"Mr Malfoy, may I ask what you are doing in my classroom? Aren't you supposed to be in Herbology, if my memory serves me correctly?"

Draco jumped, surprised by his Head of House.

"Sorry, Professor Snape. I, er, didn't think, I mean I didn't see..." He trailed off, meeting the Potions master's imperial, questioning gaze. Quickly composing himself, Draco explained himself in a more typical Malfoy manner.

"Professor Sprout will excuse me, sir. I was actually wondering if you could spare me a moment."

In answer, Snape turned to his class of third years.

"Continue to add rat sinews to your Sleeping Serums; we will test them upon my return, so make sure they become electric blue in colour. Otherwise, you will sleep..." (he paused dangerously) "...for a very, very long time."

Snape and Draco strode in silence to Snape's office, a small dark room, the shelves filled with jars of grotesquely mutilated creatures immersed in suspicious-looking fluids. His black cloak swirling behind him, Snape seated himself behind his desk and gestured at a dusty chair.

"Take a seat."

Draco sat rather tensely in the chair. "Thank you, Professor."

Snape tapped his fingers on his desk.

"Well, Mr Malfoy?"

"Ah, yes sir. Potter."

"And what about Mr Potter?" Snape's voice had an edge of irritation to it.

"He's been acting rather...strangely lately, Professor. I was wondering if your remark about the gamekeeper was entirely...wise."

Snape's eyes hardened. "Your concern for Potter is decidedly uncharacteristic, Mr Malfoy. Rather disappointing, in fact. I think that he is realising that fame cannot constantly swaddle him from the Dark Lord. He also needs to learn to control that nasty temper of his."

Draco's voice rose slightly from aggravation. "Professor, you have not answered my question."

"Oh, I do apologise, Mr Malfoy. You see, Potter cannot afford to lose his mind now, over the death of a mere gamekeeper. He has seen a great deal of death and destruction in his lifetime, I assumed a little more wouldn't make a difference. I see in hindsight that I was very wrong. If Potter cannot learn to accept Death, even that of his closest friends, then the Headmaster is wrong to place such great responsibility of the Order on him," Snape sneered.

"And as for you, there is absolutely no reason to treat Potter any differently. We certainly cannot afford for you to become as weak as a Flobberworm. Potter is not a child and therefore has no reason to take shelter behind your robes."

Normally pale cheeks flushed with anger, Draco opened his mouth to retaliate.

"The discussion is closed, Mr Malfoy. Good afternoon."

Snape swept past Draco and strode down the hallway, heels clicking on the stone floor.

Draco sat still in the dusty beechwood chair, fighting to control his rising fury. Ever since he had been selected to join the Order, he had been envious of Potter. Potter had everything; power, talent, love, real friends. He laughed at himself a little. Ha, a Malfoy, jealous of anyone else? What would Father have to say to that? Then his eyes turned to twin chips of flint. But Merlin help me, I'll never find out.

The night Lucius had left the Malfoy mansion, three months ago, Draco swore that he would kill his father, even if it cost him his own life. He could have tolerated the beatings and the curses, but he would not tolerate his father's use of the Unforgivable curse on his mother. On the last night, when the Dark Mark burned black, Lucius had taken Narcissa and Draco with him to the gathering of Death Eaters. Draco had gone willingly, his promised initiation was to be that night.

They stood in a circle around their beloved Lord, who glided up to the Malfoy family. His crazed red eyes skimmed over the faces of Draco and Narcissa, and he gave a brief nod as he met the eyes of Lucius. Lucius bowed, then turned to his wife and yelled,

"Imperio!"

Draco, frozen to the spot, watched in muted horror as little by little, Death Eater by Death Eater, every last shred of his mother's dignity was stripped away from her.

When it was over, Narcissa lay in the middle of the circle; the only sound in the intense night was Lucius's laughter. He laughed harshly as he removed his wand from his robes, and pointed it at his wife.

"No, Mother!" Draco shouted as he tore himself from the ranks. He ran to his mother and held her close as he gazed defiantly at his father.

"You're a fool, boy. A weak fool," growled Lucius. "A disgrace to the name Malfoy. And for that, you will DIE!"

When the blinding flash of poison green light had disappeared, there was...nothing.

A thousand miles away, Albus Dumbledore was awakened from his sleeping quarters by the near-hysterical shouts of Madam Pomfrey, and they rushed to attend to a pale, slender, stony-faced young man and his unconscious mother, who had Apparated into the hospital wing just a few minutes earlier.

Draco shook himself. Since that night, he had distanced himself considerably from his admirers and followers in Slytherin; he wanted nothing more to do with the Dark Side. It was hard to escape though, he often felt his wand hand itching to curse Potter with one of the more 'immoral' incantations his father had taught him. He felt these urges more powerfully recently than at any other time. Especially when he saw Hermione.

It wasn't Potter that he was concerned about, but Hermione. When did I stop referring to her as 'Granger' or 'that Mudblood'? he asked himself. Rather than inspiring a sneer every time he glimpsed it, the sight of her face (which had become considerably more attractive in the past two years since she had shrunk her teeth) now tore at Draco's heart. He had watched her carefully over the past few months.

He saw the changes that no-one else seemed to notice: the weight loss, the reluctance to answer so many questions in class, the darting eyes of a trapped bird, but most significantly, the way she flinched when Potter touched her. Draco knew Potter hurt her, and he would do anything to make it stop. Anything, even trying to convince Professor Snape to be civil to the 'celebrity'.

*