Chapter 10.

A/N: Sorry for delayed upload!

Draco dressed slowly behind the hospital curtain. On his newly made bed sat a pile of Quidditch magazines with old worn pages. He pulled his shirt on, scowling at the black mark on his skin. He was surprised that Madam Pomfrey hadn't noticed it while she was tending him over the last few days.

"Are you decent?" The low voice of his god-father rang through the curtain.

"Just a second," Draco muttered, pulling the last of his clothes on his thin body. He felt better since sleeping, but his body was still paying for days of hardly any food.

He pulled the curtain back, and his eyes met the dark pair of Severus Snape. His godfather's face was as stern as usual, and Draco found it difficult to keep his eyes off his feet. He was embarrassed. He had let everything get to him, and finally exploded in a publicly humiliating fashion. He wondered if the Dark Lord knew. If his father knew; his mother?

"Follow me," Snape ordered, turning toward the door. Draco followed behind. "We are going to have a meeting with Professor Dumbledore."

Draco stopped abruptly. "What?"

Snape half-turned, looking down his nose at Draco. "Did I mumble?"

Draco let a look of annoyance cross his face. "No...but I...I'm not meeting with him. What does he want?"

Snape stared at him, and Draco could see a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "To inquire about your health."

"Bullshit!" Draco snapped a little too loudly. He felt like he was being cornered. "Madam Pomfrey saw the mark, didn't she?"

Snape examined him for a moment before speaking.

"You are naive if you think that Albus Dumbledore, the most inquisitive wizard alive, does not know who in his school are Death Eaters, how long they've been Death Eaters, or even what they had for breakfast."

Draco could feel his hands shaking. He felt like he was being swallowed up by blackness. "You told him?"

He swore Snape rolled his eyes. "The man's office is filled with dark detectors of all kinds. I didn't have to tell him anything."

Draco's head was spinning. Dumbledore knew there were Death Eaters in the school. Why the fuck did he let them back in?

Draco shook his head quickly. "I'm not meeting with him."

Snape let out a tired sigh. "Do not be a coward, Draco. You're afraid of the man."

The insult was a kick in the guts. He felt his cheeks turning pink. He was afraid. Afraid that he would spill everything and be sent to Azkaban.

"I'm not afraid," he lied quickly. "If he does know I've taken the mark, what's to stop him from having me arrested? Does he know what I've done?"

Snape turned to him fully, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest. "What have you done?"

Draco's wide, grey eyes stared into his. Snape didn't know anything he'd done. He didn't know about Granger's parents. He didn't know about his mission to kill her.

"Nothing," Draco insisted. Snape eyed him silently for a moment.

"Dumbledore does not lack understanding," Snape explained, as though he were lecturing a class. "He understands that you were forced to take the Mark, along with many others. He knows you're afraid. He knows that left to you're own devices, you wouldn't have done what you've done. Which, according to you, is nothing."

"I'm not afraid!" Draco snapped. He felt the need to defend that first. "I wasn't forced! I wanted the mark. I helped bring the Dark Lord back!"

It was a complete lie, and he knew that Snape knew it. But Snape couldn't be trusted. If he did admit to all that he would take it straight to the Dark Lord, wouldn't he?

Despite what he knew, Draco was starting to wonder about Snape. Which side was he really spying for?

"Did you tell my parent's what happened? Or...or..."

"I did not find it a necessary piece of information to share," Snape answered. Draco eyed him, surprised. He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Snape turned and continued walking.

"Come."

His mind was reeling as they walked to Professor Dumbledores office. The Gargoyle sat in place guarding the entrance, and Snape muttered the password so quietly he didn't hear it. His heart thumped in his chest as they entered the large office.

He felt blue, piercing eyes on him immediately, and instinctively placed his left arm further behind his back. If he had entered the office under normal circumstances, he would have been distracted by all the strange objects around the room, but his eyes were focused solely on the chair on the other side of the desk.

"Ah, Severus, Mr Malfoy, how nice of you to join me," a friendly, aged voice called from the seat behind the desk. Draco was taken aback by his jovial tone, so much so, that he looked up and met blue eyes with his own.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled as though he knew a joke nobody else was privy to. His wrinkled hands grasped a small tea cup, as he brought it to his smiling lips. Draco stared dumbly, and he was sure half the mans amusement was at his own expression.

"Mr Malfoy is here for the meeting you requested," Snape said, sounding tired, and thoroughly not in the mood for Dumbledore's quirkiness.

