Nox Noctis

Panic filled his mind as he jumped back at the soft click. He must not be caught by Snape! Only dear Merlin knew what the cruel teacher would do to him if he discovered that Harry had stumbled across his utmost personal chamber.

Gathering his wits, Harry hoisted himself out of the hole. Pointing his wand at the door, Harry whispered a short spell and sighed in short relief as the door jammed itself shut. A loud banging began, and he could hear Snape shouting threats from the other side of the door.

There was no time left.

Snape could burst through the door any time now. Harry felt a trail of sweat make its way down his forehead as he stuffed his wand back into the secure confines of his robe. He pushed with all his might at the stone slab, eager to replace it over the entrance to the secret room. The stone gave a low grinding sound and moved a few inches.

Harry gritted his teeth and with a final burst of strength, slid the obstinate stone into place. Overwhelmed with fatigue, Harry sat on the stone floor and dabbed his forehead with the sleeve of his robes, his mind still reeling from shock. The banging on the door grew louder and louder.

At that very moment, a loud voice shouted 'Alohomora!' and the door flew open. Snape stood in the dim corridor, his eyes glinting maliciously at the poor boy. Harry swallowed and stood up, his brilliant green eyes staring straight into Snape's black ones. A corner of the professor's mouth twitched as he scrutinized the boy, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Mr. Potter, why are you crawling on the floor?" Snape asked coldly, his face expressionless, but Harry could see a gleam of apprehension on his dark eyes. The Gryffindor gritted his teeth and set his lips in a straight line.

"My wand fell out of my pocket and I'm picking it up," Harry answered casually, careful to conceal the shock from showing in his voice. His heart was pounding so fast and hard that he could barely hear Snape's reply. He swallowed uneasily, unable to look Snape in the eye. What he saw in the small room was too sudden for him to digest in such a short time. Snape had looked so different when he was studying at Hogwarts, Harry noticed. *So does she...* the boy added mentally as his fist closed around the letter hidden within the confines of his robe.

"Go, Potter. You will serve your detention tomorrow night." Harry shot a puzzled glance at Snape but decided not to push his luck. It wasn't every day when Snape decided to postpone his detention. Besides, Harry wasn't ready to spend an entire night in a dank dungeon after... after... He stopped himself. He didn't even want to think about that now.

Muttering a short 'thank you, sir' under his breath, Harry squeezed past Snape and hurried down the corridor. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, he ducked around a corner of the passageway and heard the resounding bang of the heavy dungeon door being slammed shut.

Sliding down the cold stone walls, Harry buried his face in his hands. *No... No... I don't believe this...* he murmured over and over again, his emotions twisting in pure denial. Recent memories of the items he had found in Snape's chamber came flooding back into his consciousness. *No, the boy isn't him. He just isn't...* Harry's mind kept repeating the same mantra. Feeling a terrible ache all over his body, he leaned back against the wall, his mind a tangle of unsorted emotions.

*He is the one in the photo...* a voice whispered in his head. Harry let out a small groan. He had to be dreaming; this was not reality. Snape had manipulated those photos! It couldn't be her!

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in a futile effort to erase the horrifying images from his memory. The young man in the wizarding photo couldn't be more than seventeen, and he certainly didn't look like Professor Snape, the severe Potions Master of Hogwarts. He had a finely chiseled face framed with shoulder-length, slicked back, dark hair, and he wore neatly pressed black robes with a Slytherin emblem on the front. His prominent cheekbones accentuated his sharp features, although his skin tone was rather pale in comparison to his raven black hair. Of all things, Harry could not forget the expression in his eyes. Those smoldering dark eyes were filled with an intense light, completely unlike the cold and calculating ones Harry had grown so accustomed to in Potions class. They were... alive, vibrant with youthful spirit and high hopes. Although Snape had changed a lot in twenty years, Harry was reasonably sure that the boy-wizard in the photo was his Potions teacher. Who else had that trademark smirk other than Severus Snape?

Harry's thoughts blurred together again when he remembered the smiling girl, the pretty redhead in Snape's embrace. Mere minutes ago, Harry had been staring into her clear green eyes, eyes that were so alive with mirth and joy.

Yes, the pair of emerald green eyes that mirrored his own.

Harry knew it from the moment he set his sight on her. Harry had never known his parents, nor could he remember their faces, but the memory of them looking back at him in the Mirror of Erised was fresh in his mind. The girl's expression had been reflected in his parents' wedding photo in Hagrid's album, his only worldly connection to James and Lily Potter. Since the second time he boarded the Hogwarts Express for school, Harry had closed his eyes and imagined his mother kissing him goodbye on Platform 9 3/4. He could see her smile, and feel her soft lips on his forehead. She would be waving at him as the train pulled away from the platform, together with other mothers, smiling at him with tears in her eyes.

