Chapter One

"I'm telling you," said Harry impatiently, pacing back and forth around his empty dorm room (the only other occupants being his two best friends.) "Malfoy's a Death Eater."

"But you don't know that for sure, Harry," said Hermione. "You can't just throw accusations around like that."

"I'm not 'throwing' accusations, I'm making them. And besides, I haven't told anyone else my suspicions yet, just the two of you."

"Yeah, but, mate," said Ron, absently playing with the sleeves of his robe, "we've talked about this. There's no possible way that Malfoy could be a Death Eater. Evil ferret that he is, he's still too young to be recruited."

"Forget about the age thing for just a minute," said Harry, who had stopped pacing to stand in front of Hermione, perched on Neville's bed. "You weren't there when I overheard Malfoy back on the Hogwart's Express. He was bragging about a special mission from Voldemort, and how no one else had the brains nor the tenacity to carry it out. You should've seen it. All the other Slytherins in the compartment were congratulating him as if he'd won the Nobel Peace Prize, or something."

Hermione considered this. "That does sound rather sketchy," she admitted. "But, what Ron said still stands. Malfoy isn't even of age yet."

"Not to mention he could have been saying all that to impress Pansy Parkinson," said Ron. "We all know they have something going on. Maybe Malfoy thought – and rightfully so – that she'd be into that kind of thing."

Harry groaned.

Hermione could tell that he was frustrated by their response (or lack thereof) on the matter. Instead of taking his frustration out on them, however, Harry simply sank down onto his own bed, picked up a pillow, and proceeded to squeeze it (as if picturing Malfoy's head) to relieve his tension. This certainly was an improvement to his behaviour from last year. She shuddered as she recalled those instances where Harry would take his anger out on them. Though Hermione knew he hadn't been in the greatest state of mind (occlumency lessons hadn't helped in the slightest), she was glad that they could now put those days behind them.

"You forget," said Harry, in a low voice, still squeezing his pillow, "that I know Voldemort. I've fought him. I've been inside that dark, twisted, mind of his. You're both so quick to dismiss the idea of Malfoy being a Death Eater because he's too young, but think about this – Voldemort doesn't care about trivial matters such as age. The only thing that matters to him is power, and he'll do absolutely anything he can to obtain it."

Hermione bit her lip. While it was true that Harry had the best insight when it came to Voldemort – front row seat, really – was he right about this? Could Malfoy actually be a Death Eater?

Ron didn't seem to think so.

"What would You-Know-Who gain from making Malfoy a Death Eater? He can't even apparate yet. None of us can!" he said, with a weary look.

Harry wasted no time in answering. "For revenge," he said bluntly. "Think about it. Lucius Malfoy failed to retrieve the Prophecy, didn't he? No doubt Voldemort was furious about it and wants to take it out on his son. It all adds up!"

"But, how would that work?" asked Ron.

Harry sighed. Hermione watched him try to answer several ways before he finally said, "Well, I imagine Voldemort would want to punish Lucius Malfoy, and what better way to do that than going after the only Malfoy heir. By making Malfoy a Death Eater, he not only has a new minion, but serves to set an example out of anyone else who fails him. Malfoy's parents will obviously be worried about him, but, at the same time, they can't deny Voldemort's wishes. It's the ultimate 'screw you' to Lucius."

"It's like one giant chess game," Ron mused, looking slightly more convinced.

Harry managed a small, tired smile. "Well that's certainly one way of looking at it," he said. "Hermione, what do you think?"

Hermione tugged at Neville's bedsheets. She wasn't entirely sure what to think. A few months ago she hadn't even believed in prophecies and had dismissed them as a load of rubbish. But ever since the fiasco at the Ministry ... well, she gained a whole new perspective on Divination, that much was certain.

While Harry made some valid points, Hermione still had a hard time picturing the Slytherin as a Death Eater. Sure he made fun of Gryffindors – he was a bully. He hated Muggleborns – he was a racist. Both were known traits of Death Eaters. Hell, even his own father was a Death Eater. But that didn't necessarily make him one.

"I think we need proof," she said finally. "If Malfoy really is a Death Eater, we'd have to tell Dumbledore, of course. He'd know what to do about it. But until we know for sure that Malfoy is in fact one, we're better off keeping our suspicions to ourselves."

Harry nodded, evidently relieved that his best friends (though sceptical) were on his side. "I suppose that's fair."

"And," Hermione continued loftily, "being affiliated with and being a Death Eater are two entirely different things. It's kind of like how we're not a part of the Order. We're not privy to any plans they make or information they have relating to Voldemort, yet, they're always around to protect us. If Malfoy isn't a Death Eater, then he wouldn't know of any plans."

The boys were both quiet as they mulled this over. Hermione took the opportunity to glance over at the clock on Neville's bedside table, noticing that they only had a good five minutes until their next lesson, Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape, and her stomach sank.

"Oh no!" she cried, jumping up onto her feet and grabbing her bag. "We're going to be late to our next class!"

The response was immediate. Though the boys made a big show of hating Snape (which Hermione didn't doubt), they were also scared of the man, something they were loath to admit. It wasn't his attitude they feared, per se, more of his constant docking of points from Gryffindor.

"Great, just great. The greasy git will have our heads if we're even a second late. Gryffindor will never win the House Cup again!" moaned Ron, as the three of them hightailed it out of the dorm, running through the Gryffindor Common Room and pushing aside anyone who dared get in their way, before sprinting through the various castle corridors until they reached their destination, wholly out of breath.

