Disclaimer: Still definitely not.

Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely comments for the last chapter! They gave me a lot of food for thought.

I absolutely love the analysis of Snape going through the five stages of grief. It's perfect, and I'd never thought of it this way. That's awesome that you came up with that.

As for McGonagall, that's true. She's never really been a hands-on Head of House, and I wish she had been. It's not that I don't love her character - I just wish she'd been involved in the original series a lot more.

There have been some great points made about the werewolf incident. There are so many different angles to see it from. Sirius was incredibly awful to do what he did, but Snape actually listening to him - that was pretty stupid of him. I don't think that excuses Sirius in any way, however. Snape wanted to prove a point and almost got himself killed for his trouble.

And as far as Snape snatching the students from the jaws of a hungry werewolf - no, that wasn't supposed to be taken literally. No, he didn't actually do that, but he thinks of it that way when he catches Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Shrieking Shack with Sirius and Lupin when Snape knows very well that it's a full moon. That's how he thinks of that situation.

As for the stone, that's a good point too. How does Snape know that Voldemort wouldn't have found a way around Dumbledore's mirror trick? That's right - he doesn't. But it's also stated that Dumbledore is the only one Voldemort's ever afraid of, and so we should bear that in mind as well. But who knows? That's a what-if scenario that I haven't seen explored before.

And the house points issue is a good one as well. I'm certainly not saying that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville didn't deserve the points. It's just the deliberate way in which it was done that gets stuck in my craw. It didn't used to. When I first read the book at age thirteen I was like, go go Gryffindor! Knock those Slytherins down a peg or two! But now, being an adult, I see that scene differently. As a blind person, I can't exactly see what it looks like in the movie, but I've been told that during that scene, it keeps cutting to the Slytherins and showing us point-blank how devastated they look. We're supposed to take joy in that, but I can't imagine what that must have felt like, being a Slytherin and having that victory snatched from right under you. Sure, house points aren't the be-all and end-all - not at all. But when you're young, it's not shocking that many children think that they are. Kids are competitive - I would know. I used to be one.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Dear Draco:

I am extremely disappointed in your conduct. I expected better of you, son. You were to tell me of any interesting goings-on concerning our mutual enemy. Why did you not inform me that the boy in question survived a poisoning? Is there any particular reason I had to hear the news from Henry Montague's father instead?

I know you did not do this, as I am confident that you are devoted to the plan to get Potter to the Dark Lord at the appropriate time. You, my son, would not jeopardize the operation simply because you despise the boy so much. I have faith in you that your aims are to make the Dark Lord proud.

I expect better of you from now on, Draco. Do not disappoint me again.

Father

Draco didn't miss the finely veiled accusation in that letter. It was now Sunday, and he'd received that letter three days ago; ever since the owl had come to him and he'd opened it, those words had echoed in his mind.

Even his bloody father thought he had done it. Even Lucius thought he might have gone against the Dark Lord and worked to do Potter in. It already made him feel supremely uneasy when students looked at him like he was the culprit, the Slytherins worst of all. But to have his own father suspect him of such a thing ...

"Come ON, Malfoy! Get your head out of the clouds and stop daydreaming!" It was Henry Montague, of all people. His furious voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Just because there's no Quidditch season this year doesn't mean your flying skills should suffer as well! What's the matter with you, you pathetic worm?"

Draco scowled fiercely at the other boy. He and the Slytherin team were holding a Quidditch practice despite the fact that because of the Triwizard Tournament, the Quidditch season was cancelled. This had been a recent development - Draco had been expecting to be able to fly alone this year without any of his teammates bothering him incessantly, but apparently, this was not to be the case.

Montague wanted to be Captain next year, so he was putting the team through their paces. "Are you listening to me, Malfoy?" he hissed, their broomsticks very close together. "Do as you're told!"

Draco sneered. "Yes, Master," he mocked, a malicious smirk on his face.

"That's more like it," Montague drawled, not the slightest bit offended by Draco's rudeness. "Now focus, damn you, before I MAKE you!"

The rest of the Quidditch practice was spent with Draco attempting to put his entire concentration into it, and failing spectacularly. By the end of it, he had only caught the Snitch once, and needless to say, the rest of his team was disgusted.

"If you don't shape up, you're not going to be on the team next year," Montague snarled at him. "I don't know what your deal is lately, but we're all getting sick and tired of it."

"Whatever, Montague," Draco snapped, equally sick and tired of the other boy.

Montague gave him a nasty glare as the Slytherin team made their way into the locker rooms. As Draco got changed back into his regular robes, he couldn't help but think about Potter's poisoning again. Was it any wonder his father thought he'd done it? Lucius Malfoy, after all, had a rather large inkling of exactly what his son knew about poisons - they had always fascinated him.

