Rose and Sword

by SanaNGU

Draco Malfoy, due to the prolonged absence of the Ancient Runes teacher, has been stirring up the class as he pleases with the help of his cronies, preventing the other classmates from studying. Hermione Granger, a responsible and persevering student, is not going to sit idly by.

36. Floo powder

Hello, everybody, how are you doing? I hope very well 😊 I'm here with a new chapter!

What did you think of the last one, I hope you liked it a lot! 😊

As always, thank you so much to all of you who are there 😊. Special thanks to those of you who take the time to leave me a comment, I can't tell you how excited I am to read you! Thanks also, of course, to those of you who add the story to your favourites, to the alerts, to those of you who recommend it to others, and to anyone who is reading this. Truly, thank you 😍

Thanks so much in advance for reading! 😊

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CHAPTER 36

Floo powder

"That's right, Miss Patil," the stern Professor Babbling smiled complacently and looked down at the list of names on her desk. "Let's see... Mr. Hopkins, what number does the Demiguise represent?"

The dark-haired young man looked up, wincing, and looked at his Ancient Runes teacher almost warily. After several seconds of awkward silence, Hopkins adjusted his glasses and stammered:

"I'm not sure…"

"In that case, you should study more, Mr. Hopkins," Babbling replied, harshly, "This is one of the most basic lessons in advanced Ancient Runes, and if you do not master it, you will do little in the N.E.W.T. of the subject..."

She returned her gaze to the list of her students' names, as Hopkins shrank back in his seat in embarrassment. The teacher hesitated for a moment, and then it was visible how her expression changed to one of heaviness. She looked up again.

"Mr. Malfoy?" she called, almost with irony. "Would you be able to tell me what number the Demiguise represents?"

Draco Malfoy, seated at the back of the classroom, balancing unabashedly on the back legs of his seat, next to a resigned Theodore Nott, gave a sly half-smirk.

"I would if you asked me, Professor," he replied, his tone falsely touched and clearly mocking. There was a general roar of laughter, and many of the students turned to look at him in admiration and amusement. Hermione also turned her head to give him a reproachful look at the tone in which he spoke to the teacher.

Babbling sighed and looked at him with even more resignation.

"Mr. Malfoy, what number does the Demiguise represent?" she asked impatiently, but without getting angry.

"Zero," the young man replied, still swaying in his chair. "For its ability to turn invisible."

Professor Babbling, who was already looking for a new name on the list, looked up instantly, disturbed. Many of the students' mouths dropped open in surprise. Now the entire class was turning to look at a relaxed and haughty Malfoy. Hermione forced herself to look straight ahead, resting her mouth on her fist to hold back a smile.

"Oh... Well, well, Mr. Malfoy... That's right," the teacher mumbled, puzzled, as if trying to assimilate it herself. She glanced at her list of names for a moment, but then returned her eyes to the young blond, as if she was seeing him for the first time. "And the Runespoor?"

Malfoy widened his half-smirk in satisfaction.

"The three. For being three-headed."

The teacher seemed to think the boy wasn't who he said he was. As if Polyjuice Potion was involved.

"Very — very good, Mr. Malfoy. I'm glad to see you've begun to take the subject seriously," she coughed a little, trying to regain her composure, and added, trying to speak with authority, "But please sit properly in your chair." She looked back down at her list of names, still looking troubled. "Miss Jones, what number does the Acromantula represent?"

Most of the students returned their attention to the teacher, still looking bewildered. Hermione glanced over her shoulder, seeking his gaze slyly, trying to give her face a serious look in case anyone was watching her. Draco's eyes searched for her as well. Hermione's orbs glittered with enjoyment. He, his face equally undaunted to avoid being caught, winked fleetingly at her. Theodore pretended to be too busy with his nail cuticles.

Sudden, light knocks on the door interrupted Jones' voice, and drew everyone's gaze. It opened a few seconds later, revealing a short blonde girl from a lower year of Slytherin House.

"Miss Greengrass," the teacher greeted politely, "Can I help you?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Professor Babbling," Astoria Greengrass said, looking a little self-conscious in front of so many pairs of eyes fixed on her face. She tucked a long blonde lock behind her ear before adding, "Professor Snape sent me. He said he wants to see Draco Malfoy in his office immediately."

All eyes in the classroom moved in unison to focus on Draco again. The boy, looking over his shoulder at the door like all his classmates, was slow to react. His face barely altered, but his blond eyebrows tightened slightly. He did not blink.

Professor Babbling looked a little disgruntled, but sighed.

"Very well, I imagine it will be something important. You may leave, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure Mr. Nott will be able to provide you with the notes. Anyway, if you have any questions, come and see me."

Draco said nothing in reply and merely rose to his feet. Luckily, he didn't mind being the centre of attention, and his hands were steady as he gathered his belongings, despite the fact that all his classmates were watching him almost avidly. He strode towards the exit with a self-assured gait, heading down the aisle towards Astoria, who was waiting for him with the door solicitously open.

Hermione, who had tried to look credibly intrigued, like the rest of her classmates, couldn't help but frown with slight unease as the boy left the room. She hoped nothing serious had happened...

Draco closed the door behind him and arched an eyebrow in Astoria's direction. She gave him a knowing smile, looking more at ease as she was alone with him.

"What's Pucey doing there?" she questioned by way of greeting, nodding at the classroom.

"No Ancient Runes group in the sixth year, so he's coming with us," Draco revealed half-heartedly, walking down the lonely corridor in the company of the young girl.

"Oh, I didn't know that. Can that be done?" she muttered, frowning with disinterest. Draco shrugged.

"Apparently so. That git's great at Ancient Runes, so he's been moved up a year. He'll only do one year and it'll count as two." The girl nodded her head, grimacing in surprise. Draco changed the subject, not really interested in his mates' studies at the moment, "Do you have any idea what Snape wants?"

"No, I'm sorry," Astoria admitted, looking apologetically at him. "At the end of Potions class, he told me to come and find you in this class and tell you to go to his office. Have you got into any trouble with the Gryffindors?" she joked, trying to play down the seriousness of the matter.

Draco gave a half smile.

"You have no idea..."

"Plenty, but none that he's been able to figure out," he teased, pretending to be satisfied. Astoria burst out laughing. "How's it going?" he asked, trying to make normal conversation and pretend that the meeting with his professor wasn't upsetting him in the slightest.

Daphne's sister was an identical, younger version of her older sister. Much shorter than Draco, with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. She was lively and affectionate. Draco enjoyed her company when they met in the Great Hall, or in the Common Room. They had played Wizard's Chess together a few times and she was really good at it. And he had long suspected, corroborated by a discreet Daphne, that the girl had a soft spot for him.

"Very well," the girl said, turning her face to look him sympathetically in the eye as they walked. "And you? My sister says you're very busy, that she doesn't see you often. Studying hard?"

"Among other things," he replied, evasively, trying to look enigmatic. "But your sister spends all her time glued to Nott's face, so it's only natural that she doesn't see me..."

Astoria laughed.

"They're so cute together, aren't they?" Draco gave a half-smile but didn't answer her. "My sister is scatterbrained. I've never seen her so happy. She really likes Theodore..."

"They're two of a kind," Draco scoffed, indifferent. "What class are you attending now?"

"Charms," the girl replied and agreed with a smile to precede Draco through a lintel down a flight of stairs when he offered it to her with a gesture. "We're having revision classes before the O.W.L.s... I'll be in the Library with Higgs later, if you want to come," she offered, her expression turning slightly sheepish.

They stopped at a crossroads, for they were both going in different directions.

"I already have plans," the boy apologised without giving too many details. Actually, he was planning to try to write to Granger and ask her if she wanted to meet him that afternoon. "Besides, I doubt Higgs would want me to go," he teased, narrowing his eyes at her. Astoria snorted, turning red.

"Shut up," she snapped, lifting her chin proudly and stomping off down the corridor. Draco chuckled.

"Be good," he waved goodbye as she walked away. Astoria turned her face and stuck her tongue out at him.

Draco shook his head, watching her go. Wondering how he could feel so far away from it all. From a normal teenage life. From flirting in libraries, or gossiping about the courtships around him. He felt that all that didn't go with him. Lately, his life felt anything but that of an ordinary teenager...

He remembered the kisses he and Granger had exchanged in the Library. How they talked about Nott and Greengrass' courtship hidden under the stands. Ironically, he thought Granger was his only connection to a normal life. Even though what he had with her wasn't normal. Secret. Forbidden. Dangerous.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes as he walked through the Entrance Hall towards the dungeons. What would it be like to have a normal relationship with her? A relationship befitting two eighteen-year-olds? Sharing a table in the Library to study together after class, being able to talk to anyone about her, walking the corridors together, in full view of everyone, spending time with each other's friends, having sex...

He felt a heat he hadn't anticipated rise up his back and reach his neck. His mouth felt dry and he found it hard to swallow, feeling his saliva thick. He allowed himself, in a daring outburst, surrounded by the solitude of the corridors, to fantasise. Quickly. He could hear her breathing raggedly, against his mouth, against his ear. He could feel her warm weight on his thighs, straddling him in that unstable boat. Legs spread over him. Squeezing. Moving. With such manifest purpose... Seeking a touch that... Oh, fuck...

He inhaled with need and snorted through his nose. Loudly. Okay, enough. This wasn't the time to think about that. It definitely wasn't.

Spending time with her friends... That was the thought he needed. Tangentially opposed to something erotic. An image of himself playing Wizard's Chess with Potter almost made him laugh out loud. That's all he needed... Luckily, that would never happen.

But everything else...

Neither would it. And he was not so happy about that.

Talk to other people about her. How would it feel? Without concealing it. Without pretending. Speaking of her as his... partner? His... girl?

His girl. What bullshit.

"My girl..." he muttered aloud. Barely louder than a hiss. Through his teeth. Just loud enough to hear himself. Just to know what it felt like to say something like that. To confirm how absurd it was.

As he wondered when his inner life had become so uninteresting, he suddenly found himself in the dungeons, before the closed door of Snape's office. Holding back an impatient sigh, he knocked three times with his knuckles. Trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. It couldn't mean anything good that Snape had summoned him so suddenly. Would it have something to do with the time he'd caught him snooping around Filch's office? Would he want to interrogate him again about his mission? He couldn't know that he'd already found a passageway that would be useful to him — he'd only told Nott that. Or maybe...?

Suddenly, a wave of cold air shot through his spine. What if something had happened? What if something had happened to his father in Azkaban? What if something had been done to his mother...?

The door flew open, cutting off his thoughts abruptly, and Snape materialised in the doorway. His black eyes locked on Draco, making no attempt to greet him. The boy returned his gaze, straining to glean something from a first glance at that undaunted face. Some first impression. But he saw nothing clearly. His expression was serious, grave, as was usual for him. Although he did not normally have such an expression towards him. For many years, he had been his favourite pupil. And he had flattered and favoured him above all others. But not so long ago, possibly since their discussion of his mission in Filch's office, their relationship had cooled considerably.

So Draco didn't know what to expect from this sudden meeting, alone.

Snape stepped aside in one swift movement, letting him in. The boy strode into the office with purposeful steps. He did not intend to give the impression that he was frightened.