There was no way he could have mistaken someone else for her.

Lily Potter... No, Lily Evans wasn't much younger than Snape when the photo was taken, Harry realized, and Snape looked like he was in his seventh year at that time. Sirius had once told him that his parents got married two years after graduating from Hogwarts, and he had been the best man at their wedding. Harry had a photo of his parents' wedding party too, and his mother certainly didn't look very much older than the girl in the photos from Snape's secret chamber.

Taking in a deep breath, Harry swallowed to quell the queasy feeling in his stomach. A blush crept up his cheeks as he tried to block the memory of the final photo he had seen in Snape's chamber. The wizarding photo was beautiful, with golden oak leaves floating down gently in the soft breeze, circling the couple who--like it or not--looked like they were madly in love.

A sickening thought suddenly invaded Harry's mind. Did his mother truly love Snape before she married his father? If so, did James Potter know about Snape and his mother? Why did his mother leave Snape then? What could Lily Evans have possibly seen in Snape?

Most curiously, who could have taken the photos of his mother and the Potions Master?

Then another sickening question struck him. *Is it because of mum that Snape hates me so much?* Harry didn't dare to answer that question. Just thinking about it was taboo.

*Oh Merlin, did mum leave Snape because of dad?*

To Harry, Severus Snape had shown himself as every bit of the slimy git Sirius had declared him to be. He was a big bully, a terribly biased teacher who picked on Gryffindors and favored Slytherins blatantly, and a horribly strict lecturer. Harry couldn't bring himself to think of anything good about Snape, nor could he imagine his mother liking the cold and cruel man Harry had known through his years at Hogwarts.

Hearing the letter rustle from within the safe confines of his robes gave Harry a strong urge to read the contents. His fingers closed around the aged parchment, and he pulled the letter free from his clothes. Under the dim light of the torch above him, Harry could make out the fine cursive writing lining the yellowed piece of paper.

*What did mum see in Snape?* Harry asked listlessly to no one in particular as he pushed a lock of black hair away from his forehead. The corridors of the dungeons seemed to be even colder than before. Exhaling slowly, Harry folded the letter and replaced it into his pocket.

No, he couldn't bring himself to read those words yet because he wasn't ready to know about Snape's relationship with his mother. Be it a platonic friendship or a sizzling romance, Harry was not sure he could take the latter in a gentlemanly fashion.

No, now was not the right time.

Holding onto a jutting rock on the stone wall, Harry heaved himself up the wall and trudged slowly back to Gryffindor Tower. He needed a good night's sleep after this evening's ordeal. He would see Sirius first thing tomorrow morning. Sirius would tell him the truth. Yes, Sirius would know the real story behind these pictures.

Godfathers never lie to their godsons, right?

________________________________________________________________________________

Seeing the retreating shape of the boy, Snape slammed the door shut. Stalking forward to sit at his desk, he picked up his quill and starting scratching notes on leaves of parchments. Ugly scrawls mocked him as he struggled to mark the essays.

Finally, Snape crunched the scribbled parchment with his fist and threw it into a bucket filled with concentrated acid under his desk, his mind thick with frustration. The tired man sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Something was amiss tonight, but he simply couldn't place a finger on it. Life had been chaotic for the last few days. Sirius Black had returned to Hogwarts to teach Care of Magical Creatures. Severus Snape despised Black, the ringleader of the notorious Four Marauders during their schooldays together, more than anyone else in the world. No matter what Snape did, Sirius Black would always spoil everything and get him into trouble with professors.

Snape clenched his jaw. Sirius Black had openly challenged him during breakfast earlier this morning. He remembered breathing in slowly and fighting the urge to wipe that smug smile off Black's face with the tablecloth in front of Dumbledore.

Then, hours earlier, he had attended a Death Eater gathering in Edinburgh. He had Apparated to Scotland and back to Hogsmeade in one single evening. Apparation was very energy consuming, especially over long distances. Snape didn't care much about the physical stress he had undertaken, as Dark activity had been on the rise lately.

Dumbledore had advised him to keep a watchful eye on other Death Eaters, specifically Lucius Malfoy. The Headmaster didn't indulge on saying anything else than the Malfoys were up to no good together with Voldemort. Again, Lucius Malfoy was his arrogant self tonight and Snape didn't notice anything strange with him.