"Splendid!" The older man exclaimed, "Please, take a seat, Draco. You too, Severus. Tea?"

"No...thank you," Severus replied snidely. "I must be off. I have a stack of essays to mark, and I must make sure I have time to visit Hogsmeade to stock up on red ink beforehand."

Dumbledore chuckled at this. "Don't be too hard on them, Severus. Not everyone has an affinity for potions like you do."

Snape merely huffed, before leaving Draco alone. He was suddenly aware of how close he was to a man who was a powerful legilimens. He made a point not to meet his eyes, but instead stare at the cup of tea that was placed in front of him. He didn't dare try to drink it, his hands were shaking in his lap.

"I have heard that you're quite good at Potion's, however," Dumbledore continued, as though there hadn't been a break of awkward silence in the room.

Draco shrugged noncommittally. Not really his finest display of manners. His mother would be appalled.

"I hear you are a member of our very successful Potion's Club. Miss Granger is quite the mentor, wouldn't you agree?"

What the fuck was the old fart playing at? Draco eyed him from under his lashes, frowning slightly. He sat there innocently, no hint of his shit-stirring was displayed on his face.

"I suppose so," he muttered in response.

Dumbledore seemed appeased by even such a poor response, and carried on.

"Now, let's talk about your accident, shall we?" He continued on, taking a sip from his tea cup. Draco bit his lip.

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey filled you in," he told the old man.

Dumbledore smiled, "Yes, but hearing it from the source is always much more...accurate."

Draco rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his pants, and adjusted himself in the high-backed chair which now felt like a prison. "I...fell," he answered weakly.

"Yes," Dumbeldore agreed, his eyes still twinkling. "But I have to admit, I'm more interested in the how, and why."

Draco breathed deeply. He wanted to be as far away from this old coot as possible. "I was tired. I haven't been sleeping properly."

"Go on," Dumbledore prompted.

Draco hesitated. "I...guess I've been letting the school work get to me," he lied.

Dumbledore eyed him over half-moon glasses for what felt like an uncomfortable eternity.

"Cause and effect," Dumbledore said. "I believe we have established the effect's but not the cause."

He just wasn't going to let up, was he?

"You can believe what you like," Draco said, scowling at the cold cup of tea in front of him. His mother would have clipped him on the ear if she'd heard him speak to his elders like that.

Dumbledore didn't look angry, just disappointed. Which actually felt worse.

"I suppose I can. In regards to your lessons, Miss Granger has agreed to lend you her notes from the past few weeks to help you catch up on your grades. There is also some extra credit work available for you to do if you wish to make them up."

Draco nodded. Dumbledore sat quietly contemplating him.

"Mr Malfoy, you are a student of this school and under my care. Your safety and happiness is of the utmost importance to me and your Professors."

Finally, he wasn't talking in riddles, even if it was a complete lie.

"Now, before you go, let me find my bowl of lemon sherbets so you can chew one on your way to the dungeons."

He stood and began shuffling around the many shelves and nooks around him.

"I'm fi-," Dumbledore interrupted before Draco could finish.

"Every since I was a boy I was a little too good at hiding the things I cared for. If I thought someone was going to take them away or harm them, I always made sure they were well looked after. No harm ever befell them under my care. Much like these lemon sherbets I seem to have hidden away from prying hand's-ah! Here we are."

Draco stared at him as he brought the boil of lemon sherbets back to his desk, and offered him one. What had he meant by 'he was always good at hiding things under his care'? Had he been making Draco an offer of protection? Or had he simply been rattling on?

Draco took one of the small, yellow lollies, all the while feeling confused.

"I suppose we should call this meeting to an end," Dumbedore smiled gently. "I'm sure you have much to do that an old wizard like me cannot help you with."

Draco raised his brow. Dumbledore continued on.

"I suppose, given that display before, I could be quite helpful if one needed to keep something or someone hidden away and safe. Perhaps it will become a useful skill quite soon."

He smiled again, his eyes twinkling. There was no doubt in Draco's mind what he had meant. The old coot was offering him his protection.

Draco stood, and nodded politely, before leaving the office.

He thought about Dumbldore's offer, but as appealing as asking for help sounded, he did not want to betray his family. It was all well and good in theory, but anything could go wrong and in this case it would probably lead to his death, or his mothers.

He couldn't take an offer of help unless he was certain it would keep his family safe too, and Dumbledore had made no such promise.

Entering the dungeons was like entering a snake pit. Several students had free periods and he could feel all their eyes on him as he walked through the common room.

