—And so, the Philosopher's Stone was protected. Or so they said.
A few days after my talk with Dumbledore, that news swept through the school. It was oddly detailed despite having no clear source, yet it blurred all the crucial bits. Terrifying. I can only think of one person who'd leak it like that.
That very morning, the Headmaster had paid me a visit. Conscientious as ever, he came to tell me they'd let Voldemort slip away and that the Gryffindor trio were safe. I appreciated the update, but having the Headmaster suddenly appear in an empty washroom at dawn is murder on the stomach. Never do that again.
For all the dread Dumbledore inspires in me, I was genuinely relieved to see the three of them somewhat cleared of blame. The balance sheet is still negative, I'm sure, but the nosedive in goodwill from the dragon incident must have recovered a little.
At any rate, peace returned. Flowers in bloom, bright green everywhere—clean July air. Still, this is, at best, "Book One: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone—The End." Will there be an incident every year? I'd love to joke that the wizarding world is doomed, but with Voldemort still at large, walking the tightrope toward doom seems unavoidable.
About four days after the rumors began, the end-of-year feast arrived.
That morning, on my way to the library with books I needed to return before the summer holidays, I ran into Harry Potter—or rather, the moment he spotted me, he sprinted straight over. From the look of it, he'd been looking for me. I had a bad feeling, but I couldn't just ignore him when he called out so cheerfully.
He spoke with no preamble.
"Hey, can I write to you over the holidays?"
The question was so abrupt that my mind stalled.
"Uh—n-no."
"Why not?"
"What do you mean why—did Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall say something?"
If anything had softened his impression of me, that would be it—but apparently not. He gave me a very skeptical look, then let the thread drop and returned to his own question.
"Is it because of your parents?"
Before I could answer, he continued.
"Hermione thinks you get prickly sometimes because it'd be bad if word got back to parents who don't like Gryffindor. That's why you're especially sharp with Ron—since his family's well connected in the wizarding world."
Ah. So that's why he's willing to move past my behavior: Hermione's deduction. For the record, I'm more afraid of a certain pale, noseless man who might one day get a grip on my parents' necks… Terrifying, Granger. You're nearly spot on.
While I fumbled for a reply, Harry looked satisfied and nodded.
"Then it's fine. I won't write."
Despite the line, he was beaming. Without waiting for my answer, he waved and took off at a run.
The suddenness of it all left my heart shriveled and my body exhausted. I gathered my books and staggered on to the library to do what I'd set out to do.
—
And so, the feast.
In the Great Hall draped in Slytherin colors, Dumbledore began announcing the House Cup totals.
Naturally, the other three houses looked disgruntled while ours looked proud. If I'm honest, a considerable portion of our points came from the Head of House's favoritism. Is that really something to be proud of? I wish we had higher standards.
As Slytherin smirked and preened, Dumbledore lifted a hand to still us.
"Yes, yes, Slytherin. Well done. However, we must account for certain recent events."
A ripple of unease ran through the students. Smiling pleasantly, he went on.
From there it was over in a blink. While hinting at how admirably the trio had protected the Stone, he awarded fifty points, fifty points, and sixty points to Gryffindor. That brought them level with Slytherin.
Considering Professor Snape's bias, you could argue it was fair—in a way. Still, as a Slytherin, I felt…complicated. The three truly had done something remarkable, and after the dragon fiasco, perhaps this finally washed their names clean. But the backlash was so strong that Slytherins were turned into punching bags. As if their "reward" included free license to deck the unpleasant Slytherins—were we being declared the enemy again?
I dropped my gaze and clenched my hands. Dumbledore is not Professor McGonagall. His own words came back to me.
At last, he tossed Neville Longbottom an extra ten points. The hall erupted into deafening cheers—every table but Slytherin's. The joy was a hymn that the evil foe had been justly vanquished.
Some Slytherins had gone pale. A few looked crushed, eyes bright with tears. Is even this our fault, something we "deserved"? I just wanted it over. Head bowed in disappointment, I wished the feast would end.
But Dumbledore had more to say. His silence brought the students to heel again.
In a hush full of uncertainty, he smiled and spoke.
"And… though it may not be quite so recent, there is one who, throughout this year, used every possible means—yet chose those means with true cleverness for the sake of his aim. Draco Malfoy. For great ambition and unwavering will toward his purpose, ten points to Slytherin."
The hall fell utterly quiet. Then, right beside me, applause started. Crabbe and Goyle. The sound spread like a wave. Zabini was clearly clapping to flatter me, but he was smiling; so were Nott, Pansy, and Millicent.
I heard scattered claps from other tables. In Gryffindor, Harry was clapping enthusiastically. Fewer hands than before, obviously. Many students from the other three houses looked displeased; still, there was applause from each.
"Which means," Dumbledore said, "a small change in decoration is in order."
