There was nothing left to say when they reached the Gryffindor tower. Harry's rage had simmered into a dangerous calm and Hermione disappeared into the girl's dormitory to escape.

"What's with her?" Ron chortled from the armchair, surrounded by a small crowd who were watching him play wizard's chess against himself.

"Don't." Harry said through gritted teeth and put his head into his hands and held onto it tightly, as though it might float away or explode.

"Don't what?" Ron got up, inching his way past the little first years, "Are you alright?"

"Argh, just leave me alone!" Harry said angrily, still unable to sort through the myriad of emotions coursing through him: betrayal, anger, disgust. He shoved past Ron and stomped his way upstairs.

He turned to the waiting group and sat back down, noting dully that his chess pieces had been moved and that he could see a clear path to winning. He played himself to victory, paying no mind to his moves because his mind was on his two best friends. What happened between the two and why did he have this inexplicable feeling that he was being left in the dark?

The next day, Hermione steered clear of the library and Harry had calmed considerably. Neither of them brought up the elephant in the room. They side-stepped it with small talk and delicate words. Hermione made it a point to stick with them the entire day, much to Ron's delight. He took advantage of it and impressed Hermione with his dedication to completing all his schoolwork.

It was nice to be together again, and Hermione felt a sliver of guilt prick at the cavity of her chest. How didn't she have missed this? Spending all that time in the library with Draco was exciting and thrilling but being with these two boys is warm, comforting and familiar. At that moment, she felt torn. Her mind's eye would wander occasionally to seeing a blond lean figure sitting alone in the library.

But Draco wasn't there, he was mulling in the dungeons, thinking about how things could have gone differently. From the first moment Harry spurned his outstretched hand in their first year, he had given plenty of thought to how he would embarrass him the same way... But today he was wondering what he could have said to quell the anger, to shield Hermione from his anger. He didn't think it fair, but then again, life rarely was. If it were, Draco would have gotten everything he'd ever wanted... Including being friends with The Boy Who Lived.

Upon seeing the look on Draco's face, a few students who were chatting on an armchair near him evacuated immediately. He flopped into the newly vacant armchair and felt something crinkle. Fumbling beneath him, he finally drew out a crumpled parchment. There were a bunch of gibberish scribbled on it and he flicked it into the fireplace, uncaring whether it was important to someone or another. A second year looked bleakley on as the parchment withered to ashes.

It wasn't a struggle to comprehend why the great Harry Potter acted the way he did – father had always told him about self-righteous people who felt the need to stand up for what they believe is 'good'. It was both infuriating and insulting that those kinds of people got to decide the definition of what was what. Acting as though they were above it all... But father also supported a murderer and let a criminal into their home.

Draco had always believed that there was no higher honour than to serve the Dark Lord because his father made it seem so. And yet, the screams of the Dark Lord's tortured victims haunt him, and he can't stop himself from shrinking away every time their eyes meet.

Those snake-like eyes send a chill down his back every time and he hates how the Dark Lord seems to peer into their soul. When he appraises someone, it almost looks as if he's deciding whether it is time to dispose of them. As though they were an apple about to go bad. It was horrible, he missed the days when the Dark Lord wasn't around, when his father was still held in high regard... But he has fallen far from grace. Humiliated and forgotten in a cell.

And take a look at Draco. Isolated, alone, entrusted with a task he did not want. There was no honour in killing an old man, powerful though he is, and there is less honour in following a murderer who tried to kill a baby. Even if it were an annoying, pompous git like Harry Potter.

Every time he was reminded of the task set for him, his insides churn like a vat of butter gone sour. But his privileged upbringing didn't equip him with anxiety. He simply brushed it off with the notion that time was on his side before locking it away in a secret compartment he tried to forget. He knew there was no escaping, but for the time being, he could pretend.

The next day, he bumped into Hermione and the other two Gryffindors outside of Potions. There was an awkward moment when she tried to let him go first and thought better of it and walked through the doors just as he did. They touched shoulders and Hermione all but ran into class while he took a step back and he was so painfully aware of Harry's burning gaze that he forgot to make a sarcastic remark.