Despite no longer being the Potions professor, Snape still used his old office. The room was gloomy and dimly lit. The dark walls were lined with shelves filled with dozens of glass jars, containing definitely disgusting and slimy things, floating in different coloured potions. When Draco caught a glimpse of what looked like the furry paw of some sort of rabbit, floating in a whitish liquid, he was forced to look away. There was a cupboard to the left, filled with potion ingredients. And also a desk, with two chairs, one behind the table and one in front of it, before a dark stone fireplace. The fireplace attracted his gaze. And so did the mantelpiece. He saw the small pot. Floo powder.

Without waiting for an invitation from his teacher, Draco dropped into the guest chair. Looking impatient and bored. As if the last thing he wanted was to be there, and he didn't bother to hide it. As if it seemed like a waste of time. He dropped his bag on the floor when he heard the door close. He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the professor to appear in his field of vision. There was just enough space between his chair and the desk to stretch out his long legs, so he did, crossing them at the ankles.

He felt his presence approaching from his left, and looked up to see him standing in the gap between the desk and Draco's chair, next to his arrogantly outstretched legs. He didn't look like he was going to sit behind his desk.

Draco tried his best nonchalant expression, glancing sideways at him, barely making direct eye contact with him.

"You wanted to see me, Prof — ?"

He didn't finish the haughty sentence, uttered in a bored tone. Something suddenly closed his vocal cords. And in the blink of an eye, he found himself staring at the bookshelves to his left again.

And it was Snape's hand slamming into his cheek, smacking him hard with the back of it.

Draco's neck almost cracked from the sudden movement, and he nearly toppled over in his chair. His arms uncrossed, and his legs bent again out of sheer inertia. Out of sheer surprise. In fact, despite the sharp stinging that settled on his right cheek, he could barely comprehend what had just happened.

He didn't bring his face forward again. He stood still, very still, taking in very slowly that Snape had just slapped him with all his might. After scanning the row of jars on one of the shelves without seeing it, he turned his face again. And raised it to look at his teacher. He could barely close his mouth. Much less could he think of anything to say.

That blow was the last thing he would have expected. That, and the look on Snape's face at that moment.

He was furious. Furious in a way Draco had never seen him before. He always looked serious, haughty, cold and impassive. His presence alone, his undaunted expression, was enough to keep order anywhere. He had never seen him lose his temper beyond despairing when Longbottom blew up his cauldron in the middle of class. But now he was completely unhinged. His face was tense as parchment, his lips twitching in a grimace of rage. The nostrils of his hooked nose flared as he drew in a ragged breath. His black eyes, two bottomless pits, were now two abysses. Even his greasy black hair curtains had been slightly dishevelled by the swift movement of smacking the boy.

Draco saw his hand wave, his wand in it. In one swift, fluid motion. Silencing the room.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" his lips whispered, barely moving. Speaking between his yellow, uneven teeth. The wand disappeared inside his robes.

Draco remained unable to utter a word. In fact, he felt almost alien to his own body. He knew he should be worried, because apparently he was in a lot of trouble, but he didn't quite understand what was going on.

"How — dare you — ?" he finally managed to articulate, in the form of a gasp. His mouth twitching, Snape raised his arm again and moved it to the side, as if he intended to repeat the blow. As if he couldn't believe that Draco would protest on top of it. But he didn't, and after a moment's hesitation, he lowered his hand again. His sallow face was paler than ever.

"Have you gone mad?" he whispered again, taking a long moment to utter each word. His deep voice was barely audible in the silence of the room. "What are you thinking of...?"

"What are you talking about?" Draco questioned, his voice rising in pitch. His cheek still burned, and he was beginning to feel the rage come over him. He wasn't going to stand for being treated like this. How had he been able to — ?

"What... the hell is going on between you and Hermione Granger?" Snape asked out of the blue, mumbling again. Not bothering to raise his voice, unlike Draco.

And Draco forgot whether he was sitting down or not. He forgot to close his mouth. He forgot to breathe. He couldn't feel his body. He couldn't hear anything. He could only look into Severus Snape's black eyes, piercing him with an anger that had suddenly made all the sense in the world. And then he felt hot. He felt the heat take hold of him, starting in his legs, moving up his belly, his stomach, his arms, until it reached his neck. The heat was rising, uncontrollably. He was burning. Burning with panic.

"What?" he heard himself say, though he could have sworn it was someone else controlling his lips. They felt dry, and he wondered how long it had been since he'd closed his mouth.

"Mr. Filch came to see me an hour ago," Snape said, again in that cold, low tone. Without blinking. He seemed to be controlling himself to speak calmly. The calm before the storm. "He told me that the Slytherin House Prefect and the Gryffindor House Prefect had been caught having sex in a broom cupboard of his property, and that, despite his protests, Professor McGonagall had not issued a punishment. He wanted me to take care of it," he added wryly, and his tone of voice would have been humorous but for the coldness in his eyes. "What the hell is the meaning of all this?"

"It's a lie," Draco heard himself mumbling. Without even pausing for a second to think about it. He tried to lift his chin, looking offended at such an accusation. "How dare you? I've never touched that Mud —"

Snape's sudden movement silenced him abruptly. His teacher leaned towards him and stopped barely half an inch from Draco's face, his hands resting on the armrests of his chair, holding his weight there. So quickly that it made Draco wince visibly.

"Don't you dare to deny it to me, boy," he whispered against his face, unblinking. "I know it's true, now I just want to know why this aberration happened. What the hell happened. What you're doing getting involved with someone like her. What do you feel for her..."

"I don't feel anything for that — !" Draco shouted, making an attempt to stand up, but unable to do so as his teacher was still leaning over him. Snape pushed him off his chest, pulling him back into a sitting position, and silencing his defence.

"Listen to me, Draco," he moved a little closer to him, almost brushing his nose against his. "If you're interested in dying, there are quicker ways that won't take your mother with you, like tying a rock to your ankle and throwing yourself into the Great Lake. Narcissa risked her bloody life at Christmas, lying to the Dark Lord, to delay you taking the Dark Mark. Your mother is trying to protect you at all costs from the fearsome life that awaits you. Because being a servant of the Dark Lord is not an easy life, you may have realised by now... And you have a poor way of thanking her. If the Dark Lord finds out, which he will, that you have feelings for a Muggle-born —"

"I've already told you that I don't have feelings for —" Draco insisted again, mumbling, glaring at him.

"Don't lie to me!" Snape almost shouted, not moving an inch away, raising his deep voice for the first time. His arms trembled as they rested on the armrests. "What are you playing at, then? What are you up to? What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing, damn it! How the hell am I supposed to have a thing with a Mudblood? It's disgusting, it's unnatural, it's — !" Draco shouted again. And he choked on his own appellations. Unable to think of any more. Unable to hear the credibility and true disgust on his lips. Enumerating them as if it were an automatic list. He faltered, panting, desperate to keep talking, to no avail.

Snape was silent, scrutinising him. His face relaxed slightly for the first time.

He straightened up completely until he was standing in front of him again. He was analysing the boy's entire body as if seeing him for the first time. Draco heard him trying to breathe. He could see him pondering. Snape closed his eyes for a moment as if his own thoughts were tormenting him. He let out a sigh as if trying to regain his composure.

"What about your mission?" he questioned, again in a quiet voice. He ran his tongue over his teeth and seemed unable to calm himself as he added more gravely, "Don't you intend to complete it? Draco, to abandon a direct mission from the Dark Lord is suicidal... Damn it, boy, you got the Dark Mark two months ago!" he said more emphatically. "You could be dead right now! Be thankful that the Dark Lord considers you a useless teenager incapable of possessing the slightest intelligence to betray him, because, if he'd thought to do a bit of research on you, you'd be dead by now! What are you thinking?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm a fucking blood traitor, or a deserter from the Dark Lord, because I'm not," Draco protested flatly, with all the rage he could muster. He felt his heart pumping slowly and heavily in his chest. "Of course the mission still stands. And I'm going to carry it out. I have a plan. I know how to do it. It's all set."

Snape seemed surprised at that. He took a few seconds to scrutinise him again, looking at him strangely.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked in a whisper.

"Don't think I'm going to say a word to you," Draco protested, scornfully.

"I could help you," he added, gruffly. As if it were obvious, but Draco was stupid.

"The fewer people who know, the better off everything will be," the boy replied, with petty mockery.

"Does Miss Granger know that you are under the Dark Lord's orders?" Snape questioned suddenly, with a newfound serenity.

Draco opened his mouth to protest again, to deny it all, to tell him it was all nonsense... but his voice wouldn't come out. He swallowed and tried to articulate a word, but he couldn't manage it. Because, with that simple question, he had made Draco remember how impossible what they were doing was. That there really, really couldn't be anything between them. That they could never be together. In any way he could think of.

They were just living an illusion.

Draco's face tightened, as he tried to rid it of all emotion. Because he didn't want Snape to see in his expression how his chest was cracking. He took a deep breath through his nose, squaring his shoulders slightly. Knowing that he could no longer defend himself, that his silence had been the best confession he could have made; but determined that Snape, despite everything, would not see his frailty. He was not going to appear cowed or desperate.

"I suppose she doesn't," Draco heard his professor whisper above his head. But he refused to look at him. His eyes still fixed on the floor. But then he felt it was a sign of weakness, and he looked straight ahead, until he was staring at the desk. "Who else knows what's going on between you?" Snape added, getting no response from Draco. "Mr. Zabini? Miss Parkinson? Potter, or Weasley?"

Draco didn't say half a word. He knew that at this point in the conversation he had lost the battle, and that he couldn't deny that there was indeed something going on between him and Hermione Granger, but he wasn't going to give any details about it either. Nott was the only one who knew, and he wasn't about to get him in trouble.

Snape snorted through his hooked nose, inferring that his silence was a denial, and leaned his lower back against the desk behind him.

"Draco, you are in grave danger. You cannot be under the Dark Lord's orders if your ideology has changed..."

"I haven't changed at all," the boy muttered. "I'm the same as ever. Nothing has changed."

"The Draco I know wouldn't have touched a hair on the head of a Muggle-born, let alone the one who happens to be Harry Potter's best friend," Snape hissed, piercing him with his black eyes. Draco opened his mouth and inhaled to protest, but he interrupted him, "What's changed in your mind about Muggle-borns?"

"Absolutely nothing," he snapped, emphasising each syllable. "They are inferior. An inferior race that has no right to learn magic. To be in our world. To know we exist."

"And doesn't Miss Granger fall into that category?"

Draco swallowed. His tongue felt big and heavy in his mouth. His brain, clumsy and cloudy. He couldn't think of an answer. He didn't know. He didn't know...

'Imagine that you've been told all your fucking life that fire burns. Then suddenly you find a flame that doesn't. Would you think it was all a lie? That you've been fooled your whole life, just because of that one flame? Because of a fucking exception that disproves the rule?'

"No," he heard himself saying. Such a monosyllable leaving his mouth without first passing through his brain. He blinked. No?

"No?" Snape put voice to his thoughts. "And what category does she fall into?"

"She is… an exception. My exception."

Draco wondered if Snape had given him some kind of Veritaserum in his pumpkin juice for breakfast. Because he couldn't stop talking. Talking rubbish. It was all too much. He felt too hot. Too dizzy. Too scared.

