True Faith

~*~*~*~
True Faith 06
~*~*~*~

"And you don't seem the lying kind,
A shame that I can read your mind,
And all the fears that I read there,
Candlelight smile that we both share,
And you know I don't mean to hurt you,
But you know that it means so much,
And you don't even feel a thing,
I am falling, I am fading, I am drowning,
Help me to breath,
I am hurting, I have lost it all, I am losing,
Help me to breath."

Boa, "Duvet"
~*~*~*~

The fragile feeling of happiness had not returned, but instead had been replaced with a strange kind of contentment. An understanding of sorts had been reached between them, although exactly what that understanding meant, Draco couldn't say. There was a feeling of intangibility, almost like when you see someone in a crowd and you KNOW you've seen them before, but you can't remember quite where, and their name is just on the tip of your tongue, like the tiny grains of a handful of sand slowly sifting through your fingers to be blown away in the wind.

It wasn't the relationship itself that felt intangible, but the emotion that was governing the very nature of it.

They had hardly spoken since they had left the Room of Requirement and, strangely enough, Harry had insisted on walking him back to the Slytherin Common Room. They trailed through the deserted hallways, the weak winter sunlight filtering feebly through the thick lead-paned windows. They filed down the many flights of stairs leading down into the dungeons, and many a curious passerby eyed them with utter disbelief. Sometimes Draco caught fragments of the whispers in passing:

"Did I just see what I think I saw?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing!"

Draco wasn't sure if he should smirk or be insulted by the exchange. Yes, they'd disliked each other, but people could change. Was that so hard to accept? What would the reaction be when they were seen together more often? On the other hand, it was a very sudden change, wasn't it?

The walk to the Common Room seemed much shorter then it really was. One last flight of stairs and the passages narrowed; the walls oozed dark water, and moss coated the stone blocks from which the tunnels were constructed. The dungeon passageways wove back and forth like a maze as they burrowed more deeply under the hillside that Hogwarts was constructed upon. They turned the last corner and into the hallway that led to the blank, mold-encrusted slab of wall that was the hidden doorway into the Slytherin Common Room.

"Honestly, did you hear what that pair said? I, for one, am insulted- !" Draco had spun on the balls of his feet and had started to walk backward, so he could look at Harry as he spoke to him. He only just saw Harry's eyes widen in shock and then harden, before he found himself shoved to the uneven stone floor, and a blast of malevolent light passed over his head.

He very clearly saw the light strike Harry directly in the center of his chest, and briefly highlight his facial features as the blow struck home. The magic's momentum momentarily blew Harry's hair away from his face, and made the lenses of his spectacles seem to glow eerily.

Time seemed to halt for just a second, before Harry's face crumpled in agony, and in that second Draco knew exactly what it was that had hit him. Though he'd never seen the effect of the spell first-hand before, he knew what would happen. The jaw would clench, and the nerve endings would spasm, causing all the muscles in the body to contract tightly across the bones, forcing the person to curl up into a fetal ball, shuddering in uncontrollable agony until the spell was released.

Harry sunk to his knees and growled fiercely through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut in torment. It was then that Draco realized that either the spell had gone awry, or it couldn't be what he'd thought it was, because Harry was not curling up. Harry was rising to his feet again, jaw set in determination and not pain, as he spread his limbs wide as if to stretch them out. He twisted his head sharply to one side and then the other, a resounded pop echoing from the protesting vertebrae each time. Likewise were his fists clenched and then shaken out, each shoulder rolled and each elbow twisted, and each knee bent awkwardly inward, each movement followed by the snap and pop of abused joints.

Harry then composed his limbs again, opened his eyes and looked down to where Draco had risen to a crouch on the dungeon floor. "Alright there?" Harry queried, offering Draco a hand up. In shock, Draco allowed himself to be hauled to his feet again.

"What the bloody fuck was that?" Draco wasn't sure what he was referring to, since he knew perfectly well what had happened. Something moved on the very edge of Draco's sight and he followed it, and found himself looking Harry right in the eyes. "Holy Merlin." Harry's eyes. They were... leaking. A greenish fire seemed to be bleeding off his eyes, and dissipating in mid-air. "Your eyes… What IS that?" Any other words he might have spoken died on his lips. Draco could hear his voice trembling, sounding like a terrified child, as he reached forward to touch Harry's face.

