Initus

Initus

(noun. an approach, arrival, or advent.)

A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover

Part 4 of the Amalgamation Series

by Tannin & Tele

Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters.

. . .

Warnings: Chapter includes descriptions of violence, mild language, and brief mentions of child abuse/neglect.

The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's.

Chapter Three

. . .

October 31st, 1991

On Halloween morning, they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors.

The Slytherins were excited for the Samhain celebrations, voiding one solemn first year who had no reason to be cheerful. Harry was quiet all day, his peers oblivious of the boy's plight as they practiced the levitation spell in Charms.

The students chattered with uncharacteristic mirth as Flitwick bounced objects across the classroom. Theodore was the first to succeed with the charm and Harry was quick to follow, finding a certain ease at manipulating the air to lift his feather.

Crabbe and Goyle were doing surprising well, whereas Pansy somehow managed to set her feather on fire. Pink fire.

Draco was becoming irritated, the edges of his feather fluttering slightly but not complying. "Make the 'gar' in Wingardium nice and long, Mr Malfoy," Flitwick advised, quickly throwing up a shield as Blaise's feather exploded. The dark-skinned boy coughed, ash littering his curly hair.

"Guess that really . . . blew up in your face," Theo joked. Everyone groaned.

. . .

On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry stopped, sighing.

"I forgot my charms book," he told Draco and Goyle.

Goyle frowned with impatience. "I'm hungry! Come on, you can get it after the feast," the boy whined.

Harry shook his head, already heading back for the classroom. "Just go on ahead, I'll see you there."

Draco lingered, watching Harry's retreating back. Goyle yanked on his arm, already moaning about his rumbling stomach.

A few minutes later, Harry waved goodbye to Flitwick, who was charming away the last of the feather debris. The Slytherin tucked away his textbook, sparing a wary glance to the forbidden third corridor as he passed it. Swearing he could hear a distant growl, Harry shuddered and hurried forward. The scar on his upper arm stung with phantom pain at the memory of six sparkling eyes and razor-sharp claws.

"Oi, Potter!" Came a shout from the Fat Lady's portrait. Harry looked up in surprise, grimacing at the sight of two upperclassman; Cormac McLaggen and one of his cronies, of whose name Harry had already forgotten. Cormac slid down the stair banister, flipping blonde fringe from his eyes.

"What'ca doing in lion territory?" Cormac asked, crossing his arms in an adequate attempt at intimidation. His arms were thick and Quidditch-toned, his hands calloused and caked with dirt from Herbology. Harry's nose crinkled in disgust.

"It's a public corridor, McLaggen. I have just as much right to be here as you," he drawled, eyeing the other boy with a bit of trepidation. "Lee Jordan, right?" Harry asked abruptly, looking to the dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks.

Jordan seemed a bit startled, shifting slightly. "What's it to you?" he muttered darkly, to which Harry responded with a genial smile.

"I'm friends with Ron - you know, the Weasley twins' little brother?" Harry said, green eyes glimmering. Jordan shrugged uncomfortably, looking towards McLaggen.

Cormac sniffed arrogantly. "Right, that Weasley brat. I ought to have a word with him, giving a slimy Slytherin like you our password. What was he thinking? You're just going to stab him in the back like you did with the rest of the wizarding world," he spat, spittle flying.

Harry delicately wiped at his forehead. Don't take the bait, don't take the bait, don't take the bait, his inner voice was repeating. His inner voice sounded an awful lot like Draco. The worst course of action would be to ignore it - which, of course, he did.

"Whatever do you mean, Cormac?" he asked sweetly, noticing the wand holster on McLaggen's belt. The brunette casually slipped a hand into his robe pocket.

McLaggen scowled. "What, are you stupid as well as evil? You're a bloody snake! You were supposed to be the good guy, defeater of You-Know-Who!" he threw his hands up. "But you're nothing but a slimy, sneaky poof, aren't you? Prancing about with those snooty Death Eaters-in-training, licking their boots and likely sucking their - "

"Cormac!" Lee hissed.

" - just for a chance to get close to that . . . that . . .mother killer!" Cormac screeched, eyes flaring. Harry tensed, breath hitching as the boy towered over him.