Snape was silent for a long moment.

"You can't hide something like that from the Dark Lord," he whispered. Without commenting directly on what the boy had confessed. "He'll find out about this, and he'll kill you, and your mother too... Hell, what about Lucius, are you aware of what — ?"

"Are you going to tell them?" Draco spat then, looking him in the eye again, almost defiantly. "My father? The Dark Lord?"

Snape's face did not alter at all. He didn't even blink.

"No, of course not."

"Well, then he won't find out. Because this is just... nonsense. A temporary thing. Something unimportant," he said, lifting his chin. As if he was in control of the situation and his life. Despite being caught having an affair with the last person he should be having an affair with.

"Unimportant?" Snape hissed. Sizing the boy up. "You think I'm an idiot? How could you do such a stupid thing if it wasn't important to you? How could you take such a risk, risk your life, if you weren't completely in love with — ?"

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Draco roared, interrupting him, feeling a very intense heat on his face. "You have no idea about —"

Snape suddenly slammed his fist on the desk. Draco jerked, startled. Snape's black eyes glittered in a way that the boy didn't like one bit. He seemed determined to give him another slap.

"That I have no idea — ? It's you, you conceited brat, who doesn't want to understand anything!" he shouted suddenly. Draco saw his fists shaking. If Severus Snape's deep voice was already terrifying when he whispered, his screams were bloodcurdling. "You can't make light of something like this in your situation! Do you think this is a joke, boy? That lives aren't at risk?"

"I know my life is at risk, I'm not an imbecile!" Draco shouted, straightening his face to get closer to him, defiantly.

"Not just your life," Snape interrupted him. Without shouting. Muttering. Almost in a snort. "Hers. Don't you realise that you're sticking her bloody neck out doing this? That Granger's life is in your hands? That all you're going to get out of this is getting her killed, and you along with her? The Dark Lord will seek her out, find her, and kill her for corrupting a pure-blood. For being to blame for your betrayal. To make you suffer," his deep voice faltered. He straightened slightly, "If you feel anything for this girl, even the slightest esteem or respect, if she is truly an exception to all your beliefs, you should get as far away from her as you can. You are not the only one in danger."

The light went out around Draco. He needed several seconds, which he didn't really have, to take in his words. Feeling his vision going out of focus. His field of vision narrowing. That he was forgetting the mechanism necessary to breathe.

He had thought about his own life. He had thought about how much he was risking. He had thought about his mother's life, regretting day after day for putting her in danger. He had hidden behind the thought that, since his affair with Granger was temporary, there would be no regrets. He was no blood traitor. He wasn't about to abandon his family to fraternise with Muggles. So it wasn't the same. It hadn't seemed so dangerous. Still, remorse for even remotely endangering his mother had haunted him. He had even worried about his father's life, even though he was relatively safe in Azkaban.

He hadn't thought for a moment about Granger's life.

'Don't you realise that you're sticking her bloody neck out doing this?'

If the Dark Lord found out... he would murder her. Snape was right. As well as for what she was, for her origins, she would do it as revenge on him. To punish him. Or to punish her for seducing a pure-blood. He would murder them both without batting an eyelid. It was possible. It was probable. It was irremediable. It could become real.

She would die because of him.

"Occlumency," Snape said then, ceasing his shouting. Pulling him from his thoughts almost by force. As if he was sunk in the lake and his arm was suddenly tugged out, without any gentleness whatsoever. "Bella taught you, didn't she? Last summer."

Draco nodded his head very slowly. Not even sure if it had been visible.

"Show me."

The young Malfoy looked up, staring into Snape's eyes. He then felt the room around him fade away. He felt as if Snape was trying to physically enter his head. He felt his presence press against his brain from the inside, making him grit his teeth. He felt him rummaging through his memories, almost as if his fingers were pulling away branches of a tree inside his head, searching for what he wanted.

He was in no position to demonstrate his Occlumency skills. Skills that demanded a control and discipline in himself that he didn't have right now, but he tried with all his might. Draco exhaled slowly, trying to feel the nervousness that had been invading him leave his body through his fingertips. He concentrated on making his mind blank, on not thinking about anything specific. On not feeling.

He saw Granger appear before him, half an inch from his face, both of them hidden behind armour, McGonagall's shoes echoing in the distance...

He exhaled his breath again and his eyes went unfocused. A tingle ran down his spine. He felt Snape being pushed out of the memory.

He then felt himself closing his eyes at the scent of her hair, before he tried to annoy her in the Library, with the scent of Firewhisky mixed with her shampoo in his nostrils...

Draco took a breath, and, as he exhaled, the memory faded, along with Snape's eyes gazing up at him.

He saw her sitting a few seats ahead of him in class, almost jumping in her chair, her arm stretched straight up to the ceiling and the answer to a question asked by Flitwick on her lips, begging to come out...

Draco relaxed his hands, loosening them on his thighs. Snape had to let go of that memory too. But he was still in his head. Stirring his brain at will.

He found himself pressing her against the greenhouse table, his mouth on hers, feeling his own heart swell with joy, realising that he could finally do what he was doing, without remorse...

Draco, instead of relaxing, clenched his jaws. And softened his brain. He could send him away. He could expel Snape. He closed his mind. Blocked it from any invasion. It was easy. He had blocked out his feelings forever, since he was nothing more than a child. His parents hadn't taught him to talk to anyone about his feelings. They had taught him that it wasn't relevant. That how he really felt wasn't that important. It only mattered what he showed the world. What others saw of him. He just had to do what he had to do. Behave like the Malfoy he was. Success wasn't achieved by sharing feelings with just anyone. Instilling respect in others, the kind of respect that bordered on fear, was not achieved by showing your emotions. By letting people get to know you. That's not how the world worked.

And, as abruptly as it began, it was over. Snape was no longer in his head.

"Your mental discipline at such a young age is admirable, Draco," he heard Snape say about him then. His voice was cold. "You are skilled, but not skilled enough. I did not expect you to be, either. You couldn't fool the Dark Lord for an instant, if you had to. You won't be able to keep him out of your head. I can help you get better, but it doesn't suit us. Your best asset, right now, is that he never gets in. If he tries to get into your mind, and sees that you stop him, he'll know you're hiding something and he'll force it out of you. Just don't do anything to displease him. He won't search your mind if you give him no reason to doubt you."

Draco didn't even blink. He was barely registering his surroundings. Not knowing if the conversation was over or not, he stood up. He needed to get out of there. He grabbed his bag, not getting a single gesture from Snape, and turned around to head for the door.

"You said that what's going on between you and Miss Granger is unimportant. Then don't let it be important. Don't risk your life, or your mother's, over such a thing," he heard Snape say behind him. "You can't allow yourself any of this. Sort Miss Granger thing out, Draco, or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Draco felt the bile rise in his throat, preventing him from saying anything. He merely swallowed and reached for the door with wide strides.

Snape watched him go, feeling the weight of years crush his shoulders. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. It was inconceivable. He didn't think he would see history repeating itself, least of all in that stubborn, arrogant boy. In the spoilt son of Lucius Malfoy, no less. And, against all odds, judging by Filch's accusation, and the snippets of memories he'd been able to see in his head... it was reciprocated.

It was reciprocated.

As soon as the door closed behind Draco, Snape dropped back into a sitting position on the edge of his desk and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. A Death Eater and a Mudblood. It felt familiar. And he knew that something like this couldn't end well, no way. He couldn't let it happen again.

"Save her, while you still can, boy..."

Draco did not stop walking once he left the office of the Head of his House. His legs kept moving, automatically. Because Draco wasn't directing them. Not consciously. He couldn't feel his body. He couldn't even think. So many things were swirling around in his head that he couldn't focus on any of them.

Without knowing how, he found himself walking down a spiral staircase, which he didn't even know where it led. He was still in the dungeons, judging by the dim lighting. And no one was there. Everyone must still be in class. Or maybe it was already lunchtime. Or maybe he just wasn't passing anyone.

His footsteps slowed to a complete stop. In the middle of a step, in the middle of the stairs. At the bottom was the beginning of another corridor that, at first glance, was deserted.

He was panting. He was shaking.

And he was suffocating.

"Breathe," he told himself, almost desperately. "Concentrate on breathing... You can't fall apart now..."

His heart was beating so fast that he even panicked. He had never suffered an anxiety attack, at least that he had identified as such. He hadn't considered the nightmares that woke him up in the middle of the night anything like it.

But he realised that he could not take another step. Stopping had been a mistake. He felt like throwing up. He swallowed, holding back the nausea. He turned carefully and leaned his back against the wall. That was slightly better. But his knees were shaking.

He let himself fall, sliding down the stone, until he was sitting on the step, facing the inside wall of the spiral staircase. He felt his bag slide down his shoulder until it landed on the hard stone, on the top step. He didn't move. He couldn't move. His whole body felt stiff, hardened. He couldn't even stop staring at the wall.

He couldn't stop breathing loudly, through his mouth. He felt that if he stopped, he would suffocate without remedy. He looked down at his white hands, dangling from his thighs, as he kept his forearms resting on them. They were visibly shaking.

Why was he trembling, why was he breaking down like that? Snape hadn't told him anything he didn't already know...

"Breathe..."

His shoulders were giving way under the weight of his thoughts. A lump of anguish was forming in his throat, and it threatened to take over his eyes. He closed them tightly, refusing to let it, and reached up to clutch his hands in his hair. Ducking his face. Shrinking in on himself. Struggling to control the sobbing that threatened to choke him.

"Breathe..."

'Don't you realise that you're sticking her bloody neck out doing this?'

"Breathe, for fuck's sake..."

He knew it was temporary. He'd known it since it started. Of course all that had to end. He shouldn't care about Granger. It had just been teenage impulses. A... temporary relationship. So that those impulses for her wouldn't drive him completely mad. However, that didn't mean he was capable of risking Granger's life. Despite the precarious nature of their relationship, he absolutely did not want anything bad to happen to Granger.

And, in order for nothing to happen to her, all that was needed was to end what they had. It was as simple as that.

"Breathe..."

It was simple, wasn't it?

"Breathe, you fucking idiot..."

End this aberration. An abnormal relationship between a wizard and a Muggle. To end what was between them. It wasn't that hard. It wasn't. She wasn't that important. She couldn't be that important. She didn't mean that much. She wasn't the most important person to him right now.

Right?

'… it is possibly one of the most complicated situations you could have gotten into. In fact, it could end in the worst possible way...'

He shivered. Nott had been trying to talk sense into him all this time. And he hadn't listened to him. And now he was in over his head.

His own breathing was driving him mad. He needed to hear something other than his breathing and his thoughts. He couldn't stand the tightness in his chest. The feeling of impotence, of needing to solve the impossible. There was no solution. In fact, everything was terribly easy. It was already written. He didn't have to make an effort. Just do what he had to do. He didn't even have to think.

His chest shook in a silent sob. What did he want, to abandon the Dark Lord? To abandon his family? To marry Granger, live together and have a large brood of half-blood children?

He would be dead after only the first step of that plan.

He wasn't sure what he wanted, but he felt that, as things stood, he wasn't getting it. For the first time in his life. Everything was changing, and he hated it. He wanted to be twelve again, and for his father to give a broom to every member of the Quidditch team so that he could be their Seeker. He wanted to get everything he wanted so easily. He wanted everything to be that simple again. One word from him, and he would have what he wanted.

