Second Chances

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The author notes that Section 102(b) of the U.S. Copyright Act makes it clear that copyright protection does not extend to ideas, procedures, concepts, principles or discoveries -- only the particular specific expression of them. See the Chilling Effects Clearinghouse for further information on copyright and trademark law as they pertain to fanfiction.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Title:	Second Chances
Author:	Cheshyre
Summary:	After failing his Death Eater initiation in the summer between his fourth and fifth years, Draco Malfoy lost everything. His only refuge is Hogwarts, but he'll have to forge a new path if he wants to survive. There's a lot of ground to cover, and he's already burned many of his bridges. Can Draco stand on his own, without money, status, family, or former friends to back him up?

Length:	Story: 32,000 words [Including all additional material: 40,000 words]
Dates:	conceived January 2003; abandoned November 2003; publically posted August 2006

Permanent URL:	http://www.osmond-riba.org/lis/fanfic/SecondChances.htm

Author's Note:	This is an incomplete story that I have abandoned. However, there are enough worthwhile elements that I'm willing to share what I've got. This is licensed under a Creative Commons License, so if you like what you read and wish to write your own continuation, be my guest. This story is set in an alternate universe fifth year, concieved and outlined before Book 5: Order of the Phoenix was released. Elements of this story have been contradicted by later canon.

Continuous Chapters	Bonus material
Chapter 1: Falling on hard times Chapter 2: Rude awakenings Chapter 3: Always wanted a dragon Chapter 4: In the hands of a giant Chapter 5: Into the woods Chapter 6: Weaving a tangled web Chapter 7	Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10: In the belly of the beast Chapter 11: Say goodbye to the summer Chapter 12: Welcome to the jungle Chapter 13: Monday Monday (can't trust that day) Chapter 14 Concluding Notes	Author's Post-Mortem The Rest of the Story Intentions and research information How the story developed Characterizations Calendars and Timelines: Summer calendar Draco's class schedule Fall calendar Comments

↑ Chapter 1: Falling on hard times ↓

Hagrid sighed heavily as he closed the door of his little cottage. Fang strained at his leash, eager for the walk, but the gamekeeper of Hogwarts dragged his feet, ambling wearily behind the oversized boarhound. It had not been a good summer.

Things began going wrong before the school year even ended. You-Know-Who was back, and had already killed his first victim -- a Hogwarts student. Poor Diggory. Such a promising lad. And poor Harry. For all that he survived the encounter, he looked to be in a world of pain himself -- like he wished he died instead.

But Hagrid couldn't stick around to comfort the boy like he wanted. Professor Dumbledore had asked him and Madame Maxime to recruit the giants to their side -- or at least keep them from siding with You-Know-Who. Although Olympe wanted to work together, he, Hagrid, had suggested they split up to cover more territory. Clearly a mistake. His mission to the Northern giants hadn't gone at all well.

Oh, who was he kidding? It was a complete and utter disaster. Probably the most important thing Professor Dumbledore ever asked him to do -- well, maybe second to retrieving baby Harry from Godric's Hollow. And he'd totally cocked everything up.

Most full-blooded giants wouldn't even talk with him. They turned away and just pretended he wasn't there. A few would listen, but largely replied to his pleas with noncommittal grunts. And some of them... He was lucky, if he could call it that, to escape with his life. He tried to reach his own mother, but he couldn't even get through to her. She never answered his owls, and his attempts to find out where she lived so he could visit were spurned. Finally, he just gave up.

Hagrid had hoped that visiting Charlie Weasley in Romania might ease his mind some. Watching dragons had always raised his spirits before. But even that failed him. Poor Norbert was one of the smallest Ridgebacks on the preserve. He seemed really touchy, and flamed whenever other dragons got near. Charlie kept trying to reassure him that some dragons were just less social than others, but Hagrid wasn't fooled. Something wasn't right with Norbert, and it was probably something he had done wrong in raising him. And when Charlie bent the rules to let him have a closer look, Norbert didn't even recognize him when he'd approached. Just another rejection to cap everything off.

And now, barely a month later, Hagrid was back at Hogwarts with nothing to show for his efforts. Professor Dumbledore was understanding, of course. Dumbledore was always understanding. He claimed that at least this meant that the giants probably wouldn't side with You-Know-Who -- maybe they'd just steer clear of the battles altogether. And Olympe was still talking to the southern giants, as far as they knew, so clearly she was doing something right.

But the Headmaster was a busy man, especially with all the renovations Hogwarts was undergoing this summer, so they'd only had the one real conversation. Hagrid was mostly left to his own devices, which, for the last several days, primarily involved moping and drinking in his hut, his beloved boarhound his only companion.

Fang lunged towards the lake, breaking Hagrid's reverie. "Wha' is it, boy?" The wolfhound growled and barked, trying so hard to drag Hagrid towards the water that he balanced on his hind legs, and frantically pawed the air. With a grunt of surprise, Hagrid released the leash, and the dog pelted down the hillside towards the shore, Hagrid following warily.

Coming over the rise, Hagrid saw Fang nosing at a crumpled black figure. It looked human. Hagrid clambered worriedly down the slope.

It was definitely a body, he saw as he approached. It was face-down in the sand, the water lapping at its legs. Fang tried to nudge the body with his nose, looked up at Hagrid and whined.

Hagrid gently pushed Fang to one side and knelt before the body. Cautiously, he flipped it over to see whether it was alive. The arm was clammy, wet and cold. Hagrid closed his eyes and rested one ear on the chest. It rose and fell weakly, and Hagrid sighed with relief. Whoever it was, he was still alive. Hagrid looked up at its face. His jaw dropped in astonishment as he saw the last person he ever expected to find at Hogwarts over the summer, much less half-drowned by the lake:

Draco Malfoy was having a wonderful summer. The holidays had gotten off to a bad start when those cowardly Gryffindors hexed him on the train home. But now, everything was looking golden. The Dark Lord had been restored and, as he gained strength, the Malfoy family's power was rising once again. What's more, Lord Voldemort was inducting new Death Eaters, and Draco would be among the first wave of recruits.

Too many followers had turned traitor in the interregnum. So Lord Voldemort was taking steps to ensure only the most loyal servants would be part of his inner circle. He was starting, appropriately enough, with the descendants of present and former Death Eaters -- children presumably raised in a proper environment of respect for the Dark Arts. Further, he would begin with students of his own alma mater, though nobody was sure whether this expressed a perverse pride or just a desire to stick it to Albus Dumbledore.

Lucius Malfoy had shared the news over dinner, ordering the house elves to open a rare vintage of wine from the cellar to celebrate the honor. Draco's next few weeks passed like a whirlwind. His mother took him shopping for new robes and had her stylist cut his hair. His father told him stories of the Dark Lord's habits and preferences, advised him on protocol, and every evening related the latest news from the inner circle. As details about the initiation ceremony emerged, Lucius reviewed them with Draco until Draco could recite them letter-perfect. One day, Lucius even flew Draco out to the island where the ritual would be held, giving Draco time to familiarize himself with the surroundings. Narcissa joined them for a picnic lunch, from a vantage point where they could enjoy the view from the cliffs, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks below.

And thus, Draco Malfoy stood proudly in his best dress robes with Alrakis, his eagle owl, perched firmly on his left shoulder. Vincent Crabbe, Marcus Flint and Gregory Goyle were also arrayed in their finery, waiting nervously beside him. His yearmates were both carrying their toads, while a thin mean-looking cat twined itself sinuously around Flint's legs and glared at the other boys.

Their fathers and the other Death Eaters had walked over the rise to stand by the cliff, leaving the boys mostly unattended, away from the action. They could hear faint conversation in the distance, but were never totally alone. Dementors wandered about the grounds, sending cold chills down Draco's spine every time they passed close by.

Time passed and the clouds parted to reveal a moonless sky. Suddenly, a masked figure approached the boys. Even though his face was hidden, Draco recognized the rolling gait as Crabbe's father. He approached Vincent, wrapped an arm around him, and led him off towards the cliffside where the other Death Eaters were standing. When they heard Crabbe scream, Flint's back stiffened and Goyle shot Draco a scared look. But the boys remained otherwise still and silent.

After things quieted down, another masked figure approached them. Flint's father raised his mask and smiled at his son, saying "Make me proud, boy." Marcus picked up his cat and the three of them walked towards the circle. Goyle started stroking his toad, though Draco couldn't tell which of them that was supposed to comfort. Eventually, Goyle's father came for him, leaving Draco alone in the clearing. Draco closed his eyes and tried to relax, rehearsing the words his father had drilled him in. He was next.

Finally, his father walked over. Draco felt comforted by his presence, even though he didn't raise his mask. Lucius reached out an arm as if to tousle Draco's hair, then paused as if thinking better of it and merely patted Alrakis' head, smoothing down the feathers. "Are you ready?" he asked. Draco nodded solemnly. "Don't disappoint me," he said affectionately, as the two walked side-by-side towards the cliff.

Lucius led him to a semicircle of Death Eaters, all masked and robed. It was terrifying, and yet exhilarating. His father led him to a shorter dark figure at the apex, bowed, and then stepped backwards into the circle, leaving Draco alone to face the Dark Lord.

With Alrakis perched firmly on his left shoulder, and his wand held reversed in his right hand, Draco bowed before Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord took the wand in his pale spider-like hand and motioned for Draco to rise, giving the boy his first look at Voldemort's face. It was pale and inhuman, more like a snake than a man.

Draco shivered slightly as he nodded and backed away towards the center of the semicircle. He looked anxiously (and he hoped, surreptitiously) around for his father and friends, but a friendly face proved impossible to find behind the masks. Never had he felt so alone.

"Draco Malfoy..." Voldemort whispered, immediately capturing Draco's full attention. Draco swallowed convulsively.

"Yes, my lord?" Draco made the mistake of looking into Lord Voldemort's eyes and immediately regretted it. The scarlet slits scrutinized him, as if uncovering his every secret. Draco felt very small and took an unconscious step backwards towards the cliff.

"I understand you wish to serve me, and think yourself worthy of becoming one of my Death Eaters." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

At last, Draco felt he had a toehold on familiar ground. He closed his eyes and from memory recited, "I will obey you in all things, master."

"Imperio!" Draco felt a sudden lassitude drain all thought and feeling from his body. "Again!"

The sensation of relaxation vanished as abruptly as it had begun. With a start, he noticed Lord Voldemort was pointing his own wand at him. Was that truly the Unforgivable Curse? His father hadn't mentioned that part of the initiation. Draco began to tremble slightly.

Draco's every nerve exploded in excruciating pain. He could see nothing but redness, but couldn't tell whether he had shut his eyes or not.

