Draco had awoken the next morning with Harry Potter curled up in his arms. He had panicked, remembering everything he had said the night before, and carefully extracted himself from Harry's arms. He'd flooed back to Hogwarts in a state of mild panic, ignorant of the disappointed stares of his friends- and Harry's- at the fact that he'd returned alone.

Draco locked himself away in the Room of Requirement with his plants, tending to them.

No one appeared once through the entire day.

Draco told himself he didn't care.

He spent the next day locked away, too; he knew he was fixating on this, completely ignoring anyone and anything else.

He hadn't even eaten since returning from Grimmauld Place.

He told himself he didn't miss someone's cooking.

Viv was nearly ready. She was flowering beautifully; she'd have the products the potion needed ready that night, Draco thought.

She kept crying, though, and reaching out for someone.

Draco told himself it was only Viv who wanted them, and not himself.

Draco noticed, as he watered his plants again, that his thoughts continued to drift to what he'd said at Grimmauld Place. He noticed that now, when he thought Harry, he thought of Harry; not Potter or anything else. Just Harry.

He told himself it didn't mean anything.

He'd been lying to himself for far too long.

He couldn't even convince himself at this point.

Draco left the room for nearly the first time that night; he attended dinner. He sat at the Gryffindor table, with Pansy and Blaise and Weasley and Granger. Harry wasn't there. He ate quietly, as much as he could stomach.

He hated this feeling; he knew that something would happen tonight, and he knew that it would be big, whatever it was. He knew that it could be life-changing. And he couldn't share this feeling with anyone. No one else had seen and helped him in his labours; no one else had held and calmed his plants, no one else would feel the sweetness of their labours paying off tonight.

At least, no one who was there with Draco.

Granger asked him how he was doing; offered to come and help. She knew Harry hadn't come to see him. She wouldn't tell Draco where he had been; only that he would probably see him soon.

. . .

It was a full moon that night. The sky was littered with a thousand stars; pinpricks of light in the darkness. There were no clouds; the sky was clear. The air was cold and crisp and clean.

Draco had decided he would make the Stone down by the Lake. He levitated all his plants and potions, all except Viv (who he carried), down to the spot Harry went when he had nightmares. He sort of hoped Harry would be there already, or would come down later.

He didn't notice how much lighter the cauldrons seemed as he arranged them; he didn't realise that there was more than just his magic arranging everything.

He set down the base potion he'd practiced making over and over; made sure it was the right temperature, and cast a stasis spell over it. This next bit was the most meticulous.

He picked up his silver knife- sharpened razor-thin- and took a deep breath. He held Viv's main stem still as he carefully- oh so carefully- cut off the largest of her leaves. She started wailing, but Draco couldn't wait and calm her; her biology meant that any of the plant left exposed to the air would seal itself up quickly. Including the bit of plant Draco was holding. He knew Viv would be fine.

Viv stopped wailing quickly after Draco knelt down; he didn't take any notice of this. Nor did he realise that there was only one person, aside from himself, capable of calming Viv so quickly.

He knelt down next to the chopping board he'd prepared, throwing the silver knife aside and picking up a bone-blade one instead. He dipped it into the small pot of red liquid- the blood-like sap from his Coccinum Pulchritudo plant- and quickly sliced off the main stem of Viv's leaf. He sliced tiny cuts down the center of it as the stalk began to seal up, then rushed over to the potion, released the stasis charm, and slowly allowed the sap from the leaf stem to drip into the potion until it turned a beautiful golden colour. Then, he increased the flame under the cauldron to white and sat back.

The heat from the flame was potentially deadly now; he renewed his protection charms around himself and the area.

After exactly thirty seconds, he stood again and turned the heat off with a neat flick of his wrist. Nearly there.

He picked up his gold stirrer- the only pure-gold thing he owned, though he'd begged his father for a gold cauldron in First year. He shook off the memory as the moon rose directly overhead.

He'd memorised the instructions, but just in case, he accioed them and had them float in front of him.

Stir clockwise thrice. Then, while thinking of the Stone you wish to create and all its properties, place your head into the cauldron, such as you would with a pensieve. The liquid should feel like no more than a rush of warm wind over your skin, and should part for you.

You must retrieve the Stone as one who wishes not to touch it. Should you attempt otherwise, the water will turn the same colour as the stone will be once retrieved, and will immediately clamp down on your head. If you notice this, retreat as soon as possible or risk your life.

The last paragraph had confused Draco to no end. Retrieve the stone as one who wishes not to touch it. But Draco had no time to deliberate; he would do as the instructions said. He plunged himself, headfirst, into the potion. It felt like a gust of warm air. Good.

He felt himself sinking, like one does into a pensieve, but found he was floating down rather than tumbling. All he could see was still golden. So the potion hadn't changed colour. Also good.

His feet touched down on golden sand. Paths of magic, looking like rivers of golden thread, weaved through the air. The moon in the sky was a soft glowing yellow.

He felt a rush of air next to him, and the folds of fabric rustled against his fingers.

Something had landed next to him.

He hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it was a certain someone.

Harry pulled off the invisibility cloak, and Draco had to consciously suppress the urge to start grinning like a lovesick idiot.

Then he saw the look on Harry's face.

And the paper in his hand.

It had a lot more writing on it than it did before.

"I followed you down here," Harry said, "After I saw this. You went down, and then loads more writing just appeared on the page. So I came down too."

Draco took the parchment from Harry. At his touch, the writing on the paper flared gold, like the surrounding landscape he was in. He read the new writing.

Hello, Draco Malfoy, it said. Congratulations on creating my Stone. Unfortunately, it is entirely useless without completing the next step, unless you simply want to keep it as proof that you are as good an alchemist and potioneer as I am.

I believe you do not want to do that, however; you want the Elixir of Life. For that, you need your heart's deepest desire. So, to make that easier for you, I brought you here. This is the land of the Aurae; the land of the Golden. Mr. Potter, beside you, has had some experience with a relic from this land, I believe. It will show you what you need for the Elixir. It is here, right now, if only you know where to look. But beware; all that glitters is not gold.

Good luck, Draco. I think you may need it.