"Merlin, not now." Draco ran a hand through his hair, already sticking up in a most unbecoming way, and glared at Blaise Zabini, reposed on Malfoy's bed. "Get out."

Blaise quirked an eyebrow and did not move.

Draco sighed and stepped completely into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. This room was his and only his. With the war, many parents had not sent their kids back. Even the Slytherin house had less students than usual, resulting in emptier rooms. Draco had had people assigned to his room, Crabbe and Goyle and Zabini in fact, but they had all left to find their own rooms when it became obvious there were empty ones. He liked having his own room, liked the peace and quiet and solitude, but clearly he would not be enjoying that today.

Ignoring Blaise, he crossed to his dresser and roughly shucked off his robes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He yanked his tie off next and tossed it into the half-open top drawer. Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, Draco faced Blaise again. "What, then?" he snapped, turning his attention to unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them to his elbows. He felt warm, an unusual feat for him, and uncomfortable in his stiff school uniform, and irritation ran rampant throughout his body.

"Where were you?" Blaise, in contrast, seemed perfectly cool from his voice to his complexion. His uniform was done up, crisp and unwrinkled as though he had just put it on though the school day was over and he had gone to all of his classes. It irked Draco that Blaise looked more composed than he did.

"You know perfectly well where I was or you wouldn't be here," he muttered darkly, crossing his arms and flexing his hands.

Blaise did not deny it. "You met the Weasley girl in the library. Again."

Draco flinched and then wanted to smack himself for doing so. He could keep a mask around most anyone, but Zabini had always seen past it. Over the years Draco had found that his mask slipped more and more often around his fellow Slytherin. "I did." He turned his chin up in defiance.

It had been two weeks since his deal with Weasley, and he had been meeting her in the library every few days since. He had also been avoiding Zabini since then, knowing Blaise would know everything and wishing desperately to not talk about it. If he said out loud what he had promised to, it would make the foolishness final and more blatant. Besides, Draco was not overly fond of Blaise's criticisms.

"You're an idiot, Malfoy," Blaise's voice was dark and his eyes held contempt and anger. "After this year you could leave. You were planning on leaving this war behind, no matter who the victor was. I know you were planning on leaving the country. And now you are helping the Weasley girl, helping the Order? You are smarter than that, Draco."

"Thanks for the confidence," Draco smiled sarcastically.

Blaise was standing in a flash, the movement so fluid that Draco actually jumped. "Do not brush this off. You know what betraying Voldemort means."

"And what would you know about it?" Draco snapped, angry that Blaise had startled him. He was not afraid of the other Slytherin. "You've kept yourself off both sides your entire life. What would you know about betraying the Dark Lord?"

"You're right; I have kept myself off of both sides, and do you know why? Because I want to live Malfoy. I want to survive this war and since I have no idea who will win, I won't declare my allegiance. But you, you have. How do you think this will end for you, Draco? Honestly, what are you hoping for?"

Draco shook his head. "It isn't about that. I'm screwed either way, aren't I? Potter and his precious Order will condemn me, and the Dark Lord scorns my family. What does it matter if I help one of them?"

"Damn it!" Blaise strode forward in two long strides, his hand wrapping around Draco's left wrist before he could recoil. Blaise shoved Draco's forearm in front of his face so that all Draco could see was the black skull grinning garishly at him. He recoiled violently, yanking his arm from Blaise's grasp.

"What the bloody hell?" he yelled, clapping his right hand over the mark, as though he could hide it. He was furious, face turning red as he glared at Blaise. Draco hated being reminded of his mark, hated being reminded of his mistakes.

Blaise was calmer as he stood there, chest still heaving slightly from the sudden flurry of motion. "You are Voldemort's man," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "That mark makes you Voldemort's man, always. He may scorn your family now, but I know you know what he does to traitors. That mark makes you his, and these meetings with Weasley – whatever they are – make you a traitor."

"I know," Draco replied, his anger leaving him. "I know, alright?"

