Draco had only been perched on the edge of the tower for a few minutes when he heard foot steps approaching. Startled, he jumped back and crouched along the wall of the tower. There was nowhere to hide here; surely he was about to be caught by Filch or maybe McGonagall. The face that appeared at the top of the stairs, however, was neither. A mop of greasy black hair atop a pale face and black robes stood before Draco. With a sigh of relief, he separated himself from the wall and stepped forward to greet his Godfather.

"What are you doing up here?" Draco asked earnestly, curiosity overtaking relief.

"I should ask you the same question,," replied Professor Snape, crossing his path to take a seat on the edge of the tower.
"Come, Malfoy. We need to speak."

Draco took his spot next to the Head of Slytherin obediently.
"I know about the Dark Lord's plans for you, Draco," Snape began, "And I may be able to help."

Harry quickly exited through the portrait hole and cloaked himself. It was far too late for any of his Gryffindor counterparts to notice his absence, and for that he was grateful. Harry had a feeling that whatever he was about to witness would be crucial in his personal investigation of Draco Malfoy. Determinedly, he began the trek toward the astronomy tower.

"I'm assuming you have been informed of the details regarding the Dark Lord's recent decision," Snape began, rigid as always.

Draco swallowed what little saliva was left in his throat, leaving his mouth bone dry. The pit in his stomach returned with a thud.

"Not fully, no," he began carefully, "But I've come to understand that he's chosen me. He's chosen me to..."

The words fell from his tongue, becoming lost somewhere between Professor Snape and the reality of Draco's current situation. The young boy paled as his next statement formed once more, an ache in his throat blocking his intent to speak.

It was just then that Draco realized as the hollow feeling in his abdomen spread outward, wrapping around his organs and paralyzing his diaphragm, exactly what it was: fear. Fear for what was happening. Fear of what was going to come. Even fear of his father and his Godfather before him.

Draco hadn't dared to confide in Snape. He was just as dedicated as Lucius, if not more, to the Dark Lord. The blonde knew, because the Professor was indeed family, that his stay at Hogwarts was nothing more than a front to spy for Voldemort. Draco had attempted to keep his icy visage during every defense class, careful not to show any difference in demeanor toward the teacher.

Here, with his legs hanging over the edge of the tower, Draco felt the weight of all that was expected of him come crashing down unforgivingly. The knot in his throat rose and shifted to behind his eyes, creating tears that he desperately tried to withhold. He didn't dare breathe- with the state of things, his facade could crumble at any second. It was too much.

There was a swelling in Draco's chest as he drew in a sharp breath and attempted to answer his Godfather once more. "He wants me..." the tears began to spill, running in streaks down his face.
"He wants me to kill Dumbledore!"

The words perforated the air, making permanent the change that had occurred within the Slytherin boy. Now that the statement was out, there was no going back. Draco had to do something, whether he fulfilled Voldemort's destiny or kept his new alliance. He could no longer sit in the shadows idly, hiding from his father and playing Switzerland in the war. Action would have to be taken, all consequences entailed. Courage had never been Draco's strong point, shrewd as he was. And, with Snape in close proximity, he had a decision to make.

Draco tried to choke back the tears that had already fallen, but the boy was a waterfall with a broken dam. He buried his face in his hands, digging his elbows into the front of his thighs. What would become of this? Could Draco pass off that he was just stressed, and that he devotion to the Dark lord was most definitely not faltering? Snape was a brilliant Occlumens, and even better at Legilimency; Draco's lying was transparent at best.

"Draco," the Professor began as the boy before him crumbled, "I have been part of your life since you were born. Your father and I were initiated to become Death Eaters around a similar time. This mark-" he lifted up the sleeve of his robe- "Remains upon me. I know you better than you think, son. And I know your...predicament."

Draco snapped his head upward, gaping. "What are you talking about?" He spat hastily, praying he hadn't been caught.

"Do you really think you've been so inconspicuous with your actions that I wouldn't come to know you've switched sides, Draco?"

Draco peered at the Professor, awestruck. "How-how did you..."

"You act as if I don't see you everyday. You keep to yourself more now than I've seen you in the past 16 years. You don't keep in contact with your parents. You show no more interest in the dark arts than a Hufflepuff, for God's sake. I don't think I've seen you insult Potter once all term. Pathetic, really." He paused, he mouth turning up into his infamous smirk.

Malfoy, who's tears had run dry from shock, sat numbly. This was it. He thought every move had been so calculated, and he'd been out-slytherined by his own Godfather.

"Like I said," Snape continued, "I might be able to help."

Harry removed the invisibility cloak as he began to climb the hundreds of steps up the astronomy tower. Spiraling upward, he hastily made way to the two beings he knew to be seated at the top. As he approached his destination, he re-cloaked himself and slowed to a stop, peering through the cracks in the floor above him.