Crossing over to the Dark had been easy, but taking that crucial step back on the White Side had been far more difficult. His pledge of allegiance to the dark side had resulted from a moment of pure foolishness that had thrown him off-balance and stirred the great amount of negative emotions that resided in his heart. He did not need to feel the presence of the Dark Mark on his forearm; the throbbing sensation was there all the time, constantly reminding him of his past - his past as a Death Eater.

Lines a great Oriental philosopher once said floated into Snape's mind: "All humans were born with a soul as pure as a sheet of clean paper, only to be tainted by unsightly smudges of greed, evil and jealousy later in life."

Snape scowled darkly. How truly those words rang. Yet, the wise man had forgotten to mention an important corollary: no matter how hard one tried to erase those black marks off his soul later in life, they would still remain as a memento of wrongdoings. If only it were possible to wipe away those dark stains as easily as cleaning coffee spills with a damp rag.

Three years... He had lived past the darkest three years of his life as Voldemort's aide, when he was nothing but a slave and a dog confined to the Dark Lord's instrumentality. Severus Snape owed his life to Albus Dumbledore; the great professor had risked everything to pull him back into his correct mind.

Snape closed his eyes briefly, remembering the past. It was a moment of utmost desperation and disappointment that had forced him to cross the thin red line between Good and Evil.

And it was a foolish act.

What mattered most now was that the Dark Lord had risen three years ago. Terror would reign again on British ground. The Inner Circle had turned more secretive over the past months, and it was getting increasingly hard to penetrate the closely woven net of information about Voldemort himself. The Death Eaters were reluctant to accept Snape back into the circle because he had once left the Dark Lord's service. Once bitten, twice shy--although he could not picture Lucius Malfoy being shy.

Clenching his teeth, Snape stood up and pushed his armchair back in place.

"Potter!" Snape muttered under his breath and gripped the edge of the table until his hand hurt. Moments before, Potter had been here and he was sitting sprawled out on the floor.

Wait, had he discovered... her?

An icy cold sensation washed over him as he stood face to face with his greatest fear. What if he had discovered... her?

Crouching quickly, Snape stared at the subtly marked floor. Shoving his fingers under the heavy granite slab, he heaved and the stone moved reluctantly to reveal a gaping black hole. Retrieving his wand from the confines of his robe, he whispered 'Lumos!' and jumped into the dark cavity.

The chamber looked the same as the last time he was here. Walking past the rows of neatly arranged objects, Snape scrutinized every minute detail. There was still a fine layer of dust over the coloured set of quills made from the plumage of various exotic birds. Gently, he blew softly and watched the thin film of dust dissipate into misty white clouds. Satisfied with their condition, Snape took a step backwards and moved along the long row of shelves.

*There are no signs of Potter being in here,* an assuring voice whispered in his head.

Harry Potter was the son of James Potter, the godson of Sirius Black. Potter and Black were his two worst enemies, and no son of theirs had any right to know about her. No, she was someone from his past, and the boy had no right to know more about her. He had no right to share Snape's memory of Lily Evans.

Although many might think that a harsh person like Severus Snape would be incapable of love, they would be deeply mistaken. He was human too, but he had chosen to wear a cold façade, a façade that would protect him from being wounded again.

Once, he had been young and rash like young Potter and his sidekicks. He had tasted love, although love did not present him with a happy ending. The memory of the first time he noticed her remained vivid still. They had been in their fourth year, and Slytherins and Gryffindors had their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes together: She was always sitting in the second row with her dorm mates, while he was always sitting at the back of the class with the other Slytherins.

He never really got to know her before his sixth year, the year when their Potions Master decided to have combined lectures. Slytherin was paired up with Gryffindor, and Professor Burette made sure everyone had a desk mate from the other house, despite protests from the students. It happened that the redheaded beauty was assigned to sit with him, and from there, a relationship began. First, only a few short words and some stilted dialogue were exchanged between the o, but soon, he had unwittingly shown her the other side of his personality. Yes, he had a side that he had long suppressed beneath the cool exterior all Snapes were expected to put on.

The Snape family had always been a great supporter of the Dark Arts, although they had not been involved in major battles against the White Wizards. Severus Snape had grown up among wizards that prided themselves as purebloods, wizards who considered Muggle-borns and half-bloods filth. Snape had accepted all of those beliefs as facts--until learning that his Lily had Muggle parents.

She... She was different.

*"Severus!"* he remembered her clear voice calling him from the depths of his memory.