"Then what are you hoping for?" Blaise was angry again, arms crossing tight across his chest. It was not often that Blaise showed any emotion, and Draco had to wonder why the Slytherin cared so much. It was not as though they were good friends. "Do you think Potter will triumph? Are you hoping that Weasley will protect you? Do you think they will thank you and send you on your way, Malfoy? Because they won't and she won't. Ginny Weasley will never stand against her family for you."

Draco felt hollow as he met Blaise's stormy gaze. "I know." And he did. Draco had no illusions about his position. If the Dark Lord found out, he would die. If Potter triumphed, he would not be saved. Helping Ginny Weasley did nothing for him, nothing that Blaise would understand. Draco himself did not understand it completely. "I…" he stumbled over his words and ran a hand through his hair again. "Look, I owe her alright?"

Blaise laughed derisively. "From the Chamber? Draco don't be mad! The stupid notes were one thing, but this? This is a death sentence."

Draco ignored Blaise's commentary on the notes. Blaise had always been forward with what he thought of that, ever since he had found out in Draco's fourth year. "It doesn't have to be. I know Ginny won't stand up for me, and I'm not hoping she will. I can still leave after this year. I can still run. I'm only helping her a bit while I'm still here."

Blaise merely stared at him in a calculating way, letting the silence press down on them. His eyes were dark with understanding and Draco could not meet his gaze. He did not want to know what Blaise was thinking, knowing Zabini would be right and not wanting to hear it. Whatever it was. "Are you can just leave?" he finally, asked quietly.

"Yes, of course," Draco blinked furiously in surprise. "Why wouldn't I be able to?"

Blaise did not answer. He simply walked past Draco and toward the door. He paused just inside the doorframe after throwing the door open. "You really think you can just leave her after this?"

The breath was knocked painfully from Draco's lungs and he gasped slightly, but Blaise did not wait for a response. The dark Slytherin was gone in an instant, the door open behind him. And Draco Malfoy was left speechless, confused, and for the first time in a long time, truly afraid.

Ginny Weasley was gathering her books together. She had not even opened them, she never did, but she always brought them to the library with her. It made her feel better to have them on the table, as though they were a shield that could protect her if the Carrows came. Books were a flimsy shield, she knew, and if the Carrows truly came for her, they would do nothing, but still, Ginny brought them with her every time.

She had lingered for a bit after this last meeting with Malfoy. The meetings had started off terribly awkward, and Ginny recalled with a smile the second time she had summoned Malfoy with a note, three days after she had ambushed him with Luna. He had been furious again that Ginny had once again used a note, left on one of his desks by Neville. Surprisingly, instead of fearing Malfoy's anger as Ginny thought she would, she had been amused by it. More specifically, she had been amused that she had known he would be angry, and how he would look being angry. He had come striding into the alcove she favored just as Ginny had imagined, and she had had to bite down on a laugh. Malfoy had whisper-yelled at her for a bit and then demanded to know what she wanted. That was when it had become awkward.

Ginny had not really had a reason for calling him to the library. In fact, she never really had a reason, but she kept doing it. Every few days, Ginny would have Neville leave Malfoy a note and every time he would come. The first one after his meeting Luna had been another test. Ginny had truly been uncertain about whether he would come or not. When he had, she had had to fumble for an excuse. It had been terribly weak, too, she recalled, cheeks burning slightly. She had asked if he had any information, and Malfoy had looked at her like she had grown another head. Then he had turned and stomped off, muttering something about Gryffindors risking their heads for no bloody reason. She had sent the second note two days later and had been unable to hold back the smile when again Malfoy had shown up.

Two weeks and four meetings later and Ginny was still just as amused when Malfoy came. Gradually, Malfoy had begun to stay longer. This last time he had even sat down at the table with her, rubbing his forehead in agitation as she asked random questions about the Carrows. Malfoy was quick to criticize the siblings, and Ginny found that he thought them as idiotic as she did. He did not have a wealth of information on them, and as he had said, he had no idea what Voldemort was doing. When Ginny asked about Snape, however, Malfoy always turned to stone and said he had no idea what the Headmaster was doing. Ginny thought it very strange, recalling the favoritism Harry had so often complained of. Even she remembered Snape's fondness, if the man was truly fond of anyone, of Malfoy.

