do you sound like me when I was your age!" He rubbed at the corner of one eye. "Yeh, I got all into the human-like creatures, then I went onto the other types in me second year," he said. "There are some right fascinatin' beasts out there, lemme tell yeh."

"I agree." Draco smiled up at him. "I don't suppose you have any reading that you might be able to recommend me?" he asked. "I mean, I won't have free time to go to the library until Saturday, but anything you could tell me..."

"Recommended readin', eh?" he asked, raising one hand to stroke his wild black beard. "Well, yeh, I know lots o' good books yeh can find, but I can't possibly try'n list 'em all. Tell yeh what," he said suddenly. "'Ow about you toddle back over 'ere after class an' I'll let you borrow a few of my books? Hell, why not just 'ave dinner 'ere?"

Bingo.

Draco's eyes lit up -- or at least he hoped they did. "That would be wonderful!" he said. "Of course I'll be there! Right after class, then?"

"Right after class," Hagrid echoed before pulling a complicated brass watch out of one of his many, many pockets. "Blimey, is that the time?" He returned his gaze to Draco. "Yeh better get goin'; looks like I kept yeh for too long. C'mon, I'll walk yeh back and tell Professor Kettleburn what 'appened." And with that, he turned and started off down the grounds. Draco followed, feeling very pleased with himself. One small step for Draco's ego, one large step for the mission at hand.

When they reached the enclosed part of the grounds in which Draco supposed the lessons would take place, Hagrid approached Professor Kettleburn. He was a small man with rust red hair that had since been streaked silver with age. He had a pair of coke bottle glasses that magnified misty gray eyes, though the first thing Draco noticed was that he was missing his right leg and his left arm. He cringed without meaning to.

"Sorry, Professor," he said. "I just got caught up with young Mr.--" He looked toward Draco.

"Malfoy," he said quickly and without thinking. "Draco Malfoy."

For a very long moment, Hagrid looked shocked, and Draco swore mentally. This wasn't the first time he'd resented his surname and the reputation with which it went hand-in-hand. He shied away from Hagrid's dumbstruck gaze, wishing that he could just sink into the dirt right there in his spot. But a second later, Hagrid continued:

"Young Mr. Malfoy," he finished. "It's my fault 'e's late."

Professor Kettleburn pushed his ill-fitted glasses up his nose. "Very well," said a nasal voice that Draco automatically disliked. "Thank you, Hagrid."

And with that, Hagrid simply nodded. Then he turned to Draco again. "Remember -- right after class."

Draco felt like he needed to slap himself back into character, but he resisted, forcing a grin on his face. "Right after class," he confirmed, waving as Hagrid vanished over the small hill towards the hut on the other side. He returned his attention to Professor Kettleburn.

"Have a seat with the others," he said, the stump of what used to be his arm lifting and pointing in the general direction of a group of Slytherins who were all sitting on the grass near the edge of a fence that enclosed a large field. "You haven't missed very much."

So he walked towards the group, finding Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle almost instantly and flopping down on the edge. Blaise leaned over and whispered, "What was that great oaf doing with you?"

What Draco wanted to say was: He's got a name, you prat, so why don't you use it?

What he really said was: "I ran into him when I was chasing my Transfiguration essay," which he had since tucked safely into his book. "He invited me to his hut for dinner."

All three of them looked startled. "To do what?" asked Blaise, aghast.

"I don't know," Draco said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "maybe eat?"

Blaise decided not to respond and the class began. The introduction Professor Kettleburn chose to deliver was one that made all their stomachs turn more than once. With or without meaning to, he'd portrayed all magical creatures as vile, vicious things that would rip your limbs off if you didn't take all precautions and then some. The better part of the class, including Draco, was put-off by the cryptic warning in the guise of a welcome, and it was plainly visible that many of the students were in favor of leaving the class and taking another. Draco was considering the idea, as well, but then remembered that if he wanted to pull the stunt with Hagrid, he'd have to keep at it.

