"So then Dennis told me that she told him – "

"Would you shut up!" Draco said irritably. Normally Creevey's chatter was rather relaxing, but it was the day before the Hogsmeade weekend and he was trying to concentrate on his plan of action.

Creevey stopped talking immediately. Draco took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. "Oh fuck," he blurted out without thinking, "I've got to bloody wrap it still."

"There's plenty of time before Christmas to wrap gifts," Creevey piped up.

"This isn't a Christmas present," he snapped. "Damn, the one thing I didn't think about, bloody tissue paper or something to wrap it with." He sighed. There was a rustle and then he heard footsteps approach him. He turned quickly. Creevey stood feet away, a small roll of chocolate-brown wrapping paper in his hand. "It's not much, but here, take this."

Draco blinked at him. He hated the idea of accepting the offer, but finding such a thing on short notice would be next to impossible. He took the roll without a word, stowing it in a pocket in his robes.

Creevey moved back to his books. Draco stared at him a moment. This Gryffindor was a puzzle. Why was he still here, even after Draco's never ending silence only occasionally punctured with scathing comments or insults?

Colin didn't know it, but Malfoy's thoughts were similar to his own at that very moment.

He sat back down amongst his schoolbooks and pretended to read, but he couldn't focus. He hadn't expected Malfoy to thank him for the use of his wrapping paper, but the blasted bloke hadn't even nodded or acknowledged the gesture in any way. Why did he stick around, when Malfoy very clearly didn't want his company? Why did he keep coming back only to be insulted the few times his presence was even recognized?

And yet, Colin reasoned, if he really didn't want me around, why does he allow it? It would be easy enough to ditch him and find a new place to hide out. Colin couldn't follow Malfoy every moment of the day. And he remembered that Malfoy knew about the Room of Requirement; why didn't he just use it as his hiding place?

He raised his head slowly up to look at the blonde boy who sat with his eyes closed in a corner across the room. He seemed to be deep in thought. The longer he looked, the stronger his stomach tingled, and Colin knew what it was – but he was also aware that it was a complicated and impossible fantasy. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, but the thoughts wouldn't stop, so he started to talk to chase them away. "I'm going to take pictures of Hogsmeade tomorrow. More in depth photos than I've done before, you know. I took some basic pictures back in my third year, but I'd like to be able to get some detailed ones of the village. They'll be better than what I would have taken a couple of years ago anyway. Over last summer break I took a photography class – actually a couple of them. I took one Muggle class and one magical one. It's fascinating how the art of photography is essentially the same and yet so vastly different. Take depth of field shots, for example. On a Muggle camera – "

"Creevey! Shut up!" Malfoy's eyes snapped open to glare at him. "As much as it normally fascinates me to hear about your terribly exciting life" – the Slytherin's tone dripped with sarcasm – "for once, would you just shut up!"

"If you want me to shut up," Colin said boldly, "then you need to start talking."

"And why would I do that?"

"Words, when held in too long, have a funny way of coming out when we don't want them to, in places and to people we'd rather not have details of our lives," Colin said somewhat cryptically.

"I suppose you speak from experience," Malfoy sneered.

"I do, actually. But don't try to change the subject. We're not talking about me."

Malfoy sniffed haughtily. "Your concern is quite touching, but there's no cause for it. I'm rather well self-contained."

"For a bloke so well self-contained, you sure do lose your cool a hell of a lot," Colin retorted. "Just how many fights have you picked with other students this year, anyway?"

"I'll have you know the number is very low this year." Malfoy's tone sounded highly irritated.

"Unless it's Harry Potter – "

Malfoy laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. "The Chosen One? He doesn't even count! He's just a convenient way to unload my frustrations."

"And what," Colin said without considering his choice of words, "could the seemingly perfect pampered, spoiled, arrogant Malfoy Junior have going on in his life that would cause frustrations that came out in such volatile spurts of temper?"

Malfoy looked liked he'd been slapped. Colin felt a surge of something like triumph. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but after so many weeks of being patient it felt good to let out some of his own frustration. "And," he continued relentlessly, "What could make him spend hours each week in an abandoned girl's bathroom feeling sorry for himself and sobbing his eyes out?"

