As Draco lay in his hospital bed, the vision he had seen in his father’s mind played out like a theatrical show before his eyes.

A small boy of no more than eight cowered at Lucius’s feet. Lucius had a gleam of pure evil in his eyes, as though he was enjoying the scene as much as Draco was repulsed by it. He was dressed in the same jade-green, jewelled cloak that he had worn for the Quidditch match and had his wand poised in one hand, his head held majestically high on his shoulders.

The boy, in contrast, was clothed in rags and shivered either from fear or the cold. The freckles, which Draco supposed normally showed his mischievous youth, now stood out like legions in contrast to his deathly-white skin.

‘So, you thought that you could outwit me, muggle brat?’ Lucius said triumphantly.

‘Leave him alone!’ another, slightly older, boy said ferociously as he jumped in front of him. He was also pale and thin from neglect but his eyes burned with a cold fire that said that his spirit had not yet been broken.

There was a third boy, perhaps aged between the other two, who was lying on his back in a corner of the dungeons. His sapphire eyes were fixated on the ceiling and his ghostly, thin arms were like skeleton bones crossed across his chest; Draco couldn’t tell whether he was dead, or simply stunned.

Draco’s eyes, through his father’s, quickly took in their surroundings. He recognised that it was a chamber of the Malfoy dungeons. His father had once taken him down there to frighten him and he recognised the statue that hung out from the far- wall like a gargoyle. It was the malevolent fairy of the damned, recognisable by its twisted face and broken wing; said to guard the unfortunates imprisoned there over the years by Malfoy descendents. There was another on the outside arch of the gardens with the opposite wing broken and Draco still recoiled from its fierce expression and bottomless eyes each time he looked up at it.

‘Perhaps he needs a lesson,’ Lucius went on, ‘like your other foolish brother.’

Draco saw his father raise his wand and catapult a burning orange curse in the direction of the youngest boy. The screams pierced Draco’s ears and heart as the boy writhed in pain. It was the Cruciatus curse and Draco knew that every bone in the small body was racked with cramps as the mind closed in on itself.

The eldest boy got to his knees. ‘Please, Sir,’ he begged, ‘don’t hurt my brother!’

Lucius curled his lip in disgust and ignored the pleas of the muggle brat. Remembering his instructions from the Dark Lord, however, he released the boy from the curse after a few minutes torture. He replaced his wand in his robes.

‘Not long now, filth,’ he spat, then turned on his heel and left the elder boy comforting his brother through his sobs.

Because Draco had experienced the memory through Lucuis’s eyes, the scene had been coloured with his father’s emotions. Draco felt the pure hatred mingled with pure pleasure that pulsed through his father’s veins at that moment. He knew that had Lucius not been instructed to keep the boys alive for the next few days then he would have killed without a moment’s hesitation.

It had been a sobering experience for Draco, and he was still going over it in his mind when Snape and Harry visited him in the hospital wing. He wondered what, if anything, he was going to do with what he had seen. He had the vague notion that this was what the Oracle meant when he had told him he had a choice to make; the choice to remain silent and seal the muggle children’s fate, or the choice to play a part in their liberation and outcast himself from his father, not to mention the Dark Lord’s favour, forever. All he knew was that every time he tried to dismiss the memory the screams of the innocent boys rang in his ears.

‘Dwaco!’ Potter screamed excitedly as the toddler and his housemaster entered the empty wing. Snape was leading Harry by the hand, but as soon as they got within sight of Draco, Harry wrenched his hand away from the Professor and ran full speed towards the bed.

‘Potter!’ Snape said, ‘What have I told you about running off?’

Harry stopped suddenly and looked up coyly. In his excitement he had forgotten Snape’s warning that he was to hold his hand at all times.

‘Sworry,’ he said. He held up his hand until he felt the firm fingers close around it and they made their way to Draco’s bed.

‘That’s better,’ Snape said.

Draco, despite himself, was amused at the exchange between his housemaster and the Potter brat and grinned, ‘Hi Potter,’ he said.

‘I scarcely think that you have any reason to look so amused given your current condition,’ Snape said coldly.

Immediately the smile died on Draco’s lips and was replaced with a scowl.

Harry attempted to scramble up the bed covers, ‘Up,’ he said. ‘Me up, speak Draco.’

Snape lifted Harry up and put him on the side of the bed, ‘Sit there quietly,’ he said, ‘whilst I speak to Draco.’ Harry frowned but obediently settled himself crossed legged on the bed. After Snape had smacked him the day before he had been trying to ‘do what he was told’ to avoid it happening again.

‘How are you feeling?’ Snape said after a few moments silence.