"Help me? How?" Draco wiped his face on the posterior surface of his sleeve.

"If you put your trust in the right individuals, you can be protected." Snape informed, staring hard at the boy. Draco felt his godfather's eyes seep through him, as if he was peering right into his soul.

Understanding came to Draco immediately. "Wait, so that means you're not-"

Snape put one finger over his lips to silence Draco. "No. A Slytherin prides himself upon self-preservation, and I suggest that you preserve yourself, and your values, accordingly."

Draco's jaw dropped, still trying to process the news before him. "So you'll help me, then, sir?"

Harry strained his ears to listen to the conversation between the two individuals situated above him.

What exactly did Draco need help with? Was it to bring whatever object he had written about with his quill to the school?

"...you can be protected." Harry tried to make sense of Snape's words, and gasped at his conclusion.

Snape must truly be a Death Eater, and now he was helping Draco with Voldemort's work inside Hogwarts! His pulse intensified, rapidly reflecting the situation before him.

"Wait, so that means you're not-"

Harry deciphered Draco's words, deciding that he meant "you're not with Dumbledore?"

"No..."

Oh my god, Harry was right. Snape was against Dumbledore all along, only a member of the Order to play spy for Voldemort.

At the end of the statement, Harry was boiling. What values could Malfoy possible have? He was a bloody death eater, for Merlin's sake! Rage welled up at his presumption, Harry's Gryffindor impulse causing him to run with his first thought.

"If you change your mind again, I will be of no assistance to you. Make sure that your commitment is final. And Draco," Snape stood, ready to exit. "Guard your every move. They will be watching."

"Thank you, sir." Said Draco, "I won't let you down."

The Professor nodded once in acknowledgment, then made his way back down the astronomy tower. Harry held his breath, afraid that with any minute movement Snape would discover him. His body was rigid, every nerve stiffened as he watched the professor's black robes trape the stairs. Harry exhaled as Snape exited his line of sight, then returned his gaze to the boy above. The coarse field of view from between the floor boards allowed Harry to see very little of Malfoy. From his small perspective, he made out a figure, tall and slender, with both knees pulled tightly to his chest. For a moment, all was still, but then Harry noticed another detail of his subject. Malfoy's shoulders were rising and falling slightly, as if he was... was Malfoy crying?

Harry craned his neck, squinting and attempting to get a better view. No way, Harry assured himself, it wouldn't make sense for him to sob like he so appeared to be.

Malfoy was a Death Eater; Harry had just proven that. He was haughty and determined; never fragile. The blonde had been Harry's rival since day one, and in a sense Harry felt as if he knew the boy just as well as a friend. Who was this delicate boy, crumbling before him?

Malfoy rose after a few moments and began the descent to ground level. Keeping a safe distance, Harry was still able to see quite plainly that Malfoy's eyes were swollen and red.

Unable to make sense of it all, he waited a few minutes before leaving the tower himself. It was going to be a long few hours until dawn.

Harry rubbed his eyes and propped up on one elbow, reaching for his glasses. Light streamed through the window, illuminating a dormitory full of empty beds. He groaned, unhappy that he'd overslept and most likely missed half of breakfast. It seemed he had just shut his eyes for a few minutes, unable to completely relax after witnessing last night's conversation.

Harry hurriedly dressed himself and rushed to the Great Hall, hair even messier than usual. Ron and Hermione were still seated at the Gryffindor table, finishing up toast and marmalade.

"Well, looky there 'Mione, it's sleeping beauty himself!" Ron greeted playfully. "Were you up last night or what?"

"Yeah," Harry replied shortly, spreading marmalade on his toast. For some reason he didn't feel like telling his friends about his outing. He couldn't quite place it, but the entire event felt private for some reason. Harry decided he'd re-visit that thought later.

Ron looked at Hermione and shrugged. "Well, you ready for quidditch practice this evening? It's our last round before we beat Slytherin this weekend!"

Oh, crap. Quidditch. With all of his Malfoy stalking, Harry had completely forgotten about the big match on Saturday. The one in which he would have to play against Draco...
Why did that make him so uncomfortable? Harry shook the feeling away, taking a bite of his toast. "Totally."

Class dragged on, minutes ticking like hours. Harry indulged on contemplating the night before during the lecture of Professor Binns, who didn't notice half the class sleeping anyway.

Harry was convinced that the words he heard last night were more than enough to prove his theory on Malfoy. He should feel victorious, heroic even. And yet, Harry felt...odd. The image of Draco, so fragile and broken, remained within his psyche. It made him feel empty, combined with some other emotion: longing. Yes, that was it. Harry wanted nothing more than to comfort the boy, to tell him that he wasn't alone in his suffering. Harry had seen that face- Draco's face- in the mirror one too many times. Desire welled within him, overcoming all other emotion. He choked it down accordingly, reassuring himself that he was just tired and that Malfoy was most definitely NOT what he wanted to comfort. Console. Hold.