I am extremely disappointed in your conduct. That phrase bothered Draco on a primal level. Growing up, he'd done everything possible to please his father, and the things he'd failed at ... it was all Granger's fault. Her kind shouldn't even be allowed at Hogwarts! He would have been top of the class if not for her poking her nose into wizarding affairs. She should have just stayed in her pathetic Muggle world and left their culture alone.

"They do not know our ways, Draco." He remembered very well the lessons Lucius had drilled into him from a very young age. "They are ignorant of how the world truly works. They can think their crude Muggle methods can achieve their goals. We witches and wizards are here to show them otherwise."

And then, he'd met Granger, and his father had been proven correct. Her constant hand-raising in class, the way she flaunted her knowledge with her nose in the air, the way she glowered at Draco with that self-righteous expression on her face ... it made the hate rise up inside him. And when she'd been shown to do better than him in class ... that was the last straw. The way his father had leveled him with that cold, unforgiving gaze ... it still sent shudders down Draco's spine.

Upon entering the Great Hall for lunch, his eyes strayed to the Gryffindor table without his conscious consent. Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom were not present - they were probably visiting Potter again. Thank Merlin those detentions with Weasley and Snape were finally over with - he couldn't have been more relieved. Cleaning that ridiculous bathroom was a chore he did not want to repeat. Ever. And he was pretty sure Weasley only kept himself under control because Snape was there.

"So, how was practice?" Blaise demanded as soon as Draco sat down.

"Fine," Draco muttered, still unable to understand why Blaise kept trying to talk to him, when he'd made it perfectly clear that Draco was not his favorite person at the moment.

"How nice," Blaise drawled. "Oh, and would you mind having a word with your girlfriend? She's constantly on my case about how awful you are."

Draco sneered. Just because Pansy felt the need to cling to him did not make her his bloody girlfriend. Before everything had started going wrong this year, he'd felt pleasure at how he could do no wrong in Pansy's eyes. She hung on his every word, and his every wish was her command.

Now, however, just the memory of her grating voice was like nails down a chalkboard. "Draco!" The shrill quality of it set his teeth on edge. "Draco, why do you keep ignoring me?"

And now, she was ignoring him, thank Merlin. Ever since their spat in the common room the day before the Weasel had caught him being sick in the bathroom, she'd been ignoring him. Millicent and Daphne, in between arguments about their damned cats, made it a point to tell Draco snidely that she had been crying her eyes out over him, and that they could barely sleep at night because of it. "You two deserve each other," Daphne had spat at him in a voice laced with venom. Draco sneered at her, completely uncaring.

"Nothing to say to that?" Blaise drawled, pulling him back to the present. "Don't want to admit your romance is fraying at the seams?"

In response, Draco got up from the table. "I have more important things to do with my time than listen to your inane nonsense," he snarled.

But Blaise stood up too and followed him out of the Great Hall, something he hadn't done before. Over the past few weeks, whenever Draco had exited a conversation with Blaise, the other boy had simply sneered, made a snide remark, and allowed him to walk away. Not this time, however. For some reason, Draco felt a shiver crawl up his spine at his dormmate's behavior.

Draco Malfoy had known Blaise Zabini for almost his entire life. His mother had stayed neutral during the war, though she certainly was no admirer of Albus Dumbledore or Harry Potter. She was a mysterious woman, too - apparently, her husbands kept dying on her, and she'd become exceedingly rich. There had never been enough evidence against her to convict her of their murders, but it was eerie how every single one of them ended up dead, all in a gruesome fashion. The last one to meet his unfortunate fate had been poisoned.

Poisoned. Inexplicably, Draco shivered. His mind conjured up the image of Potter, writhing and convulsing on the floor with his best friends pale and shaken beside him, and he could swear that goosebumps raced up his arms and down his legs.

"I need to talk to you, Malfoy." Draco was unceremoniously shoved back to the present as Blaise marched him away from the Great Hall. "It's important."

"What makes you think I'll listen?" Draco spat back, furious. "What the hell is your problem?"

"What's my problem?" Blaise began to walk faster, and Draco turned to go in the opposite direction. His instincts were screaming at him, blaring like alarm bells. Get away from Zabini. Get away from Zabini.

There was no one in this corridor, and Draco didn't like it. "Piss off, Zabini," he drawled.

"Oh, no, you don't." As Draco was turning around, he didn't even see Blaise whip out his wand and point it at Draco's back. But Draco couldn't not hear the next word that escaped from Blaise's mouth.

"Imperio."

Draco felt a light, floating sensation fill him. For once, he had not a care in the world. It was as though everything that had happened since the day he was transformed into a ferret no longer existed. He was light and free, floating on air. His father's words, "I am extremely disappointed in your conduct," no longer resonated through his head. The image of Potter dying on the corridor floor was nonexistent - it had completely evaporated.

"I'm taking you to an empty classroom. You will come with me, and listen to what I have to say."