They started with flobberworms -- large, larvae-like creatures that were covered and slime and smelled like rotten cabbages. Flobberworms were the only creature in Professor Kettleburn's eyes that a first-year could work with without losing an arm. Draco was very glad that he'd brought his dragon hide gloves with him, because he wasn't in the mood for the exercise with bare hands.

Flobberworms were very sensitive to magic, as it turned out, and therefore the only way to properly transport them was by hand. So, naturally, he had the students do his dirty work for him -- and "dirty" was the understatement of the year when it came to the process of moving flobberworms.

Tired and disgruntled, the Slytherins marched wearily back up toward the castle, their feet dragging and their heads down. Draco, on the other hand, had made it a point to use as little energy as possible so he would be focused when he went back to Hagrid's hut. When the time came, he trudged through the knee-high grass and up the steep steps toward an enormous wooden door built into the single, circular wall, made of stone. He knocked at a respectable volume, and promptly heard a round of vicious barks from a dog beyond the portal that made him jump.

"Back, Fang!" he heard Hagrid bellow. "I said back!"

There was a mighty scraping sound that resembled a heavy desk being pushed across a wooden floor. A moment later, the barking subsided and the door pulled open. Framed in the cheery yellow light from within, Rubeus Hagrid stood smiling.

"'Ello, there, Draco," he said pleasantly.

"Hi, Hagrid!" he chirped.

"Come on in, I'm almost done cookin' the chicken." He yanked the door open farther and let Draco amble through the door. Almost immediately he was attacked by an enormous black dog whose tongue was dangling out the side of its mouth. Draco stumbled at first but promptly laughed and rubbed the dog's head vigorously. "Thas' Fang," Hagrid said warmly. "One of my bes' friends in the world."

"He certainly is a very energetic dog, isn't he?" Draco said, kneeling down to let Fang sniff around his face and then promptly lick it. "Hey!" he laughed. "Down, boy!"

"That 'e is," said Hagrid, who waddled over to a small hearth, over which was spinning a chicken on a rotisserie stick. Draco quickly noticed that the chicken hadn't been fully plucked, and that there were a few charred white feathers clinging to its legs and back. Upon seeing it he blanched, wondering if he was really supposed to eat that... He took off his cloak and hung it on a hook near the door.

"What's for dinner?" Draco asked, standing up to avoid any further greetings form Fang.

"Besides the chicken? Oh, the usual -- stuffin', pumpkin juice -- and I gots a right keen dessert for afters," he said mysteriously.

"The concept is thrilling," he said before inching across the room towards the table. "Feel like telling me what it is?"

"What, and ruin the surprise?" Hagrid said, feigning shock. "Never!"

"Oh, you're no fun."

Hagrid chuckled. "Don' start -- you'll see what it is after dinner." He took out a long metal fork and poked the side of the chicken. "Right, it looks like is' almost done," he said, straightening up. "Would you get that platter over there on the bench fer me?"

"Sure," Draco said, walking toward a row of cabinets. "This one?" he said, pointing.

"Thas' the one," he affirmed.

Draco picked up the large porcelain plate and carried it over towards the hearth. Only a few seconds later, a large chicken was placed on top of it. Despite the charred feathers, Draco had to admit that it did smell quite delicious. He smiled and walked it over to the table, setting it down in the center. "It smells great," he thought out loud. "What did you baste it with?"

"What's basting?"

"Never mind..."

A few moments later, a table for two was set up and Draco was situating himself on what he assumed to be the guest chair, though there was a suspicious amount of dog hair on the seat coushin. He smiled to Hagrid as he reached for the napkin out of instinct and began to fold it neatly in his lap, whereas Hagrid seemed to simply tuck it beneath the collar of his huge shirt. He couldn't stop himself from taking the silverware and eating with a refined French etiquette, but when he watched Hagrid dig in without the use of said silverware, he figured he'd drop the manners at least for tonight.

He cut off a chunk of chicken and (after pulling the remaining feathers off) took a bite. It tasted exactly like it smelled -- delicious.

"This is great!" Draco said with a smile. "Do you have a name for it?"

"Nah," replied Hagrid. "'S just chicken no matter which way yeh look at it."