"This?" Harry pointed to his eyes with one hand, the other batting Draco's fingers away as still more green fire wafted off his irises. "Nothing. I'm fine. I'm sorry, but… I can't tell you what it is. Please… don't be afraid of me."

Harry reached out, perhaps to clasp his hand, but against his will Draco found his body shrinking away. There was something infinitely disturbing about Harry's glowing eyes; he didn't know what it was exactly, only that it was… power… in a very raw form. One thing Draco had learned in recent years is that power equaled pain. People who had power had responsibility, and in turn, pain, both their own and what they caused others. The two went hand in hard. He'd seen what power could do to people. Draco wanted nothing to do with such things, nor was he ashamed any longer to admit that he was afraid of it.

He saw the pain in Harry's eyes at his reaction and a feeling almost like guilt coalesced in his chest. Was it possible to feel sorry for someone, yet to be terrified of them in the same instant?

Am I really scared of Harry? The thought shot home with remarkable accuracy. Yes, I am. I do not understand, and so I am afraid. Draco watched an unnamed emotion in Harry's eyes flicker and die. The guilt teeming in his chest solidified.

Perhaps… if I try to understand, perhaps if he explains… I will not be afraid. Deliberately Draco forced himself to relax, and turn back towards Harry. Sliding one hand around the other boy's waist, he forced himself to meet Harry's eyes, though they were still bleeding the ethereal green fire. With a deep sigh, Harry placed a hand on either side of his face, and pulled him forward into a kiss. It was gentle and warm, and a shudder danced the length of Draco's spine on feathered feet. Slowly he relaxed against Harry, wrapping his other arm around his waist. Then, very quietly and very clearly, Harry spoke against his lips, and Draco felt his guilt transform into sorrow in a brilliant flash of green fire.

"Obliviate."

~*~*~*~

It was perhaps the most difficult decision Harry had ever had to make, and yet it was clearly the only avenue open to him. Draco could not be allowed to know. Not yet, at any rate. At the moment no one knew, except the Headmaster himself, and the Headmaster had been very, very adamant that it was to stay that way. No matter what. Not one of his friends knew, nor anyone in the Order. Especially not Snape; his position was tenuous enough without having to worry about revealing the Order's secret weapon if his cover were blown.

This was something else in which Harry was totally alone, yet another burden that he and he alone had to bear. He'd thought he'd be used to it by now, but this had hurt him terribly. Not just that he'd had to do it, but that Draco had been afraid of him. He'd expected Draco to be used to all the trappings of power; it's not like Harry had wanted this. But then, people always feared what they didn't understand, didn't they? Perhaps if he'd been able to tell Draco about it, he wouldn't have been terrified when he saw it first-hand.

Perhaps... perhaps, he wouldn't have obeyed the Headmaster if Draco hadn't reacted the way he had. Maybe then, some of this loneliness would be alleviated. If he could just tell someone...

This was nonsense. He had to pull himself together. Any second now, someone would come crashing in here because the wards had been set off. Harry pulled away from him, breaking the kiss and watched as Draco's eyes refocused.

Immediately, Draco pressed a palm to his temple, and blinked a few times, his pale blond eyelashes fluttering very quickly, like the wings of a butterfly. Harry put his hands on his shoulders to steady him.

"What... What just happened?" Draco began haltingly.

"Sssh. Someone tried to attack us. I shunted us out of the way just in time. Did you see who it was?" A dark, dull pain settled at the base of Harry's sternum as the embellishment left his mouth.

"No... I didn't. We were attacked? Strange... I can't remember it at all..." Harry wrapped his arm around Draco's waist when he wavered on his feet.

"Maybe you hit your head? Alright there?" Each word that fell from Harry's lips felt like acid, siphoning up from the dark well of pain that had settled in his chest. He'd lied to people he cared about for their own good before, but it hadn't hurt like this. This felt as though there were a cancerous lesion forming on his heart.

