It was a perfectly bloody miserable late January day, to Draco Malfoy's mind. It wasn't all that cold, and the sun was shining. But he was utterly miserable. Sitting in the stands flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, laughing weakly at their threatening mutters towards the Gryffindors as his old self would have.

How would he stand this act for another four months, when everything within him screamed at the very thought? It had been such a rude awakening a month ago--he still utterly loathed himself for his weakness in self-preservation. The girl haunted his nightmares regularly, so much that Snape had him taking Dreamless Sleep Potion on the sly after Zabini informed him that Draco was waking everybody up with his shrieks of terror awakening from the dreams.

Pansy had tried to drag him up to the Astronomy Tower a week ago for a snogging session like they had done before, but he had barely prevented himself from dashing away and being sick at the thought of being in such intimate contact with any girl. Lovely, he thought tiredly, if I can't bear the sight of anyone female, and since I'm not attracted to other males, I've got a long, lonely life ahead. No less than I deserve, though.

He turned his eyes back towards the Quidditch pitch, feeling a sharp pang of loss there as well. He hadn't been a wonderful Seeker; that he knew. In fact, he had avoided trying most times, because he hadn't earned the position or appreciated it. He knew his father had coerced Snape into appointing him as Seeker, and that Snape hadn't been happy about it. But he missed the simple, carefree things like Quidditch now, when nothing was clear. The Slytherin team had easily forgotten him already, cheering on Meridia Aquila to beat Gryffindor as they had last year.

To distract himself, he calculated outcomes this year, almost wanting to laugh at how much a stupid House Cup meant to these--these children, when waiting for them right outside Hogwarts' gates were those who wouldn't give a damn whether they had been school champions or in last place. All that mattered to Voldemort was if you were sick and twisted enough to follow him.

Still, thinking of the house points was better than thinking of the girl's screams. Flatly he realized that they could lose this match and still win the Quidditch Cup if Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor and they beat Hufflepuff. Gryffindor and Slytherin had both already beaten Ravenclaw. Wonderful.

He was aware of a commotion on the field as one of Slytherin's Beaters, William Monk, had knocked into a Gryffindor Chaser, Hester Latterly. He remembered he had spurned Monk, the boy being the Muggle-born son of a Northumberland fisherman. Unusual to have Muggle-borns in Slytherin, but Monk had proven to be quite an ambitious and cunning young fellow. Sorting Hat was right to put him with us. Hadn't been enough to stop him sneering at the boy behind his back before, of course, as a Mudblood. Monk and Latterly were both third-years now, and Draco sighed again at the position he was put in. He couldn't make the amends he desperately wanted to now, realizing what an utter ass he had been. His disdain was so trademark now that to change would automatically set off alarm bells to his father and result in his being confronted by the senior Malfoy and forced to choose: life with Voldemort or death. He didn't know even now if he'd be strong enough to choose to die if faced with that, he realized in self-disgust.

He muttered some vague assent to Pansy's sneer about Latterly, then was aware of a massive roar coming from the scarlet-clad ranks in the Gryffindor stands. Harry Potter was holding up his fist in triumph, looking pointedly towards the scouts there from the Cardiff Dragons. Draco grimaced and shook his head. I could have maybe caught it if it was me out there…damn Potter. All smug and happy: spoiled always here at Hogwarts. Look at those scouts. Practically drooling. And here I am afraid for my life. Doesn't the stupid prat realize there's a war going on out there…that Voldemort means to kill him? Or is all he can see that damned Snitch?

It didn't matter how short-sighted Harry Potter was. He was the school's darling, while he--he was living a lie. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy stayed with him in order to be close to the son of a high-ranking Death Eater as a status symbol; not out of any genuine fondness. They used him as much as he had used them.

Something within him welled in a sick, helpless rage. He only knew he had to get away from the stupid celebration of something so insignificant as Potter catching the Snitch. Perhaps a year ago he could have been outraged along with the rest at the loss, but now it was a mere grain of sand next to the quicksand pit threatening to swallow him.

He stumbled out of the stands, heading back to the castle. He didn't fit any longer with all this. He had tasted the darkness, been part of it. Four more months of trying to act innocence he no longer possessed would drive him mad. Tying to deny what he had done to that girl when he really just felt like standing up in the Great Hall and shouting it for all to hear, to be denounced and punished as he so richly deserved…he couldn't stand it. Everything he was: all a lie. Well, perhaps he could make a damn statement about refusing to live the lie any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~

Minerva was grinning smugly at him as they exited the stands as the students were almost all safely at the castle, bringing up the rear. "Looks like the Quidditch Cup is Gryffindor's this year."

