Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Hi everyone, and thank you so much for the amazing reviews! I'm really, really glad you enjoyed that last chapter with Severus, Healer Dixon, and many of the rest of our crew.

As for Dixon not telling Snape exactly what to do for an unconscious Harry - he honestly doesn't feel like he should. He thinks that Snape can work it out on his own. He did tell Harry's friends what to do, so he does give Snape kind of an idea, but obviously, his and Harry's relationship has been frought with tension and distrust and plenty of cruelty on Snape's part. I think Healer Dixon is trying to let him work it out for himself.

I'm glad you liked the dynamic between Snape and Minerva as well. The few interactions between those two in canon have always struck me. I've always thought that once Minerva found out the truth about Snape's role, she must have regretted calling him a coward in DH. Or, did she know Snape's role all along and just play that up in case anyone else was listening?

To the reviewer who says they love how my words resonate with readers - thank you so, so much. That comment stunned me, in a good way, of course. I'm so glad that you're loving the story. I really hope I continue to meet your expectations.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. You will see a few events from earlier canon years from Draco's perspective in this chapter, and I warn you, some of them certainly make him look really bad, as they should. Draco was an absolutely vile brat at first, in my opinion. But this only goes to show how he's changing, and will change later on.

xxxxxxxxxx

Draco felt as though he could barely move when he slowly rose from bed. Everything seemed to be moving at a snail's pace, and his head still hurt terribly. His skin felt cold and clammy and his eyes were so tired that he would have loved nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep for a month.

But the truth was, he hadn't been able to sleep at all the night before. All he could hear was Snape's low tones as he spoke of the terrible mistake he had made when he was seventeen years old. All he heard was Snape confirming that he had, indeed, betrayed the Dark Lord. He'd had misgivings over the years about the man who had been in his life from an extremely early age, but he'd always done his best to toss them aside in his mind. Severus Snape was nothing if not mysterious, but his hatred of both Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore rang true, and his friendship and gratitude towards Lucius Malfoy for assistance he had provided him over the years ran deep.

But Draco had been wrong. Exceedingly wrong. And if there was one thing Draco despised more than anything, it was finding out he had been mistaken. And finding out he had been betrayed.

He should do something about it. He was strong. He was capable. He was a Malfoy. He should write to his father, and they'd figure out something. Lucius, above anyone, knew how to be discreet. He wouldn't let such a betrayal pass without punishment. All those years that Draco had spent, knowing that when the time came, Severus would be one of those he could trust if the Dark Lord ever returned and Draco took pride of place as one of his servants ... Snape was a liar. He was a deceiver. He was a traitor of the highest order. His father had always told him that people like that deserved nothing more than to be wiped off the face of the Earth.

So why was it that, when Draco thought of plots and plans and schemes to punish Snape, he felt cold all over? Why was it that the man's voice kept resonating through his mind, saying things that made his skin tingle? Why was he so bloody weak? His father didn't raise him to be this way. Draco Malfoy was not brought up to balk at the prospect of getting some well-deserved revenge. Hadn't Snape asked for it by going against everything he said he believed in? He'd trusted him - and Snape had repaid that trust by throwing everything the Dark Lord had given him away.

And then, he remembered the look on Blaise Zabini's face as he delivered his own revenge against someone he thought deserved it. He remembered the manic gleam in his eyes and the way the Imperius Curse had felt as it settled over Draco, making him nothing more than a puppet who would do every bit of Blaise's bidding. He remembered how, in Dumbledore's office, Blaise had said he wanted Draco dead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Draco also remembered Potter. Potter, with that almost ... soft look in his emerald eyes as he told Draco that he would help anyone who was being mistreated, even if he hated them. Potter, whose voice had followed him into his dreams, calling out his first name as Draco was lost in a dark tunnel. "I can help you, Draco. I know who you really are."