"Granger ..."

He clenched his fingers in his skull tighter. He remembered the amused look Granger had just given him in class. His own sense of glee, of excitement at the risky situation, at their knowing looks meeting in the middle of a crowded classroom...

He was happy. Damn it, he was happy.

But his happiness had vanished after two minutes of talking to Severus Snape.

It was unfair. Fucking unfair. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand Snape's words in his head. He couldn't bear to feel that Nott had said them to him before. He couldn't bear to feel like he couldn't do anything about it.

Sharing a table in the Library to study together after class, being able to talk to anyone about her, walking the corridors together, in full view of everyone, spending time with each other's friends, having sex...

His girl.

What a huge bullshit. So, so huge. How could he — what was he thinking?

He took a deep breath and let go of his head. He pulled it back, dropping the back of his head against the wall. Opening his eyes again. Waking up.

He didn't want to think anymore. He couldn't allow himself to behave like this. He was no child. He had things to do. Important things, things that required all his concentration.

He wasn't going to tell her to meet him that afternoon. He had a lot of things to sort out first.

---

Hermione pulled her robes closed with her hands as she finished descending the precarious steps down the hillside towards Hagrid's Hut. The day had been sunny, but the wind was cold, just as it had been all week. The girl's eyes were fixed on the steps as she descended, barely appreciating the view around her, nor the quiet of the grounds. She was mentally going over everything she wanted to ask Hagrid. And also how she was going to do it so that it wouldn't look suspicious.

Once she was sure she had her plan all tied up, she allowed herself to look up and take in the scenery. The warm sunlight. The beautiful green grass, waving against the wind. The grounds were beautiful. Hogwarts was beautiful. Or perhaps it was she who was unusually optimistic. At peace with everyone. Happy.

She trudged up the high steps to the front door and, after allowing herself to take a steadying breath, knocked three times with her knuckles. Hagrid's ruddy, bearded face smiled down at her from the top of the doorframe as soon as the door opened inwards.

"Hermione," he greeted in his deep voice, "'S good ter see yeh, miss, I wasn' expectin' yeh..." he stepped aside to let her in, "Yeh've all remembered me today..."

Before the girl could assimilate those words, she stepped through the doorframe and understood them instantly. She felt her soul slide to her feet. Luna Lovegood's huge grey eyes looked up at her dreamily, sitting at the huge gamekeeper's table with a mug in front of her.

"Hello, Hermione," the girl greeted, tilting her head to one side. Hermione's voice didn't come out at first. Too busy readjusting her plan at lightning speed.

"Luna," she greeted, as naturally as she could. "What a pleasant coincidence..." She hoped with all her might that it sounded believable.

"Are yeh coming alone?" Hagrid questioned, as he closed the door and went over to the cupboard to fetch another huge mug to pour Hermione some tea. The teapot was kept warm on the stove. Fang was dozing at the foot of the huge bed.

"I've left Harry and Ron fighting over two Astronomy essays," Hermione said, as she had agreed with her friends. "And I wanted to spend some time with you, Hagrid. They send their love and promise to come over for the weekend."

"O' course, o' course, no worries... It's really good ter see yeh," the man seemed genuinely pleased to have so many visitors in one day. And Hermione felt a pang of regret. Lately they weren't going to see him as often as they used to. And, in truth, her visit that time wasn't entirely innocent.

"Hagrid was showing me his Jackalopes, look how cute they are," Luna said relaxedly, pointing to the patch of floor next to her on the other side of the table. Hermione rounded the table, confused, to discover a huge wooden box with half a dozen baby rabbits inside. Or at least they looked like ordinary rabbits, until your eyes caught the little antelope antlers on the top of their heads.

"Exactly, newborn Jackalopes," Hagrid commented proudly, pouring tea into Hermione's mug. "I thought it mighta be the final project fer the sixth years. Luna is seein' 'em exclusively, it's the least I can do fer my best pupil," he winked warmly at her. Luna looked at him enthusiastically.

"Oh, who is it?" she asked happily. Hagrid burst out laughing.

"Yeh, woman, I was talkin' 'bout yeh..."

Luna's eyes widened.

"Really? I've never been anyone's best pupil...!"

As Hagrid laughed again, Hermione smiled to herself, reaching out a hand to stroke the head of one of the strange bunnies. Relieved that, apparently, the animals Hagrid made them study in class had gone from five X's to just one or two, according to the Ministerial classification of magical creatures.

Also, the fact that they brought up the subject of magical creatures was a great thing for her.

"They're adorable," she agreed, stroking the small ear of one of them, crouched beside them. "They're from North America, aren't they?"

"Yep, bu' I've got all my papers in order, don' worry," Hagrid assured her, looking very sheepish. "Dumbledore's made sure o' tha'..."

Hermione let out a giggle.

"I didn't doubt it," she said, making her friend smile. She got up and went to sit in one of the huge chairs, facing Luna. "It sounds like a lovely project. What other new creatures are you studying?"

"I have a small herd o' Porlorcks fer the fifth-years, an' the Bowtruckles have had babies," he said proudly. "An' I also have a hive o' Glumbumbles, an' I thought it would be fun ter collect the treacle they produce..."

"I like treacle," Luna reported, nodding as if agreeing with her own words.

"It sounds very good," Hermione said. Hagrid held out a plate of frankly dreadful-looking rock cakes, and she dismissed it with a hasty gesture. "Land animals, flying animals... What about the creatures in the lake, aren't you going to study them?"

"Well, yeh've read my mind, 'cause I'm plannin' ter try an' tame a small group o' Grindylows," Hagrid commented enthusiastically. "I know yeh studied 'em with Professor Lupin, bu', since he's gone, I doubt it's part o' the Defence Against the Dark Arts syllabus... I'm goin' ter put it in on my own."

"Interesting," Hermione praised. She cleared her throat and took a sip of her tea. "What about Merpeople, is it harder, is it more difficult to communicate with them...?"

She took another sip, her heart pounding. "Here we go..."

"What's in the Black Lake aren' exactly Merpeople," Hagrid corrected, kindly. "It's a common mistake. They're Selkies. An' yes, they are very difficult ter communicate with. In the water it's possible, bu' outta there, phew... You don' want ter hear the squeaks they make," he chuckled to himself. "Plus they don' trust humans. They don' like us. They live better without us. They're dangerous, I wouldn' feel comfortable studyin' 'em in class..."

Hermione couldn't help but wonder why Hagrid thought Selkies were dangerous, and not Blast-Ended Skrewts, explosive creatures with anti-spell armour, suckers and stingers.

"My father tried to communicate with them," Luna commented, accepting a rock cake from the plate and popping it into her mouth. Hermione had to restrain herself from widening her eyes in surprise as she seemed to find it delicious. "There was a colony on a lake near Glasgow. He told me that their knowledge of our language was very primitive."

Hermione made a mental note of that information. The voice Harry heard in his head spoke perfect English. She crossed the Selkies off her list.

"What other creatures are in the Great Lake?" she commented, trying to pretend to find the conversation fascinating. "Can we communicate with any of them?"

"I'm sure the Giant Squid will talk one o' these days," Hagrid joked, with a loud chuckle. "No, there aren' many other creatures... At least not tha' they're interested in us. The Selkies have tamed the Grindylows an' scared off a lot o' the wildlife..."

Hermione pursed her lips subtly. The Great Lake was then ruled out as the source of the strange voice communicating with Harry. Her intention had been to manage to also ask him about Aragog, his beloved Acromantula, but it didn't seem safe to do so in front of Luna. That information, therefore, would have to wait. At least she'd gotten something out of it.

She took another sip of tea, almost finishing it, and then she noticed Luna staring at her. Almost greedily. Her eyes were crystal clear. As if Hermione had just said something extremely precious that had moved her.

Hermione looked confused, and gave her an almost worried look.

"What's wrong?" she blinked and asked. Luna smiled.

"Nothing, really. It's just that you look very pretty today," she commented kindly. Looking at her with admiration. "You radiate happiness. It made me happy just to see you."

Hermione let out a sheepish little cough, feeling herself blush at her friend's honest appraisal. She glanced sideways at herself. She wore her uniform, as she did every day, and hadn't paid particular attention to her hair for a change. There was nothing different about her that day. Hagrid laughed.

"Luna's righ', I think yeh look particularly beautiful today, too," he commented paternally, looking down at her with joy. "I've noticed it over the las' few weeks. I can see it in yer face tha' yeh're happy... Has anythin' interestin' happened lately?" he asked with affectionate mischief.

Hermione gasped with amusement. A specific face materialised in her head. The one responsible for this supposed happiness could only be one person...

"Nothing special, really. I appreciate it, but I don't feel any different," she tried to joke and play it down, shrugging her shoulders.

"You look the same as ever," Luna corroborated, as if it were obvious. "But you have more light now. Or rather, it's a different light. You radiate magic. It puts me in a good mood," she repeated, as if that should make Hermione happy. "It's like you're in love."

Hermione suddenly choked on her tea. She began to cough desperately, feeling the liquid burn her throat. Her neck felt hot. In love?

She heard Hagrid chuckle again, joking about Luna's words, and also heard herself making excuses for it. Pretending to find it ridiculous. Justifying that it must be because things in class were going well. She was learning a lot. She was getting good marks. She was keeping up with her studies in preparation for exams. Her friends' Quidditch team was about to win the Cup. She had beaten Ron at Wizard's Chess the afternoon before.

She hadn't realised it, but it was possibly true that she was projecting something new. She did feel different. In love. She was in love. And it was an emotion unlike anything she had ever experienced before. A different happiness.

But it wasn't supposed to be like this. She wasn't supposed to feel happy. She had no reason to be. Her falling in love was not a good thing. Not in her situation. On the contrary. It was, objectively speaking, the worst outcome of the unstable relationship she was having with Draco Malfoy. It was the last feeling she should have.

But, sometimes, she forgot. She got carried away. In a way that was more like Luna's impulsiveness than hers. Because sometimes it became uncontrollable. Too pleasant to push aside.

Luna was right. She was happy. She had always been happy, but now it was different. She had found someone who made her feel that way, in a different way than her friends, or her family. It was another connection. Another feeling. And she couldn't contain it, no matter how hard she made her exhausted, objective brain work for it.

His company was... It was all so strange. So unreasonable. Draco had the ability to say the simplest things, to be a boy of few words, unperturbed, disdainful and quiet... And yet every word, every gesture, was chiselled into her chest as if etched in marble. Perpetuating her happiness in her daily life.

She had Draco by her side, even if no one else knew it. And that feeling was hers alone. And sometimes she couldn't help but get tired of suffering, letting herself be carried away by the foolish feeling that everything would be like this forever. Letting herself be carried away by the feeling of being in love, forgetting that she couldn't be. And she supposed that was what was making her feel happier than ever.

Forgetting about reality.

---

"Expecto Patronum..." Nott muttered, waving his wand in front of him.

A bright white light flared from the tip, almost the size of a firefly, but it was extinguished within seconds. Leaving the deserted corridor in shadows again. The boy was not disappointed. It was the most he had achieved so far, having long been self-taught in a spell so powerful and so far out of his age level of magic. He could be satisfied for the moment.