His knees buckled and he tried not to vomit as he stammered out the repetition. "I will suffer pain for you, master."

Immediately, the pain stopped and Draco struggled to catch his breath. He had never felt anything like this before. In what little conscious thought remained after such agony, he realized that the statement didn't just mean resisting torture to protect the Dark Lord, but also could imply that Voldemort himself might inflict his own torments for punishment or entertainment purposes.

Draco licked his lips. There were three Unforgivable Curses, just as there were three parts to the oath. And if the previous two vows were any indication, he was about to experience death in a very personal way.

Draco took a deep breath, stared at his feet and whispered, "I will accept death for you, master." As he finished the statement, he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Draco could still see the green blast. He felt a weight fall from his shoulder and land on his feet with a thud. His eyes fluttered open in shock and he stared at the ground. He quickly saw his beloved Alrakis, whom he had raised from a chick, staring blindly at the sky he would never soar through again. This time, Draco did fall to his knees, blinking back tears and brushing his fingertips against the rapidly cooling feathers. He hadn't noticed before that the oath wasn't limited to his own death, and briefly mourned the loss of his childhood pet.

After an expectant pause, Draco rose again, looked Voldemort in the eyes, and in clipped tones said, "I will accept death for you, master."

The floating feeling overtook Draco again. Almost giddily, he replied "I will obey you in all things, master."

Draco's weightlessness continued as he noticed a Death Eater bearing a mask and robe take a step forward, look up at Lord Voldemort, then step uncertainly back into line. This concluded the ceremony that he'd been told about. Was this something new?

A musing voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hmm. This one has wit and spirit. Could be useful. Could also be dangerous. How do you feel about me, boy?"

"Afraid." 'Was that his voice?' Draco wondered. It sounded so small. His eyes wandered down to the stiffening corpse at his feet. "I hate you."

A horrified flush colored Draco's cheeks, and he heard his father's voice from the circle begin to sputter out something he assumed was an apology.

But the Dark Lord merely chuckled. "I don't care whether you like me or not. Will you obey my orders even at the expense of your own needs or desires?"

Various memories swirled and mingled in his mind. Screams and fires and fun at the Quidditch World Cup. Snape favoring him in Potions class as the Gryffindors glowered. Lording over the younger Slytherins in the common room. Ron Weasley belching slugs. Dueling with Potter. Cursing Granger. Making Hagrid cry over that stupid hippogriff. Moody turning him into a ferret and slamming him into walls -- wait, that was Crouch and he had been a Death Eater! His father selling family heirlooms for a pittance to that greasy Borgin. The nightmare creature drinking unicorn blood -- wait, that was Voldemort himself!

His heart beat a drum demanding he answer. Answer. Ans-wer. It overpowered the reflections, both pleasant and un-, the tension forcing his lips to respond with something. Anything.

Reality returned with a thud. Draco felt very solid again, as his stomach plummeted. Did he actually say that? Why did he say that? He wanted to be a Death Eater -- didn't he? He looked around for his father, but couldn't pick him out of the crowd. The Death Eaters in the circle muttered to one another in confusion.

Draco wanted to explain, but for once, no words would come out. He looked around, hoping for a friendly face, but the sea of masks stared blankly at him, as inhospitable as a Greek chorus.

"You are of no use to me, boy." Voldemort twisted Draco's wand in his hand, musing aloud. "Now how should I dispose of you?" He walked idly around the circle, stroking the shoulders of the followers he passed.

"I could order your father to kill you, to demonstrate his loyalty." Draco took a fearful half-step backwards. "Or maybe I should give you to your former friends. Of course, they don't yet know the Killing Curse, so that could get messy." Draco backed up another step, as other cloaked figures approached, filling the gaps between the Death Eaters.

Voldemort beckoned them forward and smiled lazily. "My poor pets are hungry. Perhaps I should let my Dementors feed upon you, and then let your friends dispose of your remains." The blood froze in Draco's veins. "Yesss," the Dark Lord hissed. "That sounds like a suitable solution."

Dementors oozed between the Death Eaters and began to converge upon Draco. He looked around desperately for an escape, feeling like a trapped rabbit. He was almost completely surrounded, with the cliff behind him the only gap. As the circle closed in, Draco took a step backwards, and then another. He was too scared to look away as the Dementors came closer and closer. As the first bony hand reached out for him, Draco panicked. He spun around and frantically bolted away the only direction left to him -- the cliff.

He heard the Dark Lord scream "Stop him!" and ran faster, leaping recklessly as he reached the edge. This time, the weightlessness snapped his mind into focus, but he had no time to gather his thoughts before he struck the surface. The cold water felt like knives as the swift currents quickly pulled him under.

Chapter 1 Notes:

↑ Chapter 2: Rude awakenings ↓

Hagrid pelted up the hill, cradling the limp body to his chest and hollering "Dumbledore!" for all he was worth. Fang bounded ahead, barking wildly.

They found the headmaster taking his lunchtime constitutional, walking along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He took in the scene at a glance and hurried over to them.

Draco dreamed. He was drowning. Thrashing around under the water, unable to tell up from down. His velvet dress robes grew heavier as they absorbed the brine and his new boots were too stiff for him to kick effectively. He tugged frantically at his high collar, as if loosening it would allow more oxygen into his lungs. But the water was too cold, his fingers too numb to work the clasp. He could see nothing but the blue green murk around him, with no indication of direction. His struggles grew weaker as his strength waned.

Then, just as he was about to relinquish consciousness, something grabbed him from behind. Many somethings. Tug after tug yanked his legs, dragging him downwards. He tried to pull away, but they pinned his arms to his side. Hands pushed something over his face, into his mouth. Draco tried to turn his head, but they forced him still. He clenched his jaw, but something pried it open, forcing the slimy substance in. Draco gagged, but couldn't help swallowing some of it. When he thought he had nothing left to breathe, a desperate gasp wracked his body, and with it, merciful unconsciousness.

Professor Dumbledore sat at the edge of the bed, tilting another spoonful of warm liquid into Draco's mouth. Under Madam Pomfrey's tutelage, they had set up a pallet beside Hagrid's fireplace and tucked the boy in securely under layers of blankets. Hagrid had stoked up the fire despite the summer heat, and placed warm bricks under the covers. The headmaster sighed with relief. "We're just lucky you found him in time. If anything had happened..."

"I had heard rumors that there was to be a Death Eater initiation last night." Hagrid scowled, but the headmaster continued without regard to the reaction he provoked. "Judging by this, I'd say that young Mister Malfoy," his eyes twinkled, "washed out."

Hagrid thought about that for a moment. "So what're we ter do about' it? Or, more t'the point, what d'yeh wan' me ter do?"

"For now, stay with the boy. Poppy said to feed him a dose of this," he handed over the bottle, "every other hour. And owl me if there's any change."

Hagrid held the door open as Dumbledore exited. Thanks to the roaring fire, the room was now sweltering. He opened the window a crack for the owl, grabbed a bottle of his own, then plopped down wearily in a chair to watch the still frail body in the bed.

His nightmares were an endless sequence of propulsion, being pulled along who knows where, and forced feedings. The unremitting blue-green vistas were indistinguishable, giving him no sense of time. He wanted to surrender, wanted to rest, but whatever was doing this to him seemed insistent. Just the relentless repetition of movement and choking.

No, not again. Something was trying to force its way past Draco's lips. Not more of that slimy tangle. Draco tried to struggle, but he was trapped. Warm heaviness held him immobile, but this time he managed to turn his head away. Something metallic banged against his cheek. He heard a soft grunt and he felt wetness dribbling towards his ear. After a moment, a moist cloth wiped his face and then was gone.

Realizing something had changed, but unsure exactly what, Draco opened his eyes, blinking furiously to rid them of grit. He still couldn't move his body to wipe them, so it was a few minutes before he could see clearly. He was facing a fire and winced at the brightness of it. Given what he could recall of his last conscious hours, Hell didn't seem that unlikely a destination. He looked away, and tried to adjust his eyes to the darkness. A large figure shambled over. A lamp flared above Draco's head, the light making his eyes water furiously.

"How very observant of you," he croaked in what was intended to be an indolent drawl. "You consider that kind of thing an accomplishment?"

"Well, yeh've been out for abou' two days." Any comeback Draco might've made was lost amid the coughing fit that suddenly consumed him. Damn, but his mouth was dry. "Here. Le'me help you up." And, true to his word, Hagrid pulled the blankets away from Draco's torso and helped him to sit upright, propping some pillows behind his back as supports. As the wracking coughs subsided, Hagrid handed him a tall cup. "Jus' some tea. 'Snot very hot, but tha's prob'ly fer the best."

Draco needed both hands to hold the large mug, astonished by how weak he felt and how badly his arms were trembling. Still, he managed to swallow down most of the tea without spilling any. And despite his earlier cocky remarks, that did seem like a triumph.

Hagrid plucked the cup from his numb fingers and held out a spoonful of liquid. "Yeh'd better take this, too. Madam Pomfrey's orders." Draco leaned forward and sipped it down. It tasted oddly of smoke and marshmallows, both warming and comforting at the same time. Draco yawned.

"Why don' yeh go back ter sleep. I 'spect Dumbledore can wait ter talk t'yeh till the mornin'." Draco nodded and his eyes closed of their own volition. He felt Hagrid adjusting the pillows, helping him lie down again, and wrapping the blankets loosely over his chest. Draco rolled over on one side, facing the hearth, and fell into a peaceful slumber.

Draco awoke to the sounds of a conversation held right above his bed. He feigned sleep in order to listen unobserved. Hagrid's voice quickly reminded him of his current situation. It took him a little longer to recognize the other speaker as Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse. About time. If he had to be laid up like an invalid, the least they could do was provide him with proper surroundings and trained medical care.

Now that he'd identified the players, Draco listened more closely to their words. They were talking about him as if he wasn't there. How rude!

"Well, it's good that you got him to drink something, but between the potion and your tea, he'll probably need a bedpan before too long."

"Oh good," said Madam Pomfrey from the fireplace. "You're up. I'd hoped for a chance to give you a checkup before I had to leave." Leave? Well, that probably ruled out a cushy stay in the infirmary.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," she said briskly. "And your color looks much improved, but I really must insist."

"Insist all you like," Draco drawled. "So long as you're in that fireplace, there's not much more you can do." Draco sat up, intending to walk out of the cottage, when he discoverd something that made him squawk for the second time that morning.

Through gritted teeth, he intoned, "Where are my robes?" Mutely, Hagrid merely pointed towards a window. Draco could see the lacy cuffs hanging from a clothesline outside.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey smiled, "since it doesn't look like you're going anywhere, we may as well begin the examination." She looked over at Hagrid. "If you have nothing else for me, would you mind giving us some privacy? I think the boy is a little shy." Draco closed his eyes and tried hard not to blush.