"I suppose." He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. There were a few moments of comfortable silenced, filled with the sound of chewing, then Draco asked, "So, you said you had some recommended reading for me?"

"Oh, right!" Hagrid said, smacking his head hard enough to knock over a draft horse. "I almost forgot!" He reached beneath the table and yanked out what appeared to be a book made out of animal hide. It would've only seemed slightly out-of-the-ordinary, had it not been struggling against thick leather bindings. Draco's eyes widened and he coughed and nearly choked on a mouthful of stuffing when it let out a low, vicious growl.

"Wh-what on earth is that thing?" he asked after bringing his napkin up to his mouth by force of habit. "Is it -- am I right in thinking that it's moving?"

"Don' worry," chuckled Hagrid. "It's not half as dangerous as it looks."

Draco thought morbidly that half as dangerous as it appeared was still pretty damn dangerous.

Hagrid saw the look of skepticism lingering on his face and said, "Look, all you got to do is--" He reached out one large finger and ran it down the spine. The book shuddered and went limp. "See?" he said, looking up and grinning. He then moved to undo the bindings. Draco had to consciously stop himself from leaping forward to prevent it.

A moment later, the book was rendered motionless, lying on the table next to Hagrid's plate as he flipped through it. "It's called the Monster Book of Monsters."

"Aptly named," Draco muttered, though he wasn't sure if Hagrid heard him.

"It was me favorite book growin' up," he said, "an' I think you'll be right keen on it, too." After a few more moments of thumbing through the yellowing pages, he continued with, "Me dad bought it fer me when I was jus' a little tyke. 'S what got me into magical creatures. Ah."

He turned the book around and pushed it across the table, motioning for Draco to read the open page. After a moment's hesitation, he did, gingerly pulling the quivering book closer towards him on the table. Terrified that, at any moment, the book would lose its passive state and suddenly rip his hand off, he swallowed and tilted his chin to read the article. He only needed to skim it for a few moments before he knew the subject of it.

"The vampire," he said with a smile. He was suddenly reminded of Mortimer -- didn't he promise that he'd write? Draco made a mental note to send him a howler.

"I remember yeh were sayin' that they interested yeh."

"They do," Draco affirmed with a nod. "I know a vampire; he's a dear friend of mine."

"Oh?" Hagrid's eyebrows rose simultaneously.

"Yeah, his name is Mortimer. He's a friend of the family."

"Well, I'll be," he said. "I only met a vampire once, meself, and let me tell you -- it wasn't on the best o' terms."

Draco laughed lightly. "When they're angry, vampires can be extremely violent." He recollected one occasion when he was eight and his father had become so enraged at him that he'd tried to hit him. Mortimer stepped in a moment before he did, and, well... Lucius still has the scars on his back.

"So by the looks of it, you keep some creatures of your own, no?" Draco asked, inching away from the book by way of scooting his chair back.

"Oh, I've got a few," he said, trying (and failing) to sound modest. "I don' keep most of 'em here, though. They mostly stay in the Dark Forest." Draco made a mental note of the fact that he did work in the Dark Forest. "In fact, I just recently came across an acromantula," he said.

"An acromantula?" Draco repeated, shocked. "But they're known wizard killers!"

Hagrid chuckled dryly with a grin. "Yeh, well, then those that got killed by 'em didn't know what they were doin'!" he said. "I named him Aragog. He's right tame – maybe you'd like to see him sometime?"

Draco said "Maybe," but he felt like shouting Over my dead body! "Not now, though…"

"Well, o' course!" Hagrid chortled. "Not durin' dinner."

Draco returned his attention to said dinner and, after a pause, took a few more bites, still watching the book, who was now beginning to squirm again. After taking a swig of his pumpkin juice, he said, "Anything else? You don't seem much like a one-creature type of man."

Hagrid wiped the portion of beard around his mouth with his napkin and said, "Yeh, besides Aragog, I've got an assortment of others. I've got a few fwoopers and what looks like a chimera somewhere in the Forest."

"Oh, a fwooper!" Draco said, delighted. "I had a fwooper once!" And it wasn't a lie, either.

"Did yeh?"