But she was careful not to press Draco. She valued the information he was giving her, and honestly, she enjoyed speaking with him. His blunt nature was refreshing, and even his negativity was a relief from the constant optimism Neville exuded. Their conversations were lengthening and today, Malfoy had even smiled. Ginny found herself studying him more and more, wondering about the boy she had thought she knew. Last night she had found herself wondering who Malfoy was really. It was disconcerting, but Ginny pushed that feeling away. He was helping them; he was helping her.

"Weasley."

The books in Ginny's hands fell onto the table, creating a terrible racket, and she whipped around, wand drawn hastily. She was somehow unsurprised to find it pointed at Zabini. The wand point did not lower. "Zabini," her voice was carefully measured, not friendly or unfriendly. She had no reason to mistrust Blaise Zabini after all; he was no Death Eater, but after their last meeting, she had found herself avoiding him. He unsettled her.

Blaise made no comment on the wand levelled at him. "You've been seeing Draco."

Ginny's heart started beating faster in her chest, but she ignored it. Lowering her wand in the hope that it would make her appear not frightened, she regarded him with careful blankness. "Who told you that?"

A smile flashed across his face but was gone quickly. "You're learning how to play the game, good. But you've made a mistake in trusting Malfoy. He'll turn on you."

Crossing her arms, Ginny frowned at the dark-haired Slytherin. "This is no game, and I don't trust Malfoy."

He said nothing.

Ginny sighed angrily, running a hand through her hair before shoving her wand into her pocket. "The only game I see is the one you are trying to play, but I won't participate Zabini." She glared at him and then went back to gathering her books. They had fallen relatively near each other, and it only took a moment to gather them back into her arms. She turned to leave and screamed. Zabini was standing with his face so near to her own that she had to take a step back immediately. "What the bloody hell?" she hissed, blushing furiously.

"You do trust Malfoy, and if you continue this foolishness, you'll get him killed," Blaise hissed, and it was the first time Ginny had seen him show any emotion that seemed genuine. She blinked stupidly up at him, in shock. "Stop talking to him, stop asking him to meet you, stop your idiotic rebellion."

"No," Ginny hugged her books closer to her chest. "Just because you want to stay out of the war, Zabini, does not mean the rest of us will just sit by and let terrible things happen."

"Malfoy is not the rest of you," he shot back. "He risks everything by doing this. If you truly are as good as you say, as moral as you pretend to be, then you will stop asking him for help and endangering his life!"

Ginny's temper flared. "I didn't ask Draco for anything!"

Zabini finally took a step back, and his mask slid back over his face with such ease it took Ginny's breath away. The fear she used to experience when confronting Malfoy returned with a vengeance. Zabini was dangerous, even more so than Draco had ever been. "No, you didn't," he answered calmly, "but you're using his guilt and that makes you just as bad as the rest of us." He turned on his heel and glided away, gone in seconds without a sound.

Ginny stared after him in open-mouthed shock and with guilt twisting in her stomach.

Knocking sounded out against Draco's wooden door, and he groaned. "Go away, Zabini." He laying with his head buried in his bed, in the same position he had taken up as soon as Blaise had left his room. His head was pounding, and Draco only wanted to sleep. But sleep would not come with Blaise's words bouncing around his head.

"Draco?" the voice came through contorted but loud enough that Draco realized it was female. Not Blaise then, obviously.

Sighing, Draco heaved himself up from his bed and stumbled to the door. His entire body ached, as though he had gotten into a duel rather than an argument. He heaved the door open and snapped, "What?"

Pansy smiled up at him. She was leaning against the wall, flatteringly jutting her hip out and no doubt aware that Draco would have a clear view of her cleavage. Draco wanted to snort. He had been vaguely interested in Pansy at one point, and he had had a thing with her at the beginning of his sixth year, but even she had to know he had no interest now. "Draco," she nearly purred.