He repeated the words, with the same result. But then he looked down that hidden dungeon corridor. His face was now twitching with frustration.

"Hurry up, Draco, damn it..." Nott pleaded out loud, to nothing, irritated. He glanced at his wristwatch again, even though it had only been a minute since the last time. Every minute counted, and Draco was already late.

As soon as he had dropped his forearm with a frustrated gesture, he heard hurried footsteps down the next corridor. He tensed, mentally preparing an excuse if necessary. But it was his panting friend who came running around the corner.

"Finally!" Nott mumbled, as relieved as he was angry, as Draco approached, slackening his pace. "What took you so long?"

Draco, finding it difficult to breathe, moved forward until he stood in front of the door that corresponded to Severus Snape's office. He took two bunch of keys out of his pocket and held one out to his friend.

"Filch has been slow to realise the trick we played on him in the Astronomy Tower," he explained, trying to fit the first copper key in the lock from the bunch he held. "And I couldn't —" he interrupted himself so that he could swallow saliva, out of breath, as he tried another key. The first one didn't fit. "— break into his office and steal the keys until he's gone..."

"Merlin, if we get caught we're screwed," Theodore wailed in despair, shuffling through his dark hair with a trembling hand. Draco had rarely seen him so nervous. He knew he wasn't exactly a person who enjoyed breaking the rules. "You'd better be right, and, by coming in like this, it won't be detected that we've been here..."

"They won't detect us unless they find us here," Draco muttered, trying again with another key. It didn't fit. He was still having trouble breathing. And it wasn't because of the running anymore.

"The Unlocking Charm is detectable," muttered Nott, who was watching his friend try to open the door without success, key after key.

"You don't have to tell me!" Draco hissed, snatching the other bunch of keys from Nott and handing him his own. "Just keep an eye out for anyone — especially Snape."

Theodore gasped in disbelief, casting a quick glance down the corridor. But there was no sound. Draco's hand was shaking as he fumbled with the last three keys.

"I'll ask you again, why didn't you want to tell Snape?" Nott muttered. "He's another member, he could tell the Dark Lord..."

"Exactly," Draco growled, through his teeth. Eyes fixed on the lock. "He'll run off and tell the Dark Lord and take all the credit. I won't allow that. I'm going to tell Him."

"That's a —" Nott began, heavily. Fed up with his friend's arrogance. But a gasp from Draco silenced him.

"That's it!"

As soon as he managed to insert the penultimate key in their possession, Draco knew he could turn it. With a click, the lock gave way. Nott almost fainted with relief beside him. The door opened inwards, and nothing rattled. They noticed nothing. No impediment of any kind. They rushed into the office and closed the door behind them.

Draco forced himself not to look at the chair in front of the desk. He needed all his concentration. He didn't want to remember anything. Nott's presence, thankfully, made everything easier. Otherwise, he might not have been able to suppress certain things when he found himself in that office again. Remembering everything that had happened the last time. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since his private conversation with Severus Snape about Hermione Granger.

He didn't even take a breath before he hurried towards the fireplace. Nott stood by the door, listening for sounds from outside. Wand in hand. His face turned towards his friend, watching him perform. It didn't take Draco more than a few seconds to find the pot on the mantelpiece that he had seen the last time he had been there. It contained a large amount of Floo powder, Snape wouldn't notice that it was missing a few. He grabbed a handful with a steady hand and turned to look at his friend. Without quite knowing why. Nott was looking at him. And he nodded as he met his eyes. Draco saw that he was holding his wand tighter. Telling him it was all under control.

Draco knelt down in front of the fireplace. He threw the powder and was instantly blinded by high green flames. Holding his breath to avoid swallowing ash, he stuck his head into the fire and exclaimed clearly:

"Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England!"

He closed his eyes. He felt everything around him spinning in disarray as his body remained kneeling in front of the fireplace on the solid floor. After several unpleasant seconds, everything stopped. He opened his eyes. He found himself staring at the underside of the large couch and the expensive carpet in the drawing room of his manor.

There was no one in his field of vision. But it had worked.

"Mother!" he shouted loudly. His voice reverberated in the large room. "Mother! Are you there?" No one answered. "It's Draco! Is anyone there?"

Nothing, nothing could be heard. He felt dismay wash over him. It was impossible that there was no one in his house. Even if his mother wasn't there, there had to be some other member of the Lord's ranks. Or the Dark Lord himself. Anyone.

He wondered what to do now. He hadn't even considered the possibility of his plan failing. He thought the hardest thing to do would be to get into Severus Snape's office without being detected. He hadn't anticipated anyone answering on the other side. So much risk for nothing...

At that moment he heard hurried footsteps in high heels. Approaching.

"Hello?" he shouted, with renewed relief. "I'm Draco! I'm at the fireplace!"

He caught a fleeting glimpse of a black robe billowing around elegant snakeskin boots. The figure crouched down and his mother's face appeared before his eyes.

"Draco!" she gasped, startled. "What are you doing here? Where are you?"

The woman knelt down in front of the fireplace, clumsily. Without taking her eyes off her son. She was very thin. Her dark yet fitted robe managed to hide it on her body, but not on her face. There was a shadow of dark circles under her blue eyes. Eyes that possessed a perpetual gleam of unease. Always alert. Always worried.

But she was alive.

"Are you all right?" Draco couldn't help but ask, despite the fact that he had only minutes to spare, having his mother in front of him. The woman blinked and nodded, confused.

"Of course I'm all right. What are you doing here? Are you all right? Where are you?"

"At Hogwarts," he reassured her hastily. "I need to talk to the Dark Lord. I know how to get him into the castle. I've found a way," he explained, not having time to go into too much detail. Narcissa went pale. Unable to say anything for a long moment.

"W-what — ?" she articulated. Staring at him. As if such a thing were inconceivable. "How — ?"

"I need to speak to the Dark Lord," Draco repeated, more urgently.

"He's not here," his mother whispered. She was still staring at her only son as if she didn't recognise him. Draco gasped. Dammit...

"Can you tell him?" Draco said, his voice unsteady. "I'm not going to be able to communicate this way again. I don't know how else I could safely tell him something like this..."

The urgency in her son's voice woke Narcissa. Her blue eyes flashed with sudden determination.

"Then wait, I'll warn your aunt," Narcissa replied in a firm voice, rising to her feet. "She is here. This is important. She'll understand it better than I can, and she'll inform him better."

"I don't have much time," Draco objected, unconvinced. "I'm sneaking into a professor's office, it's the only fireplace I've managed to get with Floo Network..."

He preferred not to reveal that it was Severus Snape's. He was getting used to revealing to everyone just what was necessary and essential for them to know.

"I won't be long, just give me a second," Narcissa replied confidently.

She hurried away, her heels clacking on the tiles of the manor. Draco swallowed impatiently. He didn't know how much time had passed already, or if Nott would be having trouble. He supposed he wasn't, or he would have been forcibly removed from the fireplace by now. His heart was pounding uncomfortably in his throat, and his knees were beginning to ache from the cold floor. But he dared not change his position. He had only communicated like this once before, when he was younger, with a distant relative he never saw again. He didn't even remember who it was. But he remembered the stressful feeling of not knowing whether or not the connection would break if he moved. Or if he would lose his head, as his younger self thought. Without having resolved his doubts at the time, he remained perfectly still, his legs trembling with the effort.

He heard again the wonderful sound of his mother's heels. It filled him with comfort. Moments later, Narcissa reappeared in his field of vision, accompanied by her sister. Both knelt on the floor.

As different as two people could be. Not even in facial features did they resemble each other. Narcissa looked like a cold spring morning. Blonde, fair-skinned and watery-eyed. Bellatrix was a wintry dawn. Thick, curly black hair, almost as brazenly abundant as Hermione's, and dark, eager eyes.

"What did you find out, Draco? What did you discover?" asked his aunt instantly, her large, thick-lidded eyes wide.

The boy took a breath and forced himself to tinge his voice with the strongest assurance.

"It's a passageway. A passageway that doesn't appear on the caretaker's maps. It connects the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade village to a tree in the grounds. The Whomping Willow," he explained hastily. In as much detail as he could. "All the other passageways I've tried are closed, but this one is passable."

"Are you sure?" Bellatrix questioned, unblinking.

"I've checked," Draco said, almost offended.

"And how is it protected?"

"It's not."

"That's impossible," the woman protested, sneering.

"I've gone through it. I went to the Shrieking Shack. It is passable," he repeated, his words slower and colder. "It needs to be opened from the castle. The entrance to the Whomping Willow needs to be opened from the inside. But I would take care of that."

Bellatrix scrutinised him anxiously. Her eyes, black as cockroaches, glittered beneath her curls.

"What about the castle's defences?"

Draco hesitated, pondering. Remembering the protections he had discovered through his research at the Entrance Gates. And the information he hadn't gotten to hear in that secret faculty meeting.

"I have discovered some of the spells on the front door. But I don't know all of them. I know there are Aurors outside the walls. But you don't need any of that. You'll get to the grounds. You'll just have to get inside the castle. And I'll take care of that. There are no magical barriers on the inner walls."

Bellatrix's crooked-toothed mouth opened in a greedy grin.

"Fantastic. Just fantastic. If that's true, Dumbledore is inept," the woman rejoiced, loudly, pushing her thick hair out of her eyes. "He's left the door open for us. We would only need to know the defences of Hogsmeade village, and that can be taken care of by our Ministry spies."

Draco realised then that his heart was beating very fast. He glanced sideways at his mother, who was staring at him, but then looked back at his aunt.

"Is that enough...?" Draco hissed. Trying to sound confident. As if he had it all under control. Unwilling to admit that he had done everything in his power and if that information was no good, there was nothing more he could do.

"I will speak to the Dark Lord. I think it will be. Are you sure no one else knows about this?" she questioned then, looking at him as if the boy was capable of making utterly stupid mistakes. Draco hesitated, scrutinising her. Lying wasn't safe at the moment.

"Nott knows. Theodore Nott," he revealed, as firmly as he could. "He's watching outside right now. I need someone to have my back at this point. And also to ensure the success of the mission. He knows everything, and if something happens to me and I can't open the entrance for you from the inside, he'll do it for me."

Draco heard his mother gasp at those words. Alarmed at the remote possibility of something happening to her son. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He concentrated on his aunt's disdainful gaze. She was evaluating his words, looking unimpressed.

"Are you sure he's not a risk?" she still questioned, in a whisper.

"It was a risk that had to be taken," Draco replied calmly. "You can't risk anything happening to me. The whole plan would fall apart. You need someone on the inside. The Dark Lord will see that it makes the most sense," he added, with false bravado. As if his plan was the smartest. "Nott is one of us. He can be trusted. He would never betray us."

Draco was grateful that his Occlumency walls were wrought iron at the moment. Firm enough to keep his own teacher out for a few minutes. Bellatrix couldn't find out that Nott was anything but one of them. But Draco needed him by his side at the moment. For many reasons.

"He's right," Narcissa whispered grimly. Draco looked into her eyes. Shouting a mute thank you.

"All right," Bellatrix muttered at that, frowning. "Anyone else? What about Snape?"

Draco already had an answer ready that he knew would please his aunt.