Hagrid shrugged and headed for the door. "If yeh need me, I'll be out back. Don' take too long, Dumbledore's eager ter finally speak with the lad."

Draco never thought he'd actually wish to have Hagrid around. But operating through a fireplace had done nothing for Madam Pomfrey's bedside manner. She officiously put Draco through his paces, poking and prodding. And, after all that, she agreed with his initial self-diagnosis, giving him a clean bill of health, though supplemented with admonishments to stay warm and dry, drink plenty of fluids, eat well, and wait at least thirty minutes after doing so before going swimming. And with that, she vanished back into the flames.

Draco fell back on the bed, thinking he had just exceeded his humiliation quotient for the day. But he hadn't reckoned on having to leave the hut wrapped only in a sheet to ask Hagrid for some clean dry clothes.

The wait gave Draco time to consider his situation, which didn't seem terribly promising. He still wasn't sure what went wrong in the ritual, how he wound up in Hagrid's hut, or what happened in the two days(!?) between, but couldn't waste time dwelling on that now. The question was, how much Dumbledore knew and what he suspected. Maybe he could make it look like a simple accident. But he couldn't put all his faith in others' ignorance. And getting caught in a lie would only make matters worse, so his best bet would be to say as little as possible. Draco frowned and stared up at the ceiling.

The worst case scenario was that Dumbledore already knew everything. Draco didn't think that the events he participated in would be sufficient to condemn him to Azkaban, but after all he did to avoid getting up close and personal with Dementors, handing him over would be the ultimate irony. Ransom was another option, yet given the Dark Lord's apparent desire to see him dead, Draco didn't think he'd be worth too much as a hostage. And, of course, being tortured for information was certainly possible under either alternative. Though Dumbledore seemed too weak to actually get his own hands dirty, he had hired others at the school who weren't softhearted. Draco couldn't help shuddering at the memory of Moody/Crouch, then shook his head briskly to clear his thoughts. He hadn't seen any Floo powder, so without a broomstick, he didn't think he could escape the grounds without being recaptured.

He was still trying to think of a plan when Hagrid knocked on the door, handing Draco a dozen or so neatly folded robes. "Professor Dumbledore's gettin' brunch ready now. Join us on the lawn when yeh're dressed." And he shut the door again, leaving Draco alone.

Draco discarded several robes as hopelessly too small. Others were so large he could've used them as tents at the next World Cup. How frustrating. He could've used the extra boost of confidence that dressing well gave him, but it seemed as if that too was to be denied him. He eventually selected a robe that was only a little loose around his chest, with sleeves and hem a bit too short. He'd have to go barefoot, as no boots had been provided. Finally, he couldn't put off his meeting with the headmaster any longer. Taking a deep breath, he left the cottage for the first time in (apparently) days.

It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the sunlight, and he stood there in the doorway blinking. After the stifling heat by the fireplace, the weather outside was actually comfortably cool. Hagrid's boarhound Fang bounded over, barking loudly. He circled Draco's legs three times and then ran ahead, leading Draco across the grounds. He found the headmaster and gamekeeper sitting on the grass around a red and white checked tablecloth covered with several empty plates and goblets. Draco sauntered over, trying to exude an air of bravery and nonchalance.

As he approached, Dumbledore looked up and his eyes twinkled. "Ah, excellent! Good to see you up and about." He patted a patch of ground beside him for Draco to sit. "Let's dig in, shall we?"

The plates filled with sandwiches and salads, devilled eggs and quiche, and other tidbits. The Headmaster handed Draco a glass of pumpkin juice and smiled gently. "Drink up. If I know Poppy, you're probably under orders to consume enough liquids to drown a kelpie." Draco flushed angrily, grabbed the goblet and took a large swig as instructed. Dumbledore had the grace to look abashed by the slip.

For a few minutes, the three of them ate in silence. Then Hagrid turned to Dumbledore. "So, how're the, er," he gave Draco a sidelong glance, "renovations goin'?"

"Quite well. I think we should have them all finished before the students return."

"Well, we've been talking for a long time about improving the school's defenses." Draco noted that the gameskeeper seemed surprised by the headmaster's openness. Was this a secret? "Lord Voldemort's recent return spurred us to finally implement those plans. I intend Hogwarts to be a safe haven for all who need its protection. So long as I live, no other student will be taken from these grounds."

Suddenly, Dumbledore noticed that Draco and Hagrid had stopped eating to listen. He coughed and removed his glasses for polishing. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to give a speech." He took a sip from his juice. "At any rate, it's too nice a day to sully such a lovely meal with talk of business."

For the rest of the meal, Dumbledore kept the conversation firmly to inconsequentials -- Quidditch results, the new broomstick models, and funny anecdotes from some book he was reading -- while pushing Draco and Hagrid to try some of the more unusual dishes. Hagrid contributed descriptions of the dragons he'd seen on the reservation. Draco found it surprisingly pleasant, and started to let himself relax.

When they had finally finished eating, Dumbledore leaned back. "So, tell me Draco, do you often go swimming in your dress robes?"

Dumbledore scrutinized him, then seemed to give a mental shrug. "Well, take care of yourself. Especially during new moons. Those nights can get quite dark." Draco wondered whether that was a hint.

"Actually, I meant to give you this." Dumbledore handed Draco a thick envelope. "Since you're here, we may as well spare the owl a trip." The envelope was addressed:

Draco flipped the envelope over, carefully broke the wax Hogwarts seal, and pulled out the letter within.

When he looked up, Dumbledore was beaming proudly at him. "You'll probably want this as well," he leaned towards Draco and pinned a shiny silver badge onto his chest.

To his surprise, Draco found himself blinking back tears. He got to his feet, mumbled something possibly intended to mean thanks, and ran off.

Hagrid waited until Draco was out of earshot, then shook his head. "I can' believe yeh're makin' that brat a prefect."

Dumbledore smiled serenely, as he waved away the empty dishes. "Rubeus, since you've returned from the Northern giants so much earlier than expected, I've come up with another task you could help me with." Hagrid nodded, hiding his grimace. Why did Dumbledore have to bring up his failings? "Come, let's stroll off some of this food, and I'll tell you what I have in mind."

Chapter 2 Notes:

↑ Chapter 3: Always wanted a dragon ↓

He closed his eyes and pictured himself striding down the halls of Hogwarts, other students and even some teachers getting out of his way in deference to his authority.

For a moment, when Headmaster Dumbledore pinned the shiny silver to his chest, he'd almost burst from happiness. He ran his fingertips over the badge. He'd dreamed of this day for a long time.

His father should've been the one pinning it to his chest, his mother beaming with pride. He wanted to share the news with them.

He had been so concerned with escaping an interrogation from the headmaster that he hadn't thought to ask about his parents. He stood up and walked back towards the spot they had lunch.

Cutting across Hagrid's garden, Draco's foot squelched in the mud. He looked down at himself in disgust. Walking around the grounds barefoot and in ill-fitting hand-me-down robes. He looked no better than... than a Weasley. He nearly spat in revulsion at the thought when he heard voices coming from the hut. Quietly, he tiptoed over to the window to listen.

"Rubeus, I'm shocked! You, of all people, should know better than to judge someone by his parents."

"Lucius Malfoy bears no relevance to this discussion, particularly since he doesn't yet know of Draco's presence here." Draco scowled. That didn't sound good. Why would the headmaster hide him from his parents?

"Fine," Hagrid said. "What abou' Buckbeak, then? An' those Daily Prophet articles? An' yeh know he's been makin' Harry's life a livin' hell all these years."

Draco had heard enough. Clearly he wasn't going to get any help from them. He crept away as silently as he'd come, thus missing Dumbledore's reply.

"If Hogwarts is to be a sanctuary, then we must provide asylum to all who need it. Picking and choosing who is worth saving puts us only a few steps away from actually killing the unworthy ourselves. I will not allow that to happen."

"Then who better to look after him? After all," Dumbledore chuckled, "you always wanted a dragon."

After a long pause, Hagrid sighed weakly. He knew when he'd been beat. "All right. I'll do it. But I'm not gonna coddle the little brat."

"You don't have to. Find ways for him to be useful. Treat him like any other student. Just keep him safe and whole until September." When Hagrid's gloom didn't abate, the headmaster continued more gently. "I realize this may seem a thankless task, but in the long term, this could potentially be one of the most important things I've asked of you."

Draco stomped across the grounds to the Owlery. He'd show them. Make them regret they'd ever heard the name Draco Malfoy.

How could he explain things to his father? To do so, he needed to understand it himself. Why, when push came to shove, did he refuse Lord Voldemort? It just didn't make sense.

Draco agreed with the Dark Lord's agenda -- he couldn't stand the way Mudbloods were getting into everything and fouling up all the traditions. They didn't understand the wizarding world -- how could they, being raised Muggle and all? It was an utter disgrace. They had no right acting all superior to pure-bloods like himself, and needed to be put in their place.

So, that wasn't the problem. And everything his father told him about the Golden Age of the Dark Lord's previous reign sounded so magnificent, of course he wanted Him to rule again.

Draco's thoughts turned to Lord Voldemort himself. It wasn't fair to say whether he liked or disliked the Dark Lord. The initiation was their first meeting in the flesh, as it were. And, to be honest, that flesh was pretty repulsive. But Lord Voldemort didn't seem to care about that. Liking him was irrelevant; what he demanded was respect. Well, respect and obedience.

Stuck in a loop, Draco tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with obeying the Dark Lord and found no answers. Sure, the possibility of torture or death were terrifying, but life was full of risks and he never shied away from them before. He began to pace restlessly as he worked the angles.

Well, if he couldn't explain, was there anything else he could offer in exchange? He retraced the day's conversations and grinned.

After crumpling up three scratched-out pages, he looked upon his final version with pride:

With a nod of satisfaction, Draco folded the letter up and sealed it with the a thumbprint and a bit of wax. He called down an impressive-looking owl from the rafters. It was nowhere near as magnificent as Alrakis, but he supposed that couldn't be helped. Carefully, he tied the letter to its leg and sent it on its way, watching it soar off into the sky.

Draco didn't know how much time had passed. The sun was still relatively high, but it was summer so that wasn't as useful a measure as it could be.

Hagrid had moved the cot away from the fireplace, and was cooking something stew-like in the hearth.

"Out." Draco crossed his arms, daring the half-giant to pry just so he could tell the oaf off.

But Hagrid didn't take the bait. "Are yeh hungry?" Draco's stomach rumbled before he could reply. "Well, supper won' be ready for a while yet." Hagrid gave the boy an appraising look. "Yeh'd better wash up firs'," he said, using a ladle to point towards the soap and towels. Never had toiletries looked so good. Draco grabbed them quickly and headed back outside to scrub.