The recollections of the fateful day when they crossed the fragile barrier that separated friendship and love rushed back to him.

~~~~~

"Severus!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. A soft breeze ruffled long silky strands of his glossy black hair as his fist closed around his racing broom tightly. Dressed in full Quidditch gear, he had been preparing for the upcoming game. The match was about to begin in a few minutes, and the spectators were starting to gather beside the pitch. The match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was the most crucial match of this year.

"What do you want?" he asked her coldly, his voice oddly detached, before he started to stride away. A pair of hands grasped his arm, pulling him to a halt.

"He doesn't mean it, Severus. It's not true. I don't pity you," the redhead said suddenly, making him stop dead in his tracks. What did she say? That she didn't pity him? That he was not some snappish wounded puppy she had picked up from the streets of Hogsmeade? No, he would not fall into one of their tricks again. No!

"Sirius was angry just now and you know very well I didn't befriend you because you are nothing more than an oily prat! If you walk away and try to pretend that what he said is true, I'll be very disappointed in you."

"Why should I believe you? You are one of them," Snape hissed, his eyes blazing. Taking a step towards the girl, he whispered silkily, his voice masking every trace of rage and humiliation, "Every word Black said rings true of what you Gryffindors think of me. Don't you dare to come near me ever again or risk being tainted by my dabbling in the Dark Arts. I don't need your sympathy, Lily Evans."

Turning around, he walked away again, leaving the girl standing alone.

"Wait, I have something to tell you," the girl half-shouted and quickly stepped forward to stand in front of him. Deep pools of green looked earnestly into his black eyes and he sighed to himself. *Just look away, Severus,* a voice whispered in his head. Breaking off eye contact, he stared at the noisy grounds decked with banners and flags in Gryffindor and Slytherin house colors.

"The match is starting, Evans. You shouldn't be seen here with the Slytherin Seeker," he answered curtly and shook off her hands. "You can go back running into your beloved's arms if you want." He clenched his jaw tightly when he saw her flinching at his words.

"I... I just want you to be more careful this time. Sirius was quite upset when you ticked him off in DADA yesterday," she whispered softly and turned around to walk away. "Just... be careful."

Three simple words, and time froze. "Wait, why did you say that? Don't you like seeing me get hurt?" he asked suddenly, the words escaping from his throat in a growl. He didn't understand why she told him that. "Don't Gryffindors like Slytherins getting injured? Evans, don't think that I'm an idiot."

"No, I don't like seeing anyone get hurt," the redhead answered slowly. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.

Choosing to ignore her reply, he took a step forward and focused his eyes on the cheering spectators milling around the Quidditch pitch. Suddenly, he stopped. "Tell Black to watch his own back."

Not wanting to hear anything else from the girl, he stalked towards the Quidditch pitch. The match was about to start at any moment, and he hadn't briefed his team yet. His mind was a swirling nebula of confused feelings. He could feel a slight twinge of joy stemming from Lily's confession, but it dissipated quickly only to be replaced by the horrid sensation of shame and humiliation from Sirius Black's words.

Rumors had spread like wildfire around the school after that incident in Potions that he, Severus Snape, wanted to be romantically involved with a Gryffindor. He doubted any Gryffindor in her right mind would want to befriend him, but Lily did. She helped him in Potions when Professor Burette wanted him to come up with a muting potion overnight. If those stolen glances and accidental touches didn't mean anything, what else was going on between them?

Then he realized that they were spending more and more time together. The Slytherins weren't happy with the idea of their Quidditch team captain being friends with a measly Gryffindor. The Gryffindors had given him a lot of flack by the constant jeering in the Great Hallway. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs didn't dare to do anything but he could still hear hushed whispers behind his back.

Perhaps the unhappiest of the lot were the Four Marauders, his sworn enemies. *Sirius Black,* Snape thought sourly. Of the four, Black had teased and ridiculed him from the very first day in Hogwarts. For the past six years, they had ended up having ten fistfights, twenty detentions together and countless heated arguments. He smirked mentally. Why on earth would he want to keep track of every single tug of annoyance he felt when Black's irritating face popped up in front of him?

