Draco Malfoy had always hated Snape's office.

It was bad enough that he was forced to spend the majority of his life cooped up in the bloody dungeons of a medieval castle. He already felt like a prisoner, to begin with. But to spend any amount of time in Snape's office was a death sentence to his long-served jail time.

The office reminded Draco of death in itself. The room was dimly lit and musty, which only drew more attention to the fact that they were sitting in the most bottom pit of the ground. The bookcases, which covered every inch of the walls, were jam-packed with books possessing strange titles and various jars filled with Merlin knew what. A layer of decades-old dust had accumulated over the shelves and the small particles shifted whenever someone moved. On many occasions, Draco had suggested that Snape might find a new location for his office to be rejuvenating, perhaps someplace with a window or where there wasn't a permanent smell of decaying corpse - which Draco was quite certain was coming from Snape himself. Even a makeover to his current arrangement would be an improvement. But Snape, always the Grim Reaper, would simply grunt his disapproval at the recommendations.

When he tried to hire Snape a Cleaning Witch last year, he was met with a month's worth of detention. All for trying to help. What a lesson to teach students - don't help your professors, you'll be punished for it.

The office was weird as shit. That was the plainest way to put it. And Draco was starting to realize that maybe Snape just liked it like that. Weird bloke, weird office. It suited him, in a way.

The minute that Snape had shown up at Draco's Transfiguration lesson that afternoon, Draco had known why he was there. A horrible feeling had grown instantly in the pit of his stomach, especially once Snape had asked to meet with Draco in his office after class. The anxiety came not only from the prospect of spending time in that creepy office of his but also from the fact that Draco knew full well what Snape wanted to discuss at this particular meeting.

In his office, Snape loomed behind his desk, resting his clasped hands on his stomach as if that were a natural stance to take. He peered at Draco with his dark, narrowed eyes. His greasy, black shoulder-length hair hung before his face, adding a particularly unfortunate contrast to his translucent skin.

Draco, in turn, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Draco was used to authoritarianism by now. He had been raised in a household with Lucius Malfoy as the patriarch, for Merlin's sake. You don't get through sixteen years with Lucius without growing a relatively thick skin. But Snape was different. At Hogwarts, he was the closest link between Draco's normal life and Voldemort himself. The thought alone made Draco's stomach churn.

Things were getting worse lately. There was a tension in the air that wasn't there before; Draco could feel it wherever he went.

A war was brewing. One that he reckoned he would be at the heart of.

"What is it that you've called me here for, Professor?" Draco snarled as he leaned back in his chair. He flashed Snape a wicked grin. "You know how much I adore our little chats. Truly, I do. It's just that I find my time would be spent most effectively in my classes, don't you agree?"

Letting his arms fall to his sides, Snape stood tall and tilted his chin to the sky ever so slightly, reminding Draco of the power he held over him. The professor turned on his heels, beginning to pace the room. "As you have been made aware, your mother has enlisted my help in protecting you this year as you work towards completing the Dark Lord's task."

The words sent a chill down Draco's spine. The Dark Lord's task. Draco marvelled at Snape's ability to make such a daunting thing sound like a children's game or part of a scavenger hunt. Breezy and simple. In fact, the very thought of the task was something that Draco had been trying to erase from his mind for the past few weeks. His attempts, unfortunately, had been futile. It sat looming over him like the Sword of Damocles.

He would be the one to murder Albus Dumbledore in cold blood. Whether he liked it or not.

"In order for me to be successful in aiding you in your endeavours," Snape continued. "I must be made aware of your plan."

Draco blinked. "My... plan?"

"Yes," Snape replied, impatiently. "You cannot possibly have believed that this would have been an easy assignment. There must be careful planning in order for this to be carried out effectively."

Draco dropped his head and stared down at his hands, which were clasped in his lap. Of course, he had thought about it a lot. When he was first told that he was chosen as the would-be assassin that past summer, it was all that he was able to think about. Day and night, it poisoned his every thought. But frankly, he hadn't really anticipated he would need a plan.