It was at that exact moment that Snape came careening around the corner from the far end of the hallway running full-tilt, his black robes streaming out behind him like wings, before skidding to a halt a few paces away. He paused for a moment to push the lank black hair out of his equally black eyes, chest heaving from his sprint. Several deep breaths later, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Potter. I should have known you'd be at the center of the trouble. Would you be so kind as to explain to me why the castle's wards are howling with the gusto of a menstruating banshee?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, and was surprised when Draco beat him to it. "Someone attacked us, Professor. We didn't see who it was; it happened too fast."

Snape's depthless obsidian eyes darted between them, weighing the truth of Draco's words. "Headmaster's Office," he said finally. "NOW."

~*~*~*~

Blaise had absolutely no idea what just happened. She'd cast Cruciatus to hit Draco, but Potter had pushed him out of the way, and let it hit him instead. That part was obvious. It was what happened after that she couldn't figure out.

She'd seen the curse hit him dead on. He'd seemed to feel it only for a second, and then he was stretching out his body like he had just finished a rough game on the Quidditch Pitch, his joints popping like popcorn. Was he able to shrug Cruciatus off too? Was that possible? She knew he could throw of Imperius, but the spells were vastly different.

Maybe she wasn't strong enough to curse the likes of Harry Potter? Her training had been coming along well, she knew- the Muggles she'd been given to practice on had crumpled like tin cans under her magic before. So… was it her magic... or was it Harry Potter?

She'd glanced around the corner once again to get another look- Draco had looked absolutely terrified of Potter: the whites of his pale eyes were gleaming in the meager torch light and he had said something then about Potter's eyes. She could see it perfectly well from where she was.

Potter's eyes were glowing bright, acid green, as though someone had lit them from behind. Draco had recoiled at Potter's initial touch- though after a moment he seemed to force himself to accept it. Potter had then taken Draco's face in his hands and kissed him, green fire leaking out from their lips where they were sealed together. From somewhere down the corridor she heard a door bang open, and the quiet padding of a light-footed man sprinting in her direction.

She ducked into a nearby alcove, and stuffed herself behind a statue, just in time to hear Professor Snape come flying down the corridor from the opposite direction at top-speed as if his robes were on fire.

She knew she'd seen something significant. It was a matter of finding out what the significance was, and making sure the right people knew about it. Come to think of it, she hadn't owled home in a while; perhaps it was time she did.

~*~*~*~

Harry had spent so much time in this office lately he was no longer impressed by all the things it held. There was always something new in the pile, at which he would glance briefly, poke at a few times, and then get on with why he was here in the first place. He was never here without a reason.

This had quite possibly been one of the longest Sundays he could remember having in a very long time. More had happened to him in the last few hours then in the past months since school started, combined. It didn't particularly help that he'd been up incredibly late last night at the party- he was operating on five or so hours sleep.

'Note to self:', he thought wryly; 'Remind all wildly chaotic events to schedule themselves on alternate days.' Things had been so peaceful until recently. Of course, it couldn't last.

He listened as Draco parroted back to the Headmaster the altered version of the attack that Harry had fed him, while Snape haunted the back of the room. He knew the Headmaster knew that something was amiss with Draco's story- Harry detected the knowing glint that the Headmaster could sometimes get from behind the mask of jovial facial features and the shield of his half-moon spectacles.

It was no time at all before the Headmaster was dismissing them though he gestured for Harry to stay; Snape ushered Draco out of the office, all the while looking curiously at Harry, his black eyes narrowed- perhaps he was wondering why Harry hadn't had anything to contribute to Draco's account of the events that had taken place. Draco didn't know that bit had only been for looks. As a matter of fact, neither did Snape, though it was obvious he suspected something.

The grinding of the stone spiral stair descending spoke of safety from outside ears. Immediately, the Headmaster cut to the chase, his pale blue eyes suddenly sharp in his otherwise calm face. "And what really happened, if you please?"

Harry had sunk down low in the luridly purple upholstered armchair that rested serenely in front of the Headmaster's desk. One ankle was propped up on his knee, one wrist resting on top of that. He ran the thumb of his other hand over the sandpaper-like stubble on his jaw. "Well," he began, "Someone did attack. But it wasn't us, or even me; they attacked him. I pushed Draco out of the way."

