Chapter 6
Between all the homework, and keeping Zabini and Nott out of trouble with older, half-blood Slytherins, Draco barely found time to look for more obscure books to further his research.
If he was honest with himself, ever since he found out going back more than five hours back with a time turner caused so many incidents the research was scrapped, he felt unmotivated and lost.
It was no wonder Halloween was upon them in a blink of an eye.
The Great Hall greeted them with thousands of bats swooping overhead, carved pumpkin lanterns on every surface spreading dim candlelight, and golden plates filled to the brim with delicious food.
Draco squeezed in between Zabini and Parkinson, and took a moment to appreciate how pleasant it was to be there, if he pretended to not know how quickly the peace will be ruined.
He snatched up a slice of pumpkin pie, ignoring comments from Bulstrode about the proper order of dinner, then dessert.
"Don't pay attention to his plate, Millie," said Zabini. "Draco needs all the sweets to offset his sour personality."
"Don't ruin the mood with your cheek. It'd be a shame if Flint found out who spilled ink all over his signed copy of 'Quidditch Trough the Ages', wouldn't it?" he interjected.
"See, how do you fit all that sourness in?" He playfully poked Draco's cheek, but withdrew it almost immediately, likely sensing the rage building up in him. "Okay, okay. Don't bite!"
"Speaking of Quidditch, do you really think Potter is Gryffindor's secret weapon?" asked Nott.
The topic interested Crabbe and Goyle enough to divert at least part of their attention away from their plates.
"He caught that thing you threw in our first flying lesson, didn't he?" Goyle joined in, nodding his head in Draco's direction.
"That's true, but playing a match is completely different." maintained Nott.
"I hope he gets hit by a Bludger." Crabbe added mid-chewing.
"Yeah, and have his broom fly off to the Forbidden Forrest, like Longbottom's did." Parkinson reminded them. They continued on describing increasingly ridiculous ways Potter could embarrass himself if he played, until Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall.
He reached the teachers' table, and with terror on his face gasped, "Troll... in the dungeons. Thought you ought to know." And passed out.
Before panic fully took hold of the students, Dumbledore got their attention with a series of conjured, purple firecrackers.
Draco grabbed a toffee apple, not wanting to miss out on Halloween treats just because Quirrel decided to cause trouble.
Weasley's tall tales from first year gained a lot more credibility recently.
"Prefects," Dumbledore began when the hall fell quiet, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"
Their prefect Gemma Farley, who usually kept everyone in check by inspiring fear, gathered them and the second years up in a matter of minutes. The others were grouped up by the second prefect.
"Stick together, and keep up! Don't walk off, or I'll feed you to the troll myself." Farley led them, following closely behind a group of professors. Severus wasn't with them, Draco noticed.
"I didn't know there were trolls near Hogwarts." whispered Howell, who now looked even more pale than usual. She kept looking around in fear.
"Mountain trolls live all over Scotland, but how did one get inside the castle?" Bulstrode answered. Zabini added that the creature would have to be extraordinarily lucky to get in itself, having even fewer brain cells than Vincent, which drew a nervous laughter out of the rest of the group.
Draco tripped over someone's foot as they turned a corner, stumbling right into the stoic-as-usual Kaveh Zamani, the first year who smuggled a magical hamster in to school.
"Is it puberty, again?" Crabbe grasped at low hanging fruit of repeated comedy, and introduced the rest of first year to the joke in the process.
Even Farley snorted in amusement.
"One day, I'm going to kill you all." Draco grumbled, cheeks burning. "And you'll realise you brought it all on yourselves."
"It does seem like he's gotten taller, doesn't it?" He wasn't sure whether Nott was trying to make him feel better, or subtly rub in the height difference.
"Can't be that much of a growth spurt if I'm still taller than him." said Parkinson, whom he elbowed mid cackle soon after.
It wasn't until the next morning, as Ito excitedly shared gossip from Padma Patil, a Ravenclaw whose twin was sorted into Gryffindor, that Draco remembered who exactly ended up finding the troll.
He rested his head on the table, relieved that once more history appeared to repeat itself despite the small changes he caused.
After all, even though she was an insufferable Gryffindor, he would feel guilty if Granger got seriously hurt.
Quidditch season began in early November with a match between Slytherin and Gryffindor.
The entire school quickly moved on from Halloween here-say to predict scores, especially the other three Houses.
Everyone seemed to be confidently cheering on Gryffindor (and their new celebrity, Potter) to finally dethrone the Slytherin team, hoping it'll also help end their six year reign over the House Cup.
That Saturday, most of the student body gathered and fought for the best view in the stands.