"I heard he fell down three flights of stairs, and lived," someone whispered.

"No, that prefect pushed him!" Another corrected.

"I heard someone say that Hermione Granger was the one that pushed him," yet another person whispered.

"You've all got it wrong. I heard he had a mental breakdown and was hallucinating, and that he went crazy in the Hospital Wing and threw a chair at the wall and broke it!"

Well, at least someone had it half right. He scowled at them as he past and that silenced them effectively, which pleased him somewhat.

Nott was in the dorm when he entered, lying on his bed with a copy of Play Witch in his hand. He looked up when Draco entered and a grin adorned his face.

"Well, well, well, look who's out of the loony bin," Nott chuckled. Draco let out a sigh.

"I can see which rumour you've decided to believe," Draco snarled at him. The hospital wing had been unpleasant, but it had kept him from his housemates.

Nott laughed out loud. "I prefer the one where you fainted from exhaustion."

Draco's scowl deepened. "I haven't had the pleasure of hearing that one."

Nott threw his magazine down. "You hungry? Dinner isn't for another couple of hours, but we could head to the kitchens for a snack."

Draco nodded idly, loosening his tie. "Sure."

He stood, and waited as Nott slipped his shoes on, before his eyes landed on a familiar red book sitting on Nott's side table. Suddenly the reality of his situation came rushing back.

"What are you doing with that?" He asked quickly, walking to the table and snatching the book up. Nott only half turned before giving him a tired look.

"It fell out of your pocket when you had your accident. That prefect returned it."

"And you just had it sitting out in the open? For anyone to grab?" Draco asked, feeling annoyed at his friends' stupidity.

Nott sighed. "Malfoy, we share a room with Crabbe and Goyle. I've never seen them pick up a book outside of class."

Draco shoved the book in his own bedside table. He wasn't that angry about Nott's mistake, but more so that the book was a reminder of what he had to do. He felt trapped again.

"It doesn't matter," Draco argued strongly. "If we're seen with it, it'll be us who go to Azkaban!"

Nott raised his brow. "I think you'd actually have to curse someone with it first, mate."

Draco grit his teeth in frustration.

"I'm more than willing to help you out, if you just tell me who it is," Nott offered.

Draco shook his head. "Forget about it. Let's go eat."

He didn't feel particularly hungry anymore, but he needed a distraction. They walked to the kitchens, and soon enough the subject was forgotten over pie. Draco was glad that he was friends with Nott sometimes, because they never really spoke about meaningful things, and Draco did not want to talk about the hospital incident.

"Have you seen Pansy yet?" Nott asked him, taking a bite. Draco shook his head.

"She's been so fucking irritating," Nott sighed. "Constantly asking about you. You should consider Madam Pomfreys 'no visitor' policy a blessing."

Draco didn't bother to mention that he'd asked the nurse to tell everyone to fuck off. Well, maybe not in those terms. But he was too embarrassed to see anyone. He knew Blaise was out of the Hospital now, but he hadn't seen him yet. He knew he'd probably come to annoy him at one point or another.

"It's cruel of you to let her think you're interested," Nott continued with a smirk. "I can think of at least twenty other girls who would let you shag them. If you hang around Pansy too long, she's going to get the wrong idea."

Draco stabbed his pie with the fork. "Pansy doesn't expect more, Nott."

Nott chewed loudly. "If you say so. I still think you should broaden your horizons."

Draco raised a brow. "You know, you're right. Bulstrode's been looking pretty good lately."

Nott chocked on his pie, his expression scandalised. "You," he coughed several times, "you better be fucking with me!"

Draco shrugged. "There's something about a woman that can pick you up and throw you over her shoulder..."

Nott stared at him, looking disgusted. Draco smirked. Nott shook his head and cursed.

"That wasn't funny. I was believing you because I know what terrible taste you have."

Draco eyed him with a critical expression. "You actually slept with Bulstrode, mate."

Nott held up his hands, looking defensive. "I did not. I have no recollection of that, just that stupid rumour!"

"You'd had a bottle of Firewhisky before hand," Draco reminded him.

Nott made a face of disgust, before looking down at his pie. "Great. You ruined my appetite."

Draco snickered. "You deserved it."

The finished their meal quickly, once Nott remembered he had a girl to meet before dinner. He left Draco in he Entrance Hall as he raced upstairs. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched him go.