Dinner was a rather silent affair. Draco, feeling once again clean and refreshed, didn't have much to say to the half-giant, and the ingrate was apparently uninterested or incapable of starting a conversation on his own. The stew required a fair bit of chewing, which also discouraged idle chatter. It may not have been the best meal Draco had ever eaten, but it was quite filling, and before long Draco found himself stifling a yawn.

Hagrid chuckled and lurched up from the table. "Yeh look like yeh still need teh rest up." Draco flushed slightly, then slowly nodded. "Well, it's time fer Fang's walk anyway. That should take long enough fer yeh to get teh sleep." Hagrid clipped a leash onto the boarhound's collar and walked out the door with little more than a "G'night!"

Draco sat on his bed and thought longingly of home. He missed his bedroom. He missed his privacy. With no idea when Hagrid would return, he quickly washed up and prepared for bed. A chair beside his cot held a pair of faded pyjamas and a dressing gown. Draco changed his clothes, folding the worn robes more neatly than they deserved, and slid under the covers.

The cot was nowhere near as comfortable as his own bed, but it was cozy. By the time Hagrid returned to the cottage, the boy was sound asleep.

Sunlight and the smell of frying sausages roused Draco from his slumber. "Oh, good. Yeh're awake." Draco rubbed his eyes and stretched, then sat up and grabbed the dressing gown.

Draco frowned, but didn't feel quite awake enough to pick a fight. Besides, the food smelled good, and the thought of eating cold congealed sausages turned his stomach.

Hagrid smiled to himself as the boy put out the clean plates without complaint. Maybe this arrangement wouldn't be so bad. He dished out the sausages and poured two cups of steaming tea. Like dinner the night before, breakfast was quiet and subdued. After he finished eating, Draco flopped back onto the bed.

Draco sat up and looked scornfully around the hut. Despite the clutter, he hadn't seen a single book worth reading. "What's it to you if I am?"

Hagrid rose to his feet, glaring so furiously that Draco couldn't suppress a flinch. His voice, however, remained the soul of patience. "No, tha's groundskeeper's work," he corrected. "Or yeh can think on it as an extra lesson in Care of Magical Creatures. Either way, as long as yer stayin' here, the leas' yeh can do is help out."

The half-giant loomed over him menacingly, shaking his head. "You don' really mean that, do yeh?"

They glared at each other, but Draco was the first to look away. "No," he replied in a quiet voice.

Hagrid gave a nod of satisfaction, then walked towards the door. "Throw on yer robes an' meet me out back no later'n ten minutes." He left without a backwards glance.

Grumbling and swearing, Draco stomped over to the window basin to wash up. Who did that oaf think he was, ordering him about? That half-breed was definitely getting ideas above his station. Well, once he was back home again, they'd teach him a thing or two. He yanked off his pyjamas and pulled on a greying robe fraying at the elbows. Considering how livid his father was to hear the halfwit was merely teaching students, once they were through he'll be lower than a house elf.

Still bootless, Draco stalked out the front door, slamming it behind him with a satisfying bang.

Hagrid was waiting for him in the garden. "Eigh' minutes. No' bad." Draco scowled and stared back. "What're yeh waitin' fer? They're no' gonna clear off on their own, yeh know?"

"Well, it's abou' time yeh learned, isn'it?" With a grunt, Hagrid bent over and rummaged around through the plants. "This is a gnome." Draco looked utterly unimpressed by the grubby little thing.

"All yeh do," Hagrid continued, "is grab it by an ankle, swing it abou' a couple o'times." Draco stepped back to avoid being accidentally struck. "Then, give a toss." The gnome flew off towards the trees.

Frowning dubiously, Draco walked to the spot where Hagrid found the gnome and knelt down (he wasn't about to bend over like that). After a moment, he spotted a second one, popping its head out of a hole to look for the other.

"That's right. Go on." Draco stood, twirled it a few times over his head and let go. It landed much closer than the one Hagrid threw, but apparently that was fine, as Hagrid patted him on the back.

"Now yeh've got the hang of it." he beamed. "Jus' keep up like that an' yeh'll be fine. I'll be headin' back inside."

Hagrid sauntered back, shaking his head. "Well, that's wha' happens if yeh're no' quick abou' it."

Hagrid walked over and grabbed Draco's hand to examine it. "Look a' this. It's nothin'. Didn' even break th'skin."

Draco snatched his hand back. "I don't care. I refuse to touch another gnome unless you can assure my safety!"

Hagrid rolled his eyes. "Wait here." He turned around and tromped back into the house, muttering to himself. Draco thought he heard something that sounded like baby.

After a moment, Hagrid returned and held out a pair of thick brown gloves. "Here."

Draco pulled the first one on. It reached almost to his armpit, and when he let go, it sagged back down, bunching up around his wrist. "I can't wear these. They don't fit."

"Yeh're not gettin' out o'work that easily." Hagrid pushed the glove back up, and tied an arm garter around Draco's bicep. Hagrid then did the same with the other glove. "There yeh go. Now get back t'work."

Draco glared, but did as he was told. After he sent a few more gnomes on their way, Hagrid went back to the house.

For all his complaints, Draco quickly began to enjoy himself once he was alone. He tried for distance; he practiced aiming at targets; he threw two at once; he imagined each gnome with the faces of his enemies. He was about to dropkick one when he noticed his bare feet almost blackened with mud.

With a start, he remembered something he told Potter that first day on Hogwarts Express. "You hang around with riff-raff like Hagrid and it'll rub off on you." For a moment, he was glad his father couldn't see him mucking about in a garden and dressed like trash.

Feeling the gnome in his hands squirm, Draco tossed it half-heartedly away with a sigh. He simply had to get out of here, and soon.

Suddenly, a shadow passed over him. He looked up quickly for the source, afraid Hagrid was about to chide him for slacking or some other menial offense. As if answering his unspoken wishes, an owl was flying towards him, carrying a large envelope.

Draco strode to a spot out of sight of the house, straightened up and held out his arm as a perch. The owl landed gracefully; it was much smaller and lighter than Alrakis.

The gloves made him clumsier, but after several attempts he managed to detach the envelope without damaging it. He turned it over in his hands, admiring the heavy bond, running his fingers over the embossed family crest even though he couldn't feel a thing through the thick hide he was wearing. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself back home, remembering how he used to beg his parents to let him pour the silver sealing wax whenever they sent mail.

The owl's impatient hoot broke his reverie. "Sorry. I don't have anything to pay you with now, but I should be able to soon. Possibly even after I open this." With a cool flip of its wings, the owl hopped onto Draco's shoulder to wait.

Carefully, he broke open the wax and slid the contents out of the envelope. He found his letter from yesterday still sealed. Puzzled, Draco opened the notecard, which held only a single sentence in his father's bold handwriting.

Draco barely had time for the four words to register when the whole thing exploded into a dark greenish powder. The owl screeched, flew backwards and away. But Draco ignored the bird, staring instead at his hands in shock. The envelope, notecard and letter were all gone, leaving nothing but tiny olive ashes floating to the ground.

Draco didn't know how long he stood there, trying to make sense of it. He heard Hagrid bellowing from the hut. "Malfoy! Lunch!"

Draco walked back to the hut. A few paces from the door, Fang blocked his path, baring his teeth and growling.

"Easy, mutt," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. "He called me in." The boarhound refused to budge, so Draco reached out to push the dog away.

Something dripped from his glove. It hissed into the dirt just in front of Fang's paws. Startled, Draco looked at his hands, and saw they were covered in an oily viscous liquid.

Hagrid opened the door. "What's that all over yer gloves?" He asked suspiciously.

"Well, I sent him an owl," Draco said, as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. "It just returned, and..."

"Don' move!" Draco couldn't help but cringe at the exclamation. "An' don' touch anythin'!" Hagrid turned towards the Owlery. "If you hurt 'er..." He was too upset to finish the threat, but dashed towards the Owlery, moving at a speed that belied his size.

Draco stood there, watching the half-giant recede into the distance. His gloved hands were still outstretched before him, palms up, covered in the greenish substance. He couldn't remove the gloves without Hagrid's help -- especially if he wanted to keep the goo from touching anything else.

What was it? He rubbed his fingers together cautiously, heard something sizzle, and froze again. With a start, he recalled his father's message: I have no son. This was somehow intended to guarantee that. If he hadn't been wearing gloves... Draco began to shake uncontrollably.

Draco sat down hard. Carefully, he rested his elbows on his knees, turned his head to one side to lean it against his shoulder, closed his eyes, and tried not to think.

Draco lost track of how much time passed until he heard the clomping footsteps stop in front of him. He opened his eyes to see the oversized boots, and looked up. The gameskeeper seemed even more massive and imposing from Draco's vantage point on the ground.

Draco held out his hands. "Could you take these gloves off me?" he asked. Hagrid crossed his arms and scowled. "Please?" he added.

Draco licked his lips. "Well," he began slowly. "As I said, I sent my father an owl."

"The owl brought it back in a much larger envelope. My letter was still sealed, but there was a notecard accompanying it. It said," Draco swallowed. "I have no son. Then the whole thing exploded into a green mist."

Draco looked up expectantly. Hagrid's eyes were dark as he looked down at his charge. Draco chewed the inside of his cheek and wondered whether to break the silence. Finally he could take it no longer. "Is the owl okay?" he asked.

Hagrid appeared momentarily startled by Draco's concern, then smiled more gently than Draco could recall. "Strixie's fine. A few singed feathers, but she's a smart girl."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, and released some tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't think he could bear having another owl's death on his conscience.

Draco struggled to his feet, unassisted and without using his arms. Gingerly, Hagrid untied the glove from his left bicep. Fortunately, none of the goo had splashed higher than Draco's elbows.

"Now make a fist, and don' release it until I tell yeh to." With that, Hagrid carefully peeled off the glove, turning it inside out to keep all the toxins inside. He then repeated the process with the other glove. "We'll have to figure out a safe way to clean 'em before yeh can wear 'em again."

Hagrid put a companionable arm on Draco's shoulder. "I'm sorry abou' yer father."

Draco scowled, shrugging the oversized hand away. "What do you have to apologize for? It wasn't anything you did."

Hagrid slammed open the door. "Yeh know, yeh make it real hard fer people t'be friendly t'yeh!"

Draco yelled back, "Well, who said I wanted you as a friend anyway!?" and ran off.