"You don't – " Malfoy caught himself, his eyes wide.

"I don't what? Understand? Than make me." Colin looked straight into the other boy's eyes.

Draco's grey eyes looked back into Creevey's, and for the first time he noticed that the Gryffindor's eyes were brown. He didn't know what to say. Creevey had caught him off guard; he had never attacked Draco like this before. He didn't know how to handle this right now. His mind was half stuck on tomorrow's plan and this was not a conversation he was prepared to deal with.

"Make me understand," Creevey repeated. "Because to be right down bloody honest, I don't understand. I don't understand how someone so full of pain, who clearly feels lost and alone and is hurting so deeply, can willingly cause that same pain in other people!"

Draco found himself unable to breathe. He choked out, "Because it makes me feel better. It makes me feel like I have some control over my own life." He'd spoken without thinking, the words simply falling from his lips of their own volition, and as soon as he said them he wished like hell he could take them back.

Creevey didn't say anything, and the silence dragged on and on, and Draco found he couldn't take the quiet that spoke too much. "I can't step a toe out of line. I don't have a choice. He's controlling my whole life. And I hate it. But I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Creevey said quietly.

Draco laughed hollowly. "Like that's even an option. I value my life too much, fuck if I know why."

"So you've considered – "

Draco looked up at the other boy when he didn't finish his sentence. He shrugged, suddenly aware of what he'd said. "In passing, perhaps. But I value my family's lives more than my own, and He would – " Draco broke off, horrified at himself for revealing so much.

"Who would do what to your family?" Creevey asked, sounding almost – concerned. Draco shook his head to clear it. "No one," he said shortly. "Nothing. Just forget it."

Creevey seemed to know it would be useless to argue, for he didn't protest, and after a minute Draco stood up and left the room without a backward glance.

Colin watched the Slytherin carefully for the rest of the day and the next morning at breakfast, but the other boy didn't make another trip to Myrtle's bathroom. His curiosity was burning so strongly that it was with some reluctance that he allowed his friends to drag him to Hogsmeade.

Some hours later, Colin trudged through the snow. He'd just come from The Three Broomsticks, but the butterbeer he'd downed had not been enough to fully warm him. He pulled the scarf tighter around his neck, but even as he did so a scream, clearly female, cut through the air. The wind was howling, so whoever it was must be close. He rushed toward the sound, pulling his camera out from underneath his heavy cloak – even in unknown situations such as this he was still a photographer first – and after several feet was able to make out the figure of a girl, suspended in the air, still shrieking loudly. He saw that she wasn't alone; four figures surrounded her. Two of them were trying to pull the girl down.

Click click click. His camera took pictures as fast as he could take them, capturing the scene as it unfolded: the girl fell on top of two of the figures, flattening them. Another figure sprinted away; Colin assumed they were going for help. Putting his camera away, he moved to rush over to see if he could aid in any way, but he'd barely gone a foot before something smacked him on the face. He peeled the offending object off with some difficulty and nearly stopped breathing when he was able to take a good look at it.

It was wrapping paper. It looked an awful lot like the one he had, in fact. He looked at it a long moment, his brain seeming to want to make a connection but unable to. At last, Colin shrugged and put the brown paper in his pocket and started forward again only to trip and fall flat on his face with a low grunt. He raised his head and brushed snow from his eyes. Laughing ruefully, he stood up and looked around. He found he was alone. Squinting, he could just make out five figures moving quickly away from him, but they disappeared, swallowed up by the swirling white winds.

Colin hurried to catch up. He had to know what had just happened. When he got back to the castle, however, he could find no one who knew of the incident. At last he made his way to the common room. Gryffindor Tower was quite full; it seemed as though the bad weather had forced most people to return from the village earlier than normal. He slumped onto an empty armchair. From the sound of pleasant chatter and loud laughter, he assumed the news of what happened had not yet reached his housemates.

"…wasn't a very slick attack, though, when you think about it," said a voice from behind him, and Colin turned around quickly in his seat to see Ron talking to Harry and Hermione. "The curse didn't even make it into the castle. Not what you'd call foolproof."

"You're right," he heard Hermione say. "It wasn't…" but they had moved out of earshot. Colin stood up, intending to ask them what they knew, but was impeded by a second year who wanted photography tips. By the time he'd finished talking to the little Pippi Longstocking lookalike, the three sixth years had left the room.