"What do you want?" he snapped again.

The smile dropped from her face and she straightened. "Well, I see you still aren't any fun." She was not angry as she looked up at him, but she was not amused either. Pansy had become more mature since last year, but no less devious. She knew what her best tools were, and she used them. A respectable Slytherin, she was.

Draco leaned his head against the door and glared at the wood. "No, Pansy, I'm too busy worrying about my life to be fun anymore. What do you want?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Draco," she snapped, frowning at him. Draco did not bother responding again. "Snape wants you," she sighed finally, when it became obvious that Draco was done with this conversation.

That made him straighten up and he looked down at his old friend with narrowed eyes. "Snape? Why?"

She snorted. "Like he would tell me."

"Pansy," Draco's voice was dark with warning, and his heart was thrumming nervously. He had not truly spoken with Snape since the beginning of the year, the first time Snape had called him into the Headmaster's office. That visit had brought him nothing but anger, and Draco doubted this visit would be much different.

Pansy held up her hands in surrender. She dropped all pretense of other emotion, her eyes clearing. "Honestly, Draco, I have no idea. He just told me to have you report to his office, immediately."

Draco closed his eyes and repressed a sigh. This was the last thing he needed today, when his head was already throbbing and muddled because of Zabini. He had no idea what Snape could possibly want with him, either, and that was certainly troubling.

"Draco?" Pansy sounded slightly worried now, and she stepped forward to lay a hand on his upper arm. "Draco, is something wrong?"

Draco did not shake her off, though a part of him wanted to. Instead he forced a smile at Pansy, who after all was only concerned for him as his friend. "No, everything's fine Pans." He laid a hand over hers and squeezed slightly before shrugging her off and striding forward. He could feel Pansy standing behind him, staring, but he did not turn around or address her again. Let her try to puzzle it out; she would give up soon enough. Pansy was his friend, but he had stopped trusting her with his thoughts years ago. She was too manipulative, and she had never truly given up the hope that he would marry her one day. Draco doubted she cared for him anymore, but that did not matter much to Pansy. It had never mattered much to Draco either.

Walking up the staircase to the main floor, Draco shoved his hands deep into his pockets and scowled. He did not want to see Snape. Truthfully, he never wanted to see the new Headmaster again. The last time he had been in Snape's office he had made that obvious, and he had thought Snape had given up, but apparently not. Could Snape be calling him again in the hope that Draco had changed his mind? If so, then Snape could not have chosen a worse day. Draco was in no mood to forgive anyone.

It took a while for Draco to find his way to the statue that guarded the Headmaster's chambers. He knew the password from his previous visit, and it still felt dirty sliding from his tongue. Lemon drops, Dumbledore's favorite candy. Being anywhere near this office filled Draco with a nearly suffocating amount of guilt, but he pushed himself onward. Denying Snape anything was not a smart move.

He rode the staircase up in silence, hands still jammed into his pockets. He only removed them once he reached the door, to knock.

"Come in," Snape's voice penetrated the door easily.

Without hesitating, Draco entered.

The Headmaster's office hit him like a punch to the gut, but Draco had known it would. He could not enter the room without thinking of Dumbledore, and even though he had never liked the man, he had never wanted him dead. He had never wanted to be responsible for his death. But he was, and Draco thought even the portraits knew. They glared down at him aggressively from their frames, some muttering. Only the Slytherin ones were not hostile, but even then, the only one who smiled was his own distant relative.

Draco had thought it odd the first time he had come that Snape had changed nothing about the office. He understood why now, of course. Still, he wished that Snape had. It made him uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the portrait just behind the desk. Steeling himself, Draco glanced at it. Dumbledore stared back at him serenely, and Draco flinched. He looked away quickly, but he could feel those eyes still on him. The old man never said anything to Draco, but he never looked away either. Draco did not know how Snape could stand it.

"Draco," Snape's voice was the same, but when Draco looked at his old Potions professor, he was startled by the change in him. Snape looked old. Lines decorated his forehead, and his eyes seemed an endless pool of regret. He was almost painful to look at, sitting behind the desk with stooped shoulders.