‘Fine,’ Draco said shortly.

‘I see.’

Harry looked between the two with disbelief. Is that all they wanted to say? He had far more pressing matters than that.

‘Me fly broom,’ he said, ‘Me good kid-itch.’

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because Draco looked away angrily.

‘You do kid-itch?’ Harry pressed. When he had woken up from his nap Snape had let him have a quiet flick through his book and it was on his mind. He couldn’t wait to get really started with a real broom.

Draco gave him a withering look, ‘Yes Potter, and a lot better than you,’ he snapped.

Harry looked up at Snape, confused with the boy’s harsh tone. He thought that he and Draco were best friends but he was acting just like a meany.

When he got no reaction from Snape he stuck his tongue out at Draco, ‘Me better.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Draco said smugly, happy to use Harry to vent some of his anger, ‘you couldn’t even fit on a real broom; and those little chubby hands and arms – forget it - they couldn’t catch the snitch if it stopped dead right in front of them!’

Harry didn’t like this. He felt that Draco was somehow making fun of him. He got to his feet and toddled over to Draco, his face red. Before Draco could put up his hands to defend himself he swiped him on the nose.

‘Dwaco bad!’ Harry shouted at the top of his voice.

Though the toddler actually had quite a strong arm on him, Draco merely laughed nastily. He grabbed hold of Harry’s arms and stopped him easily. ‘That was pathetic Potter,’ he said.

Harry kicked out his legs, really frustrated now, but Draco stopped him.

‘Oooh, Potter,’ Draco said, ‘temper, temper. You’re in trouble now. You know what happens to naughty boys don’t you?’

Harry was suddenly less sure of himself. He remembered that Snape had told him it was very naughty to hit. As Draco let go of him he spun round to face Snape, clutching his bottom as though to shield it.

‘No smack!’ he whinged.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Draco teased, grinning now, ‘Snape’s going to smack your backside - hard.’

Harry’s bottom lip began to tremble and he grabbed a pillow off the bed and put it in front of him to hide behind, ‘No smack,’ he pleaded, close to tears.

‘I’m glad you find this amusing,’ Snape snapped at Draco as he dissolved into laughter.

‘Potter, take that cushion of your face at once; I’m not going to smack you.’

Harry immediately dropped the cushion, ‘No bad?’ he said happily.

‘Your were both in the wrong,’ Snape said, ‘Now say you’re sorry to Draco and we’ll forget all about it.’

Harry hesitated for a moment, ready to defy Snape’s order. He looked at Draco, but instead of seeing mean eyes he saw that he looked funny so he gave in. ‘Sworry Dwaco,’ he said, launching himself on the boy, grabbing him round the neck into a cuddle.’

‘Oi!’ Draco said, ‘don’t strangle me.’

‘I think you should apologise too, Mr Malfoy,’ Snape said.

‘What?’ Draco looked annoyed. Before he opened his mouth to protest, however, he saw Harry looking sweetly at him, ‘Alright,’ he said, relenting, ‘Sorry Potter.’

Harry beamed, ‘Me love Dwaco,’ he said as he flung his arms around him again.

Draco grimaced, ‘Don’t go overboard.’

At that, Madame Pomfrey appeared with tea and biscuits for Snape and Draco and a cup of juice for Harry. After they’d finished, Harry became hyper-active again. He convinced Draco to get out of bed and play rolling the medicine ball with him – perhaps to prove that he did have skill with a ball. As Snape watched, the two rolled the heavy ball between them - Harry squealing every time he managed to stop it. Draco had to admit he was impressed.

‘You better watch it doesn’t squash you,’ Draco muttered, as Harry propelled it skillfully out of his reach. His bones still ached from his father’s beating and he found that wasn’t quite as quick as he otherwise would have been.

After a while, Snape noticed that Harry was holding himself strangely.

‘I think that’s enough for today,’ he said. It was obvious that his young charge needed his potty.

Harry pouted slightly.

As if to demonstrate that he wouldn’t take any arguments, Snape brusquely picked the boy up. ‘Let’s see if Madame Pomfrey will help you use the potty while I speak to Draco,’ he said firmly.

Harry, in the end, didn’t protest. He knew that he had needed the potty for at least ten minutes. Though he didn’t want to stop the fun game, he didn’t want to make a puddle and look like a baby in front of Dwaco.

When Snape returned, Draco had gotten back into bed. He looked paler than usual and exhausted. Snape knew this could be a side effect of his father’s assault on his mind, but he had the feeling that it was also something more. He drew a chair up beside the bed.

‘Professor Dumbledore said that you wished to see me,’ he said.

Draco sat up slightly against the headboard and folded his arms. He had almost forgotten that he had spoken to the headmaster.