Chapter 3 Notes:

↑ Chapter 4: In the hands of a giant ↓

Dumbledore found Draco several hours later in a secluded spot partway around the lake. He stood and watched the boy, crouched on a flat slab of rock overlooking the water, a sullen caricature of Rodin's Thinker. The stillness of the scene was broken with a loud splash, when Draco grabbed a fist-sized stone and hurled it into the depths below.

"That's no way to thank your rescuers," observed the headmaster. Draco startled slightly and gave him a look that combined both confusion and annoyance. "We have an arrangement with the merfolk. That's how you got here from the isles."

It took a moment for Dumbledore's words to sink in. He knew. Yet somehow, after being disowned and nearly killed, that didn't seem so important anymore. Draco resumed staring into the murky waters, hoping the headmaster would get the hint that he wasn't welcome.

"By rejecting Voldemort," Dumbledore continued softly, "you've made a powerful enemy."

Draco swallowed his retort. What did that fool think he was doing out here all this time? For a brief second, Draco's eyes shone with despair. Then they narrowed again in anger and the moment was gone. "What do you care?" he sneered.

"You might be surprised," Dumbledore replied mildly. "Perhaps I could help in some way?"

"With an offer of sanctuary. You have my word that while you're on Hogwarts' grounds, I'll do what I can to protect you from harm." Draco seemed unimpressed, so Dumbledore went on. "While you are more than welcome to continue your studies, you are by no means required to. Your parents had the foresight to pay your tuition in advance. If you wish to withdraw from the school, I can refund the balance directly to you as living expenses. I wouldn't recommend it, but it's your choice."

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his face impassive under the headmaster's steady gaze. There weren't many opportunities in the world for untrained wizards. That's why Hagrid was still around. And without his parents' assistance, he feared he might face a similar fate -- if he lived so long. Staying at Hogwarts would buy him three more years to work something out with them and the Dark Lord.

He shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. "Sure, why not. I'll stay." He raised an eyebrow at the headmaster. "Was that all?"

"There is the matter of your books and school supplies. Have you any money of your own?"

Draco scowled. He knew this had been too easy. "It's all in the family vault. Doesn't Hogwarts have gear I could borrow?" he asked in a tone which implied anything else would be a dereliction of the school's duties.

"Well, the texts are all in the library, but you'd still need your own cauldron and wand." Draco shook his head slowly. Of course Hogwarts didn't lend out wands. Weasley's second year wouldn't've been half so pitiful if they did. Draco remembered the sight of that red-headed git belching slugs all over the Quidditch pitch and bit back a grin as he tried to focus on the headmaster's words. Something about one of the professors.

"...so, if you were willing to spend the rest of the summer assisting him, we would pay you enough to cover all your supplies. How does that sound?"

Frankly, the whole notion of working a summer job revolted him, but he was painfully aware there were worse fates than correcting papers or whatever it was teachers did over the holidays. Besides, he knew Snape wouldn't leave him in the lurch. This was probably his way of assisting Draco. "I suppose I could."

Dumbledore removed his glasses and began to polish the lenses. "Actually, yes. There is one last thing."

Draco recognized that tone of voice. Here it comes. He knew that the whole selfless act was just a pose. Clearly Dumbledore couldn't wait to get Draco in his debt so he could take advantage. Draco crossed his arms and waited for Dumbledore to spring the catch.

"The work you'll be doing may be of a rather... sensitive... nature. I need your word that you won't reveal any of it to outsiders."

Draco frowned. Was that all? No interrogation? No demands he renounce the Dark Lord or sell out his parents? The request seemed almost insulting in its simplicity. He stiffened his back at the affront. "No matter what you may think about us, Malfoys do not betray a trust." After a moment, he temporized. "But I won't take part in anything intended to hurt my family."

"Obviously," Dumbledore agreed. "I wouldn't demand that of anyone." Frowning, Draco wondered if the headmaster's speedy assent meant he had missed some subterfuge. Dumbledore extended his hand. Finding no grounds for delay, Draco took it and they shook on the deal, sealing the bargain.

"Well then," the headmaster exclaimed, interrupting Draco's reverie. "Now that's all settled, I can leave you to your contemplation. You can talk to Hagrid about your duties in the morning."

"Oh, good heavens no." Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Professor Snape is occupied with other tasks that don't require your help. You just continue living and working with Hagrid as you have been."

Draco squawked in dismay, his arms flapping incoherently, but no words would come out. He felt like a particularly dumb bird.

"Now, don't stay out too late," the headmaster chided lightly. "It won't get dark out here for quite a while." And with that, Dumbledore withdrew, leaving a sputtering Draco in his wake.

Draco lay in his cot, eyes shut, listening to the sounds of Hagrid puttering about over the fire. No sense in leaving the bed now -- he'd have to get up soon enough anyway, and once he did, he'd have to start "helpin' out."

Hagrid had set down the ground rules that first night. Over breakfast, Hagrid would instruct Draco in the day's assignments. Then he would take Fang out for a walk, giving Draco time to wash and dress with privacy, but also making him clean up from the meal. The rest of Draco's day was filled with chores and manual labour. Only after finishing them was Draco allowed any leisure.

It seemed clear that Hagrid was aching for him to object, so Draco perversely chose to accept these pronouncements without complaint. He was on to their game. Dumbledore and Hagrid were trying to break him, make him crack.

Well, Draco smiled to himself, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He was a Malfoy, a pureblood of the finest family. He could do anything these half-breeds and Muggle-lovers could. He'd show them. Not that they made it easy on him. For three days now, each disgusting new task tested his resolve, but so far he held firm, swallowing his comebacks until he was alone and could vent freely.

And what was Hagrid doing while Draco slaved away? He spent his time indoors, poring over papers and books and maps! The idea of that oaf reading and writing and doing who knows what intellectual work indoors, with a Malfoy toiling as his drudge...

Compounding the misery, this was the longest he'd gone without magic since he got his wand. Sometimes as he worked, Draco wondered whether this was what Muggle life was like. If so, putting them out of their misery would be a gift. But mostly, Hagrid kept him too busy to dwell on most anything.

The only thing that made the situation remotely bearable was Quidditch. Mercifully, Dumbledore had given him access to the locker room and supplies, so he spent his afternoons and evenings out on the pitch. Whether he took his frustrations out on the Bludger or just enjoyed soaring through the air, Quidditch could calm him down. And besides, every hour he spent in practice was time he didn't have to spend near Hagrid.

"I know yer awake," said Hagrid. "Get up an' set the table. Breakfast's almos' ready an' we've got a busy day ahead."

Of course the oaf knew he was awake, Draco thought. He was certainly making enough noise. Draco groaned as he sat up, then flushed angrily at even an involuntary show of weakness. Not that Hagrid noticed, of course. He was bustling about the fire and humming tunelessly to himself.

Draco grabbed bowls and spoons from the cupboard and put them on the table. While Draco poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, Hagrid filled the bowls with porridge.

Draco sat and, though he knew it would horrify his mother, quickly began packing it in. Not that he necessarily liked the food, but he discovered that eating quickly was a good way to avoid conversation. He was too well-bred to talk with his mouth full, and Hagrid's cooking was glutinous enough to stifle his insults. The time it took to chew and swallow enabled him to calm down and choose his words.

While eating, Draco kept a wary eye on Hagrid. He seemed excited about something, which couldn't be a good sign. Hagrid was actually eating faster than him. Every few minutes, he'd scan the room as if looking for something, then smile and nod to himself. Or he'd peer over towards the window and grin. Draco looked around surreptitiously, trying to figure out what Hagrid might be looking at, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe the beast was trying to drive him mad.

Hagrid finished eating with a hearty sigh, then grabbed the pot and spooned the rest into Draco's nearly-empty bowl. "Eat up. Yeh'll need yer energy today."

Draco was just swallowing another spoonful of porridge when Hagrid broke the news.

Draco's gasp turned into a cough as he began to choke. Hagrid hurried around the table and began thumping him on the back, which did little to help Draco restore his equilibrium.

Draco's voice cracked, his notions of stoicism forgotten. "I can't go in there!"

"Yeah, but you're..." Draco's instinct for self preservation finally kicked in. He could not complete the sentence as intended. The results of calling Hagrid 'practically a monster, anyway' would be even more hazardous than the forest. Hagrid looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish. "You're so... big."

Hagrid chuckled and clapped his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Don' worry. Jes' stick close t'me, an' I'll save yeh from anything dangerous." Draco thought of blast-ended-skrewts and hippogriffs and didn't feel comforted at all.

Draco swallowed and pushed his bowl away. His breakfast had congealed in his stomach, and he thought he might be sick.

"Look. I've been getting all the work done. Can I just have today off? Maybe skip the forest?"

Draco blanched. Now he knew he was going to be sick. "Can't you do it without me?"

Hagrid shook his head. "What is wrong wi'you? Mos' students would love th'chance to explore the forest."

"Fine!" Hagrid thundered over to his chair, grabbed the Daily Prophet and hurled it at Draco. "If yeh don' wanna do yer work, yeh can go find someplace else t'live!"

He snatched up the leash and snapped it on Fang's collar. "If yeh want ter stay here, yeh'll finish yer chores an' meet me at the edge of the woods in two hours, ready fer hikin'. Otherwise, don' show yer face in this cottage ever again!" Hagrid slammed the door, and Draco listened to the loud footsteps tromping away.

Groaning, he hurled himself onto the bed. They weren't trying to break him; they were trying to kill him!

He swallowed several more times, as the sour feeling grew in his stomach. He bolted over to the nearest window and lost his breakfast over the bushes. He continued to lean over the window, cold sweats alternating with shakes, until he could support himself once more. He stacked the dirty dishes and tried to think of a way out.

They just couldn't send him back to the forest. Grabbing the animal feed, he recalled his first -- and last -- experience there.

It was first year, and it was a punishment. Sending a bunch of untrained children out in the dark to look for a monster? Who in their right minds would consider that reasonable?

The memory of it still made him want to bolt. But, of course, that wasn't the end of his ordeal. For he'd gotten lost in the forest. At night. Alone.

They didn't find him until the following day, sick and feverish. He spent a week in the Hospital wing at the worst possible time, right before the end of term. He paid for that in his exams, and then spent the rest of his summer with Father berating him over his poor showing.

Chapter 4 Notes:

↑ Chapter 5: Into the woods ↓

Hagrid stood at the edge of the forest, arms crossed, watching as Draco approached. "Yeh're late" he said once the boy was in earshot.

Although Draco had washed up and was in clean clothes, he still felt pale and clammy. He had thrown up several more times over the course of the morning.

"I'm not feeling so well." He gave a hopeful, and somewhat pitiful, look. "Maybe I should stay behind today so I don't slow you down?"

Hagrid's scowl deepened. He bent over, picked up a pinecone, and tossed it to Draco.