And Snape. Draco remembered all the times when he had honestly felt cared about by the other man. Could the way the Potions Master had looked at him really be feigned? Had that part really been all an act? Was Snape telling the truth yesterday when he'd said quietly, "I care about you, Draco"? Or was he just plain desperate to believe that at least one part of the man hadn't been a lie?

"Come on, you two," Draco snapped at Crabbe and Goyle as he finished his morning routine. "I don't have all day."

"Jumpy this morning, aren't we?" Theodore Nott needled as they made their way to the common room. "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

Draco, too tired to come up with any answer, simply glowered at Nott. The other boy glowered back, completely unimpressed.

He walked into the common room to find Millicent and Daphne scowling at each other again. Draco picked up the pace, wanting to get the hell out of there before he heard their usual snide barbs. Didn't they realize everything had changed? How could they still have the same old arguments when everything in the world had turned upside down?

For the first time in quite a while, Pansy came to walk beside him. "Oh Draco," she crooned at him, the high pitch of her voice and her melodramatic tone making Draco cringe. "I'm so glad you're okay! I couldn't believe it, about the Dementor attack!"

Draco didn't answer. He should have known - of course it would take something like his soul almost being taken for Pansy to get over her stupid, childish little grudge. Not that he cared. It had been rather nice not to have her leeching off his arm, whispering in his ear every chance she got. She was worse than an insect - how did anyone have the right to be born so bloody annoying?

"Can you believe it was Snape?" Was it his imagination, or had Pansy's voice gotten both louder and shriller? "It doesn't make any sense, does it? Snape! He actually cast a Patronus! I mean, what the hell?"

"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" Draco snarled as they exited the common room. "My head hurts!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Draco." Pansy's voice now adopted a syrupy edge that was, somehow, even worse than her loud, shrill cadence. "You must feel so unwell. I'm surprised Madam Pomfrey released you from the hospital wing yesterday. Anyway," she went on, putting her hand on his arm. The scent of her perfume was so cloying that it literally made Draco feel ill. "It's too bad you went right to the dorm and didn't stay in the common room. There was a very interesting discussion about how Snape's Patronus is a little too ... familiar for comfort."

"What in Merlin's name are you harping on about, Parkinson?" Draco asked rather uncharitably.

"You don't know? You didn't see it?" Pansy's tone was frosty now, and if Draco were in a better mood, he'd have laughed at how, apparently, she wasn't really over her grudge after all.

"See what?" Draco demanded. "Quit with the melodrama and tell me already."

Pansy's face twisted into an ugly scowl. "What I mean is, when you failed in your little endeavor to one-up Potter at that Quidditch match last year, his Patronus looked very much like what the Prophet said Snape's looked like. Granted, Potter's wasn't all there, but it did look rather like a deer, didn't it? Don't you find that curious, Draco?"

It took everything in Draco not to stop in his tracks at that remark. It was bad enough being reminded of his failed efforts to ruin Potter's day by making him believe that Dementors had come out onto the pitch again, but this ...

Everything had been so confusing yesterday that he hadn't put two and two together. Something had seemed ... too familiar about Snape's Patronus, but it hadn't clicked. Merlin, he'd even thought yesterday about seeing Potter produce that thing last year. How had he not realized? Why had it taken bloody Pansy to point out such a thing to him?

"Draco?" Pansy wheedled at him, her grip tightening on his arm. "I said, don't you find that curious?"

"Let go of me," Draco snarled out, shoving out of her grip violently. "Leave me alone."

"FINE!" Pansy's eyes sparked with fury. "I try to be nice to you, and this is what I get? I hate you!"

This time, when Pansy said those words, no retort came to Draco's lips. So she hated him. Fine. Let her. Draco didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

By the time he sat down at the Slytherin table, Draco already wished the day was over. Pansy had awoken something that hadn't wished to be revealed to him. He might be sitting at the table, but really, his mind was elsewhere. It had gone back in time ...

xxx

Draco felt a wide grin tug at his lips as he waited for Potter to react to the "Dementors" on the Quidditch pitch. So many of the Slytherins would congratulate him on his plan. Others might be involved in it, but oh, this was definitely Draco's plan.