Colin sighed, debating whether or not to go looking for them before he remembered his pictures. Ducking out of the portrait hole, he made his way to the darkroom, his camera in hand.

He worked a little quicker than normal, eager to see his shots. He wished he could make the drying process go faster. He'd once tried a Drying Spell but while it worked with magical pictures it didn't work as well with muggle pictures, and he valued quality.

Slowly, the images came into view. He studied them carefully. The swirling snow made it difficult to see clearly, and the fact that the people were bundled up to ward off the cold didn't help either. He looked closely at one of the first pictures. There seemed to be something in the girl's hand but he couldn't make it out. He waved his wand, magically zooming in on her right hand. It was a bit pixilated, but it looked like a torn piece of paper. He sighed. The photos didn't really tell him much.

A thought struck him, and he pulled the brown paper that had hit him in the face out of his pocket and studied it carefully. He stared at the photo and then back at the paper in his hand. It looked like it was the same bit of wrapping paper. And if that was the case – he looked at it again. It sure appeared like the stuff he'd lent Malfoy. And if that was true, whoever had been on the receiving end of this wrapped package –

Colin let out another sigh. He knew he was making a rather large assumption. He didn't even know if this was the same paper. And even if it was, it didn't necessarily incriminate the boy; Malfoy might have let someone else use it. Still…the pieces seemed to all add up to one theory. Whatever Malfoy was a part of seemed to be much bigger and darker than he'd originally imagined, not that he'd really had any ideas to begin with, but still, he hadn't expected this, whatever this was. He wished he could ask Malfoy about it, but knew the Slytherin would only clam up if he tried.

But could he be patient enough to wait for Malfoy to come to him?

Draco walked into the bathroom quickly. He was so upset he hadn't even checked to see if anyone was in the corridor before he'd entered. He leaned against the wall, his hands reaching up to clutch at his head. He'd just heard that Katie Bell had been sent to St. Mungo's. His plan had not succeeded; the necklace had failed to reach its intended target, and he'd nearly killed an innocent pure blood instead –

His breath came in short gasps. He'd nearly killed someone. She might be a Gryffindor, but she was also a pure blood, and that counted for something. And, he thought, she's a living breathing human. He'd nearly –

Draco slid down the wall. He felt sick. I can't do this. "I have to do this!" he shouted. I can't do this.

He was so lost his own misery that it startled him when a hand tentatively touched his shoulder. He jerked away before he realized it was Creevey. He curled back up, unable to make himself brush the other boy's touch off; he was too distraught and it felt too damn good.

And when he heard Creevey's whispered, "Tell me," Draco didn't have the energy to fight the words that came spilling out of his mouth. Haltingly, he spoke, his voice loud in the total silence of the bathroom. "What if I told you that what happened to that girl was my fault? That was my fault. My fault."

Creevey didn't say anything, so Draco continued, a sudden need to say it out loud squeezing his chest. "I nearly killed her. Oh Merlin what if I did kill her? What if she's dead and the news hasn't spread yet? What if –?"

"Shhh," Creevey soothed softly. "You'll make yourself crazy if you think about the what ifs."

"But I am going crazy already!" Draco burst out. "I didn't mean to hurt her, she wasn't supposed to be the one – and now nothing has changed, nothing except I've nearly – " He broke off.

"Why are you trying to – hurt – someone?" Creevey asked, and Draco heard the hesitation in his tone. He was thankful the other boy had not asked him who, only why. "I have no choice," he said as he roughly wiped his eyes. "He will kill my parents if I don't do this. I have to do this. Family – they're all I have in this world. I have to do this."

"He?"

"The Dark Lord," Draco whispered.

"Why you?"

"I can get close to – this person. No one else can do that."

Creevey was silent for a long moment, and then – "I won't ask who it is. But I do want to know if it's Harry Potter."

Draco shook his head. "Potter belongs to the Dark Lord."

He saw Creevey nod in his peripheral vision. He didn't speak, and neither did Draco.

It wasn't until Creevey's hand left his shoulder that Draco realized how incredibly comforting the other boy's touch had felt.