Hagrid nodded. "Well, yeh're arm's not broken. Grab the rucksack an' let's go." With that, he turned his back to Draco and headed towards the treeline.

Hagrid led him into the forest along a wide, well-trod path. Hagrid set a brisk pace, and Draco had to trot every so often to keep up. As they went further, the trees closed in. Very quickly, Draco could no longer see the sky at all, just the overarching canopy of trees. The path narrowed, until it was barely wide enough for one. And, as they continued deeper, even that became overgrown. Roots stuck up to trip Draco Hagrid often had to push aside low branches in his way, never cutting them down, of course, because that would've spared Draco the hassle. Some of the branches were too heavy for Draco to push aside, so he had to clamber under them and then jog to catch up.

For his part, Draco tried to ignore whatever terrors might be lurking on the periphery and kept his eyes focused on Hagrid's back. His life depended on it. No matter how awful the forest might be, the prospect of being alone in it felt infinitely worse.

Every few minutes, Hagrid looked over his shoulder to keep an eye on Draco, but those glances grew less frequent as the march went on, leaving the task of keeping up to Draco alone. Maybe this was his goal -- to try to lose him in the forest.

Draco had no way of telling where they were, or even how long they had been walking for. They had long since parted company with any recognizable path. He noticed a decaying stump to his left, and was sure they passed that same stump at least twice before. Some time ago, a pebble wedged itself in his boot and was rubbing something raw. He wished he could stop and shake it out, but didn't dare lose sight of Hagrid. He tried to favor his other foot to avoid further injury. If only Hagrid would look behind him, maybe he could ask him to slow down a moment. But Hagrid was too far ahead, vanishing out of sight between two thick bushes.

Passing between them, Draco found himself in a small clearing. Hagrid had settled down on a stump, and gestured for Draco to make himself comfortable on the fallen log.

Draco swung the satchel off his back and let it drop, and plopped himself down beside it on the ground. He pulled off his boots and leaned back to stretch, taking a quick inventory of his aches and pains. At least the walk had settled his stomach, although just about everything else hurt: his shoulders from supporting the bag, tiny scratches over his hands and arms, a bruise on his shin from tripping over a root, and ohhhhh, his feet.

He stared up at the canopy, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sky, but failing. The closest he came was sunlight glinted through the leaves. Draco listened for other signs of life, but heard little. Somewhere above, branches were swaying in a light wind, and he thought he heard a trickling brook, but no calls from birds or animal, nothing crunched in the distant undergrowth, just his heart hammering in his chest and Hagrid scratching some notes in a small book.

Draco's eyes snapped open and he glared. "What would you know about it? It's not like you were watching where I was going."

Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh were makin' so much noise, who needs t'look t'see ya. I 'spect ev'ry creature in the forest knew where yeh were."

"Oh, and you're so quiet and graceful. Maybe you wouldn't be so smug if you had to haul all this gear around. What is all this, anyway?"

"Don' be such a baby, it hardly weighs much." Hagrid gestured for Draco to hand over the bag. "But here, if it'll stop yer complainin', let me lighten yer load." He opened the satchel, produced a thermos and took a healthy swig. After wiping his mouth with the back of an arm, he offered it to Draco. "Thirsty?"

"'M saving the others fer later. Keeps it fresher this way." "You wan' it, or not?"

Thirst won out over distaste and Draco took the bottle and gulped from it eagerly. While Draco drank, Hagrid pulled out a bag of trail mix, which they shared, passing the juice back and forth as needed.

Feeling a little better and more like himself, Draco finally broke the silence. "So where are we going, anyway?"

"We're surveyin' the forest. Takin' a census o'sorts -- all the beasts an' bein's that live here."

Draco didn't bother to hide his disbelief. "And we'll be doing this all summer?"

"As much as we can. Dumbledore says nothin' like this has ever been done before."

"Fer one thing, I know more of the fores' than most anyone." Hagrid drained the last of the juice. "So like I said, yer in good hands."

"And all we have to do is count all the creatures in the woods." Privately, Draco thought it would be easier to just burn the forest to the ground, thus making the answer zero.

"Well, I'm also recruitin' fer nex' years classes." Hagrid groaned as he stood up. "Now c'mon an' gather yer things. We've still got a ways t'go today."

They resumed their trek through the woods. He seemed to have an easier time keeping up with Hagrid, though he couldn't say whether that was Hagrid's doing or his own.

Eventually, they reached another clearing, this one dominated by a single massive tree. Its trunk was wider than he was tall, and the canopy larger than any tree he'd ever seen.

"That's 'cause yeh don't know where t'look." Hagrid walked up to the tree. "Nice day, isn' it?" he shouted.

Draco leaned against a spindly tree on the edge of the clearing. As long as Hagrid was capable of leading him back out of the forest, it didn't really matter if he was crazy.

Draco spun around, looking for the source of the voice. It sounded deep, yet female.

"Yes. The sun has been shining brightly of late." The leaves overhead rustled as the branches swayed, but there was no wind. Draco gaped.

More branches moved overhead, giving him a glimpse of the blue sky before they rearranged to better capture the sunlight. "A stranger? Who are you?" The voice seemed to come from the trunk.

Draco glanced over to Hagrid, who gave a comforting nod. "Draco Malfoy," he said loudly, adding after a second, "ma'am."

"I didn't think this was the season for students." The tree went silent. Draco walked carefully over to Hagrid.

"Don' worry." Hagrid said in a quiet undertone. "That jus' means she's thinkin'."

Hagrid glanced at the tree and then back at Draco. "I'll explain when we're out o' her earshot," he muttered as the tree began to speak.

"Our numbers remain unchanged. A few potentials in bloom, but Sprout knows their state." The leaves shifted again. "That does not seem sensical."

Hagrid looked down at Draco, as if regretting the audience, then sighed. "There's a storm brewin' among the wizarding folk."

"Well, yeh could keep watch fer anything unusual. Warn us if anyone's comin' through the forest t'get to us."

"These are a bad lot. Who knows wha' they're capable of. We should work together."

"You mean we should take sides. Look around my trunk. Animals have been marking us for centuries with their claws and their urine. They fight; they die. Some win, some lose. It doesn't matter whoever or whatever thinks they own this plot of land -- we persist."

Draco shot a surprised glance towards Hagrid. Is that why he was here, as some kind of prop?

"Well, Sprout asked me t'see how yer roots were doin'. Whether y'need any more o'that anti-wormin' potion or anything."

The conversation turned to matters of plant care, and Draco tuned it out. He passed Hagrid items from the bag as needed, but the novelty of a talking tree began to wear thin amid the mundanity of leaf fungus and fertilizer. He never thought that plants would gossip, but the reality was even more boring than he could've imagined.

The branches shivered with pleasure. "Thank you. Tender my gratitude to Sprout, as well."

"No problem," Hagrid replied, handing Draco assorted bottles to stuff back into the bag. "By th'way, my students'll be studyin' animal firs' aid this year. If yeh hear o'any injured beasts, send 'em to th'school or jes' let me know."

"Well, if there's nothin' else, we'll be off." Draco clambered to his feet in anticipation.

"Don' worry. I haven' forgotten. We'll make th'rounds." Hagrid hesitated for a moment. "Hope yeh don' mind if we ask some o'the other trees? Abou' helpin' us out."

Draco waited impatiently for Hagrid and the dryad to say their final farewells, and they finally left the clearing.

"Stubborn ol' bat." Hagrid muttered once they were out of earshot. "Jus' cause she's the oldest oak in the woods, she thinks she knows best. Territorial pissin' games, my foot."

"So, is that what this is all about?" Draco scoffed. "Recruiting soldiers for some war?"

Hagrid gave Draco a sharp look. "We're makin' sure th'school is safe. The more that can help, th'better fer us all."

"Yeh don' think I'd be crazy enough t'leave you alone t'gad about unsupervised, do yeh?"

They walked a bit further before Draco broke the silence again. "You don't really think anyone would attack Hogwarts?" he asked skeptically

"Look a' what they did las' year. Kidnappin' a professor an' substitutin' him with a spy. Hidin' portkeys on th'grounds. Nearly killin' Harry... Who knows wha' that lot's capable of?" Hagrid glared at Draco. "But why am I tellin' you all this? You know all abou' it already. Probably better than us. So, what's yer dad an' his ilk plottin', eh?"

Draco's face flushed with anger, but before he could respond in kind, Hagrid cut him off. "We're here. Now keep yer mouth shut an' don' try teh undo any o'my work." They reached another oversized tree. Draco sat on the grass and fumed as Hagrid puttered around with herbology work.

The nerve of that half-breed oaf, questioning his father's integrity like that. How dare he? Stupid flunky wasn't even an honest-to-goodness wizard, so Draco couldn't challenge him to a duel, as such remarks would've deserved among polite company. Fortunately, Hagrid dropped the matter, resuming his earlier silent treatment and walking quickly so Draco had to struggle to keep up.

Draco lost count of how many trees Hagrid stopped to chat with over the course of the day. Some had created their own clearings, others crowded together in friendly groups of twos and threes. A few asked to be introduced to Draco, and one curious willow asked permission to touch him, as she'd never met a "human seedling" before. The leaves tickled as they waved over and around him. But none of them would agree to help Hagrid defend the school, no matter how carefully he tried to phrase it. Late in the afternoon, one cluster of dryads actually asked him whether he agreed with Hagrid over the likelihood of an attack.

Draco tried to temporize. "I really don't know." The trees seemed satisfied and willing to be patient, but Hagrid's glower told a different story. "I mean, I hope not," he stammered. "But Hagrid hasn't told me much about all this. Maybe he's got some further information or something."

"That's it, exactly," Hagrid hurriedly interrupted. "We don' wan' ter scare the children, now. Bu' yeh see how even he doesn' feel certain th'school is safe. An' how can th'little ones grow up healthy when they're afeared all th'time." Hagrid resumed his spin, distracting them from further questioning of Draco.

As they left that particular grove, Hagrid nodded, "good job, there." Draco scowled, but couldn't help wondering why he felt pleased by the praise, given its source.

By the time Hagrid said they could pack it in and head home, it was late and Draco was all but done in. Wordlessly, Hagrid took the rucksack and led them back at a much more leisurely pace.

"Nah. There are a couple hundred in this fores' plus other isolated stands elsewhere aroun' th'world. No' many left, bu' enough."

"So why haven't I heard of them before? I mean, I'd heard of dryads, but I thought the last ones died out centuries ago."

"Y'see, Wizards discovered a long time ago tha' smart wood makes th'best wands. This was fine when there were more trees than wizards, bu' then..." Hagrid shook his head sadly.