This morning was far from the worst encounter he had ever experienced with Sirius Black and James Potter, his archenemies. Word had been going around that he and Lily Evans had been getting closer and closer since the Potions accident. In fact, it was said that Lily had starting seeing him instead. What had Black called him this morning apart from his usual insult starting with the word 'slimy hair'? Oh yes, he labeled him as a git who didn't have an ounce of self-dignity and that he was so thick-skinned to even think about making Lily his own. James Potter was there too, glaring at him with his arms crossed. There was something about James Potter that Snape couldn't place, and he did not like it.

"Sirius Black will pay for this," Snape growled softly, his fist closing around the handle of his racing broom tightly as he walked into the waiting space reserved for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Severus, are you going to start briefing? Madam Dowell is about to blow her whistle," a loud voice rang out beside him. Snapping out of his silent reverie, he glared dangerously at his Beater, Stephan Flint. His Slytherin teammates had already gathered around him, fuelled by the cheering spectators far above.

"He's probably daydreaming about snogging a *certain* Gryffindor Chaser," a female voice chimed in coolly. That hit the nail on its head. His heart flinched involuntarily as the words stung Snape like toadstool poison. To say anything regarding the Gryffindors was taboo in the Slytherin Quidditch camp.

"Nobody would say that you're lacking a mouth if you don't speak, Narcissa," Snape retorted sarcastically. Eying her silver blonde hair and pale features in distaste, he set his lips in a straight line and stood straight up to survey the team.

"It would help if you don't spend so much time looking at her," the tall girl whispered softly and wrapped her slender fingers around his arm as the other hand started running along the length of his forearm. Not bothering to shake her off this time, Snape strode to the entrance of the Quidditch pitch. The clock on the wall showed that it was five minutes past four. He only had ten minutes before the match would start. Clearing his throat to catch the attention of his teammates, he folded his arms and looked at each and every one of their faces.

The entire room turned silent. The tension in the air was palpable, but Snape didn't care much for the uneasy feeling that was growing steadily among the small group of Slytherins. This would be his first time going against someone who had called herself his friend. Her words rang clearly in his head again, *"Just... be careful."* Shoving aside the growing doubt in his heart, he braced himself and looked straight into the eyes of every player dressed in green and silver.

Slowly, he took a deep breath. "At six o'clock sharp today, the Gryffindors are going back to their common room in a sorry state." He smirked in approval as the entire room resounded with a thundering 'yes!' from every player. Edgily, his hand reached out to push open the doors that shielded his team away from the prying eyes of both fans and Slytherin haters. A loud boom of applause filled the room as tendrils of sunlight washed in.

Snape narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized the opposite end of the Quidditch field. The Gryffindors were starting to line up already. Gesturing to his teammates, they quickly lined up behind him. Step by step, he walked out onto the lush green lawn of the majestic Quidditch pitch with hundreds of cheering spectators giving their favorite teams moral support.

He set his eyes on the flowing red and gold robes of the Gryffindor team. *One... Two... Three...* he counted silently. His eyes narrowed dangerously when he saw Sirius patting Lily's shoulder. *Him again...* Snape thought bitterly. Ignoring the soft crunch of fragile grass blades beneath his feet, he strode forward stiffly and looked into the smoky brown eyes of James Potter, Seeker and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Snape looked icily into James Potter's brown eyes and waited for him to extend his hand.

"Team Captains, please shake hands!" Madam Dowell barked impatiently and folded her arms.

"Only if Vampire Boy doesn't burst into flames suddenly. C'mon, it's still daylight, right?" a voice drawled jeeringly in front of him. Snape clenched his jaw and shot Sirius Black a cold look. The Gryffindor only shrugged and flashed him an innocent smile. Then, Lily's eyes made contact with his, sending a burning ache into the pit of his stomach. His gaze eventually settled on a male hand around her shoulders. His hand shook slightly as he gripped the handle of his racing broom tightly.

Tearing his eyes from her, Snape's fingers closed around James Potter's hand and shook it briefly. Refusing to look at Lily, Potter, or Black, he mounted his broom and the entire Slytherin team followed suit. Quickly, fourteen brooms rose in the air and players from both squads took their respective positions on the Quidditch pitch. Taking his position far above other players, Snape scrutinized the layout below him. The Slytherins had taken their places very well, and he felt himself heaving a silent sigh of relief.

