The next few days consisted of a remarkably quiet Ron mulling about, weathering the flood of daily amenities and tasks. He didn't change his routine much, sitting in the same place for meals across from Harry and walking with him to the common room at other times. He was there, but he was... silent.

Harry didn't question it, just continued right along Ron, hoping his dedication would prove worthy of acceptance. In between Ron's angst and Hermione's kindness, Harry and Draco were better than ever.

They had been sneaking glances across the Great Hall one evening, smiling subtly and laughing quietly at their own personal inside jokes. Blaise was next to Draco, going on about his most recent plan to get drunk one of the following weekends, and Pansy sat quietly across from him. She was completely and utterly absorbed in her latest divination project and refused to be interrupted. It was at this time that Draco noticed a familiar owl heading his way, flapping mercilessly with a letter gripped tightly in its talons.

His stomach dropped, ligaments loosely stretching and allowing gravity to take hold of his insides. The bird came closer, closer, and Draco thought he was going to puke as the Malfoy owl dropped a message onto his lap.

He retrieved the letter and placed it in his robe pocket, swallowing audibly. The last few weeks had been miraculously surreal. Draco had allowed himself to forget, to pretend that this was a love story with a happy ending. To enjoy every second in Potter's presence, to play that they weren't stuck at the forefront of a war. The Malfoy family wax seal enclosing the letter anchored him to solid ground. This was far from over.

Across the room, Harry could tell something was horribly wrong. The look on Malfoy's face gave everything away; there was only one person whom the letter dropped upon him could be written from. The question was, what the hell was going to happen next.

Draco braved the hesitance within and pried open the letter. He was alone, locked within an empty stall in the Slytherin lavatory. Nervousness had overtaken since the letter had befallen him just an hour earlier. He unfolded the parchment, heartbeat wild and a small sweat beading across his forehead. Focusing his eyes, he began to read:

Draco,

I have an important message for you regarding the subject of our last letter. I need to speak with you as soon as is feasible. Arrive at the fire place in your common room tonight at midnight, and we will talk.

The letter lacked a signature, but he knew exactly who he'd be facing in a few hours. He slouched against the wall of the stall, casting a quick Incendio upon the letter before succumbing to the doubt that welled from within. What a fool he had been, dragging Harry into the middle of this. They were damned from the start, wilted before they'd been given a chance to bloom.

He sighed, sliding down until he hit ground. Knees folded in front of him, he pounded his head against the stall a few times, trying to figure out what in the fuck to do. He'd cried more times in the past couple of months than he had quite possibly in his entire life, but that didn't stop him from letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks. He was alone at least; he didn't want Harry to see him like this. Not any more than he already had, anyway; Draco needed to be strong for him. No matter what hardships Draco faced, it was Harry that the Dark Lord wanted dead. It was Harry who had the right to be afraid, not Draco. He was merely a pawn in Voldemort's plan, a disposable piece that was moving closer to destruction.

But not anymore. Draco took a sharp breath in, remembering what the fuck he was doing here. He was here, at Hogwarts, where just some weeks ago he'd sought Dumbledore's protection. He thought about his childhood, memories blurring like water colors. Scenes of abuse and loneliness, of begging for attention, of never quite being good enough. Curses thrown his way if he made one wrong move. He thought of Lucius Malfoy, smirking down at him while Draco's world lit fire. And all at once, his grief transformed into something much more useful: rage.

He was here because he was done taking orders. He remained under Dumbledore's loyalty because he refused to be told who to follow. He pushed forward every day with the comfort of knowing he was Harry's. Draco Malfoy was no Death Eater; Draco Malfoy was no pawn. Not anymore.

Balling his hands to fists, his brow narrowed as he contemplated his next move. He would speak with Lucius Malfoy, Alright. But he would not be played. Drying his tears, Draco rose to his feet. A new motivation sparked within him, internal wiring frayed with vengeance. He had been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, and he intended on living up to his shrewd reputation. Something inside of Draco Malfoy had been born again, carcass lying still within that bathroom stall. Without hesitation, he strode from the room determinedly.