He gave her an irritated look. "If Hufflepuff beats you," he reminded smoothly, "and we beat Hufflepuff, it'll be ours." The final score had been 180-90. He at least had the quiet pride that their Chasers had beaten Gryffindor's. He knew Potter had caught the Snitch quickly as he could rather than risk the Snitch's points being beaten out by the Slytherin Chasers, and smiled in satisfaction at that.

"Professor Snape, sir?" He was aware of Hermione Granger walking by his side, giving him a bit of a smile. "I think I may have finally figured the Solventus out. Could we work on it if you're not busy? I think I could have it ready in a week or two if I'm right!" she said in excitement.

"Excellent!" he said, genuinely pleased. She had made excellent progress as well in her spying ability, which also relieved him. She was much more than he had thought; that was for certain.

"Not all Gryffindors are dunderheads, hmm?" Minerva said teasingly, giving him a smile.

"Just most," he said dryly, unable to resist. Minerva gave a rather mock noise of annoyance and walked ahead, leaving the two of them to chat.

The only sound for a moment was the quiet crunch of snow beneath their shoes. She finally spoke. "Sir, I just wanted to say--"

Just then, Icarus came diving towards them, looking as terrified as an owl could. You have to stop him! he hooted frantically.

"Draco?" He was automatically on alert. "What's he doing?"

He's in the Astronomy Tower, Icarus said. Didn't even look at the letter from home I had just delivered. He came back from the match and headed there… Exhausted, he finally dropped into Hermione's arms, spent from the effort of flying from Malfoy Manor and then flying at breakneck speed to find him.

He didn't even pause for thought, cursing the wards that prevented Apparating into the school. He raced for the broom shed where Madame Hooch stored the student's brooms, hastily throwing open the door and grabbing the first broom coming to hand.

He mounted the broom and kicked off from the ground, turning towards Hogwarts, barely aware of Hermione running towards the school as well in the twilight gloom. Old memories came back to him of high-speed broomstick rides, but there was more at stake now than a mere Quidditch game.

He approached the Astronomy Tower, relieved he seemed to have gotten a broom in decent shape and with fair speed. He saw Draco crouching on the windowsill, eyeing the ground below. Before he could cry out for the boy not to do it, he leaped. Frantically grabbing his wand from up his sleeve, he bellowed a Levitation Charm, holding Draco about ten feet from the ground.

Carefully landing in the snow, he gently lowered Draco. "You damn fool!" he immediately shouted. "What in the name of God were you thinking?"

"I can't stand it, sir," Draco choked out, not even looking up at him. "I can't act like I was before. I can't pretend that girl didn't exist, or that I had no part in anything. I can't even stand to look at myself in the mirror any longer!"

"Then," Snape replied almost harshly, "you do something to be able to look at yourself in the mirror. And quite frankly, you haven't earned the right to the coward's way out."

Draco flinched at that. "I'm Slytherin, sir. Slytherin and weak," he murmured defeatedly.

"You are Slytherin, and damn you, be proud of it," Snape said crisply. "We are not weak. You sound like a Hufflepuff weeping and whining over what you can't change. Now, you can't take back what you did to that girl," his voice softening a bit, "but you can try to make amends in other ways. I've been there, you forget. I considered ending it all myself, but decided I didn't deserve an easier end than those I harmed."

He knew that the last thing Draco wanted was sympathy, feeling he was the one least deserving of it. So he took a hard, almost biting, tone with him, making him feel like it was his punishment to live with what he had done. It's my penance, and too it shall be his. "Promise me," he demanded. "You won't take that way out. You owe to make it up if it truly you regret it that much."

Draco gave a heaving sigh. "I promise, sir," he said quietly, putting his hands in his pockets and trudging towards the castle, shoulders slumped. The one thing Snape knew he could trust about a Malfoy was their sworn word. The boy wouldn't kill himself, but Snape knew he'd not drop the idea. He began thinking himself of how to perhaps derail that. He wasn't about to tell the boy to become a bloody spy in recompense and give him purpose. Draco couldn't handle that--he was certain of that as anything before in his life.

He saw Hermione standing a little aside, still clutching Icarus, undisguised pity on her face for Draco. He sighed quietly. She had much to learn in the ways of dealing with people, but he had to admire her ability to forget how Draco had been to her. Potter and Weasley wouldn't be half so generous, and he thought not for the first time that she was too good for those two.

"Well," he said quietly. "Shall we work on your potion?" She nodded in relief, as he led the way into the dungeons, both a little uneasy over what had just happened. Times are changing, and us with them, he thought wearily. It only remains to see if we have changed enough…