It was odd how Nott was so completely normal most of the time. He didn't seem like a killer, but Draco supposed it was the same for him. Nott enjoyed that kind of life, though. He wanted power, so did Draco, but Nott wanted the sort of power that came from killing.

"So you're out, I see."

Draco turned quickly at the feminine voice that came from behind him. Hermione Granger stood watching him with her head tilted to the left. She was holding a thick book in her hands, which Draco noted was a fiction novel. She must have come back from reading in the courtyard, as he'd so often seen her do.

"Sorry," she said after a moment of his silence. "I didn't mean to sneak up-"

"Why are you talking to me?" he asked. His voice was not as harsh as it could have been, but it definitely held some contempt. The nervous smile on her face fell, and she turned to look at her feet.

"You're right," she agreed. "I just came to let you know if you want to copy those notes, I'll be in the library at eight."

He found himself staring at her face a little too closely, and looked away feeling annoyed at himself.

"Can't you just give them to me now? I'm busy tonight," he lied.

She sighed, looking a little annoyed. "I'm a bit busy now, Malfoy. It has to be later."

He scowled at her, but she didn't seem affected by it. "Do you always expect people to come running when you tell them to?"

She eyed him with a confused, and annoyed expression. Her cheeks had a pink flush to them.

"What is your problem?" She asked in a heated whisper, despite the fact that there was nobody currently in the entrance hall.

"You," he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm trying to help you by giving you my notes!" She said a little louder. "I don't see why you're being so rude!"

He almost rolled his eyes. Oh, how rich. "Oh, so you're trying to help me? Does it have anything to do with your guilty conscience? Didn't help me when I actually asked for it, so know you're tripping over yourself in your attempt to be helpful."

Hermione opened her mouth, but swiftly closed it. She furrowed her brows, and eyed the book enclosed in her arms.

"You called me a mudblood," she said, fiercely. "I don't help people who treat me like I'm dirt!"

Draco scoffed, and went to walk away but, surprisingly, she grabbed him by the arm and stopped his departure. Her face had that same expression it did when she was berating Potter or Weasley, it annoyed him to no end.

He pulled his arm away roughly, glaring at her.

"Don't touch me," he warned.

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm trying to help you! Do you truly think I care if you fail all your classes and get expelled? I don't, as far as I'm concerned, you would deserve it!"

"Then leave me alone," he snarled, trying to move away again, but she held him still. "I'm not your fucking friend. I'm not going to thank you for helping me."

There was a moment of silence, before she pulled her hand back quickly, almost as if she just remembered who she was touching. The absence of warmth felt strange, and he hated himself for missing the feeling of being touched.

She didn't look angry anymore, just tired. Her hair was slightly frizzier than it had been before. She sighed, and there was something broken in the sound.

"I don't expect you to thank me, Malfoy," she said, her voice quiet. "I'm Head Girl, and I wasn't there to help you when you needed it. I didn't make sure you were okay. I just told you to shove it, even though I knew you weren't okay."

She bit her lip, glanced at his face and then looked away quickly. He knew his expression was stuck into a scowl, but he was honestly shocked into silence at her change of mood, and what she was saying.

"I've been immature, well, we both have, but I'm not supposed to let that get in the way as Head Girl. I'm not supposed to let animosity affect my duties. We had a nice, civilised conversation once, Malfoy. I know it's possible for us to not kill each other."

He tried not to cringe at that statement. If only she knew. But the fact of the matter was, he would have to do it eventually, and in order to do that, he needed to make himself hate her. It was the only way he would be able to talk himself into doing it.

He didn't want to talk about this anymore. This conversation was getting too serious, and that was a line he couldn't cross with her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her before she could.

"I'll be there at eight," he said simply, before turning and leaving.

The library was eerily quiet at eight that night. He wandered around with his book bag over his shoulder, until he found the table she was seated at. He planned to get the notes, find another table, and then copy them down as quick as possible.

She had books sprawled around them, and when he wandered over, she looked up.

"Malfoy," she greeted with a small nod. He returned it reluctantly. "Uh, I'll just move some books and you can sit there."

She nodded at the chair across from her and began closing books and moving them.

"I'm just here for those notes," he reminded her. "I need to borrow them."

She paused in her actions before looking up at him, "Oh, well, I need the notes too..."

He sighed. Of course it wouldn't be easy.

"I just figured we could share them," she told him.

He bit his lip, looking around the library. It was relatively empty, so he probably wouldn't be seen if he was to sit down, but the fact of the matter was, he really didn't want to spend more time in her presence then necessary. He noticed, after a moment, that she was looking up at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer.