"So there wasn't time to dodge, and the blast hit you instead, forcing you to absorb the energy, am I correct?" Harry nodded affirmative to the apt assessment. The Headmaster steepled his hands in front of his long crooked nose and tilted his head to one side, as he did when he was deep in thought, or worrying about something; at this moment, it was both.

"Does Draco know about the Fire?"

"No sir, I used the excess to Obliviate him. There's another problem now."

The Headmaster inclined his head in agreement. "Yes- whoever attacked you will have seen the Fire. What were you attacked with?"

"Cruciatus. It was fairly weak. Someone wants him to suffer. He's going to have a lot of enemies after the stunt he pulled in the Great Hall. "

"Oh? I hadn't heard." The polite disinterest in the Headmaster's tone was a lie. It was carefully designed to say that he knew what happened, but wanted to hear a different point of view. Harry knew this from carefully observing the Headmaster over his years at Hogwarts. Humoring him normally yielded extra information of some kind, so humor him Harry would.

"Draco and I are seeing each other. He… kissed me in the Great Hall today."

"That was very foolish of him. I approve wholeheartedly, but it was still foolish. It made you happy, didn't it?"

"Yes. He did it to convince my friends. "

One corner of the Headmaster's mouth crooked in a lopsided smile. "That was a very Gryffindor thing to do- don't tell him I said that."

Harry felt an answering grin twist his own mouth. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

The Headmaster arched an eyebrow at that before continuing. "On the other hand, there's not much we can do since you didn't see who attacked you. You'll just have to keep your head down, and your ears open, and hope that the student either doesn't know what they saw or doesn't tell anyone else. You may go back to your dorm, Harry."

The command was spoken so that there could be no confusion. If there was any chance that the student might still be about it wasn't worth taking. Harry knew he wasn't going to be of any use if he was dead.

"Yes, sir."

~*~*~*~

Professor Snape had shortened his steps and was attempting to keep pace with his shorter stride. Draco didn't think he'd ever seen the Professor so openly worried before- normally he was off and gone by this time. At least he wasn't casting worried glances his way- that would have been the Snape equivalent of asking if he needed a hug.

As it was, Draco was beginning to become irritated, though he knew he couldn't say anything. He wanted desperately to know what Harry was talking to the Headmaster about, and if it concerned the attack, why couldn't he be there? Why couldn't Snape be there? He was a teacher, and had been the one to find them. Certainly, there couldn't be anything they were hiding about the incident…

His sight blurred out, and then refocused with sudden sharpness. Blinking in the suddenly harsh-seeming light, Draco realized that he was on his hands and knees on the floor, and Snape was looking at him sharply through narrowed eyes. He found one of those long pale hands extended to him, and the Professor gruffly hauled him to his feet.

"Draco, are you unwell?"

"I'm not sure. Harry said he thought I may have hit my head."

Yet again, the Professor's eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you said anything about it? Come on then, to the infirmary with you."

And so it came to be that Draco found himself sitting on an infirmary bed, while Madame Pomfrey examined his skull for bumps.

Gentle fingers prodded around his scalp, delicately testing for anything abnormal. Draco watched curiously as Madame Pomfrey went about her examination and her gently lined face twisted in concentration. She placed her hands on either side of his jaw, lifting and tilting his head back, peering intently into his eyes checking his pupils for abnormality. She "hmmm"-ed a few times before stepping away.

"Well?" Snape inquired, seeming to melt forward out of a non-existent shadow.

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "There's nothing wrong with him, physically. Perhaps a bit anemic still, but that's to be expected."

"No concussion?" Draco realized with a small shock that Professor Snape did not sound surprised that he didn't have a concussion, and in fact seemed to be expecting that answer.

"Right as rain. You may take him back now, if you like, Severus." Madame Pomfrey gestured benevolently to Draco.

"My thanks, Poppy." Snape replied inclining his head, before putting a hand on Draco's shoulder and half-steering, half-pushing him along the long rows of blinding white infirmary beds. Snape's hand did not leave his shoulder during the entire trip back to the dungeons.