He was so mightily sick of Potter one-upping him all the time. He was so tired of the other boy's penchant for coming out the victor in every confrontation they had. He was so sick of the constant fawning, the admiration, the pure joy and elation from his classmates over just being in the vicinity of an ugly, knobby-kneeed, messy-haired idiot with a nasty scar on his forehead.

A Firebolt. Potter had gotten a bloody Firebolt, and he was allowed to fly it. It had made him laugh long and hard when he'd found out that that Mudblood had snitched on him and gotten it confiscated and stripped. For ages afterwards, the little monstrosity had walked around, constantly looking teary-eyed because her stupid little friends weren't talking to her.

But now, everything was paradise again for the Golden Trio ... but not for long, Draco thought with a vicious sense of satisfaction. Whoever bought Potter that Firebolt certainly wouldn't be expecting yet another "Dementor attack" to befall him. Maybe he'd injure himself so badly this time that he'd never be able to play Quidditch again? Draco could only hope.

At that moment, Potter looked down, and stared right at Draco and his team, who were posing as the Dementors. Draco's heart raced - any minute now, Potter would blanch, lose all focus, and fall off his broom. His face would be full of horror as he did so. Gasps would be heard all around the stadium as that stupid, foul-mouthed cretin, Lee Jordan, would swear so colorfully that Professor McGonagall would no longer allow him to commentate Quidditch matches. Girls would start sobbing and boys would cover their mouths with their hands. Draco would smirk, because, for once, he'd have won. For once, he'd have won against bloody Harry Potter.

But Draco didn't smirk, because Potter didn't fall. Instead, the other boy grabbed his wand, and raised it. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" The bellow was so loud that Draco could hear it crystal clear.

An almost fully-formed animal burst out of his wand, and it literally lunged at Draco and his Slytherin teammates. Draco cried out, unable to help the childish noise he made as he scrambled away from whatever this demonic thing was. The gasps and cries of his teammates assaulted his ears as they all did the same. Crabbe and Goyle, as heavy as they were, fell face-first onto their stomachs and lay there like lifeless lumps, having had the wind completely knocked out of them.

By that evening, the Slytherin team was a laughingstock throughout the rest of the school. Potter's accomplishment was celebrated widely, and the entire school was talking and gossiping about it. Draco learned later that there had been an enormous, rowdy party in the Gryffindor common room, with the Weasley twins providing laughs and entertainment for all. Draco had been unable to sleep that night, furious and miserable. Potter had done it again. He'd done it yet again. He'd beaten Draco, and made him look like a complete and utter fool.

xxx

That had been one of Draco's very worst memories. In fact, it had been one of those that the Dementors yesterday had brought to the forefront of his mind. The reprimand he received from his father when he'd heard of the incident was sharp and unforgiving. Over the summer holidays, he'd been subjected to many lectures on how his "childish stunts" against Potter were unacceptable and unbecoming of a Malfoy. He was told in no uncertain terms that if he ever deigned to do such a thing again, he would be punished severely. He had disgraced his family and his name, and if there was one thing that was more important to a Malfoy than anything else in the world, it was their reputation.

And now, the feeling of sheer misery that swamped Draco was astronomical as he remembered the feelings and the other memories those Dementors had awakened in him yesterday at the Ministry. Was this how Potter felt every time they drew near? The rattling of their vile breaths made Draco shudder. The memories they evoked made him quake and quail. Right then, Draco wasn't a Malfoy. He was a weak-willed, cowering simpleton who wanted nothing more than for them to go away.

xxx

"I am very disappointed in you, Draco." The memory of Lucius's low tones almost sent him to his knees. "You will go to your room. I do not want to see your face again this evening. Am I understood?"