Harry placed his palms at his temples before resting his head on the desk. Tired, he reminded himself. He was just extremely...exhausted...

He must've nodded off, because the next thing he heard was Luna Lovegood's airy voice saying "Wotcher, Harry! I believe class is over now. Did the Nargles keep you up last night?"

Harry glanced around the classroom. They were the only two remaining, which meant that Harry was going to have to run to make it to Potions. "Thanks, Luna," he nodded in her direction, gathering his things. "I guess they did."

Luna began explaining her far off solutions for dealing with the fantasy creatures, but Harry was already halfway through the classroom door. "Gotta go! See you later, Luna!"

Huffing and puffing, he arrived at Professor Slughorn's door with seconds to spare.

Draco could hardly focus. He pulled out his supplies, ready to trudge through potions when he noticed a very frazzled harry enter the room. His hair was even more of an abomination than it usually was, and the way he rubbed his eyes suggested that he too didn't sleep the night before. He took his usual spot next to the Weasel and began rummaging through his things, pulling out the lessons's necessary supplies. Draco gazed at him curiously, not used to seeing Potter so disheveled. It was at this moment that Harry peered upward, green eyes meeting gray. For a split second, all was silent; eyes were locked and time ceased to exist. For some reason, and he wasn't sure why, Draco felt his heart skip a beat.

"Everyone turn to page five hundred and thirty eight!" A cheerful Slughorn caused both boys to start, immediately breaking the stare and turning to each's textbook. Draco suddenly realized that he'd been holding his breath and inhaled accordingly. Blaise gave him a questioning look; Draco shrugged in response. The truth was, even he wasn't sure what the hell had just happened.

"I spoke to Draco Malfoy last night, Albus." Severus Snape took a seat in front of the Head Master's desk. It was cluttered with all kinds of gadgets and magical trinkets; it was a mystery how the old man could navigate around it. That was the charm of Albus Dumbledore, however. As eccentric as he may have been, the old wizard always seemed to find a way. The head master peered up from his spectacles, interested to hear what the Slytherin had learned.

"It turns out that my suspicions were correct," Snape continued, "The boy has allegiance with our side."

"Ah, yes. I was hoping he would come around. I know how much the boy means to you."

"What do you suppose we do, Albus? Hide him? Use him as a spy?" He paused. "We may not have much time to formulate a plan of action."

"No, no. We will not use Draco; it'd be much too risky for the boy. We need to keep him safe. He knows more about his father than either of us. That knowledge alone is useful to our cause." The Head Master stroked his floor length beard. Dumbledore paused once more, lost in thought.

"Have the boy write to his father. He will need to pretend a little while longer. Draco will say that he is plotting to kill me and that things are looking swell. In the mean time, I will think of our next move. He will be safe as long as he is here, at Hogwarts."

Snape nodded, then stood to exit.

"You know, Severus," Dumbledore finished, "I never doubted that Draco would be the opposite of his father. He's got far too much light within him to remain in darkness."

Quidditch practice was surprisingly successful. With everything clouding his mind, Harry was sure it would be a disaster, but the whole team seemed to pull through excitedly. The desire to beat Slytherin held prevalent in the air, signaled by several high fives and motivated cheers for each other. Ginny held nothing back as she mastered all of the game plans that she and Harry had drawn up together. Even she couldn't slip past Ron, who was keeping the goal posts with pride. Dean was flying right beside her, a smile lit on his face as he watched the redhead's hair fly in the wind. Dean Thomas was not the most talented chaser by any means, but his desire to win and supportive morale was invaluable. The beaters, Coote and Peaks, were even worse, but Harry supposed he was being overly critical at the absence of Fred and George. The remaining chaser, Demelza, was no match for Ginny but kept right in line with Dean. Altogether their team was not terrible, and Harry supposed they'd have a chance at the Quidditch Cup if things continued on task.

Harry would have to seek against malfoy tomorrow, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. In potions earlier, their eyes had connected; Harry was sure of it. He knew that it had indeed occurred because of the odd rush he had felt at the time. It was unexpected, irrational, and completely puzzling, but it affected Harry all the same. His pulse had quickened, stomach lurched, and a tingling sensation had trickled from his belly up into his cheeks. He wondered at first if his symptoms were side effects of a new level of anger toward Malfoy, what with all of the Death Eater theories and non-theories, but this thought was eventually discarded. Because, Harry concluded, if those were signs of ire than he would have never kissed Cho Chang in 5th year. And, as stupid as it was, and as much as Harry wanted to deny it, the Chosen One just couldn't seem to get those grey eyes to leave his mind.