"Headmaster," he returned coolly, hands once again returning to his pockets.

Snape sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead tiredly. "Please, Draco, call me anything other than that."

"No thank you," Draco forced out between tight lips. He could not call the man Snape anymore, the name was too familiar. Professor did not work either. No, Snape was the Headmaster now, and if he didn't like that, well too bad for him.

"Fine," Snape snapped in irritation, dropping his hand and glaring at Draco. "It will still be like this then? You still insist on this?"

"I don't know what you are referring to." Draco crossed his arms moodily. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he hardly cared. He was terribly angry with Snape and being in the man's presence only made his anger that much closer to the surface.

"Fine," Snape snapped again, straightening up and folding his hands in front of him. "Do you have any idea why I've called you here?"

Draco could not stop himself. "To make another confession?" he snarled sarcastically.

Snape's eyes narrowed and a slight flush crept up his pallid cheeks. "I trust you told no one about that."

"And who would I tell?" Draco snorted. "Right, let me just walk about to the Carrows, 'Hey I know I hate you and all, but I think you should know that Snape's a double agent. He only killed Dumbledore on Dumbledore's orders, and he insists that he is still working for him, even though the old bat's dead and the entire Order wants him dead.' Ya, of course, let me just tell them that."

Snape's lips tightened until they were white, but he said nothing about Draco's little tirade and that only incised Draco further. It had hurt more than he liked to admit that Snape had never been on Voldemort's side, not because Draco wanted the man to be a Death Eater. Of course not. It hurt because it made Draco wonder how much of Snape's concern was genuine, and how much was calculation on his and Dumbledore's parts. It made him wonder if Snape even cared for him at all. Did Snape care that Draco's father was suffering? Had he even meant the Unbreakable Vow he had sworn Draco's mother? No matter where Draco turned he was faced with questions about Snape's loyalty to his family.

Draco pushed those thoughts away in rage. "No," he snapped. "No I haven't told anyone that you're a bloody traitor."

"Interesting words, coming from you."

Draco swelled with anger. "I never betrayed the Dark Lord!"

"No?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you call your relationship with Weasley?"

"What?" the word came out breathlessly, drawn from Draco without his consent. His eyes widened and all he could see was darkness creeping in on the edges. He tasted the coppery taste of fear on his tongue. "What?"

"Don't deny it," Snape sat back, watching him. "I've known about you and Weasley since the beginning. Dumbledore told me of the notes immediately."

"How did he know?" Draco demanded, flushing slightly as he shot a quick look at the portrait of the old man. Dumbledore was still staring back at him, bemusedly now, and Draco quickly averted his gaze.

"I sincerely doubt there was anything happening in the school that he did not know about," Snape's lips twisted into something close to a smile at that, but it was quickly gone. He snared Draco in his gaze again. "But you did not answer my question. If your helping Weasley is not an act of betrayal then what is it Draco?"

Draco's mouth went dry. He knew Snape wasn't just talking about the notes now. Somehow Snape knew about the deal he had made with Ginny. Draco's mind went immediately to Blaise, but he was not entirely sure Blaise would go to Snape with this. He had certainly never thought Blaise would. Finally, Draco forced an answer out. "I owe her."

Snape sighed again. "Yes, Draco I know you do. I know better than you, in fact, how much you owe her. But this is idiocy. You will get yourself killed, and I doubt I could save you this time."

"So don't," Draco snapped peevishly.

Snape did not bother replying to that. "Stop helping her at once."

"No."

Even Snape looked surprised at that, and Draco could not blame him. He wasn't sure why he had said it either, except that he wanted nothing more than to piss Snape off. But something in Draco was adamant that he help Ginny, and he was going to listen to that part of himself.

The surprise wore off of Snape's face eventually, and it was replaced with an emotion Draco could not name. It was almost hopelessness, tinged with despair and worry. "Draco this will not end for you. Associating with a Gryffindor was always risky, but with the Carrows here it is suicidal. They dislike you, Draco, and you know that. They would jump on the chance to suggest you were a traitor to the Dark Lord."