Then, he caught sight of the Gryffindors. Lily was hovering between the two other Gryffindor Chasers below him, getting ready to catch the Quaffle as soon as it was released. The soft breeze ruffled her ponytail, and he pictured a determined look on her face. Letting his eyes float towards the Gryffindor Beaters, he saw Sirius Black leaning towards Frank Longbottom for some last minute discussion. *Probably planning on dangerous tactics to knock me off my broom. Why won't Black leave me alone even in Quidditch?* Snape thought sourly and chose to look away from his archenemy at the other side of the pitch.

A sudden blast of the whistle rang in his ears. The crowd roared as six broomsticks raced towards the oval-shaped ball. The match between the Gryffindors and Slytherins had officially begun.

Focusing his eyes on James Potter, Snape noticed that the slim Gryffindor Seeker was not paying full attention to the game. It was as if he was distraught, but James Potter was well known for keeping calm in dangerous situations. The match was close this time, and Slytherin escaped with many fouls, as Gryffindor wasn't playing at their top form that day. The crowd gasped loudly as Lily Evans failed to catch the Quaffle again.

Ignoring the game below him, Snape starting flying in circles on lookout for the tiny golden ball. Out of a corner of his eye, James Potter was hovering aimlessly above the Slytherin goalmouth. *To hell with James Potter,* Snape thought and halted his broom.

"Gryffindor 30! Slytherin 10!"

Snape jerked his head just in time to watch Lily being congratulated by her fellow Chasers as she raced away from the Slytherin goalmouth. *Narcissa won't be happy about that,* Snape whispered mentally as he held back a smirk. Seconds later, the crowd exploded into another huge round of applause after the Quaffle flew through one of the Gryffindor hoops and Narcissa began reeling away in a victorious ride on her broomstick.

"You like her, don't you," a voice said slowly behind him. There was no need to turn his head around to see who the speaker was.

In a detached voice, he answered coldly, "Since when are you so concerned with my personal life? Well, you shouldn't be, considering that you are a nothing more than an idiotic Gryffindor." Snape flashed a smirk and glared at James Potter. "Why do you care anyway?"

Steadily, Snape let a smug smile spread across his face as Potter hovered on his broom speechless. "Because I do," he said quietly. Before Snape could answer, he dove downwards suddenly, cutting across Snape's path, drawing a surprised look from the Slytherin.

Looking down, Snape saw a faint glimmer of gold and realization sunk in painfully. "NO!" he shouted and raced after the speeding Gryffindor. The loud cheering from the audience melted away in a blur as he concentrated harder on the tiny speck of gold at the end of the field, near the tallest Gryffindor goalmouths. Potter was only five feet away from him now, owing to Snape's brand new Nimbus 500.

*Near now... Very near...* Snape whispered mentally as he streaked past Potter. Potter's gasp of surprise went unheeded by Snape as the crowd roared louder. Locking his legs around the broomstick, Snape leaned forward, his arm outstretched as he reached for the Golden Snitch floating ahead of him. He could feel the wind whistling past him and sense the crowd's anticipation as the tiny ball came into focus.

"SIRIUS...! NO!" a female screamed pierced the air like a sharp knife. *Lily!* Snape thought in shock. Before Snape had time to react, he felt a heavy object slam into his head and his grip around the broom handle loosened.

The world started spinning before his eyes. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion. The din from the crowd had lowered to a barely detectable whisper in his ears. Trying to in vain to keep his balance, he could feel his grip slipping and slowly as he tilted sideways. Clumsily, he tried to make a wild grab for his broomstick, but there was only empty air with nothing to cling on.

Then, someone caught his arm. Hazily, he looked up to see his savior and a pair of brown eyes glared back at him. *James Potter?* he thought dazedly as the heavy pounding in his head worsened.

"Hold on..." Snape managed to make out the words James Potter growled through gritted teeth. The Gryffindor seeker was obviously straining to pull him up. Another dizzy spell hit Snape.

A loud rip echoed as Snape's Quidditch sleeve tore away.

The pounding in his head got louder than ever.

He plummeted towards the ground at breakneck speed. His legs gave way under a sickening crunch and burning pain seared his entire body like flames licking hungrily at firewood.

He did not remember anything after darkness suffocated him, nor did he see the tears that were streaming down Lily Evans's cheeks as she knelt over him.