Everyone was cheering for Gryffindor. The noise was deafening as Dumbledore, with an enormous smile lighting his face, changed the decorations in the Great Hall so quickly that it was incredibly jarring. The beautiful, strong serpent that Draco had been admiring transformed into that of a vicious, bloodthirsty lion. Beside him, Pansy Parkinson had tears streaming down her face. Other Slytherins were staring at Dumbledore with expressions on their faces that would have killed the old bastard if looks could do such a thing. The hatred that filled Draco's gut at that moment - it ballooned inside of him, and he knew his face was hot and flushed with it. Dumbledore had taken Slytherin's hard-earned, well-fought victory and snatched it from under their noses, and his eyes were twinkling like two blue suns while three-quarters of the school were whooping and cheering and celebrating. Draco could taste bile in his throat as the hatred festered inside of him.

That filthy half-giant had been crying and Draco couldn't be happier. That revolting hippogriff was finally going to be executed tonight. No one got away with hurting a Malfoy - his father had seen to that. The misery of the Mudblood was only adding to his joy. She, the Weasel, and Potty were walking around like their world had come to an end just because a filthy subhuman creature was being put out of its misery. He laughed, taking delight in the nasty comment he spewed about the vermin that called himself a teacher. Granger's hand came at his face so hard that it knocked the wind right out of his sails. She didn't ... Merlin ... no ... she didn't just do that ... did she? Her triumphant smirk and the praise of Potter and Weasley told Draco that indeed, she had. Humiliation, hatred, and fury filled every inch of his skin - how dare she! How dare she! How dare she lay her filthy, Muggle-loving hands on him! He was a Malfoy and she was a blight on the wizarding world - how dare she!

The memories were coming more quickly now.

... Potter was screaming, "STOP IT! STOP IT! HE DOESN't DESERVE THIS!" Pain was slicing through him everywhere - everywhere. Merlin, it hurt so much. Moody was going to kill him. He was going to murder the Malfoy heir and the students were going to keep laughing. They found it funny. They found it hilarious. Well - all except Harry Potter, whose green eyes were blazing with righteous anger.

... He couldn't even fly on his damned broomstick without Potter's face coming into his mind - why were those green eyes haunting him? He was bloody sick of it.

... He was finding out that Crouch, not Moody, had been the one to bounce him around on the stone floor, uncaring if he broke all of Draco's bones. It was laid out, crystal clear, in the front-page article of the Daily Prophet. And out in the corridor, Granger had the unmitigated gall to taunt him about how dear, precious Harry had saved him.

... He was sitting with Potter in the library. The boy's face was completely open and honest as he asked him what he thought about the fact that Crouch would have had no problem using a poison against him.

... He was watching in horror as Potter writhed and convulsed on the floor, his friends with looks of heartbreak and terror on their faces. Snape swooped down on the scene like a bat out of hell, a truly fearsome expression on his face as he pried open Potter's mouth and plunged the bezoar into it.

... He was puking up his guts in the boys' bathroom when the Weasel burst inside, his face full of shock as he gaped at him.

... He was a puppet on a string, doing whatever Zabini told him to do, uncaring of what it was. He could have been told to jump off London Bridge and he'd have been happy to do so.

... "Draco." Snape's ice-cold voice as Draco learned he had to testify at Blaise's trial. Snape was turning him away when all Draco wanted was some help, some understanding. What was he supposed to do?

... And suddenly, even after everything that Draco had just seen play out before him, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Potter's wand falling from his limp fingers, the look of ... Merlin, was that ... relief? ... that passed over his face as he collapsed to the ground as the rattling of the Dementors' breaths only grew louder. ...

"EXPECTO PATRONUM."

A silver doe suddenly erupted out of Snape's wand. Her light was so bright that it hurt Draco's eyes. He could swear he actually felt the Dementor cower before her, retreating very quickly and without a sound. Her beauty almost stole Draco's breath - and there was something very, very familiar about it too. Hadn't Draco just seen it in another memory only seconds earlier? He tried to grasp onto it, but it was fading ... fading ... fading ...

xxx

"Have you heard the lovely news, Malfoy? Apparently, Potter never returned to his dorm last night."