It wasn't that he had assumed he could just waltz up into the old bastard's office and Avada Kedavra him right then and there. It was just that, up until this point, he had been hoping the whole thing would have sorted itself out. The man was well over a hundred years old, wasn't he? Time had to be catching up to him by now. Perhaps Dumbledore would do Draco favour and keel over. Make his way to the great beyond on his own terms. No harm, no foul.

Snape, evidently, had a very different idea about how it would all play itself out.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, sternly. His voice drew out Draco's surname into several syllables. He pressed his palms down flat against the old wooden desk and leaned forward so that he was only inches away from Draco. The professor's thin, purplish lips turned down into a scowl. "You will speak when spoken to."

"Fuck. Alright, you got me. I haven't got a plan." Draco ran a hand through his hair - his new favourite nervous habit - and exhaled loudly. "But it's fine. I'll figure something out. And obviously, I won't be needing your help with any of that. So you can just run along and... well, do whatever it is that you amuse yourself with on your free time."

Draco struggled to imagine Snape doing anything aside from teaching Potions and skulking around the castle in eternal misery.

Snape almost laughed. His lips turned up into a hollow smile, baring his teeth like a villain. His eyebrow cocked high up on his pasty white forehead. "You don't need my help?" he repeated. "You think that you're capable of executing one of the most high-profile assassinations in modern wizarding history all on your own? You? You're just a child. A spoiled, incompetent child."

Draco's blood boiled. The nerves that coursed through his veins were replaced with fury. His hands balled up into fists instinctively. "How dare you speak to me that way."

"The Dark Lord chose you to complete this task, Mr. Malfoy, for reasons that I have yet to understand -"

"Exactly," Draco interrupted loudly. He slammed his fist down on the desk. "That is precisely correct. Thank you. Yes, the Dark Lord did, in fact, choose me to kill Dumbledore. Not you. Me. I'm not quite sure who the fuck you think you are, but you clearly aren't aware of who I am. I am a Malfoy. I come from one of the most highly respected and dangerously powerful families not only in the wizarding community but in the eyes of the Dark Lord. I could crush you within a split second. Do you understand me?"

Feeling like he had won the upper hand, Draco leaned back into his chair and smugly crossed his arms over his chest. But Snape just stared at him incredulously.

"It bewilders me how you still think that your family name means anything."

Draco's stomach churned. The look in Snape's eyes had turned almost downright evil.

"Don't you understand? When your father was imprisoned, he brought unparalleled shame upon all Dark Wizards. Your father has single-handedly disgraced the Dark Lord with his failure and destroyed all the progress that He has accomplished. Your name has been tarnished. If you fail - rather, when you fail - you will be absolutely nothing."

Draco clenched his jaw, willing himself not to whip his wand out. "Fuck you," he hissed through his teeth. "You are a revolting, depressing old man. And you don't know shit about my family."

"Clearly, I've hit a sore spot."

Draco winced. Unfortunately, Snape was right about one thing - he had hit a sore spot. Ever since Lucius had been sentenced to life imprisonment at Azkaban, Draco's life had pretty much gone to shit. His mother had been inconsolable all summer long, although Draco had yet to determine if this was because she missed his father or because she was worried about what his imprisonment might mean for their family's standing with Voldemort. Draco suspected that it must have been the latter. And she was right to worry. Voldemort's bad side was not a good place to be, especially if you enjoyed being among the living. Besides, who could miss a man like Lucius Malfoy?

Sure, Lucius's fuck-up in the Department of Mysteries meant that they were at a higher risk with the Death Eaters and with Voldemort. But it also meant an entire summer of blissful silence without his father barging around like a raving lunatic.

Come to think of it, maybe a world without Lucius Malfoy would be a better one after all. But he wasn't about to sit there and listen to some half-blood tell him that.

"Listen to me carefully," Draco snarled at the older man. His voice was raised loud enough that anyone in the corridor would be able to clearly hear him, but he didn't care. "The only reason that you mean an ounce of salt to the Dark Lord is because you are his connection to Dumbledore. Have you ever considered what might happen when Dumbledore is actually dead? Because I have. Once that man is six-feet under, you won't mean a damn thing. Me, on the other hand. Heh. My father's allegiance to the Dark Lord is irrevocable. He's rotting away in Azkaban for that son of a bitch. One day, my father will escape from Azkaban. I swear on my life, when he does, he'll be back in the Dark Lord's good graces. Just you wait."