~~~~~

________________________________________________________________________________

Dreams did not come easily through mere slumber. Undisturbed sleep was even more difficult to come by, he thought as he lay silently in his bed, his ice gray eyes focusing on the intricate craving on the grand canopy. There was so much to do, so much to think about, particularly after all those half-dreams that plagued him night after night.

Half-dreams? There was no real distinction between the real and unreal in Dreamscape. Wizards had long discerned this theory of dreams mirroring your everyday worries and obsessions, and what you constantly think about in the day may just seep over into your otherwise, peaceful sleep. For Draco, childhood memories had flashed across his sub-conscious, each sequence bringing a myriad of different emotions.

This time, he dreamed that he was building a sandcastle by the sea. Ah, the sea. He had only visited a beach when he was a small boy of five. Being registered on an Unplottable location, Malfoy Manor lay someplace in the middle of England, in the outskirts of Leicester. No sand, no sea and no sun; it was not a surprise he never got a lasting tan or streaks of sun-kissed locks of hair. On one occasion, however, his mother had brought him to the seaside in a secluded location in Cardiff, Wales. The sea was deceptively calm and the azure sky was dotted with puffs of cotton-white clouds. It was a fine day, a day which he left the drafty confines of Malfoy Manor to enjoy his childhood.

~~~~~

He was trying to build a sandcastle. He had fantasized about living in faraway castles where he ruled an imaginary kingdom, like what Aunt Ferri told him. He would ride a white stallion and save a beautiful princess from trolls and demons in another kingdom.

And then, they would kiss and live happily ever after.

Fine grains of yellow sand trickled past his fingers as he scooped up a handful, trying to press the formless material into a cube. Maybe the sand was not wet enough. Maybe his fingers were not strong enough. A thousand different maybes plagued his mind, but the sand simply would not stick together.

*Why won't the sand stay?* the small boy asked aloud but neither the sky or the sea answered his question. An hour could have passed, or perhaps more than six hours had, but the boy continued relentlessly, his strong will to build the castle motivating him.

Then, another pair of hands scooped up some sand to pat it onto his castle. "Mother?" he asked. A pair of icy gray eyes looked serenely at him. He had always loved looking at her long slender hands and delicate facial features, so identical to his own.

"Draco, perhaps we should go back to the manor," she began softly, her voice bringing out an edge of sadness.

"No, Mother. I want to finish building this sand castle," he said. He did not know why he had to complete the sand building. He just knew he had to. He scooped up another handful and pressed it onto the pitiful mound on the ground. As before, the sand spilled sideways into a small slope.

"Father will be angry if we are late for dinner," she coaxed. He stopped pressing sand onto his creation and lifted his head to look at her. A faint smile graced her lips as she touched the curve of his cheek gently. Mother always had a faraway look in her eyes. It was as if she regretted ever marrying Lucius Malfoy and having a son like him.

The small boy did not know the true story behind this. He wanted to know, but Mother would always shake her head slowly every time he asked if all parents grow apart after marrying each other. Deep in the little boy's mind, he had decided not to marry any girls. After all, Father and Mother were never happy together.

With his little hands patting the sand under his mother's watchful gaze, he tried to work as fast as possible. *Father would be angry if we are not home for dinner,* the boy's mind spoke, yet he could not leave his sandcastle unfinished. Finally, the short and stout turret materialized under his thin fingers. He made a turret! He made a turret!

Most of all, he did not fail.

Finally, he gazed into his mother's gray eyes. "Let's go home, Mother," he said half-heartedly. He did not want to leave the beautiful beach. He did not want to miss the brilliant sight of the sun setting in the horizon, but he had to go.

He had to go because Father would be angry if they did not show up for dinner.

Taking his mother's hand, the little boy stood up, his hands and knees soiled with pale yellow sand. As both mother and son walked away from the his small retreat, neither one realized the turret that the little boy had built with his bare hands was washed away by the foamed-tipped waves rolling onto the shore.

