Tom kept his eyes locked on Draco the whole time he spoke. It wasn't that he had anything against the kid; it was just that this particular problem hit Draco harder than anyone else.
Like he'd said before, Slytherin was gunning for a seventh straight House Cup. Any move that cost the snakes points was basically treated as treason. Unless you clawed the points back double, every Slytherin—first-year to seventh—would freeze you out and act like you didn't exist. Even Draco had gotten the cold shoulder after losing points in Charms class a while back. The only reason it blew over was because he'd earned them all back later. If he hadn't, not even being Lucius Malfoy's son would've saved him.
If Draco got caught night-wandering with Gryffindors and lost more points, all the reputation he'd scraped together in Slytherin would go up in smoke.
"I…"
Sure enough, Draco hesitated. Slytherins had a few famous traits—cunning, ambition—but the biggest one was self-preservation. Think everything through, protect your own interests, and never take a risk you don't have to. That was their nature. The Sorting Hat amplified whatever was already inside you, and the Malfoy family motto of "sacrifice everyone else to save yourself" only made it worse.
Tom had expected the hesitation, but seeing it still left a sour taste in his mouth.
He wanted to pull Draco over to the right side. The kid wasn't Voldemort, and he wasn't one of the Death Eaters either. Draco had never idolized the Dark Lord—he'd idolized his own father. He became a Death Eater because his dad was one. He hated the Weasleys because his dad hated the Weasleys. In the original story, Draco had done plenty of rotten things, and no amount of "he was just following orders" could change that. But here, none of that had happened yet. That was why Tom had been trying to steer him right.
Still… he couldn't help feeling a flicker of disappointment.
He and Draco hadn't spent that much time together, so Tom just waved a paw and kept it casual.
[Fine. If you're worried, I'll drop you straight back in your dorm. Hermione can handle telling Dumbledore—]
"No. I'm coming too!"
Tom's ears perked up in surprise. Draco didn't look relieved—he looked determined. The blond boy bit his lip and met Tom's gaze head-on.
"These past few weeks hanging out with all of you… it's actually been fun. Even Weasley. I know my father always said you lot were worthless, that you were trying to ruin his career, but after actually spending time with you… I see it now. You're not what he described. You've got something real."
Draco swallowed. "I could go back to the dorm right now, pretend none of this happened, and stay out of trouble. But I know if I do that, we'll end up going our separate ways. Maybe we'd still be polite acquaintances, maybe not even that. I don't want that. I don't want my only friends to be idiots like Goyle and Crabbe, or people like Pansy who only hang around for what they can get."
He took a shaky breath. "I want to be real friends. With all of you."
Tom blinked, genuinely caught off guard. He'd figured the whole "reform Draco" project would take three or four years at least. He never expected the kid to flip this fast—barely a month or two in.
Then again… thinking back on everything they'd been through together, it made sense. Those same experiences had turned Harry, Ron, and Hermione into an unbreakable trio in the original story. Adding one slightly-less-awful Draco to the mix didn't feel so impossible.
Especially since Draco had always wanted to be Harry's friend. The only real roadblocks were the ancient Malfoy–Weasley feud. After facing down a swarm of Acromantulas together, even Draco's attitude toward Ron had thawed a bit. So… maybe Ron wasn't completely off-limits after all?
[All right, since that's how you feel—]
Before anyone else could react, Tom rested a paw on Draco's shoulder and Hermione's.
[—then you two are on Dumbledore duty. But don't rush off yet. Only go if Hagrid actually fires the red sparks.]
In a blink he teleported the pair straight back to the castle, pressed a pair of his custom binoculars into their hands, and popped right back into the Forbidden Forest.
[Okay, backup plan is set. Now we—]
He didn't get to finish. A rustle came from the bushes. A pure-white, glowing creature burst out of the undergrowth.
A unicorn.
But it was in terrible shape.
Mud caked its once-silky coat. Its long, elegant legs were bent at ugly angles—clearly broken. Silver blood poured from a deep gash in its neck, splattering the ground with every shaky step. Even its spiraled horn was covered in cracks.
It was barely alive.
The unicorn had somehow escaped the mysterious attacker. When it saw the sudden group of young wizards, the last spark of light in its eyes died. After running for so long, it had finally been cornered by humans again.
It stopped trying to flee. It simply stood there, trembling, too exhausted to fight or run. The last bit of fight it had been clinging to vanished the moment it saw them.
If it was going to die, it refused to beg these hateful humans for mercy.
"It's dying!" Hannah clapped a hand over her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Gentle, soft-hearted Hannah couldn't bear to watch something so beautiful slip away right in front of her.
[I can save it, but—]
Tom stared at the wounded unicorn and felt a headache coming on.
What the heck? Hagrid had gone ahead to find the unicorn—and the person attacking it. So why was the unicorn here, and where the hell was Hagrid?
The injured creature wasn't just a dying animal. It meant the dangerous thing chasing it was about to show up any second.
[First, signal Hagrid. I'll see what I can do.]
Tom pulled out the white sheet and draped it over the group, then shot a bright green spark high into the sky.