With a sharp exhale, Snape shook his head. "I've heard enough of this. You are dismissed. Get out of my office."

Draco pushed back his chair, letting it screech noisily against the floor. He brought himself to his feet and bowed slowly, locking eyes with his professor. "My Lord," he growled, sarcastically. With that, he whipped around and stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind him.

Prick.

The air felt thick as Draco strode angrily up the staircase from the dungeons to the ground floor of the castle. He cursed Snape's name the entire way along. That man would be the death of him, one way or another. The pure agony of even having to see him once was unbearable. But Draco reckoned that this wouldn't be the last time that he would find himself in the dingy little office for another check-up.

He wasn't sure where he was going when he got to the top of the staircase. All that he knew was that he needed to get out of the castle and away from the castle. Fast.

The corridors were crowded with students of all ages wasting time between their final classes of the day and the start of supper in the Great Hall that evening. They chatted amongst themselves about mundane things like which professors were the best and which were the worst, or what they planned to do on their first trip to Hogsmeade. Draco resented them for their boundless excitement. They were so fresh and untainted. It disgusted him. But more than that, it frightened him. He couldn't remember the last time that he had been allowed to feel like a child. It seemed like his whole life he had been relegated to playing the part of a pawn in his father's game.

Now, he was in a game of his very own.

As Draco marched along the corridor, a group of first-year students looked on with wide eyes and mouths in the shape of an O.

"That's him," one of them whispered. "That's Lucius Malfoy's son."

"Wasn't he incarcerated this summer? I heard he's in Azkaban."

"No doubt that Draco's next."

"I can't believe they allowed him to return to this school. And we're expected to just co-exist with the son of a known Death Eater? It's barbaric."

Draco's stomach dropped. Though he wished it didn't, the comments of his classmates tore at him. He knew what his father was capable of, what he had done to others, even the family members of some of those very students. Had his father killed their aunts or uncles? Or maybe even their parents? He shivered involuntarily at the sheer thought of it. Now the arsehole was in prison and Draco was out here, in the real world, dealing with the consequences of his father's actions. Fucking Lucius.

Quickening his pace, he found his way to an exit and finally, he made it outside to the courtyard. He took in a gulp of fresh air and felt it immediately rush into his lungs and calm his sizzling nerves. Autumn had come too soon to Hogwarts, just as it had every year before. There were already thick piles of crunchy colourful leaves scattered across the grounds, blowing off nearly barren trees. A cool breeze came by and Draco instinctively tucked his chin into the collar of his school jumper. Winter wasn't far now. It was only October but it felt as though the year was flying by. Far too quickly. Draco set off towards the Quidditch pitch with a huff, aching for some peace and quiet. But a small voice stopped him in his tracks.

"They won't let you go past here, you know."

The voice belonged to Hermione Granger. She was sitting on a bench at the far edge of the courtyard, clad in a puffy jacket that Draco had never seen before - but, judging by its ugliness, Draco assumed it was a Muggle fashion. At least half a dozen books were piled up by her side and another was cracked open on her lap. She peered at him quizzically through her thick eyelashes, not with judgement but with curiosity. For a moment, Draco was relieved. Seeing her there without an ounce of disdain was a breath of fresh air compared to his previous interaction of the day.

But then he snapped back to reality. Anger gurgled within him and he narrowed his eyes at her. "What was that, Granger?"

The soft look in her eyes disappeared and she sighed aloud. "You can't go any further than this. It's getting dark out." Hermione pointed up at the sky with her index finger. "Haven't you noticed that the school has upped its security this year?"

Evidently, Draco had not. "Why in Merlin's name would they do that?"

Hermione gave him a pointed look. "I think that's quite obvious. Don't you?"

Oh. Another gift courtesy of Lucius Malfoy. Draco glanced longingly over his shoulder at the empty fields that surrounded the castle. There was no inch of privacy left in this goddamn place. He groaned to himself, throwing his head back so he could stare up at the grey, lifeless sky. When he finally allowed his head to drop back down, he glowered at Hermione. "Well, what am I meant to do then? I need to get away from this school. Now."