"Muggles cut down many o'the great forests t'build their homes an' ships an' cities. They didn' know any better, but it was devastatin' to the magical folk. After a while, Hogwarts was th'only woods in England wi' any decent dryad population."

"Well, folks started t'panic. Started poachin' an' hoardin' the wood fer themselves. They were killin' th'trees instead o'lettin' 'em heal up an' grow back. The headmaster an' Lord o'Magic pleaded with 'em t'stop, but nothin' worked. It was pretty touch an' go whether any o'the dryads would survive.

"Just in th'nick o'time, the headmaster had a brilliant idea. He burned down the forest."

"Not a real fores' fire, mind yeh. Jes' enough fire in places t'convince everyone that th'woods were a total loss. Took quite a bit o'work on his part, keepin' th'real flames under control and puttin' up illusions o'er the rest. O'course a few of th'dryads who were too far gone sacrificed themselves t'make it look genuine."

"Folks foun' it hard t'believe a'first. But eventually ev'ryone bought it, an' after a while folks stopped comin' around. Nowadays, only a han'ful o'wizards know they still exist, mostly on th'Hogwarts staff. Th'dryads donate a few branches ev'ry year to a selec' group of wandmakers who are in on th'secret."

"Wow." Draco whispered. The path had been widening for a while, and Draco could finally see the castle in the distance.

"Speakin' o'secrets," Hagrid's voice grew stern, "you know yeh're not t'tell anybody else abou' the dryads."

Draco froze in his tracks, and Hagrid stopped in place beside him. "And what would you do if I did?"

Hagrid opened his mouth to respond, but Draco cut him off, continuing icily. "There's a little concept you ought to learn called honour. Given your background, I'm not surprised you're unfamiliar with it. I already gave my word to Dumbledore that I'd keep the school's little mysteries. And if you don't feel that's good enough, you can take it up with him."

With that, Draco whirled around and stalked off towards the hut, not caring whether Hagrid would follow or respond.

Chapter 5 Notes:

↑ Chapter 6: Weaving a tangled web ↓

Draco stormed into the hut, slamming the door behind him. How dare he! Making such insinuations about him and his family.

He'd put up with these petty insults for long enough. That does it. Not another night under this roof.

Draco yanked out the drawer with his things, and looked around for a bag or trunk.

"Oh, so that's wha' honour means t'you," came Hagrid's voice from the doorway. "Runnin' away from yer problems when things get rough?"

Hagrid crossed his arms. "You'd what? Zap me from behin' when my back is turned? Fire onna count o'two? Oh yeh, Malfoy. I heard abou' tha' dirty stunt you pull'd in the Duelin' Club yer secon' year."

Hagrid opened the door and Dumbledore walked in. "I hope I'm not barging in on anything, but I saw the lights were on and thought I'd drop by." He looked back and forth between Draco's and Hagrid's expressions. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh, good. That's what I thought." Dumbledore smiled. "Listen, I've been invited to dinner with Cider Black, the publisher of the Prophet, and I was wondering if you two could do me a favour."

"You see, the house elves didn't get word that I'd be eating out, and they already made this wonderful meal." He produced a loaf of fresh-baked bread, a small roast, potatoes, pie... Draco's mouth began to water from the aromas alone, and Dumbledore was still pulling out more food. "It seems a shame for it go to waste, so I thought you two might appreciate it."

Dumbledore beamed. "By the way, Draco. Professor Binns reminded me you have several essays due at the start of term." He removed a stack of books from the basket and handed them to Draco. "I borrowed the necessary texts from the library. Do take care of them, we don't want to upset Madam Pince."

Dumbledore patted his robes and pulled out a pocket watch. "Oh dear, is it that time already?" He headed out the door. "Just leave the dishes and the basket outside the door when you're finished. Cheerio!"

Hagrid and Draco just gaped in astonishment. Finally, Hagrid pulled out his chair. "Well, are yeh havin' some supper, or wha'? I mean, I can't eat all o'this alone."

Draco smirked at the battered pink umbrella hanging from Hagrid's belt. "Expecting rain? Didn't we spend enough time yesterday talking about the weather?"

"It never hurts t'be prepared. Come on." Hagrid walked back into the woods, Draco following close behind.

Hagrid led them in a different direction, again quickly leaving the paths behind to make their way between the trees. Draco was finding it easier to keep up, possibly due to the lighter load he was carrying. Just food and drink in the satchel today, no heavy potions or concoctions. Or maybe yesterday's exercise improved his endurance. He certainly couldn't attribute it to any increased comfort with the forest.

The whole place gave him the chills. The lack of sunlight, dead trees littering the landscape, all the roots and branches just waiting to trip him up. So far he hadn't seen anything to like, aside from the view of the school along the outskirts.

But Draco hated most the stillness of his surroundings. He knew there were other creatures out there, and the silence gave his imagination too much free rein. Though marks on the trees indicated something with claws must be lurking about, so far, they'd seen nothing larger than insects.

Come to think of it, he was starting to notice an awful lot more insects. Big ones, too, some of them the size of his hand.

Hagrid looked back to where he was pointing. "Yeh're no' afraid o'spiders, are yeh?" Draco shook his head. Hagrid shrugged and gestured for Draco to catch up. "I prob'ly shoulda ask'd that afore we left."

____________________

SCENE TO BE WRITTEN LATER: Hagrid and Draco visit the colony of acromantulas -- the giant spiders Harry & Ron met in Chamber of Secrets. Aragog, the leader of the tribe, expresses interest in eating Draco, just as he did with the other boys. Aragog tries to convince Hagrid to leave Draco as a gift, but Hagrid stands firm in his resolve to protect Draco. For safety's sake, Draco decides to stick real close to Hagrid during their stay in the spider colony. He occupies his mind by thinking about all the different way spiders and spider parts are used in potions.

____________________

Even after they left Aragog's lair, Draco couldn't escape the feeling he was being watched.

Hagrid laughed when Draco said as much. "Th'forest mus' be gettin' t'yeh. Tell yeh what. We'll take a break from th'woods fer tomorrow."

Draco felt something in his chest loosen with the pronouncement.

"Besides, after all this time in the woods th'rest of our work has been pilin' up."

Draco scowled. He knew it was too good to be true.

"Aw, don' worry. Together, we can nip through it all with plenty o'time t'spare."

Chapter 6 Notes:

Heh: Cider Black, a rather dubious publisher, can be considered the antithesis of Perry White...

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↑ Chapter 7: subtitle needed ↓

A day without the forest did wonders for Draco's mood. Although Hagrid's help didn't actually halve the time required for chores, it did prove very informative. Hagrid helped Draco find better ways of handling the more difficult tasks, and was generous with praise. Draco had a surprising talent for dealing with animals, particularly when compared with his performance in Hagrid's class. Draco couldn't help but preen at the unexpected compliments. A good session of Quidditch practice just before bed left Draco feeling jocular come morning.

"What? Yeh manage perfectly fine wi' ancien' hamadryads an' giant spiders, bu' are scared o' a few little kittens?"

"I'm not afraid," Draco said huffily, declining to mention the form his boggart took in third year. None of the other Slytherins had thought it funny. "I'm allergic," he explained.

"Clearly you haven't travelled in the right circles." Draco rolled his eyes to make it clear he was joking before reverting to a normal tone. "It runs in my family."

Draco shrugged. "Mostly what I've heard from my father. They're fickle, mean-tempered beasts that'll turn on you in a heartbeat. Glowing eyes, sharp claws and a nasty bite. I don't see what good they'll do."

Hagrid scratched his beard pensively. "I think I'd like yeh t'come ou' wi' me anyhow." He held up a hand to forestall Draco's protest. "Don' worry, yeh won' hafta get too close."

"Mebbe yeh've grown out of 'em. Some people do. Yeh won' know unless yeh try," he said hopefully. "'sides, we aren' goin' too far into th'forest t'see 'em, so if yeh do have any kind o'reaction, I can get yeh back 'ere afore anythin' bad happens."

Hagrid dumped the pile of foul-smelling fish in the center of the clearing. True to his word, they were still quite close to the school grounds.

Draco leaned against a tree, watching warily. "No thanks. I can smell it from here."

Hagrid shrugged. "As long as necessary. Kneazles don' always like t'be observed."

Draco shook his head and sat down to read his history book. At first he jumped at every snapping branch and rustling leaf, expecting a large furry beast to jump out at him, but after enough false starts, he willed himself to ignore the forest noises and focus on the text.

He had gotten absorbed in reading about the Restoration, when Hagrid whispered "Hsst! Draco!"

Draco jerked his head up, and there in the clearing were about a half-dozen full-grown kneazles, surrounding and devouring the fish. Hagrid was standing a reasonable distance away, watching them and him.

From the shelter of the trees, he looked at them. They were smaller than he had imagined, more like housecats than wildcats, with short tawny fur.

More kneazles streamed in from the treeline towards the food. Fortunately, they were all coming from deeper in the forest, and Draco was seated closer to the school. Draco eased himself to his feet, carefully and quietly to avoid drawing any attention to himself.

After some growling and tail lashing, the feeding kneazles made room for the newcomers. Draco stared at the way they tore off chunks of fish with their teeth -- sometimes grabbing large pieces and running a few feet away to eat undisturbed.

Draco couldn't begin to guess how long the frenzy lasted, but the kneazles made short work of the fish. Soon, nothing was left but a few scraps of skin and bones. Some kneazles, obviously sated, sat down to groom themselves. Others sniffed and pawed at the ground, looking around for more food.

Draco watched in horrified fascination as several of the kneazles twined about Hagrid's legs, meowing pitifully. As if he hadn't just watched the way they were stuffing themselves. Hagrid knelt down and held out his hand towards them and started talking softly. Draco cringed, but all they did was rub against him and start licking his fingers. One or two pawed towards his belt, so with a chuckle, he put down the empty fish bag for them to smell. Soon, more kneazles crowded around Hagrid, a few of them trying to crawl into the bag.

Suddenly, Draco noticed a hint of motion at the edge of his vision. He turned and spotted a lone kneazle walking towards him.

The kneazle stared directly at him with a pair of yellow eyes, then Draco recalled learning that wild animals considered eye contact a challenge, so he averted his gaze.

The tree pressed against Draco's back. He stood as motionless as he could, barely daring to breathe and hoping it wouldn't notice him. The kneazle paused, sniffed the air, and then continued in his direction.

Draco swore silently, remembering how he had helped pack the fish into the bag this morning. He thought he had scrubbed thoroughly, but some of the scent must have lingered.

Hagrid looked up at the scene. Draco was backed against a tree, skin pale and posture rigid. He shot Hagrid a panicked look.