Only to find out from Neville, who had programmed his clock ahead, that they were in fact ten minutes early.

Severus was in a foul mood (more so than usual, anyway).

It was only the second day of term, and he'd already felt as if he'd been through hell and back.

He'd awoken early that morning, intending to have a word with Draco about the Dark Lord's latest scheme. Severus had the entire conversation mapped out in his mind. First, he would nod his head at every point Draco raised, making it seem as though he was fully invested in what he had to say, all the while listening closely for any exclusive information he could report back to Dumbledore, and then, he would offer the boy some tea. Of course, he had planned to lace the tea with a little Felix Felicis to calm the boy's nerves, and make him feel better about himself. Severus would then criticise Draco's plan, tearing it to shreds before him, and prompting Draco to try other ways, each time setting him up for disaster (the ultimate Slytherin way to stall a plan), so that in the end, the boy would run out of time. That way, he wouldn't have to murder the Headmaster, and Severus would do it for him (as Dumbledore had planned), leaving Draco's soul untarnished.

It would be easy, he thought. The boy did look up to him, after all.

In spite of all this, the younger Slytherin was nowhere to be found (Severus had checked the Common Room, the Great Hall, and had even asked his friends), and it became clear that this was no longer the case.

The little dunderhead was avoiding him.

Severus left the staff room, his mouth set in a hard line, as he walked along the Entrance Hall, on his way to teach his first class of the year. He knew that Draco would be in this class, and resolved to work harder to impress the boy and gain back his trust. And what better way to do that than by humiliating Potter, he thought nastily. It'll be like killing two birds with one stone.

He arrived a half hour early to set up the classroom. This particular lesson he was to deliver was one of his favourites, non-verbal spells. He was aware the current sixth years were complete novices at this, and as much as he liked to belittle them every so often, Severus knew that each and every one of them were more than capable of casting it. Even Longbottom.

Once he had finished putting up the gruesome pictures and adding a few personal touches (he found that darkness heightened his intimidation factor), he propped open the door and stepped out into the corridor, and as expected, silence washed over the students. Severus took this opportunity to survey each one, his dark eyes roamed until they settled onto the Gryffindor trio, all of whom appeared oddly flushed. Granger's hair was bushier than usual, Weasley was glaring at Longbottom, who stood sheepishly in the corner, and Potter was casting not-so-discreet glances at Draco when he thought no one was looking. Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If those waste-of-time Occlumency lessons had taught him one thing, it was that Potter would never master the art of subtility, even if it punched him in the face.

Choosing to overlook this and chalking it up to be their usual Gryffindor antics, his eyes flickered over to where Draco stood, oblivious to Potter's wary glances, whispering intently to Crabbe and Goyle, all the while avoiding any form of eye contact with his Head of House.

Severus sighed. This was going to be a long year.

"Inside," he ordered, watching the students scramble into the classroom.

After a short lecture, followed by a couple of questions (from Granger, naturally), the class split into pairs to work on casting non-verbal spells. Severus stalked around the room, keeping an eye out for any foolish behaviour as they practised. It hadn't escaped his notice how much cheating was going on; several people were whispering the incantation rather than silently, as he had ordered. He chose to ignore this, however, for it was mostly his Slytherins' doing, and he couldn't afford to get on their bad side right now, considering he had to regain Draco's trust.

The only person who had successfully managed to cast a non-verbal was, unsurprisingly, Granger, whose efforts went unrewarded as Severus acted as though he hadn't witnessed it. He felt the furious stares radiating from the Gryffindors, particularly from Potter and Weasley, and, with a calculating smile, swept towards them to spectate their attempts.

After a while of watching them struggle, Severus grew impatient of their incompetence and instructed Weasley to stand aside. He turned his wand on Potter and before he could muster a quick, non-verbal spell, Potter had already yelled, 'Protego', which (to his surprise) was so powerful, that it had knocked him against a desk.

Severus got up and brushed off his robes, scowling. Potter was more powerful than he had initially considered, he had clearly underestimated the boy, he mused.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practising non-verbal spells, Potter?"

Potter had the cheek to look uninterested. "Yes."

"Yes, sir," he said, correcting him. The boy clearly had no respect for authority, he noted.

"There's no need to call me "sir", Professor."

The room filled with gasps and the occasional snickers (mostly from Gryffindors), and Severus felt the overwhelming urge to throttle Potter there and then, but refrained from doing so. His job was to protect the boy, not kill him, and he was fairly certain the Headmaster wouldn't approve of such measures. Instead, he stared the boy down, gazing into those once familiar green eyes.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," he said. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter ... not even the Chosen One." As he had anticipated, Potter had appeared unsettled by the title.

Eventually, class was dismissed and Weasley and Granger scurried over to Potter, the three of them whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. Although he had no desire to eavesdrop, Severus couldn't help but overhear certain words, such as ferret, Borgin and Burkes, map, Dumbledore, and treacle tart. He was certain that they all linked together somehow (except for the last one, Weasley was clearly just hungry). His eyes narrowed in suspicion, convinced that they were up to something, and watched as the trio left the classroom.

The moment they were gone, Severus swore that he would get to the bottom of whatever it was they were cooking up.

A/N: Hi everyone, thanks so much for reading! This is my first ever fanfiction I've written, so my writing may be all over the place. Feel free to leave any constructive criticism, and I'll take it on board. Have a great day! :)