Draco was brutally removed from his recollections by the voice of an older Slytherin student, Kevin Simmons. The burly boy was in sixth year, and had a loud voice that could be heard through the entire common room when he wanted to make his presence known. His bellow could be heard just as clearly in the Great Hall.

"And I should care because?" Draco snapped. He couldn't help but glance at the staff table - Snape was missing, along with McGonagall and Dumbledore.

"No, Malfoy. Are your brains addled? Last time I checked, Potter was not a member of staff, you moron," Simmons mocked. "Did the Dementor attack affect you that deeply?"

Draco felt like he'd been plunged in ice. That would have been something he might have said to Potter last year. Why was he reacting this way to it, instead of smirking and taunting Simmons right back?

Unwilling to show Simmons he had won, Draco glowered at him and looked at the Gryffindor table. None of them were there - not Potter, not Weasley, not Granger, and not Longbottom. Both Thomas and Finnigan were in attendance, along with Patil and Brown, and all of them looked worried. Finnigan looked guilty over something, and he was talking quietly with Patil while Thomas was speaking with Brown, his expression conveying a feeling of worry.

What, precisely, had befallen Potter now?

xxx

Draco couldn't think in any of his classes that day. None of the teachers said anything, though, which surprised him. They were so quick to jump down his throat under normal circumstances. It had made him so angry in the past when his name and status hadn't seemed to make any difference. Not to any of them - well - except for Snape.

Snape. Snape and Potter. It was all anyone could talk about. Apparently, neither Potter nor any of his friends showed up in their classes today - it was the lunchtime gossip. And if the school wasn't speculating on where the four of them were, they were coming to the same conclusion as Pansy and Draco about Snape's Patronus.

"... I don't understand. Snape hates Harry."

"... It doesn't make any sense. He's always looking at him like he wants to murder him."

"... But he did save his life. Did you see him with that bezoar?"

"... I didn't think such a slimy git could ever produce a Patronus. They're for light witches and wizards, not dark. My mum told me he was a Death Eater during the war and only Dumbledore's testimony stopped him from going to Azkaban. Apparently he became his spy."

"... Yeah, he is evil enough to be a Death Eater. What a creep. Why Dumbledore keeps him in this school, I'll never know. How can he trust him with Harry Potter's life?"

"... You keep forgetting, he SAVED his life, you dunce!"

"... But he might have an ulterior motive for doing that, you know? Remember when Potter foiled Barty Crouch Jr.'s plan to bring You-Know-Who back to power? What if Snape wants Potter to live so he can be killed by him later?"

Draco shuddered - indeed, he had thought the same thing. And Lucius had wanted him, Draco, to be the one to deliver him to the Dark Lord on a silver platter. And Snape had assigned them to work together so that Draco could lull Potter into thinking he was a changed boy. Potter would learn to accept him because the boy was just that soft, idiotic, and malleable.

But you have changed, and it's not just an act. Merlin, Draco hated that taunting voice in his head that sounded just like Potter. And Snape knew it. That's why he assigned us to work together - because he knew you could never go through with the plan. You wouldn't have taken me to die, Draco, and you know it.

It was always Potter who made him feel horrible, even when his damned voice was only in Draco's head. By the time he made it to Potions class, he felt like he was dead on his feet. When Snape strode into the classroom and slammed the door with such force that it almost sounded like Hagrid had lumbered into the room, everyone knew better than to ask any questions. There was not a peep in the room as Snape bellowed, "Today's instructions are on the board. Now get started."

It was a simple reading assignment. There was no practical portion of the lesson today. But still, no one asked any questions. They obediently opened their books and read the pages that Snape had assigned. He had told them to read several pages and then write an essay describing in their own words what they had read and learned.

It was dull, boring work, and Draco could hardly focus. Only once did he glance at Snape without thinking better of it, and the expression on his face ... if Draco never saw that look again, he'd be quite happy.

xxx

Draco felt like he was experiencing deja vu as he walked through the corridors to the hospital wing after dinner. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Potter all day, and not even Snape had commented on his absence nor the fact that Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom didn't show up to class. Dinner had been the same as lunch, with the entire school all coming up with different theories as to where the four of them were.