"You probably offed You-Know-Who just cause he was your competition! You're nothing but an evil, Dark . . . "  he couldn't finish his sentence, instead lurching forward to tackle the smaller boy. Harry was too slow with his wand, and he flew backward in surprise. Harry gasped in pain, having landed heavily on the stone floor.

Lee was frantically dragging Cormac away, muttering vague admonishments and quiet slurs. Cormac was snarling with anger, grasping for his wand. "Let go of me, Lee, let me - Ossis Effergo!" he spat out. A dark blue jet of light rushed toward Harry, who instinctively lifted his arm in a defensive motion.

The young boy cried out in pain as the bones shattered in his right forearm, a sizable snap echoing across the near-abandoned stairwell.

Lee dropped Cormac like a dead weight, swearing loudly. "You moron, you just hexed the Boy-Who-Lived!" He snapped, backing away quickly. Cormac blanched, staring at the pale and trembling boy gasping on the ground.

"Fuck," the Gryffindor muttered, scrambling for his wand. "Don't you dare speak a word of this, Jordan!" he said, aiming between Harry's bright, terrified eyes.

The last thing the Slytherin heard before his world turned into a blurred haze was a quiet, but firm - "Confundo."

Harry shuddered, his green eyes glazing over before rolling back into his skull.

. . .

"This is brilliant," Crabbe exclaimed around a mouthful of candied ham.

The first years nodded in agreement, tongues nearly wagging as they took a second helping of pumpkin pie. Goyle licked the sugar off his fingers, making a horrific lip-smacking sound. "Good thing Harry's not here," he said idly. "More food for me."

Draco looked up from his plate, eyes wide. "Shite," he whispered. "Where is Harry?"

With the enchanted holiday-appropriate decorations, cacophonous music and table full of goodies, Draco had forgotten all about the small Slytherin he'd left wandering the halls of Hogwarts - he checked his pocket watch - about twenty minutes ago.

Blaise lifted an eyebrow. "It's All Hallows' Eve, Draco. He probably doesn't feel like celebrating, much." At a table of blank looks, he sighed. "Merlin, overindulgence really does dull the senses. Honestly, what could Halloween possibly mean to Harry Potter, starting about - oh, I don't know - ten years ago?"

"Oh." Draco suddenly flushed.

Theo snickered. "'Oh' is right, my friend."

From across the table, Goyle's brow furrowed. "I don't get it."

Feeling merciful, Daphne Greengrass tried to help. "His parents - " she started softly.

"What about his parents?" Crabbe broke in. "Aren't they at home?"

A group of first-years scowled at him. "How dull can you get? They're dead!" Draco hissed. "Are you simply daft, or have you been living under a rock for eleven years?"

Crabbe blinked. "You've been to my house, Draco."

Everyone exchanged looks. "Sugar must be the explanation," Theo muttered to Blaise, who pushed away his plate.

Shaking her head, Daphne took a sip of milk. "Harry probably just needs some time to mourn," she told Draco reassuringly.

The blonde clenched his teeth. "Well, he shouldn't be alone with his thoughts! That would be incredibly dangerous! Don't you guys know a thing about Harry?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Merlin, leave it be, Malfoy. I'm sure he's fine."

Draco looked disgruntled. "I just have a bad feeling, is all."

His gaze suddenly snapped to the Hall doors as they opened, revealing two stunned and bedraggled-looking Gryffindors. Draco might've dismissed their presence entirely if not for the anxious glances they sent both Slytherin House and the Head Table. Draco straightened his back, watching as they paid particular focus to the empty space between himself and Crabbe.

Swearing beneath his breath, Draco searched through his robes for a spare piece of parchment. "Anyone have a quill?" he called out, receiving several strange looks and responses in the negative.

Typical, Draco sighed. Slytherins hate to share.

Just as Crabbe craned his head to bite the nib off a Sugar Quill, Draco snatched it out of his hands. Grimacing at the stickiness, he gestured for the small bowl of raspberry turkey sauce. Draco sighed in resignation, dipping the quill and flattening his parchment.