~~~~~

Slowly, the retreating shapes blurred and Draco found himself staring at another scene.

~~~~~

The sun was shining brightly through the brilliant green foliage of an apple orchard. Hints of red were starting to peek out between the leaves of those trees. Summertime, it was during summer when this happened.

Yes, Mother would make my favorite apple pies again, thought Draco.

A middle-aged man and a young boy of seven stood on a small clearing surrounded by five apple trees. The young boy had a broom in his hands, a sense of childish innocence painted his sharp features. The older man had a broom with him too, but it was a bigger and more expensive model.

"Draco, I'm teaching you how to fly now," the handsome man spoke smoothly with a smile. The young boy looked upon his father, his eyes shining with anticipation. He saw hope and expectations in his father's face. He was the only son, the only heir to the Malfoy clan. He had seen the numerous awards that adorned the walls of his father's study, and he wanted to be like his father one day: famous, powerful and wealthy; but being a young boy himself, he was also eager to taste the sweet flavor of freshly baked apple pies after the lesson.

"Now, put your broom on the ground. Place your hand directly above the handle and say 'up'," Lucius instructed demonstrating once for the young boy to watch. The older man then nodded once and waited for the boy to try.

His hands sweating and trembling, he did what his father told him, but nothing happened. "Up!" he shouted again. Nothing happened. The wooden form of the broom lay motionless on the ground. He looked up at his father, but the man's face was cold and expressionless, his steely eyes betraying no sliver of emotion.

The young boy tried again and again, desperate to prove himself, eager to show his father that he was worthy of a training to be a great wizard one day. No matter how loud he shouted, or how many beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead, the broom still refused to move an inch, let alone hover in the air.

"Draco, maybe you are a Squib after all," the man sighed, his eyes flashing with unbridled resentment and disappointment. "You can't be my son. Malfoys don't weep like girls."

"No, I'm not a Squib!" the young boy insisted angrily and tried again. Hot tears of frustration streamed down his cheeks under the hot sun. Earlier thoughts of eating his favorite apple pie were left forgotten in a corner of his mind. He must prove himself to be worthy of magical training to his father! Crushing waves of fear and uncertainty started to suffocate the boy, weakening his resolve and defenses as the still form of the broomstick lay motionless on turfs of green grass.

Summoning the final trickles of his concentration, he shouted for the broom to rise. Finally, the broom hovered weakly in the air. Triumphant with his achievement, the young boy turned to look at his father, but the man was already nowhere in sight. It felt as if bands of steel had tightened around his chest painfully.

"Why, Father? Why didn't you wait to see me ride my first broom?" the boy cried out as even more tears rushed out from his eyelids. "Did I disappoint you?" Using the clean and pristine sleeve of his shirt, he wiped those defiant tears away. As illusionary as it might seem, only the cheerful chirping of sparrows answered him - such a mockery he had to endure.

Obstinately, the boy lifted a leg over the hovering broomstick and gripped his hand tightly around the handle. He was going to fly today, with or without his father's help. He would prove himself to be worthy of Lucius Malfoy's attentions. He had to make sure that no one ever looked down on him. That day, the young boy formed a solid resolve in his heart.

From that day onwards, the small boy never shed tears ever again.

~~~~~

Such dreams had not plagued Draco for a very long time, not since he arrived at Hogwarts. He had done everything in his power to prove himself. He worked hard during classes to score good grades. He worked extra hard to come neck-to-neck with Mudblood Granger, all for the Malfoy name. Yet somehow, his past uncertainties and fears were starting to resurface.

As to what he could possibly be uncertain or afraid of, Draco could not comprehend. So much had happened since the summer holidays. Not wanting to recall memories of his initiation, he pushed those thoughts away and tried to leave his mind blank.

Seconds ticked by and Draco sighed inwardly. His head was starting to throb from a dull pain, and he did not feel like going to the hospital wing to ask that old cow Pomfrey for a soothing potion. Throwing the rich satin coverlets aside, he fluffed his pillow up and lay down, willing himself to go to sleep again. At least he was sure that Ginny Weasley would show up on the rendezvous he arranged earlier that night.

*So close to making her crack tonight...* Draco thought as a smug smile touched his lips. Ginny Weasley was no different from all other girls. Girls were insecure little beings whose hearts would melt after you whispered tender nothingness into their ears. Bait them with soft words and half-touches in a so-called romantic setting, and they would crawl after you on their knees.

But what was the fun of seeing girls crawl on their knees?

The real fun would kick in after they pledged to do anything under your will. The feeling of being in control of the situation was exhilarating. Call him a power-lusting maniac or a manipulative bastard, the rush of adrenaline that came along with absolute control was addictive. One day in the near future, he would take over his father's place as Lord Voldemort's right-hand man. He would command legions of Death Eaters.

A sly smile touched his lips. One day, he would be Minister of Magic too. He would control the financial hub of the wizarding world, and the Malfoy name would be known as the most powerful pureblood families of this century!

Then, he thought he heard a soft tapping on the window. Silhouetted by the pale silver moonlight, a majestic black hunting owl was perched the windowsill next to him. Correction, it was Lucius Malfoy's owl; Draco would recognize it even if it were reduced to ashes. *So soon?* Draco thought in pure surprise. It would take hours, days even, for the swiftest owls to fly to Malfoy Manor and back.

*Unless... something unexpected happened,* a soft voice whispered from the back of his consciousness. Extracting a bulky envelope tied to the owl's leg, he rolled open the parchment and a small vial of purple liquid dropped onto his opened palm.

After scanning through the letter, Draco held the vial up in the moonlight. The edge of his lips curled in a soft smirk as he crumpled the letter slowly.

"It will be done, Father."

"My Lord, Draco is still relatively inexperienced. Do you think Draco will be able to..." Lucius Malfoy asked in a low tone, the embers of the fire in the hearth still flickering in the dead of the night.

"I have faith in the boy, Lucius. Ask no further questions. He will succeed."