"Yes, his name was Leonard. He was a family pet."

"Thas' a pretty original family pet," Hagrid said before spearing a bit of chicken.

Draco smiled weakly. "We're known for somewhat esoteric family pets," he explained, scratching the side of his blond head.

The conversation continued well into the night, twisting and turning from one beast to the other, lingering on points of interest, inching away from those that weren't as interesting. By nine o'clock, the were both laughing over what probably would have become an inside joke between the two of them. Hagrid's laughs were nearly deafening, but Draco didn't mind, because he was laughing just as hard.

"I'll drink to that!" said Hagrid between mighty bellows of laughter. Draco let his laughter soften just a bit. Drink, he thought. Drink… alcohol. Bingo!

"Have you got any?" he said with a broad grin.

"Any drinks? Well, o' course, but I don' think I should be givin' any to yeh…"

"Oh, come on," Draco coaxed. "I won't tell anyone, I swear."

"I don' know," he said uneasily, chewing his lower lip. Behind his large face there was obviously an internal battle going on, though Draco was well aware that there wouldn't be much provocation needed to have the odds tip in his favor. "With you bein' underage ‘n' everythin', I'm not sure it'd be the wisest thing t' do…"

"Who's going to know? What goes on in these walls stays in these walls, right?"

Hagrid's less responsible side took over and he laughed. "Oh, alright. You win fer now," he said. With that he stood and blundered across the hut, opening up a high cabinet and producing a very large green bottle, its label weathered past recognition. "Wizard whiskey," he explained. "Strongest stuff out there -- think you can handle it?"

"Hagrid, Hagrid, Hagrid," said Draco with a grin, finishing his pumpkin juice to make room for the new drink. "You're looking at the kid who cleaned off half a bottle of vodka on his own and lived to tell the tale." This seemed to impress Hagrid, who was walking over towards him again. "Lay it on me," he invited, putting the cup down on the table.

"Well!" Hagrid said, grabbing a corkscrew from a drawer. "With a record like that, it'd be a crime not to let yeh in on the bottle!" He filled Draco's glass, then his own and sat down. Draco lifted his cup with his left hand.

"To Aragog!" he said.

Hagrid laughed. "To Aragog," he ehoed.

Their cups met in midair with a hearty clank and Hagrid downed his glass. Draco put it to his lips but stopped, waiting for Hagrid's chin to lift up far enough. When he was sure that Hagrid couldn't see the goings on across the table, he tossed the whiskey into the fire, which crackled and shuddered almost soundlessly. A moment later, there was a thunk that signaled the return of Hagrid's cup to the table. Draco followed suit and watched for Hagrid's reaction.

He felt a swell of self-satisfaction when he saw him reach for the bottle a second time. They were filled another round only a moment later.

"To Dumbledore!" Hagrid said.

"Why not? To Dumbledore!"

They drank -- or Hagrid did -- and were refilled again.

After several more toasts to Hogwarts, living creatures, fwoopers, chimeras and various other animals, Hagrid was more than a little bit tipsy.

"Oh, well, w'd'ja l'k ‘t tha'?" Hagrid said in a very loud, slurred voice. "This'un's the las' swig, I thinks!"

And Draco though he was doing a fairly good job of playing up the role of being drunk, which proved to be a bit more fun than he thought it would. "Wha—the las'un?" he said, sounding outraged. "We ‘aven't ‘ad that m'ny drinks, ‘ave we?"

"I d'no," Hagrid hiccoughed. "I los' coun' aft'r twen'y-two…"

"Bes' make it t'somethin' good, then!"

Both glasses were refilled and Hagrid, in a dutiful manner, raised his glass high above his head. With a ceremonial pause, he said, "To Fluffy!"

Draco gave an exaggerated laugh and make it appear that he was about to fall over in his seat, then said, "To Fluffy!"

For what was probably the thirtieth time, Draco watched Hagrid's chin get higher and higher towards the roof of the hut, and he disposed of the whiskey in the fire. The empty glasses met almost in unison on the tabletop again.