He was not steered into the common room as he expected, but pulled into the Professor's office. One of those suspiciously delicate long-fingered hands guided him into the chair across from the desk with surprising strength.

Something intangible was hanging just on the very edge of Draco's brain. He could feel the tendrils of the thought creeping in, and trying to gain a foothold. It flickered just on the edge of recollection; just enough that he knew it was there, but every time he mentally turned to look at it, it disappeared. It was like the thought was deliberately hiding from him. The Professor's mellifluous brought him out of his uneasy reverie.

"Tell me what you remember about the attack." Snape had leaned forward, resting his elbows on the dark wood of his desk, his hands folded just under his chin. Inky black strands of hair escaped from the confinement of being pushed behind his ear, to dangle in front of his recondite black eyes. This cast shadows that were vaguely disturbing across the enigmatic Potion Master's sharp features.

"You heard everything I told Headmaster Dumbledore." Draco replied, somewhat exasperated at being cross-examined.

"Yes, but what do you actually remember?" The Professor's normally harmonious voice had acquired a discordantly sharp edge Draco had never detected before.

Draco frowned, his fine-drawn brows pulled together in concentration. Harry had insisted on walking him back to the Slytherin Common Room, they'd passed the two gossiping females as they had turned onto the stairs leading into the dungeon. Once at the bottom, he'd turned to say something to Harry, and then… The next thing he could remember was Harry kissing him and asking if he was alright. Of the actual attack itself, there was nothing.

Maybe he had hit his head, and Madame Pomfrey just… missed it? That was highly unlikely. Perhaps the attack spell had hit him, and that was why he couldn't remember? But Harry had said he'd gotten them out of the way. Maybe it just happened that fast?

"You can't remember anything about it, can you?" That discordant note was still there. "Surely, you realize why."

"Surely you can not be implying that… Harry…" No way. That was simply not possible. Surely, there was no reason for…

"That is exactly what I am implying, because that is what all the evidence points to."

Draco pressed his eyes closed against the nameless dread welling up inside him. He found that he was slowly shaking his head, his brain supplying thousands of reason why that simply couldn't be. No. That wasn't Harry. Harry Potter simply did not do things like that.

For the first time since he'd started at Hogwarts he found himself doubting his Head of House, and remembering exactly who Professor Snape's real master was. He'd seen the Professor during a Summoning last year; his face had contorted and he grasped his left forearm in a vice-like grip. Draco could see the Mark itself in his mind's eye rising black and putrescent to the surface of deathly-pale skin. He had been aware of its presence, of course; however, that memory made Draco painfully aware of something he'd neglected to consider before.

His Professor, whom he had always trusted unfailingly, who had always favored him above all his other students, was no longer on his side. He was a close friend of the revolting madman that had unfortunately sired him, both of whom were slaves to that feverishly whispered of horror that he'd flatly refused to serve. No, he could not believe the lies that were falling like candied strychnine from the lips of the pernicious being in front of him. Harry was all he had left, the only one he could trust.

Draco found that he was no longer sitting down, and that he was slowly backing away from his teacher. Why hadn't he thought of this before? The rough surface of the ancient door was now pressed against his back and he fumbled for the heavy iron latch that held the medieval wooden monstrosity closed. He knew he was only escaping because he was being allowed to, but even his state of general panic didn't stop him from noticing the flash of emotion that had briefly contorted the face of the Potions Master.

Draco swiftly closed the heavy door behind him, realizing he had seen the expression on the Professor's face recently on someone else, though he couldn't place where. The emotion the expression had revealed was the supreme sorrow and hurt of one realizing that someone who you care for no longer trusts you and is afraid of you.

Where had he seen that before?

~*~*~*~

Harry hurried back to the Gryffindor common room, for once having no desire to sidetrack to anywhere else. It was with thinly veiled relief that he approached the Fat Lady, and spoke the password.

"Gobbledygook." He said hastily.

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow at him, and replied with insulted indifference, "Indeed?" before swinging open to allow him entrance.