He slumped silently in the seat across from her, before pulling out his parchment, ink and quill. She wordlessly handed him a stack of notes, which he realised after a moment were for Potions.

The only sound between them was the scribbling of quills on parchment, and he had to admit it was the most relaxed he'd felt for a while.

After about twenty minutes, the silence was disturbed by a horrible, squawking voice that reverberated around him from somewhere nearby. He recognised it instantly.

"Fucking hell," he cursed under his breath, as he stood quickly to go find Pansy before she found him, here, studying with Granger. Hermione watched him curiously as he went.

He found Pansy only one shelf over, and thanked his stars she hadn't seen anything.

"What are you yelling about?" he snapped, as he rounded the corner. He noticed her shirt was not buttoned all the way at the top, but he tried not to focus on the sight. No doubt she'd done it on purpose.

She had the intelligence to look embarrassed, but he still found himself feeling intense annoyance towards her. In general, she irked him, but it annoyed him more that she seemed to think she had some claim on him, to the point where she was hollering his name across the library-and not in the good way.

"I was looking for you," she explained with a smile that grated on his nerves. "Nott said you came here to study. I thought we could catch up?"

He didn't miss the connotation, or the way she pressed her hand on his chest as she sauntered forward.

"I'm busy," he told her simply, not bothering to cover the harshness in his tone.

The smile fell from her face, and he knew she was hurt, but he couldn't make himself feel bad for her. She knew him; she knew exactly what he was like, and she still came crawling back each time.

"How about I sit with you while you study?" She asked. She still put on the fake fucking voice that make his teeth grind.

"You're good for one thing, Pansy," he told her harshly, finding it hard to control his temper, even though he knew she didn't really deserve it, "and it's definitely not being a study buddy. Now, run along."

He nudged her forward, even as she stood there gaping at him, tears in her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to feel bad, he couldn't find it in him to care. After a moment, she turned slowly, and walked away, thankfully, the way she had come.

Draco stood in the silence for a moment, trying to will himself to feel something, but he couldn't.

Eventually he turned around and walked past the shelf, and back to his table. Hermione had her quill tucked between her lips, her eyes on the table, but he didn't miss the occasional awkward glaces she was throwing at him.

He seated himself across from her again, and continued to work as much as possible, until he felt her eyes on him. He looked up after a moment, and found her staring at him, as she gnawed at her lip.

"What?" he asked sullenly.

She let out a small sigh, before her tongue darted out to lick her lip.

"Don't you think you were kind of mean?" she asked, her expression looked concerned, but he knew it wasn't for him. "I'm not Pansy's biggest fan, but...she's obviously likes you, and from what I've seen, you like her, so-"

"I don't like her," he interrupted coolly. "I fucked her occasionally. She knows that's all it was, but girls still think they can change a guy, instead of just accepting that maybe they shagged a git. Also, don't eaves drop on my conversations."

He lifted his quill to continue writing, but was surprised when she spoke. She didn't look angry, which was strange, but what she said surprised him more.

"I agree," she said with a small shrug. "People shouldn't try to change other people. I admit, you make it no secret that you're a git, but it doesn't sound like she was trying to change you. She just wanted more. From what I know about you, she's the perfect candidate."

Draco eyed her with furrowed brows, annoyed that he'd been sucked into conversation with her without realising it. He leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why would Pansy be the perfect candidate? She's irritating and has the IQ of a potato."

He glared at his notes, before looking back up at her. She was biting her lip, hard, and he could tell after a moment that she was desperately trying not to smile. He raised his brow, and that seemed to send her over the edge, and she let out an undignified snort.

He stared at her, wide-eyed. "What the bloody hell was that?"

She covered her face with her hands, looking embarrassed. "Please ignore that. I have a serious problem."

Draco leaned forward, tapping his quill gently against his temple, his head cocked slightly. "You're right. You have a big problem. Someone transfigured you into a pig, and didn't use the right counter-curse."

The laugh she let out ran through him like a warm glass of butter-beer, and he found himself unable to look away as she lost it across from him. Her chuckles morphed between silent shaking, deep breaths and feminine chimes. He hated how badly he wanted to hear it again, once she stopped.

As she wiped her moist eyes, a small smile still playing on her lips, he watched her, feeling more exhilarated than he had for a long time. He hated himself for it. Thoughts of taking her on this very table crossed his mind, but more disturbingly, he found he just wanted to hear that laugh again.