A few moments later, Ron at the Gryffindor table was interrupted from his gormless devouring of a Cauldron Cake by a holiday-appropriate origami bat smacking into his head. From across the Hall, Draco smirked and twitched his wand, causing the bat to prod the Weasel's skull repeatedly.

With an irritated growl, Ron snatched it out of the air, tearing the paper open with little care. The other Gryffindors leaned in to read, their lips twisting into expressions of mutual dislike.

'Weasel -

Ask the other Gryffindorks if they've seen Harry. He's been missing for nearly a half-hour and some of your 'little friends' look awfully suspicious. I understand that, collectively, your House has the attention span of a flea, but do try and be prompt. It could be a matter of life and death.

Cheers,

You-Know-Who'

Needless to say, Draco thought himself terribly clever.

"Drama queen," Ron muttered to himself.

"Are you gonna respond?" Seamus asked. The redhead shrugged.

"As much as I hate the slippery bastard, if he's actually concerned about Harry then something must be wrong. Ask around, then," Ron prompted. Soft chatter sounded around the table, a few students craning their necks to see a sneering Malfoy (caramel uncharacteristically smeared across his chin), but no sign of the usually demure Boy-Who-Lived.

"Anyone have something to write with?" Ron asked the crowd minutes later.

Dean lifted a hand, pulling from his pocket an odd plastic stick with the letters 'BiC' on the side. "I've got a pen," he said cheerfully, clicking the button. The purebloods around him startled, as if expecting it to explode.

Ron stared at the muggle-born in complete bewilderment before turning to Percy. "Quill, please." The prefect promptly produced a feather and inkwell from who-knows-where, handing them to his brother without a word. The redhead quickly penned -er, quilled - his response, turning to Malfoy with a shrug. 

The Slytherin mimed the 'swish-and-flick' movement with his butter knife, wearing an 'are you a wizard or not?' expression. Ron scowled, but dutifully dug out his wand.

It took several embarrassing attempts, but after dropping the note into a glass of Lisa Turpin's pumpkin juice at the Ravenclaw Table, the girl swiftly hand-delivered it to Draco. "Sometimes, the Muggle way is easier," the muggle-born told him quietly, before wiping her pumpkin juice soaked hand on Draco's twenty-galleon robes.

While Draco gaped at the muggleborn, the Ravenclaw prefect awarded Lisa a handful of points for 'sheer gall' and 'an iron set of balls'.

Huffing indignantly, Draco peeled open the orange-stained paper. The Weasel's penmanship was horrid.

'Ferret Face -

Weren't you just in class with him? I know Harry's rather small, but how in the name of Merlin could you lose the Boy-Who-Lived?!

If he was in Gryffindor, we wouldn't need to be worrying about stuff like this. Gryffindors stick with their own. Anyways, no one has seen him, but Lavender says Hermione is missing too - '  Draco scoffed at the blatant hypocrisy. 'Maybe they're together?' The letter finished.

The blonde looked like he was about to fly into a rage at the very thought. He slammed the parchment down and was about to angrily reply when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the Hall, his turban askew and terror plain on his face.

Draco's stomach sunk.

. . .

Harry splashed his face, staring in the bathroom mirror. His arm hurt like hell, and he could hardly move it - but Harry was used to pain.

The pale skin was swelling, turning purple, but the real problem was that Harry had no idea what caused it.

The last thing he remembered was waking up in the middle of a dark corridor, rising to his feet shakily before getting the sudden urge to vomit. He had hurried to the nearest loo and bent over a toilet, nearly oblivious to the soft sobs that echoed from the Girl's Bathroom across the hall.

Harry watched in his reflection as silent tears fell slowly, tasting salt and blood in his mouth.

He felt as though he should be doing something important, but he couldn't remember what. Sliding to the ground, Harry cradled his injured arm and stared listlessly up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of his swirling thoughts.

Suddenly, a foul stench reached his nostrils.

Harry gagged, jolting up in recognition.

Troll, some part of him realized, flashing back to an . . . incident during a primary school field trip to a meat factory. Harry shuddered at the memory of decapitated limbs, and began crawling back slowly upon hearing muffled thumps outside his door. Not even considering why a bloody fucking troll was at Hogwarts, Harry ducked behind a stall door, holding his breath. 