He flicked his wand, and scarlet and gold threaded through the green and silver banners. Some Slytherins seethed at being jerked around by that wily old badger. Many across all houses still hadn't shaken their disappointment. But there was far less despair than a moment before. We were no longer enemies to be cast out.
"One last matter," he added.
More? I was already so wrung out I could've sunk to the floor.
"From next year, the scoring will change slightly. For each house, the points awarded by its most generous professor and the points deducted by its strictest professor will be counted at half value. Note that in cases of particularly exemplary or egregious conduct, the Headmaster may exempt those adjustments by special discretion."
With that, he returned to his seat. For a while, no one seemed to know what to make of it. Whispers spread, but as we moved on to dinner, it never grew into an uproar.
I risked a glance at the staff table—only to meet Professor Snape's eyes, his face set in a ferocity I'd never seen. I whipped my head away.
—
Morning came, and final exam results were posted. To be honest, I'd been resting on my status. In a first-year class, I didn't think I'd lose top rank to anyone. I was first in overall score—but in a deeply inglorious way.
By subject: Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Defense Against the Dark Arts—first place, Draco Malfoy. Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy—first place, Hermione Granger. I'd received a sizable boost in Potions—just enough to slip past Granger's total by a hair. Which meant I'd given the other three houses fresh grounds to point and sneer. I wish I could say, with my chest out, that it was pure merit… but when I passed Professor Snape after the postings, he looked at me with a twisted smile more grotesque than any I'd ever seen. I cried.
"I'm a rigged-match cheat…"
"Oh, enough!" Pansy exploded as we climbed the front steps toward the Hogwarts Express. "Upper-years said Professor Snape never cooks grades. If you'd lost to that girl, you'd have had no face left for your father. Try being happy for once!"
Pansy hadn't done as well as the rest of us, though still well above average, so I wished she wouldn't be so prickly—even as I refused to own my sulking.
Crabbe and Goyle had been as shocked as I was at first, but soon exasperation won out. While I muttered darkly, they talked of summer plans.
Shuffling toward the gates, I heard two very familiar voices behind us.
"If he hadn't got those extra points from Snape's favoritism, you'd have been top—"
"His best marks were in Transfiguration! I lost fair and square to Professor McGonagall's grading."
Please, spare me. I hid my face, but one person didn't miss it: Harry Potter. He spotted me and, without hesitation, came over.
"Why's Draco so down?"
He seems to have decided it's safe to talk not just to me but to other Slytherins as well. Is that… allowed?
For a heartbeat the nearby Slytherins seemed to debate ejecting the oblivious hero. Teasing me proved more tempting.
"Malfoy thought he'd crush everyone in every subject," Goyle sighed.
"He thinks Professor Snape padded his score to make him top overall. Idiot," Pansy snapped.
Hearing that, Granger leaned toward me. "Let me see your papers. The model answers are just for perfect scores—they're not very instructive. I want to see how you wrote—"
"Leave me alone!"
I thrust my stack of scripts into her hands, unable to take another second.
"That's what happens when you keep doing things for them—they get cheeky," Crabbe grumbled, watching Ron drag Granger away mid-inspection while Harry waved and headed off.
Just as the noise settled again, someone else approached our group: Gemma Farley, our prefect.
"Malfoy. A word?"
Her polite phrasing didn't disguise the tone: no choice. My blood ran cold. I left the first-years, dreading the reckoning for a year of mischief. But contrary to my fears, Gemma didn't look angry.
At the edge of the lawn, near the gates, she turned and smiled.
"I wanted to say thank you."
I've been blindsided so often lately I'm starting to expect it.
"…I honestly have no idea what."
"We had our career advising this year—O.W.L.s, you know. Professor McGonagall offered to introduce me to someone she knows in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You asked her, didn't you?
"It isn't just me. Among Slytherins, the upper-years who…don't have many connections, got a word from Professor McGonagall. She didn't say you had anything to do with it, but I thought… maybe you did."
Pure-blood families really are something, she added with a wry line, though her laugh was light.
"I didn't do anything," I said.
"Oh? Then I've wasted my thanks."
Even so, she held my gaze—like she saw straight through me.
"…Would you tell my friends I'll catch up later? Something's come up."
After asking Gemma, I sprinted back the way I'd come and flew up the corridor stairs.
I knocked on the second-floor office door. The moment I heard permission to enter, I pushed it open. Professor McGonagall sat at her desk, as usual. She blinked at the sight of me.
"What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"
The words wouldn't come easily. Somehow, I forced my mouth to work.
"Um… Thank you for everything this year. And please forgive my rudeness."
She gave me the gentlest smile I've ever seen from her.
"No thanks or apologies necessary, Mr. Malfoy. I expect you to lead the year in Transfiguration again next term. Now off you go, or you'll miss the Hogwarts Express."
I ran full tilt again and barely made it into a carriage, wedging in beside Goyle. Squeezed between my two large childhood friends, I set off for home with the happiest heart I'd had all year.
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