He felt his muscles unwind a bit at being back on familiar ground. The red and gold décor greeted him like a welcome friend, the aged and well-loved old couches a sight for sore eyes. Hermione was seated on the floor in front of one of the couches, books arrayed all over the low table on which she was doing her schoolwork. Dean and Ginny were sprawled comfortably on the couch behind her, while Ron occupied an armchair immediately to their left. He was sitting in it crooked, just as he always did- his back was actually pressed against the seat of the chair, one armrest pillowing his head, his rear pressed tightly against the opposite armrest with his long legs bent and dangling over it.

Ron scowled and flushed when he noticed Harry's entrance, as Harry made his way over to sit on the floor opposite Hermione on the other side of the table. Dean and Ginny greeted him as they always did, which made Harry strangely happy.

Hermione, on the other hand, had her eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Where have you been! I was worried when you didn't come in for dinner. Have you been with Draco this whole time?"

Harry tried to smile like anyone would when they had spent the whole day with their new boyfriend. "Yeah." Was all he said, and the only smile he could manage was the slightest lopsided twist to his lips.

"You prefer his company to ours, do you?" Ron said gruffly, though there was no anger in his voice. Harry's smile widened a trifle. Ron was pouting.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned to Ron. "Don't start with me. Remember when you were dating Susan? We never saw you except in class." The reminder caused Ron to flush a bit, while everyone else had a chuckle at his expense.

Maybe it was the comfort of being back in the common room surrounded by his friends, but Harry was suddenly incredibly tired. He folded his arms in front of him on the table and rested his head there, closing his eyes. When he stayed silent for many minutes, he felt Hermione's soft hand on his shoulder.

"Harry… are you all right?" Concern laced her voice as she spoke.

He shifted so that it was his chin resting on his forearms, and said carefully, "I've had a very emotional day. Draco has as many issues as I do." He heard Ron snort, as if to imply that was scarcely possible.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at that, but said only "What a pair you two make."

His tone thoughtful, Harry added "I wonder if he realizes what he's got himself into, though." Hermione's eyebrows immediately knitted themselves back together, though it was Ron who spoke next.

"What are you on about, mate?"

"Well think about it," Harry started, sitting back up. "He's just switched sides in about the most defiant matter he could manage, and he's flaunting it in front of the entire school. It doesn't bother me that he wants to be open- what worries me is how his housemates are going to take it."

Hermione's worried expression softened. "He's a prefect, Harry. He's got a private room, which he has most certainly warded."

"And besides," Ron picked up, "The Git's just down the hall from him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Have you forgotten? Draco doesn't KNOW about that. Thinks he's on the other side of the fence, you know."

"Draco's his pet." Hermione interjected with the disdain of… a student who thought SHE ought to be the pet. "I'm sure he'll tell him."

Harry looked skeptically at Hermione, but didn't answer.

~*~*~*~

Severus Snape couldn't identify the feeling that seemed to be twisting his chest into knots.

He'd been looked at in many different ways over the years, and thought he had fairly well trained himself to ignore them. The range of disgust and fear he gotten from the populace at large, but especially his students, had ceased to move him years ago.

He had been so angry with Draco for being so blind as to not see what had been done to him. Any fool with more of a brain the Neville Longbottom… Colin Creevey, he amended grudgingly. Longbottom had grown a spine, and didn't regularly melt cauldrons anymore.

Anyway: that was entirely beside the point.

Any fool with more then HALF a brain, should have realized what had happened to them. Especially Draco Malfoy, who had received, he'd been assured, a remarkable and thorough training in the Dark Arts from Lucius.

"Lucius." He allowed himself the luxury of spitting into the wastebasket. He stared at it for a moment, before realizing what he'd done. Logical train of thought took over, and in the next instant he was pointing his wand at it, and muttered a quick "Incendio." The wastebasket caught flame instantly and burned quickly to nothing. He couldn't believe how careless he'd nearly been- he knew very well all the things that could be made or done with such a large specimen.

Paranoia was an art that he had cultivated with good reason over the years. Was anybody to search his rooms, his lab, or his classroom they would not find so much as a skin cell, let alone a stray hair or a nail clipping. The casual onlooker would divine that he was greasy; he let them believe this because it kept them AWAY. In reality his hair was washed and brushed quite vigorously twice a day to remove any strands he may have shed before applying the potion to his hair that glued the black locks together. Likewise did his soap contain a mild acid, which removed the top layer of his skin before it could be shed. He was NOT greasy, nor was he dirty; it would be nearly impossible to be any cleaner or well-groomed.