"I haven't told him. I think it's better he doesn't know. He's too close to Dumbledore," he replied, falsely haughty. Bellatrix smiled cynically.

"Good boy. I'll talk to the Dark Lord. We'll send you an owl as soon as we know the day we'll attack," Bellatrix said, straightening up, as if she was going to end the conversation soon.

"They search the owls," Draco commented as if it were obvious, frowning. He tried his ear to see if he could hear anything in Snape's office, though he doubted it.

"We'll be discreet, don't worry," she replied, impassive and disdainful. "It'll be coded. Where exactly is the passageway? Where in the Shrieking Shack? Do you have a map?"

"Er — yes," Draco admitted, unable to stop and think about it. He had. He had a map.

"What are you waiting for, then? Send it to us!" Bellatrix demanded, rising to her feet. "Hurry up."

And, without waiting for an answer or a farewell to her nephew, she strode off. No doubt determined to go in search of the Dark Lord immediately.

Draco exhaled with difficulty. Somewhat dazed. Speculating on how to proceed next.

"Be careful, son," Narcissa whispered.

Draco gave her one last look. He saw the desperation in her eyes. The mute plea that it would not be necessary to call upon Theodore Nott to open the entrance to the Whomping Willow.

"See you soon, Mother," he assured her. In the firmest voice he could manage. His mother was not relieved at that.

He leaned back, pulling his head out of the fireplace and wrapping himself in a new swirl of colour. He breathed in ash, and couldn't help but cough. The smoky, unlit fireplace suddenly appeared before his eyes. Snape's office was all around him again. And he was dizzy as hell.

"What happened?" Nott's voice asked from behind him. Draco turned as he struggled to his feet, still coughing. His friend was still where he had left him, perhaps a little paler. He was still holding his wand in his hand.

"How long have I been out?" Draco wanted to know, once he got over his coughing fit, leaning against the back of the chair behind the desk for a moment. Regaining his stability.

"Ten minutes," Nott reported, without hesitation. Still staring at him. "Twenty-five minutes until the end of classes. I'm not sure if Snape will be going to the Great Hall or stopping by. We should leave by then."

"I haven't finished. They want a map of the passageway," Draco explained, his voice a little hoarse from the ash. He pulled Granger's map out of his robes pocket. Bless the hour it had occurred to him to bring it.

Nott pursed his lips, watching him proceed. Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at the map. He muttered a faint 'Geminio'. Nothing happened. It didn't duplicate. He swore aloud.

"It'll have a spell that prevents it from being copied," Nott muttered, cautiously. "Where did you get it? You haven't told me yet... It's a blast."

Draco didn't answer. He was still staring at the map. Not knowing what to do. And no time to think about it. He left it open on the desk. A bottle of ink caught his eye. He felt the nervousness come over him again. Knowing he was doing something incorrect, but doing it anyway, he began to open drawers, rummaging through them.

"Help me find a quill. And parchment," Draco asked dryly, not looking at him. Nott approached, solicitous, and began to search a nearby cupboard as well.

"Why don't you give them that map?" the dark-haired young man questioned, with overwhelming logic. He pulled a quill and yellowed parchment from one of the cupboard drawers. "You know where the entrance is and how to make the willow stop. You don't need it."

Draco gritted his teeth. He was right.

He just couldn't do it. It wasn't his. It was Granger's.

"Maybe I need it myself," he argued imperturbably, taking the quill he held out to him. "You said it yourself, it's a blast. It shows where everyone is at any given moment. I'd rather keep it."

Still standing, he brought the eagle quill to the inkwell on the table and dipped it hastily. Then he bent over the blank parchment, fully intending to begin copying the passage by hand. But then he became aware that his hand was visibly trembling. He did not know why. But he couldn't draw anything legible in that state. He forced himself to take a deep breath and wait a few seconds for the trembling to stop. He had to stop shaking. It was necessary to get things right. But he couldn't control it. He felt his heart in his throat. And the seconds were ticking away. And time was pressing. And he couldn't relax with so much pressure. Feeling that everything depended on him. That maybe twenty-five minutes wasn't enough. That what he had just done was irreparable. He had brought Lord Voldemort into Hogwarts.

As he pressed his fingers against the quill in a desperate attempt to settle his runaway pulse, a black droplet fell from the tip onto the parchment. Staying in place, rounded, shiny and silent.

"Let me do it."

He turned his face. Nott positioned himself beside him and took the quill from his hand. He sat down at the desk, to support his forearm properly for greater dexterity. He began to copy the passageway and its surroundings with a steady hand. Everything that was necessary to locate it. Without going into futile details.

Draco watched him silently, still standing, his heart still pounding. Nott looked serious. Determined. Despite his fear of breaking the rules, and his rejection of the mission Draco had been given, he was keeping a level head. And he was helping him, unreservedly. He remained calm to help him above all else. Even his own principles. Nott remained calm when he couldn't. As he always had.

"I'm still a better draughtsman than you," Draco hissed. Trying to regain some poise. As if he was making fun of his own inability to copy the Marauder's Map. As if he was actually very calm.

Nott gave a distracted smile without looking up from the parchment. Almost patronising. When he finished the quick sketch, he handed it to him, looking at him serenely. Without opening his mouth. Grateful for his silence, Draco ran his wand over the parchment to dry the ink, tied it with a red ribbon with another spell, and turned to the fireplace. He picked up a handful of Floo powder again, threw it into the embers, exclaiming the name of his home, and tossed the parchment into the green flames. He and Theodore watched in silence as the parchment was swallowed, without being charred. Disappearing and then extinguishing, as if nothing had happened.

The silence that enveloped the room seemed almost unreal.

"Let's go," Nott suggested, breaking it. He still seemed uneasy that someone might show up. He glanced at his wristwatch as Draco nodded, not looking at him. They picked up the desk quickly, but thoroughly, and, after making sure three times that everything was spotless, left the office, relocking it.

They ascended a flight of stairs with long strides, ran up a couple of corridors, and entered the first boys' bathroom they could see. Two very young boys, probably first-years, eyed them warily. They were both from Slytherin House.

"Get out," hissed Draco, pointing to the door with a curt gesture. They hesitated for a moment, puzzled, but then hurried to get out of the way, fearing reprisals from that unfriendly Prefect.

As the door closed behind the children, Draco drew his wand and waved it to close it with a spell. He then made another quick movement to cast a Muffliato Charm, so that no one would hear them. He then advanced in front of the bathroom stalls, opening them all, making sure no one was there. Nott also waved his wand in the direction of the door. Draco stopped his scrutiny and looked at him, questioning him silently.

"I've put up a sign that says 'out of order'," Nott revealed almost impatiently, leaning against one of the sinks to catch his breath. "A simple Colloportus will look suspicious, don't you think?" Draco snorted, indifferent, and finished searching the stalls. "Well?"

"We have to go return the keys to Filch," Draco reminded, finally stopping by the sinks. They were alone.

"Yeah, but that's not what I meant," his friend arched an eyebrow. "Did you talk to him? What did he say?"

"He wasn't there. I told my mother and my aunt," Draco finally said. He felt uncomfortable all of a sudden, standing with nothing to do, so he took distracted steps to the tiled wall. Pacing the room. "My aunt said she would speak to the Dark Lord. She thinks my information will be enough. They can find out how to get into Hogsmeade, and I'll open the entrance to the willow tree for them," he scratched the back of his neck with one hand. His brain sorting through all the information he had. "I had to tell her that you know everything," he added, turning to look his friend in the eye. "That you're plan B. That if anything happens to me, you'll open the passage. She thought it was a good idea. It's best not to hide it from her."

Nott blinked a couple of times, taking in the revelation.

"Perfect," he muttered, nodding slightly. Draco leaned his back against the wall, resting the back of his neck against it to stare at the ceiling. Still lost in his conversation with his aunt. "You did it," Nott added then, his voice impersonal. Draco looked back up at him. "You've done it. You got the Dark Lord into the castle. Not even Snape has done it. Nor the Dark Lord himself."

He wasn't sure he could hear the admiration in Nott's voice. Draco breathed with some difficulty. Realising that he was right. He had achieved the impossible.

"I've done it," Draco repeated. Pretending it was obvious. Actually trying to believe it. "Now it's his turn to do his part. He has to free my father from Azkaban. And yours too," he stared at Nott. Swallowing his elation. "He will free them both. He won't attack the prison for just one prisoner. He'll get them all out."

Nott's eyes sparkled with pent-up excitement as well.

"Perhaps," he muttered. He leaned better against the sink, with both hands. He thought for a few seconds, then added, "Has she told you when they're coming?"

"She doesn't know yet. I suppose it'll take them a few days to figure out Hogsmeade's defences and come up with a plan. Days. Maybe weeks. They'll send me an owl."

"They search the owls," Nott protested instantly, tensing up.

"I've told her, but she said it won't be a problem. The message will be coded."

Nott nodded silently, musing. He closed his eyes and snorted through his nose, apparently trying to take it all in. But he soon opened them and gave the other boy an accusing look.

"Why the hell are you so calm?" he questioned, quietly, looking him up and down. Malfoy frowned, confusion shining in his light eyes. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid?" he repeated, puzzled.

"Aren't you —" Theodore hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word that wouldn't offend his friend's pride, "— the least bit worried? I mean... the time is coming. We're going to leave school and be... soldiers. We're going straight into a war. And we started it ourselves."

Draco snorted, pretending with a superior expression that his mouth hadn't gone dry.

"What good would it do me to worry? Does that solve anything? Do I have a choice, perhaps? It was bound to come to this sooner or later. The relationship between wizards and Muggles was just a bubble that had to burst. And the Dark Lord was the only one brave enough to lay his cards on the table and actually do something."

Nott looked at him silently, sizing him up. With a wary expression. He dropped into a sitting position on the tiled floor, his back against the sink. Draco could hear him breathing.

"It's easier to know there's a war out there than to be on the front line of battle."

"None of this is easy," Draco spat then, contemptuously. "But we have to fight it. We have to fight for our place. It is our duty. We owe it to our ancestors. We have to fight the war they couldn't fight. They didn't have the Dark Lord."

Despite his words, he felt that standing was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. His legs felt strange, as if they didn't belong to him. As if they were going to disappear. He considered letting himself slide down the wall, until he was sitting on the floor like his friend. But he thought of it as a sign of weakness. After a fleeting glance around, his eyes caught an empty bin next to the sink that Nott used as a prop. He walked over, turned the bin over and dropped down to sit on it. He felt better that way. More in control of the situation.

"I guess," Nott muttered from the floor. He let out a dry snort. "But do you really think... you're ready?" he questioned suddenly, raising his face to stare at him again. "We'll have to... kill. Kill people. Fight. Against people who know how to fight."

Now it was Draco's turn to snort sharply. His lips twitched into a sneer. Unimpressed by his words.

"I've been hearing all my bloody life how pure-bloods should behave, what the values of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord are. What the world we live in should be like and what we can do to change it. My home has become their hideout, and now I am one of theirs. Forever. This is my war, and my parents' war," without looking his friend in the eye, eyes fixed on the floor tiles, his right hand clutched his left forearm. "I will learn to fight. I am ready. And I want to. The magical community must be just that, magical. It will return to what it was. And I'm going to help make it so. I want to be part of the change. We're going to make history."