"Wait-wait… which'un's Fluffy? ‘S'at, s'at the… the, uh, the agromentula?" Draco asked slowly, aware that his acting was probably well over the top. Though it didn't matter, really; after all, if his internal arithmetic was correct (if an average man can take nine ounces of liquor, then a man twice his size could take eighteen, and Hagrid had already had twenty-something), Hagrid should be totally smashed by now.

"No-no-no-no," Hagrid said dizzily. "No, thas' Aragog; Fluffy's the dog."

"Aren' cats s'posed t'be named Fluffy?" Draco challenged, pointing his glass at Hagrid's face.

"Yeh, well," Hagrid said, but was cut off by a hiccup. "Fluffy's right gentle… if yeh know how't rub ‘em the right way."

"'E sure doesn' look gentle," Draco slurred. "I seen ‘is bowl ‘n' what. ‘E looks dangerous!"

"Now, y'see," said Hagrid, "thas' jus' the sorta mentalitree thas' keepin' wizards from learnin' more ‘bout creatures! Yeh gots t'find what it is they like. Like Fluffy -- Fluffy, ‘e's a right sucker fer music! Yeh jus' need t'play ‘im a melody an' he's right off t'slumberland!"

And that is all I needed to know.

"Oops!" said Hagrid suddenly. "I shouldn't've toldja that!"

"D'n worry ‘bout it," he said dismissively, slowly pulling himself to his feet. "Wha' ‘appens in these walls stays in these walls, am I righ'?"

The look of horror faded from his flushed face. "Right, o' course…"

"Well, look, I should prob'ly be goin'. I got t'get up early fer class t'morrow." He stumbled towards the door, when something suddenly hit him:

Even when one was drunk, one still had the capacity to remember what had happened while they were intoxicated. As Draco reached for his cloak, he subtly slid a hand into the inner pocket of his robe, knowing what he had to do.

"Alrigh'," Hagrid said cheerfully. "I'll see y'around!"

"Mhm…"

He stopped in the doorway, as though he forgot to mention something and turned toward the half-giant, who was trying to put the empty bottle of whiskey back in the cupboard. "Oh, Hagrid, one more thing…?"

Hagrid turned toward him. "Yeh?"

He pulled the wand out of his robe and pointed it directly at Hagrid's face. He no longer looked drunk; in fact, he looked very sober.

"Obliviate."

He'd almost felt guilty about leaving Hagrid unconscious on his kitchen floor, but Draco didn't have time to brood. More important matters were afoot now. He now had for certain a few tidbits of information that could lead him to what he was searching for.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was looking for something at Hogwarts. Fluffy was guarding it; it was the only logical conclusion that could be drawn. There was a good chance that whatever was being guarded had healing properties, that it was extremely rare and probably illegal in more than one country. What he needed now was a location.

Try as he might, he couldn't think of where it could be hidden even after hours of racking his brain at early hours of the morning. Hogwarts was enormous! There were probably hundreds -- maybe thousands -- of places where it could be hidden and no one would ever think to look. He knew that he needed some sort of lead, because searching for whatever was being hidden by way of going from wall to wall of the castle (especially without even knowing what exactly it was he was looking for) would not only be insane and suicidal, it would also take much too long.

Blaise seemed to notice his general air of distance and brought it up at breakfast the next day.

"Something on your mind?" he asked as he reached for his glass full of pumpkin juice.

"What?" Draco had once again became caught up in his train of thought and snapped out of it to see a pair of dark brown eyes fixated on him.

"You seem preoccupied," Blaise said. "I was just wondering if something was up."

"Wha—oh. No. No, nothing's up. Everything is just peachy." There was no sarcasm in his voice, though he imagined there should have been to make the sentence more logical.

"Sure," said Blaise incredulously as his owl dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on his table, which he picked up and scanned. "Oh, look -- Hell Freezes over, Geologists Baffled."

"Shut up," Draco mumbled through his sausage.

"Are both of you going to Divination first?" Crabbe suddenly asked as he piled hash browns onto his plate. "'Cause me and Goyle are."

"I think so," Blaise said. "No, actually, I'm certain."

"Me, too," murmured Draco sleepily.