"Malfoy," Hagrid stood, scattering the kneazles surrounding him, and strode across the clearing speaking in loud, clear tones. "It's gonna be okay. When their ears are forward an' tails are up straight like that, it jes means they're curious."

"G'wan," Hagrid flicked his fingers at it. "Shoo!" The kneazle trotted off. Draco sighed with relief. Once certain it was gone, he slid back down to the ground, almost bonelessly, wrapping his arms around his knees and closing his eyes tight.

Draco took several deep shuddering breaths, trying to regain his composure. "I told you I was allergic."

"I think there's one more thing I'd like us t'do. C'mon." And he started towards a path parallel to the school.

"No." Draco crossed his arms, resisting the impulse to stamp his foot. "I'm sick of this. I'm not some puppet you can just drag around. Either tell me what you have in mind, or I can just head back to the hut."

Hagrid studied him for a moment. "Did yeh ever fall off yer broom when yeh were learnin' t'fly?"

"An' when it happened, yer parents probably tol' yeh t'get righ' back up and try again."

"And you think that has anything to do with kneazles?" Draco asked sarcastically. "Hagrid, kneazles aren't some tame housepets you can play with! They're wild beasts!"

"O' course. An' that means yeh hafta treat 'em wi' respect an' caution. Bu' respect's not the same thing as fear."

"Why is this such a big deal with you? It' not like I'm planning to spend the rest of my life at a kneazle refuge or something."

"Well, fer one thing, I was plannin' on coverin' kneazles in class nex' term. Surely y'don' wan t'have a panic attack in front o'the Gryffindors, do yeh?"

Losing face before Potter and his gang? Draco could just picture their reactions. Weasley in particular would have a field day. Then, "No! You're not going to have your way by threatening me."

Impasse. They glared at each other, before Draco continued. "Tell you what. If I go along with your little private lesson on kneazles, you should exempt me from whatever you've got planned in class."

"Fine." Hagrid looked back at the clearing. Kneazles were still wandering around, though a lot fewer than before. "C'mon." he gestured.

Draco followed, his trepidation increasing now that he'd agreed. "So, what are we going to do?"

Couple transition lines here; Hagrid isn't expecting Draco or kneazles to get buddy-buddy, but at least they should be able to tolerate one another.

Hagrid paused beside a large scraggly bush, "Wait here." He got to his knees and looked around the exposed roots. "Ah! Here we are!" he reached under, and after a moment emerged with a small bundle of fur cupped in one palm. "Look, I even foun' one in yer house colors!"

Nestled in Hagrid's hand, a grey kitten with green eyes blinked sleepily. He held it out to Draco, who eyed it warily. "Give it a pet."

Draco hesitated. "There's no way this li'l..." Hagrid lifted its tail, "guy can hurt yeh. Not only are yeh bigger an' faster, but he's still go' his milk teeth."

"Now cup yer hands together..." And before Draco could protest, he found himself holding the kitten. "That's th'ticket!"

The kitten's claws felt like pinpricks against his hands. To avoid dropping it, Draco drew his arms in.

Hagrid stood close, watching carefully. Draco couldn't be aware of the image he presented, his attention totally absorbed by the kitten cradled against his chest.

Hagrid didn't want to disrupt the tableau, but knew it was time to stop when he saw the kitten's mother return from the clearing.

Draco looked up, his eyes widening as he noticed the fully-grown kneazle approaching at a trot. He started to hand the kitten back to Hagrid, but it was sticking to his robe like a burr. He tried to disentangle it, but it seemed hopelessly caught on the fabric.

The other kneazle ignored him, running under the bush, when he finally plucked the kitten off, practically throwing it back to Hagrid, who gently set it down at the mouth of the burrow.

Just then, the mama kneazle stuck her head out of the nest. Spotting her missing kitten, she crawled out to stand over it, glaring suspiciously at Hagrid and Draco.

Hagrid held out his hand. She sniffed his fingers carefully, then ignored them both to groom her kitten.

"So." Hagrid led Draco a few paces away to draw his attention away from the kneazles. "All in all, how d'yeh think it went?"

Draco took a deep breath. "The kitten was..." Hagrid raised an eyebrow for him to continue. "The kitten was fine, okay?" he blurted. "But I don't see what that proves."

"Infants will curl up with anything for warmth. You really expect me to believe that an adult kneazle..."

Draco felt something move against his leg. He froze at the sight of the mother kneazle nudging his ankle with the top of her head. He threw a startled glance to Hagrid, who, much to Draco's dismay, looked concerned himself.

"Don' make any sudden moves. Jes' reach yer hand down nice an' easy fer her t'sniff," Hagrid said. Numbly, Draco complied.

After a few seconds, the kneazle sat back on its haunches, eyes narrowed, glaring at him.

But before Draco could comply, the kneazle rubbed first one cheek and then the other against his knuckles and began to purr.

"Seems t'be." Draco thought he heard a note of wonder in Hagrid's voice, but when he glanced over, he saw instead a thoughtful frown. Hagrid met Draco's eyes, and Draco thought he saw a flash of... regard? before Hagrid resumed his normal helpful tone.

The creature twining around his legs at his feet demanded attention, and Draco complied. He quickly forgot Hagrid's peculiar expression, and was too distracted to even notice the way Hagrid watched him, as if they'd never met before.

Chapter 7 Notes:

↑ Chapter 8: subtitle needed ↓

Draco awoke gradually to the sound of rain tapping against the roof. Something didn't seem right about that, but he was still too drowsy to figure out why that might be.

Rolling over, his stomach rumbled hungrily. He came fully alert only seconds later.

The house was too quiet. No matter how much earlier Draco went to bed, Hagrid always rose before him. This was the first time he wasn't roused out of bed by the smells and sounds of Hagrid's cooking.

Draco looked up, and saw Hagrid still sound asleep in his own bed. It took Draco another moment to remember why. Hagrid had gone out to Hogsmeade yesterday evening.

It had been odd, Draco felt, having the house to himself for the night. Hagrid had left supper out for him, but it wasn't the same. Finding comfort in rituals wasn't just a matter of spellcasting. They didn't really have an established pattern, given the varied creatures they'd been visiting in the forest. Several days passed. More to come on how they passed the time

Draco was starving. He slipped out of bed, and wondered when Hagrid, who was snoring softly, would wake up to make breakfast.

Draco poked around in the pantry. He found a little leftover trail mix, which he munched idly while waiting for Hagrid. Pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice, Draco peered out the window, and it definitely felt late. He tried to recall whether Hagrid had set any plans for the day, which might provide a better reason for getting him up than his own selfish appetite. But nothing came to mind.

Boredom warred with hunger. How long could Hagrid stay asleep? He didn't even know what time Hagrid got in last night. Still not satisfied, the trail mix long gone, Draco rummaged through the pantry once again. It might not be porridge, but there had to be something he could eat.

Draco paused in thought. Porridge was just, what, oats and water? Fine, he'd never actually seen Hagrid making them, but how difficult could it be?

Draco set the pot carefully on the table, so not to wake Hagrid. Then he dumped in what felt like a reasonable amount of oats. May as well be polite and make enough for both of them. He poured in some water and stirred it around until it felt like the right consistency. Beyond that, he figured it was just a matter of heating it up to the right temperature. He hung the pot over the fire, put the cover on, and sat down to wait for the familiar aroma.

The latest issue of the Daily Prophet lay on the table. He picked it up and began to flip through, suddenly eager for news of what might be happening beyond the school's gates. But he found little of interest. Dumbledore looked mildly bemused on the front page photo, which accompanied an article trumpeting how they finally managed to convince the headmaster to write a weekly advice column for readers. The story urged readers to send in their questions to the paper. Their staff would then comb through the letters and select the very best for Dumbledore's response. Draco snorted. One of the best things about leaving Hogwarts would be saying goodbye to that Muggle-loving fool. Why would anybody want his opinion? He shook his head at the photo, which shrugged.

Something didn't smell right. It took him a moment to realize it was his breakfast. Porridge was oozing out around the lid, dripping down the sides, and he had to hunt around for something to use as a potholder, before finally grabbing a towel.

He managed to get it to the table without burning himself, but the lid seemed to be glued on, and he couldn't get a good grip on it through the towel. Finally, he grabbed a spoon, wedged it into the gap and managed to pry it open, releasing a massive cloud of steam.

When the air above the pot had cleared, Draco peered in. Burnt porridge completely coated the interior. Though it wouldn't be enough for two, the bottom few inches still looked edible, so he scooped some into his bowl.

It was lumpy. Draco tried to eliminate the lumps by squashing them with his spoon, but they merely separated into smaller lumps and pockets of raw oats.

Despite its appearance, Draco was still hungry. Maybe he could eat around the lumps. He dipped his spoon carefully, and tried a nibble. That would be no.

Hagrid groaned and sat up. "What's tha' smell?" He sniffed the air. "Is somethin' a'fire?"

Hagrid hauled himself up out of bed, and wandered over to peer into the pot. "I see."

Draco picked up a spoonful and let it plop back into the bowl. "Is there anything you can do to make it edible?"

"We can do be'er than that," Hagrid grinned. "How 'bout we throw tha' mess out an' I teach yeh how t'make a proper porridge."

"Nonsense," Hagrid scoffed. "Yer good in Potions, aren' yeh?" Draco nodded. "Well, if yeh can brew a potion, yeh can cook porridge. Yeh jes' need t'be shown how."

Hagrid reached for the pot, looked inside, then set it down. "Why don' we get a fresh one," he nodded to himself. He emerged from the pantry with a clean pot and a long tapered stick.

"We start by gettin' th'water nice an' hot." Hagrid poured in cold water from the pitcher and set the pot over the stove. "Now, while we wait fer tha' t'simmer, let's go over th'rest of it."

Hagrid pointed to the wooden implement. "This here's known as yer spurtle. It's wha' yeh stir yer porridge with. Yeh mus' only ever stir th'porridge clockwise -- never widdershins. Un'erstand?"

"Now, take a han'ful o'oats in yer lef' hand." Hagrid paused. "Yeh are right-handed, aren' yeh?"

"Okay, take summa th'oats in yer lef' hand, and the spurtle in yer right. When th'water starts t'simmer, yeh'll sprinkle the oats into th'water like a steady rain, while stirrin' constantly. That's wha' keeps out th'lumps."

Hagrid thought for a minute. "Yeh've got smaller hands than mine, so yeh'll likely need t'take two handfuls. Got it?"

A few tendrils of steam curled up from the pot. Holding the oat canister, Hagrid pushed Draco closer.

"Okay, now!" Draco began to stir as he crumbled the oats into the mixture. "Keep stirrin.'" The porridge began to thicken. "That's th'ticket." Draco smiled. It really was like brewing a potion.