Nott did not look away from him. As if seeing him for the first time. As if trying to read something in his serene profile. Draco watched him out of the corner of his eye, silently questioning the reason for his insistent gaze.

"Draco, I don't — I don't understand you. I have my position very clear. I'm not doing this out of conviction, I'm doing this to survive. And I can't help but wonder where you stand. I thought you'd change your mind when your father was incarcerated, but you proved me wrong. But... now..." he gasped, "I refuse to believe that you still have such clear ideas..."

Malfoy frowned, deeply puzzled.

"What are you talking about?"

"Granger," Nott hissed, as if it were obvious. Without blinking. "You're with her. She's a Muggle-born, Draco, and you've been... in a relationship with her for months. You can't... you can't keep thinking that they're inferior. You can't still be convinced of these ideals that fight to drive them out of our world. I can't believe that you still think this war is worth fighting. I understand that we have to do this because our lives depend on it. Because the Dark Lord will kill us if we defect. But I can't believe you agree. That your mindset hasn't changed."

Draco's brain buzzed. Nott's words clung to the inside of his skull. To the bone. They penetrated his brain cells, electrifying them. Tying knots. New knots. Tangling everything. Suddenly he thought Nott was right. And the next moment that he wasn't. That it wasn't that simple. That what was between Granger and him couldn't be that simple. It was complicated. Very, very complicated. And no one but Granger and him could understand it. Because, if it was as easy as Nott made it out to be, Draco might as well just kill himself along with all the bloody beliefs that had been drilled into him his whole life.

"One thing has nothing to do with the other," Draco protested. Half-listening to himself. Ears slightly plugged. Ringing. "The Granger thing was... an exception. She's my exception. My only exception."

"Draco, there are no exceptions to something like that," Nott argued incredulously. "She's a Muggle-born, and she's exactly the same as us. What the hell, she's superior to us. Haven't you seen her do the spells, the potions, better than the bloody professors? Everything she knows about the wizarding world? Do you really think that, except for her, every other Muggle is an ignorant, uncouth animal? Draco, you're not an idiot, you can't be fooling yourself like this..."

"I'm not fooling myself," Draco managed to articulate with audible anger. "There are exceptions. And she is. I'm not going to doubt everything I've been taught just because of the existence of Hermione Granger."

"Why not?" Nott spat coldly. His lips barely parted.

"Because then I couldn't have done what I've done!" Draco shouted then. Turning to glare at him sharply. His eyes were liquid mercury. "What I'm going to do! I have to do this, and if I don't believe in it, I'll go insane, Nott! I can't waver now!"

"Draco, they'll kill her."

Draco didn't know what kind of magic Nott used, but his words were almost physical. Because he felt them pierce his chest as if they were the icy body of a ghost. Paralysing him. His gaze was unfocused, trying to understand the sensation. Just the sensation. Because he couldn't understand the words.

'I consider it a vital priority to cleanse it of the Muggle world scum that Dumbledore insists on accepting, and to make it clear to them that they have no place in the wizarding community,' Lord Voldemort had said as he burned the Dark Mark into his forearm.

'Don't you realise that you're sticking her bloody neck out doing this?' Severus Snape had told him the day before.

"They won't —" he articulated out of inertia. He felt an iron bar straightening his spine. If he moved, it would break, he was sure of it.

"She may be your exception, but she is not an exception to the Dark Lord," Nott spat ruthlessly. Giving him no time to take it all in. Trying to slap some sense into him. "In fact, they'll kill her, just like every other Muggle-born student in this castle, as soon as the Death Eaters set foot in here. Have you really not thought about it until now?"

That he hadn't thought about it? He hadn't fucking thought about anything else since he'd left Severus Snape's office. As he told Nott how he intended to warn the Dark Lord and they hatched a plan. As he set up a Portable Swamp in the Astronomy Tower to keep Filch occupied, nor as he stole the keys to his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's office.

But he needed to stop thinking about it when he stuck his head in Snape's fireplace. Because otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to do anything he'd done. And he had to.

"He won't know who's a wizard and who's a Mudblood when he gets here. He won't risk killing left, right and centre," Draco muttered. And Nott heard his breath stumble.

"There are records, Draco. They've got records of all of us... Maybe not at first, but he'll take them all prisoner and make sure he cleans this school out as soon as he gets the chance."

"Now you're a bloody expert on the Dark Lord's ways?" Draco spat, glaring angrily at him. Theodore didn't blink.

"I'm as much of an expert as you are. I know what you know. And you know I'm right."

Draco gritted his teeth and went back to staring at the tiled floor. However, if someone asked him an hour later whether the bathroom floor was wood or tile, he wouldn't have known how to tell. He was unaware of anything around him, except for the bin under his bottom, and Nott's insistent voice beside him.

Voldemort was going to kill half the students in the school. It was going to be genocide.

And He would kill Draco if, hypothetically, and only hypothetically, he tried to prevent it in any way.

Draco had brought him into the castle.

"And what do you expect me to do about that? I have no choice," he muttered, abstracted. He rested his elbows on his thighs. And he looked down at his hands. They were shaking again. Shit. He clenched his fingers tightly together. He wouldn't let Nott see that. "My mission was to get him into the castle. And I've done it. I can't remedy anything he does when he comes in here."

"I know you can't," Nott assured him, his voice less accusing. "That if you warn anyone, if the castle fights back, the Dark Lord will know you've betrayed him. I know what you're risking, Draco, I'm not an idiot," he let out a sigh. "I'm just telling you to try and save your exception."

Draco gritted his teeth. He felt like slamming Nott. Just to wake him up. Because he believed he was an idiot. That he hadn't thought anything of it. He didn't want to understand that what he was doing was saving her.

'If he tries to get into your mind, and sees that you stop him, he'll know you're hiding something and he'll force it out of you. Just don't do anything to displease him. He won't search your mind if you give him no reason to doubt you.'

"I can't do that," Draco hissed. "I can't warn her."

"Of course you can."

Nott's voice was a whisper. A disbelieving whisper. As if he couldn't quite believe his stubbornness. That was the last straw for Draco. He jumped to his feet.

"No, I can't do that! Don't you understand?" Draco exploded, loudly. Nails digging into his palms. "Don't you know her? Granger won't stand idly by, he'll try to stop all of this! And if He finds out, if He suspects for one measly second that I've betrayed him in any way, He'll use Legilimency on me! He'll see her in me!" He put his index finger to his temple and tapped it against his skull repeatedly, trembling from the intensity of the conversation. "He can't see her in my head, Nott! He can't know what's between us! Then he'll kill her! I can't tell Granger anything, and neither can you. We're in this together, and if you fail the Dark Lord, we both fail."

Nott kept quiet. Still sitting. Breathing shallowly. Analysing his words. Realising then how much Draco had really thought about it all. He wondered how long he'd been thinking about it.

He nibbled his lip. Scanning his friend's features.

"That's the only reason you're not going to tell her?"

Draco looked away. His gaze flicked to the other side of the room. He was panting. His jaw was twitching. Nott took a deep breath, blinking. Suddenly understanding his expression. His rage. The agony in his tormented eyes.

"Draco, she could understand..."

Malfoy fixed his gaze on him. Furiously incredulous.

"Are you insane? What was she supposed to understand? 'Ah, hello, Granger, how are you? Look, it turns out I'm actually a Death Eater, I've been plotting for half the term to get the Dark Lord into the school so I can get him to release my Death Eater father from Azkaban, and, when I succeed, I'm going to leave and start murdering people like you... Now you should go before the Dark Lord walks through the door I've opened for him and kills you along with hundreds of other students...' That would be a great conversation!"

"Draco, don't talk rubbish," Nott interrupted him sharply. "You know she could understand..."

"No, she wouldn't!" Draco shouted, in a powerful voice. "Of course she wouldn't! Nott, damn it, if I tell her what I've done, what I'm going to do... she'll hate me!"

That had been far from what he had intended to say. But the words slipped from his lips. Words that seemed absurd. So obvious that they bordered on the absurd. His throat had closed. Externalising what had been in his subconscious for hours, perhaps days, or even weeks. Just imagining what Granger might think of him, that she might hate him, as she hopelessly would if he told her what he was doing, was beyond him. After what had happened between them... he couldn't bear it.

His breathing became laboured. Irregular. He looked at himself in the mirror beside him, over the sink. He saw a pale, gaunt version of himself. Greyish in the dim light that poured through the tiny windows of the bathroom.

The girl's gleaming eyes, loaded with affection, danced in the depths of his memory. He kept looking at himself. Was that how she saw him every time she looked at him? Is that what she saw?

How could she see what he was seeing and look at him the way she looked at him?

She would hate him. She was going to hate him, no matter what he did... He must have imagined that this was how it would end. That was his role. That was the place they both occupied in the war that was coming. It suddenly seemed so obvious to him that he was angry with himself for doubting it. For allowing himself to think about a future they had never had a chance to live.

'We are two sides of the same coin. Natural enemies. That's the way things have always been, no matter how much idealistic fools like Dumbledore insist otherwise.'

"Maybe she won't," he heard Nott's voice at his feet, wrenching him out of his memories. In a softer tone. "Maybe she —"

"She what?" Draco almost scoffed, listlessly incredulous. He looked away from his reflection and looked down at his friend, his grey eyes darkening. "What's she supposed to do, join the Death Eaters?" he snorted, looking away again. "She'll be fine. Potter will protect her," his voice became sharp and cold as the air in a squall. "And so will Dumbledore. The Dark Lord will take over the school, but Dumbledore will get everyone he can to safety, I'm sure. And his protégé Potter, and his friends, will be the first. She will escape. She will."

"Are you going to take that risk?"

Draco let out his breath before he could hold it. He was so full of frustration he could almost feel it rising like fire in his oesophagus. He lowered his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. Hard. His nose felt stuffy. He sniffled. He felt a lump in his throat, but he couldn't bring it down. He took a few steps forward and sat back down on the bin. Without breaking the silence that had fallen.

He needed everything to stand still. Everything to stop. He couldn't keep up with what was happening. He'd had weeks to prepare, and he hadn't.

"Draco," Nott said then. And his voice suddenly sounded shaky. "I've been telling you to stay away from her all term. I tried to convince you that nothing could happen between you. Because I thought you'd get into serious trouble if anyone found out. And because I thought... it was stupid. You hated — you hated Muggle-borns with all your might! How could anything work between you and Hermione Granger? I thought you were confused, and that maybe by the time you came to your senses, it would be too late. That you'd risk your life for something fleeting. For a crazy thing. That you two wouldn't last. But... it hasn't been like that. You're still together. And... fuck, I've never seen you as happy as you are with her," he looked up and fixed his gaze on his friend's eyes. Nott's eyes were glazed over. "Now I'm asking you not to leave her side. Draco, you can be a blood traitor. Be a blood traitor. What difference does it make? You love her. You really love her. There's still time. Fight for her..."

"Oh, come on —" Draco protested in a dry whisper. Turning his face away. As if Nott was seriously exhausting him. Not giving the slightest credence to his words.