"You three heard about the teacher yet?" Blaise queried, looking sullen.

"No," Draco replied, "but by the way you brought it up, I'd think it's safe to say that we'd want to know."

"Her name is professor Trelawney," Blaise said. "And word is that she's a crackpot. Completely barking is what I've heard."

"Most Seers are," Draco said reasonably. He finished off his remaining sausage as Blaise shrugged, looking nonchalant.

"Just saying what I heard," he said. "And I have very reliable sources."

Draco was a bit too tired to bother questioning what these "sources" were, so he just grunted and took a long swig of his pumpkin juice.

The subject was dropped a moment later and replaced with who was rumored to be trying out for the house Quidditch teams. It drifted from there and when the students filed out to go to their classes, they were almost silent. Blaise's map pointed them into the direction of a tower that proved extremely difficult to find, and when they did make it there, they almost wished they hadn't found it all.

The room was small and smelled as though one too many incense sticks had been burned within its walls. That and the fact that the desks seemed to be replaced with pillows on the floor made Draco suddenly regret ever bothering to take this course.

Blaise leaned over to him and whispered, "Well, sure, it's big, but look at the décor."

Draco sniggered and shook his head before going to find a seat. Once they were all situated, a second door flung open.

Standing in the threshold was a tall, wiry woman with large eyes that were made all the more huge by a pair of thick, round glasses resting on her hooked nose. Draco was reminded of a praying mantis when she moved forward and said in a wispy voice, "Greetings."

The four of them grunted their salutations. They were the first ones to arrive.

"First years, I see," she said as she drifted closer to them. They nodded and a strange half-smile curled on her pale lips. "I'm glad you decided to take my course… especially you." She pointed one long finger at Draco, who suddenly became very awake. "Yes… yes, my Eye is telling me that you will be of some significance in this class, though I don't know why as of yet."

Blaise turned to him and raise one eyebrow as if to say ‘I-told-you-so.' Draco sneered at him and tried to ignore it.

"How curious," Professor Trelawney said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How very, very curious…"

She was staring at Draco so closely that she didn't notice Blaise mouthing "CRACKPOT" behind her, in the perfect position for Draco to see. He was trying very hard not to burst into laughter right there.

Fifteen minutes later, class began. After only the first few minutes of sitting through the opening lecture, Draco was surer than ever that Professor Trelawney was completely out of her mind. He didn't mind, though; he found it morbidly entertaining as she ranted and raved about the bleakness of everyone's future and how horrible death would befall each and every student in the room presently.

Then they went into the first exercise, which proved to be tea reading. She used her wand to whip up three pots of boiling water that filled up tiny blue and pink teacups full of tea leaves. As the students collectively mixed their drinks, Blaise scooted closer to Draco.

"What did I tell you?" he said. "She's mad. Utterly mad."

"Whatever," Draco replied. "Let's just try to pass this class and make nice with the teacher, alright?" He gently tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup and took it to his lips and allowed himself a sip. He gagged promptly. "Ugh, chamomile. I hate chamomile."

Draco would have let Goyle drink his tea for him if Professor Trelawney had not expressly forbade it ("He who drinks from the cup is he who receives a fortune!"), so he ended up suffering through his least favorite type of tea. He and Blaise paired up once they were both done and flipped open their textbooks to the page displayed on the board before switching cups. Blaise took Draco's cup and held it up to examine the mass of damp leaves at the bottom.

"Let's see," Blaise said. "I see some blob that looks kind of like a horse shoe." He turned his head to look at the book. "And that means good luck. Fancy that…" Blaise then returned his attention to the cup again. "And over here is some sort of cross-like blotch which means—" (he looked back at his book) "—that someone's going to die. So someone is going to die, and it'll bring you good luck." Draco laughed.

"Maybe Fudge," he offered with a smirk. Then he took hold of Blaise's cup. "Now it's your turn." He turned the cup to one side and stared deeply into the brown lump collected at the bottom.

He suddenly felt very, very dizzy, but he shook the feeling off. "I see—I guess that kind of looks like…" The dizzy feeling took over and his hands fumbled. The cup fell out of his grip and onto the table with a shattering noise.