"What do you even care?" Draco shot back.

"Of course I care, Draco," Snape looked disgusted with Draco for suggesting otherwise. "I have protected you at every chance, but I cannot save you from this if the Carrows find out. And they will. You meet her in the library in plain view. She calls you there with notes, also left in plain view."

Draco flushed. He knew they were being obvious, but he had no alternatives for how to go about helping her. He sighed. "I'm not spying for her. She asks me questions about the Carrows, and I tell her what I know, but it isn't much. I don't know much."

"What else does she ask you about?"

"You," Draco answered. "But I have no idea what you're doing. She asks about the Dark Lord too, but I tell her nothing." He looked up at Snape again, a mix of anger and longing churning inside of him. He had always trusted Snape, had always valued his opinion. He had missed talking to the Potions master, especially during his sixth year.

Snape sat back and rubbed his chin in thought. He had a crease between his eyebrows. "What does she want with that information?"

Draco shrugged, but Snape was not looking at him for answers. The Headmaster was deep in thought with himself.

Finally, Snape snapped back to the present. "Stop helping her."

"I can't." Draco was steadfast in this. He could not stop helping Ginny, not now. He had given her his word. He owed her. She was counting on him.

Snape's eyes widened slightly at Draco's statement, and then that same mixed look crossed his face this time, but worse. He looked like he was despairing. "Helping a Gryffindor, even associating with one, will lead you to nothing but trouble and pain."

Draco snorted. "And what would you know about it?"

"Everything," Snape's voice was haunted, and pain lashed out from it.

"What?" Draco was taken aback at the expression on his mentor's face, at the deep sadness in his tone.

Snape laughed but it held no humor. "I know everything about wanting to help a redheaded Gryffindor. I know everything about wanting to make her happy."

Draco took one step back and then nearly collapsed into the chair facing the large desk Snape was behind. His head was spinning. "What?" he repeated.

Silence met his question, but Snape was looking at him in a measuring way. Draco looked blankly back. Finally, Snape sighed. "Draco, I'm going to tell you a secret, something you can never tell anyone."

Draco wanted to laugh. "I didn't particularly like the last secret you told me. What makes you think I will like this one any more than I liked that one?"

"You won't," Snape closed his eyes and rubbed harshly against his eyelids. "But you need to hear it."

Draco said nothing. Did he want to hear this story, a story about a redheaded Gryffindor, if Snape was to be believed? Draco had no idea.

Taking his silence for an answer, Snape leaned further back into his chair, sinking into it. His eyes took on a reflective look, and Draco had the feeling that he was seeing something else entirely. "When I was young, before I had even come to Hogwarts, I met a young girl who was a witch. I saw her using her power at a park. She had no idea what she was even doing," his lips turned upwards slightly in a smile. "She was a Muggleborn, you see."

Draco's eyes widened, but he kept his mouth shut.

"One day, I finally approached her," Snape continued. "It did not go like I planned, of course, but eventually we became friends, this girl and I. She was my first friend in fact."

"What happened?" Draco could not stop himself from asking. He could tell from Snape's tone that the friendship had not lasted.

"Well, we came to Hogwarts of course," Snape met his eyes. "I was sorted into Slytherin, and she went to Gryffindor. At first, we were still friends." Draco's eyes widened slightly; a Slytherin being friends with a Muggleborn, he could not imagine the reaction. Snape noticed his expression. "Yes, well, you can imagine what that was like. I received a lot of criticism for it, especially from your father, but I refused to listen to him. She was my friend, my very first friend, and I would have done anything for her. And she was just as loyal to me, even though her friends were no more supportive. They hated me, of course. But I really thought we would stay friends. I really thought…"

He trailed off into silence, and Draco's stomach turned. "You loved her," he said. It was not a question. He could see it. Snape had loved a Muggleborn in Gryffindor, a girl with red hair. The idea made Draco's head spin and his hands shake.

