"Hey Dad!" Harry said, his usual greeting sounding only slightly more excited as usual as he stormed through my door in a whirlwind Friday evening. "Professor Dumbledore told me that you're going to be one of the Professors supervising this Hogsmeade weekend. Are you really going to come?"

     "Yes, Albus thinks that I need to get out," I said casually, though inside I was quietly leaping with joy. Fine, I don't leap with joy. Smirking with joy. Yes, that's better.

     "But ... isn't it dangerous?" Harry asked anxiously, twisting his hands. "I thought you had to stay at the castle."

     "There will be Aurors tailing me," I said with mild distaste. "Besides, Dumbledore told me of a good hiding place should I need to get away. It isn't as though I'm going anywhere besides the Three Broomsticks." Harry seemed rather relieved by my statement, which I was glad for.

       For every excursion, no fewer than two Professors accompanied the entourage of students that went to Hogsmeade. We didn't follow anyone around; we were merely there in case there was some sort of emergency, major or minor. Ninety-nine percent of the time it was quiet, and a good excuse to have a hot drink on a cold day. I had yet to find out who was to be on duty with me, but I couldn't even have cared if it was that dingbat Trelawney, as I had a rare chance to get out of the castle. I felt bad for what a hassle it was every time I needed to go somewhere, as the Order had to rally up a few people to follow me at a distance. Normally I avoided placing such tasks upon people who were already quite busy, but Albus had insisted I go tomorrow. Even Minerva told me I had better go or she was going to make me do extra Animagus lessons during the time I would have been in Hogsmeade. Quite frankly, I had made no more progress since the day I had fainted, and that was weeks ago, so another lesson would not be overly enjoyable.

       It was almost strange how much Albus and Minerva wanted me to go. Although, I must say, I had an inkling as to why Albus did. He probably wanted me to get my mind off of what was ailing me. I thought that he could tell just how nervous I was for my appointment on Sunday. That was when I would find out what it was that was making me cough up blood, and to tell the truth I really did not want to know. Either way I would find out, and on the day of the appointment I would tell Harry and Draco that I was heading to Grimmauld Place to tend to a potion for the Order, as it was too dangerous to brew it at Hogwarts where anyone could find it. I knew, deep down, that it would be easier for me in the long run if I just told Harry and Draco straight up that something was wrong with me. Yet I did not want to worry them unnecessarily, these days. Both had heavy burdens to bear, and to add to them the weight of my illness was almost too much for me to bear. So I didn't say anything, and instead let Harry tell me about the upcoming Quidditch game: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

     "Draco and I have a bet going," he said enthusiastically as I gave him a mug of hot chocolate. Hot chocolate was something of a Friday tradition for Harry and I. Draco was always busy Friday nights with Quidditch practice, so it was just the two of us if we had the time. I always had a cup of tea, and I made sure to have Harry's hot chocolate ready for when he came through the door in the evening. We both looked forward to it. Harry took a sip of his drink and then ploughed on explaining what he and Draco were wagering. "So, if Gryffindor loses, I have to eat an entire blood pop. If Slytherin loses Draco has to sing the Gryffindor version of Weasley is Our King and bow to Ron when he sees him during Transfiguration in the morning."

     "A blood pop?" I said, grimacing. Although I couldn't help but feel that Draco's promise was a little bit worse. Then again, he was in a tricky position these days with the Slytherins. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

     "Yeah, pretty gross right?" Harry said, taking another swallow of his hot chocolate. "Well, Draco did say that if I really wanted to I didn't have to eat all of it. But it's not like they use real blood, even if it tastes like it. It might be an interesting challenge."

      "I suppose," I muttered back, thinking I had tasted enough blood to last a lifetime. Between having been in some interesting situations as a Death Eater and not being the most liked student during my Hogwarts days, I hoped to never have a mouth full of blood again. I scowled internally when I recalled the blood spotted handkerchief in my pocket.

      "Look, it stopped snowing," Harry said, glancing out the small window peeking out into the grounds. Big flakes had been drifting down for two days at least, leaving drifts.

     "It will be a cold practice for Draco," I commented, upon looking at the clouds clearing. Without the thick layer of clouds acting as insulation the temperature would surely drop.

     "I love snow," Harry said thoughtfully, staring out the window as though lost in a daydream. "Sometimes when it snowed back when I was living at Privet Drive I would go out and make snow angels. It used to make Aunt Petunia so mad because most often it was pretty mucky and wet. But it was worth having her angry at me. The snow angels were so cheerful. I liked them."

     "Lily and I used to go out into the grounds and make snowmen," I said just as fondly. I chuckled slightly and went on. "In third year we charmed one so that when someone went by it would explode. We waited in one of the greenhouses for a person to walk past it, watching through the glass. We were expecting a student ... but Albus walked by instead and got a face full of snow. He saw our horrified expressions through the glass, seeing as we forgot to duck out of sight because we were so surprised." I shook my head in amusement.

     Harry looked stuck between silent laughter and sympathy. "What did he do?"