The smell nearly overwhelmed him as a great green skull ducked through the bathroom door, the troll's nostrils flaring. Harry pressed himself back into the wall, his arm twinging slightly. He bit back a gasp of pain, and the troll growled deeply.

"Demigod," it seemed to grunt, ducking into the bathroom. Harry swore, grappling for his wand.

Just then, the door slammed shut, locking them in. Hearing muffled breaths of relief and a short conversation from outside the chambers, Harry sighed, before shouting "WHOEVER THE FUCK JUST LOCKED MY ONLY EXIT HAD BETTER HOPE THE TROLL KILLS ME BEFORE I KILL YOU!"

He heard two twin gasps from outside the chambers, and Harry ducked just in time as the troll swung it's club.

. . .

"Is it dead?" It was Draco who spoke first, voice timid. 

"I don't think so," Harry responded in an out-of-breath way, leaning back against the wall. "It's just been knocked out."

Ron was staring in shock at the wand in his hand; the weapon of destruction used to levitate the troll's club onto it's head. Harry was quite proud of the Gryffindor, knowing that he made the right decision in gaining Ron's loyalty. 

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. Moments later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape and Quirrell.

Their poor excuse of a Defense teacher took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper and scrabbled at his chest. "Wimp," Draco muttered, earning a sharp glare from his best friend, who was clutching at his broken arm.

Professor Snape crouched over the troll, prodding it's neck with his wand. By his pressed lips and glowering expression, the man clearly didn't trust himself to speak.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry flinched slightly. "If not for Miss Granger and Prefect Weasley's warnings, you three might have been killed! Why aren't you in your dormitories?"

Ron looked at Draco, who shrugged slightly.

"They were looking for me, Professor," Harry said quietly, pulling himself up. "I . . . wasn't at the feast because - " he faltered. Harry felt faint again, the words dying on his tongue. Why can't I remember?  he wondered. 

Draco thought quickly, before coming up beside him and pulling Harry into a tight grasp. "Don't you know what day this is, Professor?" the blonde hissed, his attitude causing the Transfiguration teacher to jolt back. "How in the world could you expect Harry to celebrate on the day his parents died?" 

Harry sucked in a breath. That's what I had forgotten, he thought to himself, tears springing in his eyes. Or, at least part of it. 

McGonagall's expression softened, while Snape's seemed to harden.

"You . . . you're correct, Mr Malfoy. We should have realized Mr Potter's absence from the Feast was not without reason. Regardless, that doesn't explain what you and Mr Weasley were doing fighting a troll after being specifically told to stay in your dormitories." Ron and Draco shared a guilty look. "I might've expected it from you, Mr Malfoy, but I'm ashamed at you, Mr Weasley!" she turned on the redhead, while Draco and his godfather scoffed in unison.

"If they hadn't found me in time, I'd be dead now, Professor," Harry cut in, lifting his watery gaze. "Draco distracted the troll while Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Ron and Draco tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well - in that case . . . " McGonagall stammered, staring at the three of them. "I still say you were lucky, as not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win five points for your respective houses," Snape gave his colleague a disapproving scowl. "However, I daresay your par - guardians, that is, might have a few things to say on this.

"Mr Weasley, with me. I believe you owe Miss Granger an apology for your actions this morning. Quirrell, take care of the troll," she told the quivering professor. "I'll send Hagrid to assist." As the two Gryffindors exited, Draco and Harry lingered behind, avoiding the heat of Snape's glare on them.

The professor began quietly, his body almost unnaturally still. "In all my years of teaching dunderheads like you, never have I seen such foolhardy, thoughtless - " Snape grasped Draco and Harry by their robes, dragging them out of the bathroom.

Harry gasped in pain, his arm jostling. Severus fixed his beady eyes onto the swollen appendage, his lips twisting into something nasty.

"Managed to injure yourself again, Potter? How you two find yourselves in such situations, I shall never know - and I don't think I should endeavor to find out. It would cause far too many sleepless nights," he sighed, pushing his students toward the dungeon staircase. "I'd give you both detention again, but Merlin knows you won't learn your lesson. Both of you, just like your fathers; Lucius was a cheeky little brat, too."