Blaise cried out. "Oy, watch it!"

A voice pushed its way out of Draco's throat and he couldn't see. Everything had suddenly turned gray, and all he knew was the truth:

"A test of faith is coming your way," he said in a monotonous, cold voice.

"Wh-what?"

"You will be faced with a choice of what you desire and what is expected of you. Only when you see both sides of the choices will you be able to determine the proper course of action."

Draco could feel people staring at him, but all he saw was gray. He couldn't keep the voice from speaking any longer.

"Draco, what are you talking about?"

He heard the pitter-patter of small feet on the wood floor and knew that Trelawney was making her way across the room. "Hush, child! Hush! His Eye is opening for the first time!"

"You must remember that the path to hell is lined with good temptations. Only by walking through the fire may you find the choice that leads you to your desired destination."

The voice vanished. His body went limp. He knew that he'd fallen onto hard floor but he didn't feel any pain at all. Now he only saw black but heard everything going on around him -- the buzz of whispering students. He could feel their stares and hear the gasps. Then he felt a wisp of scented air and he knew Professor Trelawney was next to him.

"Oh, goodness, this has never happened before, in all my years of teaching! What's this young man's name? Draco, did you say? Draco? I know you can hear me, Draco. I want you to listen."

He was listening, and he wanted to tell her that he was, but there wasn't enough strength in him to open his mouth and say so.

"What just happened to you is called an Opening. That sensation was your Inner Eye becoming active for the very first time." He felt a hand on his brow. "It happened to me when I was your age… Draco, this only happens to very powerful Seers."

Was he shocked? He couldn't tell. He could barely feel anything at all. The words swam in his head and he rolled them over and over in his mind until he seemed to make sense of them:

He was a Seer.

"You -- go get a few extra pillows from the closet. Make him something on which to lie down."

A few moments later his body was lifted, then cushioned on what felt like three or four satiny pillows. His head fell to one side.

"You'll be all right soon, child," said Professor Trelawney lovingly. He felt one of her hands stroke back some hair. "Right now, your Inner Eye is just adjusting to the feeling of being open. It's perfectly normal."

The words brought a strange sort of comfort to him.

"It will take a while, though," she continued. "I think that by the end of class you'll be fully conscious again. And in case you're worried -– you won't have to make up any work. I think we can waive that rule in this case."

Honestly, Draco was much more relieved that he wasn't going to die than he was of not being required to make up classwork.

But her estimation was off by about half an hour. He stayed in his quasi consciousness straight through the class. When Draco managed to find the will to open his eyes again, the room was empty and much colder than he remembered it. His mind was still swimming upwards through the various levels of consciousness when he swallowed hard and sat up on one elbow.

"You're awake!"

He turned his head to one side to see Professor Trelawney hurrying from her spot near a window towards him. "How are you feeling? Oh, what am I saying? I know how you're feeling -- you're feeling very faint and light-headed, aren't you, love?"

Draco touched his hairline with four fingers. "Y-yes," he whispered. "Yes, I am."

He looked around. Everything was different, but strangely the same. It almost took his breath away -- everything he could see suddenly was alive somehow. Each thing had its own heartbeat, its own breath and consciousness. He'd never experienced this before. It was unbelievable… it was absolutely amazing.

"Come on." Professor Trelawney put an arm around his shoulder and gingerly helped him to his feet. Draco found that he needed to lean on her quite a bit more than he would've liked, but she supported him all the way to another chair near the window, across from the one at which se was sitting a moment ago.

"You know," she said softly, "I knew there was something different about you from the moment you walked into my classroom. I didn't know what it was at the time, but now I understand why my Eye was so focused on you."

Draco said nothing. He sunk back into the chair and closed his eyes again, trying to catch his breath that had left him on the short trip.

"While your Eye was opening, I saw in you a potential unlike any other I've ever seen before," she whispered. "I don't think I've ever come across someone with such a powerful and perceptive Inner Eye." Draco swallowed hard but didn't reply. "You truly have a gift, Draco."

"Wh-why me?" he said in a hoarse voice.