"All I meant to say is that Pansy is a Pureblood," she said once she'd settled.

He cocked his brow, feeling suddenly annoyed. "So you think that's all that matters to us? That I'd choose to marry a dog, as long as it's blood was pure?"

She shrugged, clearly not noticing or not caring about his change in mood. "Do you even get to choose?"

He opened his mouth, before closing it. His could feel his fist clenching beside him. He felt attacked, but it was harder because he knew she was speaking the truth.

"If I wanted to marry Pansy, my parent's would let me-"

"But if you wanted to marry someone like me, they wouldn't." She interrupted, eyeing him intently. He wanted to get angry, to tell her to mind her own fucking business, but he remembered that laugh and he knew if he did, he would probably never hear it again. That served to anger him more, because he shouldn't want to hear it.

"No," he agreed, simply.

She nodded, and after a moment, turned back to her work. He found himself yearning for more from her.

"But, you're right," he began after a minute of silence. She looked up from her work curiously. "I know for a fact my parent's would have a heart attack if I brought home a Gryffindor."

The smile that slid on her face was something reminiscent of a naughty dream he'd had about her once. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away, and she stared back just as intensely.

As if they both realised who they were with, where they were, and exactly how wrong that was, they looked back down to their work at the same time.

Draco continued taking notes in silence, but he found his mind wandering from the task at hand. Hermione was different. It was like she'd gone home for Christmas a child, and returned a mature woman. He could see how much she was making an effort, and he wondered why.

He knew that her Head Girl position was important to her, and she somehow thought her duty was to treat everyone equally even if they were gits.

Even if I did kill your mother.

He blinked the thought out of his head quickly, but he couldn't help but wonder if that was why.

She had lost two of the most influential people in her life. He supposed that would change a person, and he hated that he had to think about it every time he looked at her.

Perhaps she was just bottling it all up, ready to explode. He wondered if he would be around long enough to see that.

It took two days of cautious stares before Blaise eventually approached him. Draco was on his way to lunch in the Great Hall, when the teen had accosted him.

"Alright?" Blaise asked, his hands shoved in his pocket. Draco thought that perhaps he'd meant to merely pass him by with a short greeting along the way, but when the dark teen had stopped in front of him, he knew it was another of his attempts to 'connect'.

"Fine," Draco responded, hoping to keep their socialising as short as possible. He couldn't be seen talking to Blaise. He scanned the area to see who was watching, and the action didn't go unnoticed by Blaise, who let out an annoyed sigh.

"I would have thought after your accident, you'd be rethinking your decisions, and those you hang around."

Draco eyed him with a skeptical gaze. "Is this another one of your self-help lectures, because I'm not in the mood. You seemed perfectly happy to tell me to sod of the other day, so don't mind if I take the same approach."

He went to move past, but Blaise grabbed him by the shoulder.

"I want to help you, Malfoy," he said, and there was only sincerity in his voice. "Despite what you might think, it's hard for me to see my best friend slowly disappear in front of my eyes. I know you aren't a killer; you aren't evil. You're stuck in a shitty situation, but there's people who want to help you."

Draco stared at him for a long moment, before something clicked.

"Was it you who spoke to Dumbledore?" he asked.

Blaise stared at him for a moment. "Dumbledore know's a lot more than you think. I may have mentioned that you need help-"

Draco didn't want to hear anymore. He was angry that Blaise would do that, and angry because he knew he could never take the offer.

"What will it take for you to understand?" Draco interrupted, his voice low and harsh. "I've done too much. If I raced to Dumbledore now, he might even apologise before he straps me in chains and hauls me off to Azkaban. Your precious Order kidnapped Culver, and we haven't seen or heard from him since. Do you think he's alive, enjoying a nice cup of tea somewhere? He saved a fucking muggle kid and got thrown in my dungeon, and your precious Order probably still tortured him, locked him in an Azkaban cell and threw away the key!"

Blaise eyed his shoes, as he let out a long breath. "We aren't perfect, Malfoy. Nobody is. I don't know what happened to Culver, all I know is the life I'm fighting for is the life I want to live. I know you hate a lot of people, but I doubt you want to see You-Know-Who killing innocent people daily."

Draco rolled his eyes, before running his hands through his hair. He knew Blaise was right, but at the end of the day it came down to one simple fact.

"I would rather see innocent people die, over my own family."

And that was the cold hard truth of it. He walked away quickly before Blaise could convince him there was any sort of hope for his miserable life.