"Yes," Snape turned his eyes away. "I did love her, but another boy fancied her as well. I was jealous of this boy; he had everything I did not. Everything except for her. She nearly hated him, and it was the one thing I had over him. But then something happened, he did something to me, and in my anger and embarrassment, I lashed out at her." Snape flinched as he remembered it. Draco wanted to ask what Snape had done, but he did not need to. "I called her a Mudblood. She only talked to me once more after that. We never spoke again." Snape's eyes were dark with the shadows of ghosts and though his face was a mask and his voice was calm, Draco could almost feel the pain beneath the surface. It made him deeply uncomfortable. Snape was not a man to show emotion, and Draco had never even considered the idea that his mentor had once loved somebody.

Draco coughed, clearing his throat, and made himself ask, "What happened to her?"

Snape's eyes fixed again on Draco, and he saw with surprise a burning hatred there. "She married that boy I hated and they had a son. I am told she was very happy for a time. And then…" he paused. "And then she was murdered, by Voldemort."

Draco swallowed hard. He could not imagine what Snape was describing. He did not even want to believe it, really. But he did. There was nothing about Snape's demeanor that suggested lying. "Why would you tell me that?" he demanded crossly, angry with himself for being so affected and angry with Snape.

"Because everything I am doing now, working for the Order and for Dumbledore, putting my life on the line, I am doing for her. I am doing it because I hate him, Voldemort, I hate him for killing her," Snape's voice was very clear, and Draco could hear the hate in it. "I could not save her, though I tried, but I can do this for her."

Silence rang out, and Draco found that he could not meet his old professor's eyes. He stared instead at a sword with a jeweled hilt, incased in glass and just behind Snape's head. He had never seen the sword before, but it was an attractive weapon. He tried to distract himself from Snape's tragic story but committing the details of the sword to memory. It did not work though, and he found himself saying, "It isn't quite the same though. You loved someone and Voldemort killed her, so you hate him. You want him dead."

"And you don't?" Snape returned, one eyebrow raised. Draco did not reply. He did want Voldemort dead. "Regardless," Snape continued, turning his eyes down to study his hands, "it is much the same. You see, the girl was not just another Muggleborn. She was in the Order, Draco, just as Miss Weasley is."

That made Draco jump, and he turned wide eyes to Snape. "What?"

Snape's mouth twitched in an ironic smile. "Oh yes, she would never have sat by and let Voldemort kill people. In fact, Miss Weasley reminds me a lot of her."

"Who was she?" the words were off of Draco's tongue and out of his mouth before he could think better about it, but he needed to know.

Snape sighed. "I'm sure you have an idea. A redheaded Gryffindor, my age, and Muggleborn with a son and who was killed by Voldemort. Well, not many people fit that description. I knew her as Lily Evans." Lily, Lily, Lily, Draco heard the name resonate in his head as he stared at Snape, looking down at his hands. "But you would know her as Lily Potter."

It was not a surprise, not truly. Somehow Draco had known. A woman killed by Voldemort with a son, well one family immediately came to mind. But the idea that Snape had been in love with Potter's mother, that Snape was betraying Voldemort for Potter's mother, it was unsettling. "You hate Potter," he found himself saying.

"Yes," Snape's eyes flashed. "He reminds me of his father, and I surely hated his father. But-"

"He has his mother's eyes," Draco nearly laughed. He had heard so many people say that, but it had never meant much to him now. "You protect Potter because he is his mother's son. Does he have any idea?"

"Of course not," Snape's lips twisted in disgust.

They lapsed into silence and Draco rested his head in his hands. Merlin, his head hurt. Snape had loved Lily Potter his entire life, and she had died. She had died because her son was Harry Potter, Harry bleeding Potter. It was almost funny truly. She was Harry Potter's mother, and Ginny was Harry Potter's ex-girlfriend, and here he was, helping her. Just like Snape.

"So what?" he found himself demanding. "I shouldn't help Ginny because she's going to die? Great. That's truly wonderful logic."

