Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione found their way to the Quiddith field. It didn't look too much different from their time, although there seemed to be more gold and silver ornamentation. There was a practice going on between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and so they sat in the bleachers, watching the game. Harry had listened, somewhat in awe, as Draco and Ron good-naturedly argued statistics over their two favorite Quidditch teams. Hermione was working on some notes, as usual.

Harry leaned forward with his arms resting on the rail in front of him, his chin on his hands. Only one day here and Harry was realizing he really didn't want to go back to their time. He knew that he would have to, if they discovered the way home, but a part of him wanted to stay away from the specter that was Voldemort. How would it be to have a life; be just a kid who simply had a funny looking scar that meant nothing to no one? The Boy-Who-Lived just wouldn't eixst. Harry wondered if Snape might feel the same way. Dumbledore had stressed, more times than Harry could count on his fingers, that his trust in the man was unquestioned. Would Snape be a different man if he didn't have to worry about Voldemort as well? Maybe, just possibly, Snape might not hate him so much. Glancing over his shoulder at Draco laughing at a joke of Ron's, he wondered if maybe they all wouldn't be different without the shadow of the dark wizard over their lives.

Sighing, he leaned back and flicked Hermione's parchment to be annoying. He couldn't remain in his thoughts. It was too much for him. Hermione looked up and gave him a wry smile.

"Thinking again, Harry?" she asked.

He nodded. "Can I show you something 'Mione and you won't go spare?" he asked quietly as he pushed nervously at the fringe of hair that obscured his lightning scar.

"What is it, Harry?" She watched as Harry pulled the book from under his sweater, glanced quickly at Ron and Draco, and then handed it to her.

Hermione gently took the very old, slim book into her hands and read the title which had been deeply stamped into its thick, leather binding. "Love And the Killing Curse by Perenelle Flamel. Harry, what are you doing with this? You know we're not to take anything out of the restricted section."

Harry shrugged. "It's a red book, Hermione. One of those the librarian said we couldn't touch." The look on Hermione's face panicked Harry and he scooted closer to her on the bench. "Look at the title, Hermione!" he hissed. "Remember what I told you about what Dumbledore told me? How my mum saved me? I survived the killing curse because of her love. What if there's a clue in there... maybe... well, look at it!" His voice was still low, but he was frustrated and snatched the book back from her.

"Harry, I won't tell anyone, all right? You know I won't. Read it and if you think it can help then keep it."

Harry stared in astonishment at his friend. She was the one who always seemed to be throwing the rule book in their faces. Yet, she'd changed... relaxed recently. He smirked at her. "You sure you shouldn't have been sorted into Slytherin?"

Hermione huffed. "My second choice was Ravenclaw!" Harry chuckled, re-hid the stolen book, and turned his gaze out onto the Quidditch players.

After awhile Harry looked back at Hermione who had, of course, brought a quill, ink and parchment with her. Three things she never was without. "What're you writing?"

"While working on my essay I was reminded of something I read in one of those Muggle science books I told you about. Well, I'm trying to remember the book because I think it might help."

"A muggle book," Harry grunted as he shifted slightly. "I don't think Snape's going to let us into the Muggle world to look for it."

Hermione looked up from her notes and rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty certain the book was written in the 1960s or 1970s, Harry. That's why I'm trying to recall exactly what I'd read." She went back to her writing, taking a brief second to swipe a wayward curl out of her face.

"Potter, what do you think Gryffindor's chance is against Slytherin this year?" Harry was startled to be addressed by Malfoy. Even stranger was the lack of the boy's normal, Slytherin hostility. It was, frankly, making him uneasy. It was also bugging him that he kept getting into mischief with the younger Malfoy as though completely forgetting they were supposed to be enemies.

"They'll be using your brooms to sweep the remains up off the pitch," grinned Harry. He grinned. What's with me? Harry thought. Only one day and I'm grinning, getting into trouble with Malfoy. "This is just weird."

"We can beat each other up if it will make it seem less weird, Potter," offered Draco. Ron and Draco came to sit down beside Harry and Hermione.

"I'd take you up on that, but then, we'd serve more detention and probably wind up back in the Middle Ages." Harry stared at Draco and couldn't help asking, "What have you done with the real Draco Malfoy?"

Draco sneered good-naturedly. "He's back in 1994." Draco leaned forward on the railing. "As the only Slytherin in a group of Gryffindor, I figure it's a survival tactic to keep my enemies as my friends." Harry's eyes narrowed at this. "Look, Potter, it's just not worth the energy. I don't know how long we're going to be here, so I'm trying to make the best of the situation. Don't suppose you could try to as well?"