‘No.’

‘So the headmaster is a liar?’

‘Yes – I mean no,’ Draco said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Snape leaned closer towards the bed. ‘Mr Malfoy, do not waste my time. If you have something to say then please unburden yourself – if not then let me get back to my chambers.’

Draco hesitated slightly. He turned to look into Snape’s eyes. He wondered if those eyes had seen the same things that his father’s had. He turned away suddenly, shaking his head as he tried to rid himself of the vision of the blue-unseeing irises of the boy in the dungeons.

Unburden himself?

Suddenly that seemed like such an inviting prospect; to share with someone the scream that haunted him. Sitting up slightly in bed and closing his eyes he made a split-second decision and told Snape everything he knew.

After Draco had finished telling Snape about the Pickle children’s predicament, Snape was silent for a few moments. He was aware that Draco had opened his eyes and was now gazing at him uncertainly, and he took a few moments to regain his composure, trying to hide the way his heart pounded within his chest and the slight flush that he felt on his cheeks.

‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘You realise Mr Malfoy that were anyone to catch wind of what you have told me then your life would be in grave danger.’

Draco felt his heart skip a beat at Snape’s unreadable tone. His head swam suddenly with fear as he looked up into the fierce black eyes. He wondered if he’d made a mistake confiding in Snape. After all, though his housemaster had seemingly kept silent about the curse cast upon Harry that did not automatically mean that he was not true to Voldemort. They could both be waiting for the right moment to pounce. There was no doubt that Snape was a double-agent – but no-one, Draco included, seemed to know who exactly for.

‘I-I …’ Draco stammered.

‘If, for example,’ Snape continued, ignoring the boy’s stammers, ‘I was to take this information to Lucius, then do you really believe that the fact that you are his son would protect you? You are foolish.’

‘But I thought you were …’

‘Silence!’ Snape snapped, ‘What I am or am not is irrelevant. The mere fact that I could use this information against you should have told you not to come to me. You are not so ignorant as to think that what your father has done with these children,’ - the words seemed to catch uncomfortably in his throat - ‘was not ordered by – someone else?’

‘No,’ Draco admitted.

‘Then already you have placed yourself up against someone infinitely more powerful than yourself; someone who you can not hope to outwit.’

Draco felt himself begin to get angry. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ he spat, ‘keep quiet the fact that my father has children locked in his dungeon – that he will most probably murder them, if he hasn’t already?!’

Snape felt his heart jolt slightly. He regarded Draco silently for a few moments before answering. ‘You tell me, Mr Malfoy,’ he said quietly, ‘I was under the impression that it was your ambition to join your father in the Dark Lord’s ranks?’

Draco slumped back against his pillow. Snape was right. It had been his ambition to be a Death Eater since he had first heard the word. He had been impressed with Lucius’s tales of infinite power and the innate superiority of the pure-blood aristocracy of wizards. Was he really willing to put all that in jeopardy over the sake of a few snot-nosed, muggle brats?

He didn’t know. It had been instinct more than anything that had made him confide in Snape, and instinct that made him recoil with revulsion at the vision of the young children being tortured by his father. To have what it meant to be a Death Eater so suddenly thrust upon him had been confusing to say the least.

He thought back to his second year at Hogwarts; how carelessly he had spoken the petrification and (supposedly) impending deaths of his fellow students at the hands of the heir of Slytherin: You’re next mudbloods, he had said without a modicum of compassion. It had seen almost like a game then; a game where the strongest would win – Survival of the fittest, one of his father’s favourite mantras. He thought also of Cedric Diggory; his own, confusing feelings when Dumbledore had told the entire school that he had been murdered by Voldemort. Was that really for the good of the wizarding world? Was the death of these muggle children – who, before his father got his hands on them, probably thought that wizardry was something only true in fairy tales?

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted at last.

‘Then I suggest that you find out, and quickly,’ Snape spat. ‘This is not a game, Mr Malfoy. If I speak with the Order and they act upon the information you have given me then the responsibility will fall firmly on your shoulders should there be any comebacks. If the Dark Lord were to find out where the information came from then he would be likely to make an example out of both you and your father.’

Draco felt his heart slump even further in his stomach. He suddenly realised exactly what the Oracle of the Lake had meant about the ripples that will spread far and wide ...

‘What about you?’ he said suddenly.

Snape narrowed his eyes, ‘Me?’

‘Yes,’ Draco said. ‘If you-know-who was to find out that I told you and you didn’t tell him …’

‘Don’t profess to know everything about my relationship with the Dark Lord,’ Snape interrupted.