     "Oh, Albus was far too good to us. We rushed out of the greenhouse to apologize, and he really should have given us detention, but oddly enough he just stood there, laughed ... and said the looks on our faces were priceless. Then he walked away, just like that."

     "So ... what's the spell?" Harry asked curiously, a rather devilish twinkle in his eyes.

     "Nice try," I said, waving my wand to send his empty mug to the sink. "Now, go bother someone else so I can mark some papers."

     "Okay," Harry replied cheerfully. "Bye Dad."

 And he was out the door. Even once he was gone there was a certain cheer left in the room. With the Dark Lord was stirring up fear everywhere I relished those moments.

     I marked papers for a good half hour. Due to the fact that the assignment on the bezoar I had assigned my first years had turned my brain to soup, I decided I would take a walk. Looking at the clock I realised that Quidditch practice would just be finishing up, so I decided to wander down to the pitch, hoping to say hello to Draco. He was very excited for the upcoming game and I wanted to know how the Slytherin team was shaping up anyway.

     The fresh air felt good in my lungs when I swept outdoors and into the grounds. The Quidditch pitch loomed in the distance and my cloak flapped in the slight wind. The sun was setting in a blaze of glory, the colours pouring over the snow like melted gold stirred into a pot of crimson. I was surprised to find the pitch deserted when I got there; nothing but emptiness in every direction. I was about to turn around and go back, thinking they had ended practice early, when I spotted someone sitting up in the stands. The snow-covered seats around him made the picture a little sad to my eyes, but maybe that was because I was reminded a little bit of my loneliness after Lily and I stopped being friends. I knew who that lonely looking student was, as I knew that blonde hair anywhere.

     I didn't think Draco noticed me growing nearer as I walked through the stands, and if he did he was silent. His broomstick was propped up on his left as I sat down at his right. At once I knew something wasn't right. He would have said something by now. His gloved hands were clenched tightly.

    "What are you doing up here Draco?" I asked, my voice echoing strangely in the emptiness of the stadium.

     He did not reply, but stared off into the distance with a cold, stony look upon his face.

    "What happened?" I said.

    He examined his gloved hands for a few moments before replying. His eyes did not meet mine. "You know how most of the Slytherins haven't been so friendly to me lately?"

    "Mhm."

    "Well ..." he continued softly. He seemed to have trouble finding the right words. Draco took a deep breath. "I came to practice today only to find that they'd already had it. They replaced me."

    "What?" I spluttered. "Why?"

    "Apparently I wasn't good enough," spat Draco bitterly. "Even though I know for a fact that I've beaten their new seeker in tryouts every year he's come out."

     "Well, that's ridiculous then," I told him, anger welling up inside me. While Draco may have gotten on the team partially because of Lucius' influence the first year he played, he had trained hard so that people would stop saying it was merely money that got him there. He'd earned his place by now, and for them to say he was not good enough was asinine. "I'll talk to them."

      "Severus, no," whispered Draco.

      I made to protest but he cut me off, his voice much stronger this time. Defiant almost.

      "I know why they kicked me off, you know why. They won't change their minds and quite frankly I don't want to be on a team with them if they're such judgemental idiots! " He clenched his hands again, his angry breaths filling the air with fog. I felt a small swell of pride in my chest at his statement, but the pain made it melancholy.

     "Draco, you don't have to give up Quidditch," I said, my voice calm. "This is my fault in part ... I think that I can-"

     "No. And I don't care that you being discovered is part of the reason they hate me now. They were never true friends anyway. Friends don't hex each other when their backs are turned! I don't want to be with them anymore than I have to."

     "You're sure, then?" I asked, still having trouble understanding why he was giving up something he loved so much.

     "Yes," he nodded and stood up, a kind of fire in his eyes I had never seen before. His voice grew louder. "I don't care anymore. I just don't. Why even try to do what they want me to do anymore? I DON'T CARE!" Panting, he stood there as the sun retreated further and the cold of night-time crept up on us. The echo of his voice rang through the snowy air, it and it alone making its way across the cold landscape.

     "Draco," I muttered, not even sure of what I was going to say but somehow hoping he would see just how much I understood the pain he felt. That I would give anything to make all of this go away.

     "I'm not going along with any of their rubbish anymore!" His voice was cracking now. "They're going to know that I'm not like them! They'll see ..."

     He grabbed his broomstick and before I could even say anymore he was soaring out of the stands and across the grounds, his face contorted with rage. But I knew better. He wasn't truly that angry; he never was. Lucius had always said tears were a sign of weakness. So Draco hid his sadness with anger. When he was severely disappointed or upset, he chose rage instead. It was easier to shout, and yell and curse; it was the safer option when he lived in the Malfoy house. This response had been ingrained in him, and little did he know it had been ingrained in me too.

      As I trudged slowly to the castle I hoped he would not do anything rash, as I didn't want this to get worse for him. I worried greatly that in the end, the way the Slytherins were treating him might break him somehow, and cause fractures within him I could never repair. The cough that rattled my lungs halfway to the castle only increased the clenching feeling of worry my stomach. The flecks of blood that I spat onto the snow made it feel as though my stomach had dropped to me toes. Such a harsh reminder.