A/N- Damn sorry for the chapter mix up, it's a tad difficult to update from phone. Sorry, I will update soon. I hope with all my heart that you like this plot.

I know, you all must be in a post-Christmas food coma but do leave a review, it makes my day.


At the end of the day, faith is a funny thing. It turns up when you don't really expect it.

Because see once in a while, once in a blue moon, people will surprise you, and once in a while people may even take your breath away.


Draco ignored the barely touched breakfast, his appetite lost a long ago. The scrambled eggs had become runny and congealed into an inedible form, and the toast sodden under the marmalade that he had smeared on it but forgotten to eat. The mounds of food in front held no longer the appeal. He also ignored the high pitch shrieking of the creature that was, Pansy Parkinson and zeroed his gaze on his target, his task. He sat there, on the staff's table. His sparkling blue eyes twinkling and smiling within themselves.

Draco doubted he had ever seen him angry or in doubt. He looked as if he knew each and every secret of the universe and was just waiting for… to give a grand entrance. He looked every bit the wise wizard he was known for. The half-moon spectacles perched upon his once broken nose. The nose that Merlin himself didn't know how it was broken.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the headmaster looked through his spectacles to the throngs of students enjoying their breakfast on the first day of the school, as if he was a genial king looking upon his subjects. And Draco Malfoy looked at him.

Draco could feel the mark on his hand, simmering and slithering as if it was alive and thriving, and he remembered what he had been ordered to do. He tugged his sleeves to cover the already covered hand, his hand itching to scratch that mark out of his skin.

He thought about his mother, doing Merlin knows what in that dank, a desperate and dark mansion that they called home. It's been a long time since the Malfoy Manor had seen any happiness. The home that nowadays housed the Dark Lord himself.

No… no… no, he can't back out now he thought, panic overwhelming his heart into overdrive. He couldn't unless he wanted to meet a gory death. He had to do it to protect his mother, to prove his worth as a Malfoy. Because if he wasn't that then he was nothing. And he hated himself, hated himself for trying to be someone he absolutely loathed, someone like his father.

As his hand tightened around the fork, he didn't remember picking up. He just wanted that the headmaster would die. Oh! He was a coward, he knew that. He was a coward, who didn't have in him to kill a person. The generations of Malfoy's would be rolling in their graves, spitting at his very name. All he wanted was for, Albus Dumbledore to die, may be due to a dark curse or maybe of old age, just something. Something, where he didn't have to raise his wand and see his pathetic life, end in a flash of green.

And thus, a plan formed in his mind. A plan which would end with the end of their much-loved headmaster and without Draco raising his wand at him. Without him having to cast his first killing curse.

He was still looking at him, and suddenly his breath stopped for a moment, when the man himself, Dumbledore, looked straight into him. His clear blue eyes reading him up as if he had picked his very thought from his mind. As if he knew, Draco Malfoy was plotting his demise. Draco would have fainted, instead, the probing eyes of the headmaster softened… in understanding perhaps and the smile was back within them.

Dumbledore turned his gaze towards Minerva McGonagall and continued smiling like everything was good in the world. Like a deatheater wasn't sitting few paces from him scheming his death.

Draco left out the breath that he was holding. With his hands still shaking, he picked up the goblet of pumpkin juice unsteadily and gulped it in one go, for a much-needed relief.

Severus Snape lowered his goblet and looked at his godson, who was throwing daggers at the headmaster. God, that kid was a moron. Any darn wizard worth his weight can read that mind like a darn open book. Even that fool of a Weasley can read him. He released a long suffering sigh imagining the feats he had to scale, to save his godson, from himself. Draco was himself his greatest enemy, he thought to himself.

Damn you, Narcissa. God, only if he wasn't so in love with her.

And damn you Dumbledore, for holding that over his head.


Hoping to hear from you as always.

Love. Dungy!