A startled look flashed upon Hermione's face when she realized that he wasn't speaking rhetorically. Even Draco was surprised at his own bluntness. Why was he telling her any of this? Why he was he even speaking to her? Neither of them had the answers.

Hermione ducked her head back into her book and shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry. Can't help you there."

"Fuck!" Draco kicked at the ground beneath his feet, sending chunks of nearly frozen grass and dirt flying into the air. The breeze was becoming bitterly cold as the sun no longer brought any warmth to Draco's skin. As he looked around the castle grounds, he couldn't help but steal a glance at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her dark hair, curly as ever, hung thick around her face like a shield from the wind. Still, her cheeks were so red that they might very well have been windburnt. Draco wondered how she could sit out here, obviously freezing, without so much as flinching at the icy wind. "Why the fuck are you out here then?"

"I'm reading. Can you not tell?"

"Why don't you read in the library like a normal person?"

"Well, because," Granger huffed with obvious exasperation. "I just want to be alone right now. Take a hint."

Well, there's certainly more to that story, Draco thought. But frankly, he didn't care enough to press her for the truth. Maybe a year ago he would enjoy teasing Hermione mercilessly. But he just couldn't be bothered anymore. "Well, thank you so much for all of your assistance, Granger."

"My pleasure, Malfoy." Hermione didn't even look up from her book. Not once.

Draco made his way back into the castle, feeling more agitated than he had when he left. Dirty fucking Mudblood. Why was everyone at this school so dense? At this rate, he didn't have the slightest inkling of how he was meant to make it through another agonizing year at Hogwarts. If it were up to him, he would have left school this year instead of next. Fortunately, he would be able to drop out of Hogwarts after his sixth year. Although it did require making a deal with the devil.

Dejectedly, he reentered the foyer, passing the same astonished and sickened first-years. This time, he seriously did consider hexing them. Before making his way back down to the dungeons, he shot them a look which made them practically quiver in fear.

As he stormed through the corridors of the dungeons, Draco felt a wave of nausea creep upon him. He could manage just one short year, couldn't he? He had been through worse in his life or at least he thought he had. Seeing the happiness on his schoolmates' faces as they returned to Hogwarts each year made him furious with envy. He wished that he could feel the same. Maybe one day, long ago, he had. But he couldn't remember that feeling now. The school was only tainted with bad memories now.

By the time he arrived at the Slytherin dormitory, Draco was slick with sweat and his head was spinning. He croaked out the password and the entrance to the common room slowly appeared. He barged inside and stood just past the entrance, listening carefully for the sound of any other Slytherins hanging around. Aside from the faint sound of the door shutting behind him, it was silent.

It had to be nearly 5 o'clock. The common room was completely empty as the majority of the student body was already gathered in the Great Hall for supper. That, at least, he was grateful for. The last thing he wanted to do was pretend to care for conversation. It was hard enough to do so on a regular day, let alone today. Trudging towards his room, his muscles throbbed and his breath was shallow.

There was no one let in the boys' dormitory either. Draco marched into his room and yanked his jumper over his head, tossing it onto the end of the mattress of his four-poster bed where a pile of clothes had already accumulated. The only sound in the room was the gentle ebb of the Great Lake against the windows.

A soft sob fell from Draco's lips although he tried to suppress it. Then it came more powerfully, as if erupting from somewhere deep inside of him.

His shoulders shook violently and his hands trembled as he tried to undo the buttons of his shirt. When he was finally able to get them undone, he ripped the shirt off and threw it onto the bed as well. Standing shirtless in the middle of his dorm, he raised his left arm before his face and cried out. The black ink on his forearm looked more menacing now than it had before, appearing like a diseased mark under his skin below the greenish lighting of his room. He rubbed furiously at the mark with the palm of his hand as if he could erase it so easily. When the skin turned bright pink and the mark remained, Draco dropped his hand in defeat and howled loudly into the empty room.

Why did it have to be me?