Crabbe and Goyle spent the wait complaining how unfair it was that the only time students could fly was lessons and Quidditch.
For once, Draco agreed. He missed flying around without their Professor shouting directions every two minutes.
The match was an uphill battle from the start, with Angelina Johnson scoring for Gryffindor.
Their beaters were doing the most work disrupting formation and even preventing Potter from catching the snitch the first time round.
Draco missed a few minutes, when the groundskeeper decided to block his view.
He just pushed through to see Slytherin tie the score, when Potter almost jumped off his broom.
Feeling particularly vindictive, Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle. "Look at that, maybe someone's not cut out to fly on a team after all. I wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom. Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?"
Weasley, Longbottom and Granger were sitting right in front of him, but were too preoccupied with looking at the weirdly acting broom to react. It only fuelled his want to get a rise out of them.
"You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" he continued, and even poked at Weasley's back to get his attention. "It's all pity. See, there's Potter, with no parents, the Weasleys, with no money... you should be on the team too, Longbottom, you've got no brains."
Weasley and Longbottom turned around to face him, both irritated and embarrassed.
"I-I'm worth twelve of - of you, Malfoy," he stammered. Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter.
"You tell him, Neville." Weasley said, unconvincingly.
"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley."
Weasley looked ready to swing at him when Granger pulled at Weasley's hand and gasped, "Oh no, Harry!"
Potter was dangling off his broom, holding on with a single hand.
They all stood in tense silence, the moment stretching out unbearably.
Draco tried to think of a good spell to save Potter if he fell, but he wasn't sure he could cast something advanced without getting caught, or that he could aim at the boy on the other side of the pitch with enough precision for it to matter.
"What's wrong with Harry's broom? Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus Finnigan asked; he had ignored the argument just like Granger did to keep an eye on Potter.
"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic — no kid could do that."
Draco hadn't linked the Quidditch incident to the other things that happened in first year; thinking back, it would make sense for it all to centre around Potter every time.
Granger grabbed the Half-Giant's binoculars and found what she was looking for - Professor Snape was casting a spell.
She ran off to do something, Draco could only wonder what her plan was.
Potter was rising higher and higher up, his broom shaking dangerously. Whenever the twin Weasleys flew up to catch him, it jumped and zigzagged. In the meantime, Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing. Everyone's eyes were on Potter.
"Come on, Hermione, do something" Weasley chanted. He was gripping the binoculars with shaking hands and following the broom's every move.
Suddenly, Potter climbed back onto his broom and almost dived straight down onto the ground. Crabbe and Goyle pointed and laughed when he hit the field on all fours and looked like he was about to be sick.
Madame Hooch's whistle blew just as they figured out what the golden item in Potter's waving hand meant. The match was over, and Slytherin lost.
"It was a distraction tactic! He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it! That doesn't count," Draco heard Flint scream at anyone who would listen as they stormed back to the dormitory to escape all the other Houses celebrating their defeat.
That night he decided his interference this year would make no difference to events many years down the line.
Especially since Potter had enough people kissing up to him, who could make sure he survived the year.
This decision had nothing to do with his success in the Quidditch match and subsequent rise in popularity whatsoever.
Draco just chose to get back into research on his own predicament.
That's why he resolved to finally ask Severus for access to the restricted section. Draco followed him after dinner the next day, and quickly noticed the he was limping.
"Ahem. Professor, I wanted to ask a question."
"It is a matter of such great urgency, that you must sort it just before curfew?"
"No. I-" he got cut off.
"Then I see no reason why it can't wait until tomorrow. I have other things to attend to."
"Is your leg injured? What happened?" Draco blurted out, more loudly than he intended. Severus sighed and angrily pulled him into an empty Potions classroom.
"Insolent child, has your father forgotten to teach you about delicacy and discretion?"
"Everyone can see something's wrong..." he whined. "I was worried."
Severus looked taken aback for a moment, before his eyes turned cold as steel.
"And what exactly did you want out of this show of care?" He asked slowly.
Draco wished he could start the conversation over, without bringing the injury into it at all.
It was obviously a sore subject. He couldn't tell Severus about the future he has already lived, at best he would be laughed at, at worst..
. He didn't want to get locked up at St Mungo's with all the incurable lunatics.
What did he want for caring about one Severus Snape?
Well, to have him live past Draco's graduation from Hogwarts, for example, not that he could say that either.
"The restricted section. I need access to some books, for research." He said after a pause.
"No."
"But Professor, I-"
"I said no, boy. You've demonstrated plenty enough carelessness and immaturity. How could I entrust the most dangerous knowledge the school holds to you?"
With a bit of effort, Professor Snape stormed out of the classroom, leaving Draco alone with another humiliating defeat.