He couldn't pay attention to class, even as Snape was giving a thrilling play by play commentary on what Harry was doing wrong. It normally would have been funny to see him getting flustered under Snape's tutelage, but Draco's heart just wasn't in it. He twirled his quill instead and scribbled on the table.

"Malfoy!" Professor Snape hissed as he walked past, "What is the meaning of defiling school property?"

Draco gave him a look of abject horror and said, "I– there– just sharpening my quill, sir."

The excuse felt feeble even to his ears.

"You and you," Snape swivelled to point at Harry, "will both stay after class to clean up, without magic."

"I want everyone to start crushing beetles for the potion we're making today... Use the hilt to crack the exoskeleton and put them into vials, there will be no need for talking."

By the time the class was done, the tables were covered with pieces of beetle shell and beetle juice. Snape conjured up two rags and thrust them onto the boys as the rest of the class filed out. Draco caught Hermione's sympathetic glance at Harry and he began to slough the table in front of him.

I'm actually cleaning tables, father, look at me now. His head was filled with venomous thoughts about how he wouldn't have had to if only his father weren't such a complete failure.

"Draco," Snape's nasally voice interrupted a particularly intense mental rant about his father, but he didn't let his annoyance show. He merely dropped the beetle stained cloth and looked up at the teacher expectantly. "Perhaps it is time... you visited me in my office."

"Now?" Draco asked hopefully, looking around and seeing Potter looking right back at him.

Snape gave him a withering look that seemed to insinuate his dimness and replied in thinly veiled impatience, "When you are done here." He strode off and snapped from the doorway, "No magic!" before disappearing.

They worked together in silence for a while and an idea occurred to Draco.

"Hey, Potty, missed a spot." Draco sneered from across the room, "Must feel right at home, doing slave work."

"Shut up." Harry shot back, much to Draco's glee. It would have been a different had he stayed silent.

"Oh, is The Boy Who Lived still upset?" There was a short pause and Harry carried on, pretending as though he didn't hear him. "Are you so afraid that she would like me more?"

The flying rag missed Draco by mere millimetres and they both locked eyes, "That would be impossible considering that nobody actually likes you."

"Ooo, that stung," Draco said, feigning a hurt look with a hand over his heart, "suppose that's probably why she's been spending so much time in the library."

"It's Hermione. She's always in the library. As for you," Harry's voice grew louder as he made his way towards Draco, "I don't know what you are planning but your schemes will not work on her–"

"Is that why you are so angry?" Draco's eyes narrowed, "For someone with utmost confidence in their friend, screaming at them and ignoring them seems a bit excessive."

"What do you know about friends!" Harry said vehemently, "It's not like you have any to begin with!"

"I never knew that the great Harry Potter had such a tongue Salazar himself would be proud of." Draco said quietly, eyes flashing.

"There's a lot you don't know, Draco, but we both know what you are." Harry's wand was suddenly pointing at Draco, "Tell your master he has to try harder if he wants to get to me."

Draco gave a little laugh and drew his wand out slowly, "Ever so self-absorbed... It's not you he wants."

"If it's Hermione–"

"What good will a mudblood–"

"Stupefy!"

Draco leapt out of the way as the tables were blasted to a side from the force of the spell.

"Locomotor Mortis!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Stupefy!"

"What on earth is going on here?" A shrill voice pierced through their shouted hexes.

They both turned to find Hermione by the door, clutching a stack of books.

"I've got your books for Charms," she said to Harry coldly, "whenever you're done killing each other." She tacked on, as a bit of an afterthought.

Suddenly feeling as though he needed to justify his actions, Harry responded defensively, "He was baiting me."

"It's Malfoy," she said scathingly, "do you really expect anything less?"

She turned to go, and the two boys looked at each other with hate in their eyes.

"You shut your mouth about her and stay away from the library." Harry warned, straightening up.

"Or what?" Came the challenge.

"Or I will expose you for what you are, Death Eater." With that Harry made to leave, and he would have, if not for the loud snort of derision which came from the Slytherin.

"We're both marked," Draco hissed in Harry's ear as he brushed past him. He spared a fleeting glance at Harry's forehead before heading to Snape's office. Harry looked after him and rubbed his forehead where his scar sat, prickling with self-consciousness.