"Don't you dare even deny it to me, Draco Malfoy," Theodore interrupted him with unexpected sternness, and an unusually choleric gleam in his blue eyes. "It was not a question, nor will I put up with an argument. I know you love her, and I swear to Merlin, if you argue with me at this point I will go to Dumbledore and tell him of your plan right now. And I will gladly accept being murdered by the Dark Lord for it."

Draco didn't take his threat seriously, but he held his tongue nonetheless. He was almost grateful that he wouldn't let him retort. Because he didn't know how. He really didn't know. He didn't even know how to speak over the lump that was his vocal cords. He almost couldn't remember what it was like to feel his heart not trying to push its way through his sternum. He didn't feel able to analyse Nott's words. Discern what he was right and what he was wrong about. What was true and what wasn't. He felt he hadn't even fought, and he didn't have a chance to fight any more.

He noticed a tingling at the corner of his left eye, and brought the back of his hand up to rub it absently. As he lowered his hand again, he barely allowed himself to contemplate the moisture glistening on his skin.

"You're crazy if you think I can do any of that," Draco replied, his voice serene. He rubbed his hands together to remove the trace of the treacherous tear he had wiped from his eyes. "How can you expect me to — ? I am not a blood traitor. I'm sorry if I disappoint you at this point, Nott, but I'm not. Granger has just been an... exception. I know where my place is. And my place is with my family, and with the Dark Lord."

"Draco —" Nott tried to protest, not much strength left in him.

"I can't give up my whole life for Hermione Granger, Nott!" Draco protested louder, interrupting him. "I can't just leave it all behind. I don't have that option. I have sworn an oath with the Dark Lord and I must keep it, that is the reality. If I don't, he will kill me. My father will languish in Azkaban forever. He will kill my mother. It is a life of service or death. That's what I must do, and what I... might want doesn't matter. We're all grown up now, and it's not always possible to get everything you want."

His friend looked at him in shock. Such a statement from a spoilt child like Draco, who had achieved literally everything he had ever wanted in his life, was nothing short of astonishing. He scrutinised Draco's profile. Seeing the steadiness in his eyes. The armour that was about to crack.

Nott pursed his lips. There was no point in insisting. Despite his words, Draco's beliefs were crumbling one by one because of Hermione Granger's existence. It was obvious. But rather than accept it as Theodore had done with himself, he needed to hold on to them no matter what. To be able to enter the life ahead of him without going mad. To save his life. His mother's.

And Granger's.

"So what are you going to do, then? Pretend everything's fine, and just run off with the Death Eaters when they come?"

Draco considered those words. His face was a mask of impavidity. But he ended up shaking his head a few millimetres to either side. Before he realised he was doing it.

"No," he muttered. Almost to himself. As if he were talking to a projection of himself instead of his friend. "It doesn't make sense. What's between us is risky. Now more than ever. This is the best time to end all this. There's no point in delaying."

Nott didn't ease up.

"So what are you going to tell her, if it's not the truth?" Nott wanted to know, in a calm voice. He no longer sounded accusatory. "You told me that you'd be doing this until you were clear about how you felt. Is that what you're going to tell her? That you've made up your mind and you don't want to see her any more?"

Draco didn't move a muscle. The girl's dark eyes, inside his head, ironically, were dazzling him.

"No," he heard himself repeating, "I can't... look her in the face and say that. I can't," his brow furrowed. His voice trailed off. Realising that. Realising he couldn't. Incredulous of himself. Scared of himself. He clenched his jaws for a moment and tried to add, struggling to conceal his weakness, "It wouldn't be believable."

'Do you want to stop?'

'No.'

Nott continued to stare at him.

"Well, I'll bet my left arm she's not going to do it either."

"Maybe she is."

Nott jerked in a sudden spasm. Rarely had Draco's voice frightened him so much. His words had been tempered. Firm. His eyes were the grey of a downpour.

"No," Theodore articulated, feeling his muscles weaken. "Don't go on. Do you want her to be the one to end it for you? How are you going to do such a thing without tricking her into hating you?" Draco looked at him. Calm. As if he didn't need to say anything. As if Nott had already said it all. "No," he spluttered again. Leaning back even though he was already leaning against the sink. "No, you don't deserve to end up like this. Don't do this. You're hurting yourself too much. You don't deserve this. And neither does she. She deserves to know the truth. To know that you're walking away from her against your will."

"And what would that change?" Draco mumbled, between his teeth.

"Nothing, and everything at the same time," Theodore spat, without hesitation. Draco twitched at the corner of his mouth. "What you're going to do is cowardly."

"It's the safest option. The only way to guarantee this. Because I can't guarantee that I won't —" he faltered, swallowing words he hadn't intended to say. "That I won't go back to her if I know she wants me by her side". "This will end at last as it must. There was no way we could end up... together, or anything like that. To think such a thing is ridiculous. We'll go back to what we were, and... she'll be safe. Safe from me."

He barely articulated the last words. He almost felt like he was repeating out of inertia what Severus Snape's deep voice was whispering in his head.

'If you feel anything for this girl, even the slightest esteem or respect, if she is truly an exception to all your beliefs, you should get as far away from her as you can. You are not the only one in danger.'

Nott had to close his eyes at his last words. He had lowered his head, accepting his defeat. He raised both hands and rubbed his face, as if to wipe away some of what was about to happen. He let go of it, leaving it reddened, and dropped the back of his neck to the cold marble surface at the base of the sink.

"This sucks," Theodore muttered, staring straight ahead. Draco let out a snort. Feeling his sinking heart allow itself to feel amused at the expression his friend used. One corner of his mouth curved upwards, almost feeling like he was using the last shred of happiness he had left.

"It really sucks," he corroborated, over the lump in his throat, turning his face down to look at him. Nott raised his blue eyes at him. And also raised one of his hands, clenched into a loose fist, and gave him a brotherly punch on the side of the thigh.

Showing him that he was by his side. And always would be.

"Now I feel like an arsehole for having cared so much about the N.E.W.T.s, how stupid of me..." Nott fell silent and let out a soft snort. Then he shook his head. "I don't think I'm ready, I don't see myself as capable of killing anyone, especially not for a cause I definitely don't support. But I don't have a choice either, so why bother?"

Draco's sternum sunk into his chest.

"Maybe you do," he spat, turning his face to look at him again. Nott looked at him in mock disbelief. "Nott, I don't care how well you pretend, sooner or later they'll find out what you're really thinking and kill you. Damn it, it's not worth risking your life for something you don't believe. You have to... you have to run away."

"You know perfectly well I can't do that," Nott arched an eyebrow coolly. Unimpressed. "I'm not a Death Eater yet, but the Dark Lord has chosen me to be one of his own, and that is not a destiny you can refuse. You know that perfectly well. They would... find me. They'd kill me," he stared into one of the stalls. Draco was surprised by the calmness in his tone.

"You don't have the Mark yet. If you hide properly, maybe —"

"And leave you alone to free the wizarding world from the oppression of the Muggles?" Nott sneered lazily, barely blinking. He sighed, no longer sounding scathing, "You know as well as I do that the Dark Lord doesn't need the Dark Mark to track someone down. If he wants to find me, he will. Besides, I have no home but your house right now. And, if they're really going to release our parents from Azkaban... I want to be there," his voice faltered, but then he continued firmly, "If my father finds out that I've run away, or that I repudiate the Dark Lord, he won't want to come near me. And he is the only family I have left. I have no one else."

Draco stared at his profile, taking in his words. Forcing his brain to search for a solution. But there wasn't one. Theodore Nott had always been clever. Shamefully clever. And he was more so when he didn't have to be. Draco rarely managed to refute anything he said. And he hated him for it.

"Greengrass," Draco muttered suddenly, not looking away from his friend. Nott's face didn't alter in the slightest, but his eyes flashed. "What about her?"

Theodore didn't move a muscle. Giving himself a few seconds to answer.

"I can't... bring her into this," he said, without blinking. And without looking at him. "She doesn't deserve it. She deserves better. She doesn't believe in any of this."

Draco frowned. Nott's face was tense, as if he had to clench his jaws to contain what he was feeling.

"You're not going to tell her?"

"No, I'm not."

"What about the attack on the castle?"

"She's a pure-blood, they won't hurt her."

Draco snorted. Starting to pant. Not understanding anything.

"You can't give her up," he told him as if it were obvious. "You've been crazy about her your whole life. And now that you finally have her... You can't throw it all away, after all you've struggled to be happy. You said it yourself, she's a pure-blood, no one will be against it, you can —"

"I'm against it," Nott said quietly. "I don't want to drag her into this shitty life, I don't want to force her to follow me into a life like this... To follow me into a war that I know she doesn't believe in. A war that I don't even support myself."

"Don't you think it's up to her to decide?" Draco spat.

"No," he dismissed, without hesitation. "There is nothing to decide. This was... absurd. Too nice to be true," his voice sounded slightly strangled, "I shouldn't have agreed to go out with her in the first place, it was irresponsible of me, knowing that the future that awaited me was hopeless. I've deluded myself all term into thinking I could have a normal life, but clearly, I can't. I have been irresponsible and now I deserve to suffer for it. I'll talk... to her and I'll end it. I'll do the same as you."

Draco was breathless. Not knowing what to say. Nott had it all spookily clear. And Draco was furious. He didn't have a choice. But Nott did.

"You can be together," he snapped with open resentment. "You don't have to give her up. I don't understand why —"

"You have your reasons for breaking up with Granger, and I have mine," Nott spat then, coldly. Without looking at him. "I'll stop judging you if you stop judging me."

Draco was silent. Tense. Furious. Still murdering his friend's undisturbed profile with his gaze. And then he saw a tear sparkle in the greyish light. It had fallen from Theodore's right eye, brushed the top of his cheekbone, and landed in his lap. He hadn't blinked. Tears had simply overflowed his eyes.

Draco's jaws went slack. He held back the shuddering sigh that engulfed his ribs. He averted his gaze to the front. Feeling uncomfortable. Useless. Guilty.

"When are you going to do it?" Draco muttered. He resisted but ended up giving him a sidelong glance. His friend's face was still full of composure. His clear eyes fixed on nothing. Not another tear seemed to have fallen.

"I'm going to... drag it out as long as I can. I need... to be with her a little longer," his voice stuttered. But it sounded calm. He didn't sound like he was silently crying. "It's selfish, but I need it. I'll drag it out until the attack is imminent. And then I'll break up with her. I'll free her from the worst boyfriend she could possibly ever have," he decided, in a whisper. Draco swallowed. Feeling that his friend's decision was too much for him. He couldn't do something like that. Even though the temptation was overwhelming. Nott looked at him again, "What about you? How are you going to do it? How are you going to make her want to end it?" he wanted to know, his voice cautious. "I know you, and I know you already have a plan."

But Draco wasn't listening to him anymore. The only thing on his mind were the words Granger had spoken in front of Professor McGonagall's office, the day Filch had discovered them inside that broom cupboard...

'I think I'm scared. Because this isn't what I expected. I feel like... this is all going too well. Better than I ever thought things could be between us. And it wasn't supposed to. And it scares me, because it's not clear to me that I ever want this to end. It was supposed to be temporary, but it doesn't... end. Do you feel the same way?'

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. A long moment. And then he opened them again. And his grey eyes suddenly seemed like two bottomless pits, black, hollow, and filled with so many things that they didn't seem human.

"Making her remember who I am. And I need your help."