Blaise's voice was commanding, and Draco saw no reason not to obey it. He felt so carefree, so amazing, so ... good. There was no mission from the Dark Lord, no expectations that he would deliver Potter to him on a silver platter. There was no Snape, either, looking at him with burning black eyes, trying to analyze his every move. All there was was Blaise's voice, giving him instructions that he couldn't mess up. And Blaise wasn't saying he'd be disappointed in him, and he wasn't comparing him to a filthy little Mudblood with revolting, disgusting bushy hair and probing, judging brown eyes.

The classroom Blaise was hankering after came into view, and obediently, Draco walked inside. Blaise made himself comfortable at one of the desks, his posture that of a king on a throne. Draco still felt so light and airy that he laughed at the sight he made.

But then, Blaise was pointing his wand at Draco again after he had sat down in his own chair. "Incarcerous!" he intoned.

Draco couldn't understand why he suddenly couldn't get out of the chair, but the joyously happy feeling was still consuming him so he didn't much care. He wanted to stay this way forever. It honestly didn't matter if he couldn't leave the chair, right? He didn't have to do anything. he couldn't disappoint anyone if he just sat like this. He wouldn't have to see Potter in his death throes again. He wouldn't have to think about his father's mission again. He wouldn't have to see Potter's blazing emerald eyes when defending him from Crouch's assault on him. He didn't even have to think about how Crouch was meant to be on his side, and had attacked him just because he'd dared to hurl a spell at Potter.

"Now, you will answer my questions." Blaise's voice was like a caress in Draco's mind. "What, exactly, has been wrong with you for the past several weeks?" he demanded. "You're not yourself anymore, Draco. You're trying to hide it, but it's showing. It's got something to do with Potter, doesn't it? Telthe the truth," he demanded.

For the first time since Draco had begun to experience that calm, blissful feeling, a whisper of unease tickled his senses. Some part of his mind told him that he did not want to answer that question.

"Come on, Draco." Blaise's voice suddenly adopted a wheedling tone, like he was coercing a whining toddler to stop making such a fuss and behave so he could receive a biscuit. "I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to know what's wrong."

"Crouch hurt me. He's supposed to be on my side, and he hurt me. And Potter stopped him. Potter hates me, and I hate him. I don't get it." The words flew out of Draco before he could stop them, and he instantly felt better for having said them. The whisper of unease was gone, replaced by the light, happy feeling from before.

Blaise smirked triumphantly, looking extremely interested in Draco's answer. "Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "How fascinating," he drawled. "How ... enlightening."

He cleared his throat, and spoke again as he got to his feet, beginning to pace around Draco. "You look at Potter very strangely these days. Remember the day he was poisoned? Or, better yet, the day I poisoned him?" His smirk grew wider. "No one suspects me. Not even sneaky Snape. It's a real pity he was able to save him." He let out a derisive laugh. "You acted very unlike yourself - I had to literally drag you out of the Great Hall so you could see my handiwork. Oh, you tried to behave normally, but I could see it." Blaise sneered maliciously at Draco. "And I'd like to know, why? Do tell."

Draco opened his mouth, but before he could say anything at all, the classroom door was thrown open, the sound echoing off the walls as Severus Snape stormed in, an absolutely terrible expression on his face.

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!" The man roared, swooping in like a bat out of hell. Blaise immediately collapsed to the floor where he stood, and the light, floaty feeling vanished from Draco.

Horror. That was what Draco felt. Horror and disgust and revulsion. He'd never felt more violated in his entire life. "Professor!" he gasped, all the anger he had been feeling towards his Head of House momentarily disappearing in the face of the sudden realization that gripped him like a vice. "Zabini put me under the Imperius Curse!"

Snape nodded curtly before freeing him from the ropes binding him to the chair. "A subpar attempt, and thank Merlin for it. He was able to hold you under it, but the moment he was incapacitated, the spell was lifted. Not a very experienced caster." He sneered down at Zabini's prone form.

"How did you know? How long were you outside the classroom listening to that conversation? Why didn't you stop it sooner?" Draco's voice rose with each question. "Why would he do this? Why would he poison Potter?"

But Snape didn't answer any of Draco's hysterical questions. "Come on," he said in a tone that was almost gentle, for him. "I'm taking you to the Headmaster's office."

"But I didn't do anything!" Draco shouted at him, the feeling of being violated only growing stronger. "I didn't make him do it!"

"I know, Draco." Snape's voice was soft. "You are not in trouble. The Headmaster is not going to punish you."

"Oh yeah?" Draco's anger towards Snape was back, and he skewered him with a vicious glower. "No more detentions cleaning bathrooms, then?"

"Draco." Snape did not rise to the bait. "Come with me. Now."

Draco had no choice but to obey, but it was no curse that was forcing him to do Snape's bidding. Exhaustion suddenly swept over him, a lethargy that went down to his very bones. All the horror he had felt moments ago evaporated - it was like he'd emotionally switched off.

And like an automaton, he exited the classroom with Snape, who was Levitating a still-Stunned Blaise Zabini in his wake.