Snape was regarding him coolly, but not without pity. "No, Draco," he muttered. "You should not help Ginny because if you do you will only end up like me. Alone, hated by both sides, and hurt. You can never have her."

I don't want her, Draco nearly screamed, but he said nothing. He simply got up, said nothing to Snape, and left. He walked out of the Headmaster's office, and down the steps, and the entire time he said nothing. Snape did not call after him, and Draco was glad. He did not want to continue talking with Snape, knowing what he knew now. He was not even sure what he knew now, but he knew it changed everything. It changed him.

"Draco."

He nearly screamed, though not from fright but from irritation. "Merlin, what Blaise?" he demanded, rounding on the Slytherin who had snuck up behind him. They were in some deserted corridor, and Draco realized that he had been wandering around aimlessly, lost in thought. How Blaise had even found him was a mystery, but there the dark Slytherin was, facing him yet again. "What is it now?"

Blaise stopped. "What happened to you?" His eyes danced up and down Draco with slight apprehension. "You look a right mess."

Draco laughed shortly. He was sure he did. "Yes, well, finding out someone you thought you knew is completely different will do that to you."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, but Draco waved him off. He had no time for questions, and he would not tell Blaise anything regardless. Draco doubted he would ever tell anyone what he had learned. The secret was too big, and it was not his secret to tell besides.

"What do you want?" he demanded again. "To tell me to stop helping Ginny again?"

"Yes," Blaise was still studying him. "I mean it, Malfoy. Helping her will only lead to your death."

Draco laughed again, nearly hysterical. "Yes, thank you. I am perfectly aware."

"What?" Blaise looked surprised, and Draco was pretty sure it was the first time he had ever truly surprised Zabini. "Draco, you know it will kill you, and you're still going to help her?"

Draco said nothing. When Blaise said it like that, it sounded terribly dramatic. It was some grand promise a Gryffindor would make in a fit of gallantry. Draco could not imagine promising that to anyone, but he could not imagine not helping Ginny either. Maybe, if the choice really came down to it, he would choose to save his own neck, or maybe not. Maybe, it would never come to that. He did not know. But he did know he would continue to help her until he was stopped, either by the Carrows finding out or by something else.

"Oh, Merlin," Blaise breathed, looking horrified. "Draco, you like her."

"Of course not," Draco snapped back, heart hammering. It was too close to Snape's story. He did not like Ginny. He could not like Ginny. She was a Weasley for Merlin's sake. Malfoy's did not like Weasley's. "Blaise don't be stupid. I've only talked to her a few times. I hardly know her."

But Blaise shook his head, his lips turned down into a frown. "That may be Draco, but you like her. You've been watching her for years. You know her. I'd wager you know nearly everything about her. You may not have liked her before, but now that you've spent time with her, now that you've hurt her, now that you've helped her, now that she considers you a friend, now you like her."

Draco opened his mouth to protest again, but nothing came out. Because he knew. He knew that something had been changing. With every meeting with Ginny, he could feel it. Their relationship had shifted, and she did consider him a friend. She had yet to say it, but she did. They were friends.

Draco wanted to smack his head repeatedly into a wall, for he had been a fool. He had found her attractive for a while now. He had even found her character interesting. Hell, he had even admired her determination. And really, what did it take to like someone? Just a bit more time spent together, and it was inevitable. All it really took was her to trust him, and it was done. He liked Ginny Weasley.

"Draco," Blaise called, folding his arms and looking deeply trouble. "Draco, do you love her?"

"No," Draco shook his head. He knew that at least. He could not love her, not yet. But one day, if this continued, if she kept trusting him. One day, if she came to like him too, Draco could see it. Draco could see himself loving the Weasley girl.

"Good," Blaise's voice was hard, and when Draco looked up, so were his eyes. "Then fix this, now. Before you do, and it is too late." He turned and marched away, off to Merlin-knew-where. Zabini was angry, Draco could see it in the set of his shoulders, but he could not figure out why.

Draco could not figure out anything. He liked Ginny Weasley. He, Draco Malfoy, liked Ginny Weasley. "Merlin," he whispered.