Harry scowled at how noble the Slytherin was sounding to his ears. Ron, catching the scowl, punched him in the shoulder lightly. "Look mate, if we get back to our own time, we can all go back to insulting and hexing each other." Hermione glanced up at Ron from her writing, seeing a side to the fiery-tempered red head she'd not seen before. Ron shrugged. "The way I look at it, we've only got Snape and the four of us. It kind of doesn't matter right now what houses we're in or who we are; we're all in the same place. So, like the snake said, I guess we ought to make the best of it."

There was a long silence between the four of them. Hermione and Ron wanted to maintain peace just so they wouldn't have to be pulling Harry off of Draco, or scraping the blasted remains of Harry off some castle wall. Harry wasn't about to be friends with Draco, but figured that at least he could hold up the flag of truce until their situation changed. As for Draco, he had no illusions about the three Gryffindors becoming his friends any time soon, but he was feeling a freedom in this time he couldn't, yet, articulate. For him, it somehow didn't matter that he and Potter should be enemies or that Hermione wasn't a pureblood, and that Ron was from a family his father, Lucius, considered pureblood traitors.

"Potter, do you think we'll ever get back to our own time?" asked Draco.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'd rather stay here," declared the pale, blonde-haired boy.

Harry stared at Malfoy for a long minute. He was about to ask why, when Hermione chimed in, "I like it here, too. Although, I'd miss my parents, terribly."

"It's all right," mused Ron, "But, I'd prefer going home."

Harry smiled at Ron. At least someone was thinking rationally. "Why do you want to stay, Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes widened at Harry in disbelief as if to ask, 'don't you already know why?' "I don't want to be a Death Eater!" spat Draco. The boy abruptly made his way out of the bleachers.

Harry honestly had no idea what to say. He stared, not entirely comprehending, as Draco disappeared down into the depths of the stands. "A Death Eater? But, isn't that what all purebloods want?" The second he said it, Harry realized he'd insulted someone else besides the younger Malfoy. Both Hermione and Ron were glaring at him. "I'm... Ron... I.. didn't mean... I..."

"Not all purebloods, Harry!" snapped Ron and he, too, left the bleachers.

"Are you deliberately stupid?" asked Hermione in a huff.

"I didn't mean it!" he shouted. He put his face in his hands for a moment and then dropped his fists to his knees. He waited a few seconds and then headed after Ron. "Ron!"

For a few seconds, Ron just ignored Harry and kept stalking away until he was out of site of the Quidditch pitch. After a third time of hearing his name, he whirled on Harry. Ron's face was nearly the color of his hair. "You just don't think, sometimes!"

"No, I don't, Ron and really... I am sorry. What I said... that was just really stupid of me!"

"Yeah, it was!"

"Ron, your family has never been anything but accepting of me." Ron shrugged at Harry. Harry was at a loss as to what else he could say. He really did need to learn to think before he opened his mouth. He just decided to ask what was on his mind in the hopes he and Ron could get over his blunder. "Can you tell me, Ron, what in Merlin's green socks did Malfoy mean by that?"

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. "Not everyone in Slytherin wants to be a Death Eater, Harry." Ron suddenly rolled his eyes as he couldn't believe what he'd just said.

Harry cursed under his breath. "No... but... well, don't you think he'd at least miss his father?"

Ron snorted. "Lucius Malfoy doesn't have love for anyone, Harry, and that includes his own son. I knew the Malfoys as I grew up and I can tell you, even without his feelings about Muggles, Lucius is scary."

This was too surreal for Harry. "I'm not going to apologize to the git," he muttered.

Ron slapped Harry on the shoulder and grinned. "Didn't ask you to, mate."

Draco stalked away from the Quidditch field, clenching his fists tightly together. What was he thinking in letting down his guard like that. And in front of Potter, too. They were so damn wrapped up in themselves, in being heroes, Gryffindors, that they never thought about anybody else. They had no clue what he went through. He was Lucius Malfoy's son, his only child and he had an obligation to show to the world that he was capable and worthy to carry on the proud, Malfoy name. Did it matter that he was frightened most of the time? Did it matter that he was terrified of the day his father would present him to Voldemort? Since Lucius Malfoy was sacked as school governor and they'd lost their house elf, Draco's father was angry all the time and constantly espousing the virtues of the Dark Lord. And, that cane of his. Draco shuddered and not from the chill in the air. Never his face, but there had been more bruises, more broken bones then he cared to think of.

"Superior! Self righteous...! You don't bloody well know!" He shouted and then sat down amongst the boulders that were around him. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he refused to cry. Slytherins did NOT cry.