Draco looked oddly proud.

Early November, 1991

Half a week after the troll had been disposed of, Lee Jordan had mustered all of his Gryffindor courage and revealed to Professor McGonagall that he and Cormac had been partially the cause of Harry's absence at the Halloween feast.

The Transfiguration teacher had been astonished at the actions of her Gryffindors, and had petitioned to have McLaggen expelled.

The headmaster was far too lenient in both Minerva and Severus' opinions, instead giving Lee a week's worth of detention and Cormac a month. Cormac's Quidditch privileges were also revoked, much to Gryffindor team's outcry.

Ron and Draco thought this punishment awfully lax, considering they had received nearly the same punishment for hopping onto a broomstick earlier that year - McLaggen had actually broken the Boy-Who-Lived, and then stolen away Harry's coherence within the same breath.

Hermione had taught them that the Confundus could be used in many situations, but 'had the potential to confuse a person to the point at which they endanger themselves'. If Harry had been any less sharp-witted during the troll attack, he might've died - or, at the very least, been ruthlessly maimed.

Lee had been apologetic to the small first year, explaining that Cormac's mother had died during a raid on Halloween 1989, tortured to death by - supposedly - Malfoy Senior. Upon noticing that Harry and Draco were practically attached at the hip, McLaggen had felt fiercely betrayed by the boy who had 'saved the wizarding world'.

Harry was unsure whether to feel sympathetic or not. He didn't quite the remember their attack, but he did remember the night's worth of Skele-Grow he was forced to take for the broken arm. He accepted Lee's apology, but had to make Draco and Ron swear not to seek revenge on Cormac.

The Boy-Who-Lived really didn't need any more enemies.

Late December, 1991

So, Ron and Hermione were friends now.

It was an odd sort of relationship, spurred by Ron's brave but gormless attempt making amends after causing Hermione to cry on Halloween. Hermione was oddly receptive to the apology, and Harry suspected she was a bit desperate for companionship.

Harry knew what that felt like, probably better than anyone.

The two Gryffindors sat by each other in the library, bickering softly over a bit of Astronomy homework. "No, Ron - just listen. See, when Venus is at quarter phase, the sun is - for Merlin's sake, stop chewing on your thumbnail. That's disgusting," Hermione hissed, slapping away Ron's hand.

Harry watched them in bemusement, tapping his quill incessantly against a book on 'famous innovators in Wizarding history'; he'd borrowed it from Draco, who stole it from Snape. Harry wasn't a fan of the tiny print and swirling font, but Draco had insisted he read it - especially the chapter on famous alchemists. In blank ink, a small passage had been circled several times. Harry didn't think much about it, but Draco clearly thought it of import.

"Here, check through these," the blonde returned to their table, dumping an armful of books before Harry. His green eyes widened, before shutting quickly to block an emerging headache. "Don't act like that," Draco admonished, sitting down primly. "I just know Severus wouldn't have left this book out if it wasn't for me to find it. I'm the only one he lets into his chambers!"

Harry sighed, grabbed the closest book. "What am I reading about, again?" he asked, flipping to the chapter index.

"Just look for any mention of the name 'Flamel'," Draco said patiently. "They ought to be in here somewhere."

. . .

"I do feel really sorry," Draco whispered during a Potion's class. "I tried convincing my parents to bring you home with us, but mother thinks you're a bad influence," Draco gave a little smirk. "If anything, I'm the one influencing you. Anyways, I suppose you're going to stay at school, then?" he asked, choosing not to add 'since I know you're not really wanted at home.'

Harry frowned, carefully measuring out powdered spine of lionfish for their Herbicide Potion. "Yeah. The Dursleys don't want me, and I'm not their biggest fan either," he said cooly, not taking his eyes off the potion in front of him. Just as Harry was about to drop a coupling of herbs into the mix, Draco stopped his hand, ignoring the brunette's surprised flinch.