‘But …’

‘That’s enough, Mr Malfoy!’

‘Now,’ Snape continued after taking a few moments to suppress his anger, ‘were I to relay this to Dumbledore, then the Order would be able to offer you a degree of protection should there be repercussions.’

Draco scowled. He didn’t know if he was quite ready to humble himself to Dumbledore and his loony band of followers. Still it appeared that he had no choice. As soon as he had opened his mouth to Snape it seemed like he had inadvertently placed himself on the side of the Order of the Phoenix.

Snape noted the conflict on the young boy’s face, but decided it was best not to address it – it was something that he had to reconcile within himself. ‘Dumbledore would assure your protection,’ he said instead.

‘What would they do about the muggles?’ Draco said. ‘There’s no way that they would be able to get into our – my father’s dungeons. I don’t even know how to do it. And you know that father has spells on the house to prevent anybody even getting close without his permission.’

Snape raised his eyebrow, ‘That is not your concern, Mr Malfoy,’ he said, ‘suffice to say that even your father’s shields are not impenetrable. Now what is your answer?’

Draco looked at his housemaster dubiously, ‘So if I say that I want this to go no further then you won’t tell Dumbledore?’

Snape paused. He wasn’t sure of the answer. Before replying he banished from his mind his own thoughts on the matter, and the traces of feeling he could sense in his eyes.

‘That is correct.’

Draco was now more confused than ever. He had hoped that by simply telling Snape about what he had seen the responsibility would be taken from him – but it seemed he was wrong. He realised, also, that it still hadn’t told him much about which side Snape was really on. After all, if it got back to Voldemort that Snape had passed on Draco’s knowledge to Dumbledore, then it would surely be hard for the black wizard to interpret. Snape could be helping the Order, or simply playing along with his role as spy. On the other hand, there would be no mistaking Draco’s intentions.

‘Fine,’ he said at last, ‘tell him.’

Snape nodded, ‘Very well, Mr Malfoy.’

Draco had a sudden thought, ‘What about mother? I don’t want her involved.’

Snape closed his eyes in slight exasperation.

‘I mean,’ Draco continued, ‘if you go charging round to our home then she’s going to be there.’

‘No-one will “charge”, as you so crudely put it, anywhere,’ Snape said.

‘But …’

‘Leave it to the Order, Mr Malfoy. Albus Dumbledore is not in the habit of causing harm to innocent bystanders.’

Draco heard the edge in Snape’s voice, ‘And what about father?’ he said, feeling the panic rise up in him again.

Snape gave the boy a long, withering look. ‘Lucius,’ he said, ‘is more than capable of looking after himself.’

‘But …’

‘You need no more information than that,’ Snape said. ‘I suggest that you try to forget everything we have discussed. And I mean everything, Mr Malfoy. You have already showed yourself a skilled Occlumens, and if - or more accurately when - you meet with your father again I advise you to be on your guard.’

‘Act like nothing’s happened you mean?’ Draco said, unable to keep the scorn from his voice.

‘Precisely.’

‘But he must have known that I saw into his memory – he’ll know what I did.’

‘One does not lead from the other, Mr Malfoy.’

Draco was just about to argue that that was probably the most stupid statement he had ever heard, when Madame Pomfrey brought Harry back into the room.

‘Me big boy,’ Harry said happily as Snape thanked Madame Pomfrey and took the boy from her, nodding at him.

Snape got up indicating that the conversation was over. ‘As Potter here seems incapable of sitting still for even a moment, we will leave you to get some rest.’

‘Go?’ Harry said, his eyes widening.

‘Yes we are leaving,’ Snape said. ‘And before you start, I will remind you that you are still on a warning from earlier. Any more nonsense and you will be on your stool in the corner as soon as we get back to my chambers.’

Harry immediately fell silent. He was hoping that the batman would let him play when they got back and didn’t want to push his luck.

‘Bye Dwaco,’ he called, waving his hand up and down over Snape’s shoulder as they left the hospital wing.

Draco, however, was too distracted to respond. As he watched Snape carry a babbling Potter from the room, he felt the enormity of what he had done press like the dead weight of ten Cyclops upon him. He hoped that Snape’s assurances about his mother, but, also, his father would prove correct. He had looked up to his father since he was born. Though he had often got stern words (and sometimes curses) in return, he knew, or surmised, that it was just his father’s way of showing that he cared. He didn’t want to be responsible for his destruction.

He thought of what the Oracle of the lake had told him: You will choose as your heart leads you, young Malfoy. He supposed that he had done that in a way – but he wondered why, now it was too late, he wished with all his heart that he could go back and change the moment at which he finally caught a glimpse into the life that his father led.