Harry was worried. He'd seen Draco disappear immediately after finishing his dinner, and he knew from the way he hurriedly escaped that something was very wrong. Alas, he had no way of confirming this aside from somehow stalking into the Slytherin lair to ask him personally. Hedwig was out of the question; she'd be immediately recognized, and the Owlery was closed at this hour.

He tried to brain storm, pulling ideas from the depths of his psyche to no avail. He would've given just about anything to voice his concerns to Ron, but the lad was still harboring his emotions silently.

And so he sat in the common room, biding his time until his eyelids felt heavy. Before bed, he checked the Marauders map to see Draco sitting across from Blaise in their own common room. With a sigh of relief, he at least could rest assured that Draco was having somewhat of a normal night.

Midnight approached slowly. As the minutes ticked closer, Draco sat with his hands folded on the black leather surface of the couch nearest the fire. He was slightly nervous, but it didn't show. His Malfoy stoicism was shining brightly, a beacon in his defense. The common room was deserted, and a part of him wished it hadn't been. If Lucius Malfoy even sensed a pair of listening ears, he'd bail. Alas, Draco was alone.

At the strike of midnight, the golden flames of the fire morphed into a neon lime green. Draco started, but recovered quickly. He knew this was coming; he was expecting this. He had to stay focused.

The flames roared violently, prefacing who was to come. Draco clenched his eyes shut, shifting all of his energy to compose himself. When eyes of steel opened, the face of Lucius Malfoy had formed from the open flames.

"Draco." His voice was perfectly preserved, a cold and loveless greeting that made his son's skin crawl.

"Yes, father. I'm here." Draco approached the fire, standing straight, rigid.

"The Dark Lord has decided that waiting until you return after the winter holiday is wasting time that is precious. You will kill Dumbledore before the end of this term."

Draco nodded.

"I assume your plans are coming along just fine then?" The question was spat. The man didn't even try to hide his doubt in the boy.

"Yes. Everything is going as intended. The new time line should be without problem." Draco kept his face hard, careful not to give emotion away.

"Would you care to explain exactly what these plans are?" Lucius raised an eyebrow, daring.

"I have befriended the Potter boy. I am working on a cursed object spell. I plan to have Potter deliver the object to Dumbledore himself. The poison should take effect immediately, at which point I will have followed and can capture Potter for you." His throat caught slightly, but he pressed onward. "This plan is without flaw. You have my word."

"I see. And is Severus aware of this plan?" Draco stumbled momentarily.

"No. I don't want him involved. This is my job, not his."

"And how do you expect yourself not to fall into one of Potter's traps? Or even one set by Dumbledore himself?"

Draco hadn't been expecting this question. "Sir?"

"You know that Harry Potter is our enemy. He is loyal to Dumbledore only. I highly doubt in the short time you've spent with him that he has any loyalty to you. Dumbledore isn't daft. Did you ever stop to think that he might suspect something of this 'friendship' you share with Potter?"

Draco froze. He hadn't had enough time to prepare for this.

"He suspects nothing, Lucius." Draco pivoted to see his head of house approaching from the shadows.

"I thought you refused to inform our dear friend of your inner workings, Draco?" Lucius glared suspiciously in his direction.

"He hasn't shared anything with me. But I've been keeping a close watch, Lucius. The boy will do fine. What is our time line now?"

"The Dark Lord spoke earlier today. If Dumbledore isn't befallen in two weeks, he has something else in mind."

For a fleeting moment, Draco swore he saw fear cross his father's face.

"Draco will not let our alliance down. I will see to it." The drawl of Professor Snape was comforting.

"You'd better not. I fear for you if you fail." Lucius Malfoy's voice held no sympathy or worry for the well being of his son. Draco gulped.

"I won't."

The flames died, burning back to the color of the sunset. Lucius Malfoy was gone.

"How did you know?" Draco stuttered quietly, processing all of the information from the past few minutes.

"My Dark Mark was signaled earlier. I am not...required to attend such meetings due to my post here. With his next plan in action, one could only presume that you would be the subject of discussion."

Draco drew in a deep breath. "What happens when Dumbledore isn't dead in two weeks?"

Snape's eyes were black, beady, and full of hate when he answered: "We fight."