"Why does the sun rise in the east? Why is Polaris our north star? No one knows," she said, "why the Inner Eye is powerful in some and almost non-existent in others. That's just the way things are. It's an unwritten rule of nature."

Slowly, he opened his eyes. His vision was no longer swimming and he didn't feel quite as dizzy as he did a moment ago.

Beyond the window there was a sun high in the sky, its light reflecting off the long stretching lake that was visible from the tower. It was a beautiful day. Draco allowed himself to be caught up in it as he tried desperately to collect this thoughts.

"I know it's a lot to process," Professor Trelawney said sadly. "But it's better to get used to the idea now than later. An Eye that is not developed early on is often very dangerous later in life."

He looked back at Professor Trelawney. "Have you -– I mean, when I was growing up, I always felt like…"

"Like there was a little voice," she said, "that told you when things were going to happen?"

It was like she was putting words in his mouth. "Yes! I mean… it wasn't really a voice, it was more like intuition, but…"

She nodded sagely. "That's a very clear sign of a Seer," she said. "I often experienced that, too, before my Inner Eye opened for the first time." Then she looked back at him. "Something is bothering you, isn't it?"

It was. "It's just… my family has had virtually no Seers of any sort. We mostly stick to the harder types of magic, like transfiguration or potions."

"A common source of anxiety," she sympathized. "I wouldn't worry about it. If you're truly uncomfortable bringing it up in your family, then there's no reason you need to until you're sure that you're ready." Draco felt a touch of comfort. "There's no rush."

There was a pause in the conversation when suddenly Professor Trelawney leaned forward and touched Draco's hand that was sitting on the edge of the table.

"Draco," she said softly, "I'd like to work with you privately."

"P-Privately?" he echoed.

"Yes. The criteria you need to learn differs vastly from that which I need to teach your classmates, so the most logical thing to do is give you private lessons."

"Are… are you sure that can be done?" asked Draco softly. "I mean, do both of us have enough time to pull it off?"

"If not," she said, "then I can adjust my schedule to fit yours. When is your first free period?"

Draco racked his memory. "I think it's the day after tomorrow," he said. "Yes. After lunch on Saturday, I'm free until my flying lessons in the afternoon."

"Excellent. I don't believe I have any classes then." She reached into her robe pocket and produced a small black book. After flipping through it for a few moments she continued with, "Yes, I'm free. And how about we put regular lessons in the evening? Say, after dinner on… are Wednesdays good for you?"

Draco didn't have much of a schedule, anyway, so he said, "Sure."

"Very good!" She clasped her hands together, then stood up. "There's only one thing I can tell you now, ant it's something that you will need to follow through thick and through thin, so listen very closely."

Draco blinked as she leaned down to look him right in the eye.

"Follow your insitincts."

Draco blinked, but she didn't say another word on the subject. "Lunch is almost over, so let me write you a pass to give your teacher so you don't have to stuff your face." She walked out of sight.

Draco stared at his knees, wondering if he had enough strength to walk. He noticed that he didn't feel nearly as weary as he did before and so, with one hand on either of the arm rests, Draco stood up shakily, paused, then took a step forward. So far so good.

He heard the sound of footsteps on wood floor, then the rustling of parchment, then the scratch of a quill a few seconds later. The next thing he knew, Trelawney was in front of him and handing him a folded note. "Give this to your next teacher," she instructed gently.

He took it, but paused. "Uhm, Professor?"

"Yes, dear?"

"The note doesn't say anything about what happened in class, does it?" he asked hesitantly.

She looked curious. "No," she responded. "Why?"

"Well, I mean, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about it."

"Ah." She nodded understandingly. "I understand. Very well." She put a finger next to the side of her nose and winked. "Mum's the word."

He swallowed and smiled nervously, to which she simply placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go on, go to lunch."

He grabbed his bag and moved towards the door, but paused in the door. "Oh, and one more thing, Professor?"

"Yes, dear?"

He dashed across the room and hugged her briefly but not without force. For a moment she was startled, then she laughed and returned the embrace. "Thanks," he murmured into her chest before hurrying out of the classroom.