But he knew that he was not being paranoid in his conclusion that Draco had had a piece of his memory wiped, for there was no other explanation. He had tried to tell the boy this, and… Draco had denied it, and refused to believe him. He'd watched with morbid fascination as something very akin to fear had stole over the boy's pale elfin-delicate features. Denial had been clear in the way the way he'd shaken his head, first slowly and then with more vehemence as he'd convinced himself that he was correct and his teacher was wrong. Then the fear had solidified, and taken over his face before the pale boy had bolted in near-panic.

What had he… Oh. How could he have forgotten? It really wasn't like him to overlook something so obvious. The boy didn't know. Which, he reflected, was both good and bad.

Good, because Potter could actually be trusted to not blurt out secrets when he knew the cost was lives. That lesson had been learned the hard way, hadn't it? Boys of that sort always had to learn the hard way. Of that sort. Then he was of that sort himself, as he'd also had to learn the hard way. He didn't like thinking he had ANYTHING in common with Potter, so he let that train of thought derail.

It was good also because Draco needed to stay far away from anyone having any association with the Dark Lord, including himself. He was aware, even if Draco was not, of the sick fascination that the Dark Lord had developed for the boy when he was still revoltingly young. There were some things that Severus could not even make a show of tolerating, and THAT was one of them. Knowing that the Dark Lord was still… equipped… was far more information then Severus had ever wanted. The boy was hardly a year old when the Dark Lord had started saying how lovely the boy would be as grew older. He also realized that it was only a matter of time before he was Summoned and instructed to retrieve Draco for him by any means possible, up to and including Imperius. He would have to come up with a very good excuse to tactfully deny the Dark Lord his plaything, and even still he fully expected that no matter what his excuse Cruciatus would be the result. Still; pain was better then death. Although this was debatable.

He couldn't help but grin in ill-concealed malicious glee when he though of what had been done to Lucius when their Lord had found out he'd let Draco go. He did not feel bad about wishing horrors upon Malfoy Sr.- the bastard deserved everything he got. The only people he could feel the least bit bad about wishing things on were people who were unable to defend themselves, and Lucius did not fall into this category for a second.

Had the Dark Lord not been temporarily indisposed, how old would Draco have been before he'd taken the boy for his use? Fourteen? Twelve? Younger? Would he have prevented the boy from going to school, and kept him in a cage in his lair?

At the same time, Draco believing the worst of him was equally unfavorable… but Severus had to admit to himself that his reasons for thinking so were purely selfish. The boy was intelligent, and resourceful, as well as being a good student. The boy had trusted him, maybe even, he fancied, looked up to him a bit. Severus didn't have a fatherly bone, or even a bit of cartilage, in his whole body but… if he WERE, by some strange quirk of fate, REQUIRED to sire an issue, he hoped that the boy would be something like Draco.

The situation was also unfavorable because Draco no longer trusted Severus enough to believe him when he had tired to explain that his new boyfriend, Harry Potter, or all bloody people, had Obliviated him.

This brought Severus around to another problem: Why? After Severus had arrived on the scene, the Potter boy had seemed affectionate toward Draco, yet… sad. What had Draco seen during this attack that he couldn't be allowed to remember? Who had attacked them and why? The answer to that last question was fairly obvious- Draco had turned Traitor to his house, and to the Dark Lord, though the latter was not widely known. This had only come to the notice of the general population of the school earlier today, according to what had been reported to him by Miss Parkinson.

Miss Parkinson. There was a thought. He didn't think it was the girl herself; she didn't have the stomach for pain, torture, or death. However she was the jilted fiancée- perhaps someone close to her had orchestrated the event.

He didn't know the details of why Draco had gone and gotten himself disowned, though it was entirely for the best in his opinion. The less simpering servants the Dark Lord had the easier his job was. Not that he'd describe his job as easy. Either of them, for that matter. Perhaps… Yes, perhaps, though idea appalled him, it seemed to be the only course. He would have to speak to Potter alone.