"That's way too many sprigs, Harry" He said softly, removing the spare herbs and dropping them to the table. Harry pushed away the instructions and kneaded his forehead, feeling slightly dizzy. Draco eyed him with worry. "Sit down for a moment," the blonde advised, glancing up to see his godfather's back turned. "You're really smart Harry, I don't understand why you have such trouble - "

"I have dyslexia," Harry said quietly. Draco looked at him, confused. "It's a Muggle thing; ask Hermione," he waved his hand dismissively. "But it just means that I can't read very well sometimes, I'm easily distracted and I have trouble with the dumbest things - " Harry was getting frustrated, pressing his fists against his eyes.

Draco was getting concerned, pausing to stare at his - unquestionably - best friend . . . ever.

It was needless to say that Draco was terribly spoiled as a child. The boy was often given food or toys to quell his temper, instead of a time-out, spanking or 'a talking to'. His godfather was the only one to show Draco discipline, and taught him that 'in the real world, there will be consequences for his actions'.

If Draco's parents were't so invested in 'mending the family name', Lucius and Narcissa might have been good parents.

In Draco's youth, his most common playmate was Dobby the house-elf, who had been in charge of 'Young Master Malfoy' during the days. At night, his mother would return from her chambers and his father from who-knows-where to share a quiet dinner with their son before going to bed. Draco was the only one to talk during these dinners, his parents watching on fondly as their only son regaled them with tales of building block towers and reading an entire bookshelf in one evening.

He hadn't had many friends growing up, instead being forced to play nice with the children of family allies. Crabbe and Goyle - if they deigned to get off their fat arses - were tolerable enough, although Draco could only last so long in their presence before he could feel his intelligence dropping.

As Draco was forced into tutoring and whatnot, he was introduced to Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Upon his father's insistence that the two would be good allies, Draco tried to make nice with the two pureblood heirs. Both boys had Neutral-aligned parents, implying that once at Hogwarts they'd be most likely to slip under Dumbledore's radar. Useful as that was for the son of an ex-Death Eater, unfortunately, Draco could sense that neither pureblood boy could tolerate his pomposity and attitude.

After several months at Hogwarts (and a few grueling detentions to boot), Draco realized he was kind of a brat; and from the way he had acted at Madam Malkin's on Harry's birthday, he was amazed the younger boy hadn't smacked him upside the head. He was just glad that Harry was so damned nice.

Draco had been raised on stories of the Boy-Who-Lived, the mysterious savior of Britain and the vanquisher of the Dark Lord. Draco half expected Harry to be just another stuck up and boastful celebrity (cough, Lockhart, cough) , but the Malfoy scion was unpleasantly surprised to notice that Harry was neither pampered nor arrogant in the least. He was so damned small, and - on a bad day - more introverted than the quietest Hufflepuff. Clearly, something wasn't quite right with the young wizard, but hey; if the Light-side's poster boy was willing to be friends with a Malfoy, Draco wouldn't pry . . . too much.

Harry was the one to teach Draco that dropping his father's name and throwing about insults wasn't the way to make friends, remaining fiercely loyal despite Draco's tantrums and lack of impulse control. (Sometimes, to be honest, Harry thought that Draco would've fit in better in gold and crimson.)

Harry's childhood was very different to Draco's, but oddly similar in the way they'd both hardly been raised. Draco had been blinded by luxury and comfort his entire life, while Harry had been constantly belittled and neglected, forced into an unemotional shell to save his life.

Most Slytherins had masks, but none were quite as good as Harry's.

Neither boy was allowed to make emotional connections, having been taught that they were either 'too good' compared to someone or 'not good enough'. But in each other, Draco and Harry could find the comfort and care they'd always dreamt of, and be accepted despite their family names, blood purity, temperaments and faults.

With that in mind, so not to startle the boy, Draco slowly grasped Harry's hand. "Stop frowning, you'll get wrinkles," Draco whispered, brushing a piece of hair out of Harry's eyes. Turning back to the cauldron, he grasped Harry's textbook and propped it up, passing over a spoon and a handful of Flobberworm mucus. "Here, let me help you. I'll read the instructions and you can prepare the ingredients."

Harry smiled in gratitude, but at the sight of the lingering frustration in his green eyes, Draco vowed to research this 'diss-lex-ya' - if only to help his friend have an easier time of it. It was the least Draco could do for the boy who'd taught him real friendship.

To be continued . . .