But Draco knew - or at least suspected. Something had happened to Potter once again and he was in the hospital wing. Draco shamefully recalled that after succumbing to tears right after his discussion with Snape about the man's betrayal of the Dark Lord, he had only been in the hospital wing for another couple of hours before Madam Pomfrey had released him. He'd been too preoccupied to think about it then, but as he made his way there now, he did find it strange that Potter hadn't tried to talk to him, like he had right after Blaise Zabini had almost murdered him.

What was it this time? He couldn't help the sudden, horrible thought that crept into his mind. Had Snape been too late? Had the Dementor actually Kissed Potter? Was the other boy lying there, without a soul? Were those green eyes now vacant and empty, never to show life again?

And why was the thought of that making Draco feel like something inside him was withering away?

Suddenly feeling exceedingly heavy, Draco Disillusioned himself, as he had the last time he'd done this, and quietly opened the doors to the hospital wing. He heard quiet, gentle voices coming from a bed, and silently, he made his way over. Like he had the last time, he'd put a Silencing Charm on his shoes.

Also, like the last time, Potter's friends didn't react to the doors opening - they were completely preoccupied. Potter was lying in the bed, completely immobile. He looked supremely peaceful, something Draco had not felt in ... Merlin, he couldn't recall the last time such a word had defined his state of mind. Granger was gently holding his hand, Longbottom was speaking to him quietly, and Weasley's blue eyes had a look in them that was so full of raw guilt it made Draco cringe.

It was only a few minutes later when Draco fled the room - he couldn't bear to stay there any longer. It was all apologies and heartfelt promises to be better friends to Potter and that, Merlin, they were so sorry, so sorry they hadn't seen what was right there in front of them, that Potter wasn't doing well emotionally and that the Dementor attack had sent him into a sleep he wasn't waking up from. They swore to do as some bloke named Healer Dixon said and they'd stay with him for as long as they needed to. It didn't matter what it took - they'd stay with him until he woke up.

Draco didn't remember the walk back to the common room. He didn't even remember arriving in his dormitory. He could only remember that, for the second time in two days, he was succumbing to tears as he closed his bedcurtains tightly, shutting out the world.

It was too much. It was all too much. Almost every single one of those memories the Dementors from yesterday had evoked had had something to do with Potter. The other boy took up so much space in Draco's mind. From the first moment he'd rejected Draco's friendship on the train with such ease, he'd inspired an insecurity in him that was completely unacceptable and unbecoming of a Malfoy, as his father would say.

But it was true. Potter had friends. He had devoted supporters. He got smiles and warm looks and pats on the back and praise. Even when people turned against him, he'd always had others who were on his side, friends who were willing to face those who doubted him and shout at the world that they would always be at Potter's back.

And now, even Snape, the one person Draco thought was devoted to him ... now, everyone was saying his Patronus looked like Potter's. "I care about you, Draco." The words had sounded so true yesterday when he'd spoken them, but how could they be if he had always been a Potter supporter, too?

What did Draco have? A father who would always be disappointed in him. Crabbe and Goyle, two lifeless lumps who never said or did anything useful. Blaise, a boy he thought was an ally but who had turned out to be someone who had cast an Unforgivable on him and wanted to kill him. Pansy Parkinson, who only wanted him for his last name, who clung to him like a limpet and was a shrill shrew who was so fake and phony that it was sickening. Other teachers who didn't care what his status or last name was because they worshiped the ground Potter walked on.

But the one thing Draco found worst of all was that Potter wanted to help him. Potter wanted to be nice to him. Yesterday, as they'd stood in the entrance hall waiting to go to the Ministry, Potter had looked at him with ... understanding.

And now, Draco Malfoy was feeling bloody empty because Harry Potter had fallen asleep and wouldn't wake up.