Three days. That's how long Potter had been contained in that horrid room of his, staring at the shadows on the walls as they grew larger and night fell, and then staring at the sunlight as it peaked through the window the following morning.
It was quite clear that there was not an abundance of things to do besides staring; Potter's school books had been locked up and carried off, and the Muggle uncle didn't seem the reasonable type. In fact, from what Draco had seen, mentioning 'summer reading' might result in yet another verbose dispute.

Though he'd not been watching him without pause, Draco had a feeling that his relatives had not fed Potter since he was first locked in that room. However, that did not mean that Potter went without food. He would at least once a day and no more than twice, drop to the floor beside his bed and pull out some packaged sweet or other unhealthy food from his little hiding spot.

Never once did the determined Gryffindor spirit he was so known for show its face. Potter never bounded to the door and demanded to be let out, he never devised an escape with some secret magical object previously thought to be a myth, he didn't even perform any underage magic...though that was probably due to his current lack of a wand.

And that was something else, Draco thought with irritation. Since when did Potter willingly let a Muggle, relative or not, take his wand? Yes, there had been a brief struggle, and Potter had gotten his uncle to lock the wand away instead of letting the red-faced man cling onto it himself, but still....

A Wizard's wand was power and protection. To even let another Wizard use one's wand was a sign of great trust. For a Muggle to take Potter's wand away and leave him vulnerable, it was ridiculous.

Potter was proving to be a disappointment and a bigger mystery all at the same time.

The only change that ever occurred was the few times a day that the click of locks being undone could be heard, and Potter would be released from the room to go use the loo. Barely five minutes later, he almost always returned, and the door was closed by some unseen hand. Sometimes it shut so fast, Potter barely got past the threshold before it tried to slam into his face.

When this happened, Draco mocked in his head that a broken nose on Potter would be an improvement, but the mental words felt wrong and somewhat shameful.

When Potter came back in the room his face would always be wet where he'd washed it in the bathroom sink, and probably drank as much water as he could hold as well.

Draco's nose crinkled as a thought came to him; no bathing for at least three days. Gross, and yet, it really wasn't Potter's fault.

Potter's hair even seemed to be suffering, it was limp and his bangs fell in his face. Besides his appearance, Potter himself showed very little signs of his captivity affecting him. He sat in different places around the room. On his bed, in the corner, in front of the window, in front of the door, and he just stared at whatever lay before him.

One day, Draco had sat in front of the mirror, almost leaning against the surface while Potter sat cross legged atop the rickety bed. His eyes stared ahead, blinking rarely, but occasionally flickering towards the door or to the window when sounds of life would creep into his little room.

Time dragged on. The past few days just watching Potter watch the world pass by were some of the longest days of Draco's life. He found himself wishing he could use Legilimency on Potter through the glass, just to catch a glimmer of his thoughts...or sense the true nature of his emotions. Who could sit so long in solitude and be so damn quiet, was he even thinking? Had his brain turned to mush with no one to talk to?

The door to the room suddenly started to open. Potter jumped off the bed so quick that his sudden motion startled Draco into jerking away from the mirror, his back bumping into the chair behind him so hard that it almost tipped over.

"Merlin," Draco breathed, closing his eyes for a second as his heart settled down inside his chest.

"Here," it was the voice of Potter's aunt. "Well, come on--get in there!"

Potter's snowy owl flew in the room where it landed on Potter's shoulder, turned itself around and hooted reproachfully at the aunt. Draco would almost swear he heard her grinding those long horse like teeth of hers.

"Write back to those people, tell them you're fine and that your summer is going good." She started to shut the door but Potter stopped her with quick words.

"Wait, don't I get to read my letter?"

There was a quiet pause. "I think you lost that right quite some time ago." The door shut, and the locks clicked back into place.

Potter closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment and a light breeze suddenly lifted his limp hair off his forehead and ruffled the owls feathers. She nipped Potter warningly on the ear, and the breeze died away as quickly as it began.

"Sorry," he muttered shortly and turned to stare out the window, his fists clenched painfully hard at his sides.

The door didn't open again for the rest of the day.

................................................................................................................

The next day, Draco waited until noon to enter the library. He walked the grounds, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun on his face. He really needed to get out more. Just as long as he was not out in it long enough to freckle. To bear any resemblance to the Weasley's, well, that would just not do.

He wondered what the Weasley's would think of Potter's confinement. Did they know about his relatives being so upset at him? Would they care if they did? Or was this normal Muggle behavior, or at least normal for Potter's Muggle relations?

As the sun rose higher in the sky and the summer heat began to get a little too warm, Draco retired inside and walked to the library with more eagerness that was probably permitted. He cast the spell while the library door was still swinging shut, and tapped his wand against his hand in a slight show of impatience as the clear glass materialized in front of him.

Potter had his back partially turned to Draco, and was peering at an object in his hands. He turned and Draco saw it was a can and Potter was ineffectively trying to pry the lid off. He looked more tired than he had the previous day.

Draco didn't see how he managed that; if there was one thing Potter had time to do in the long, slow hours he spent in his room, it was sleep.

From behind him, Draco heard the door to the library open and knowing it was time for lunch, he waved a distracted hand at the table on his left. "Leave it there, Moppet."

There was something he should have realized sooner though. Perhaps if he hadn't been so distracted by the bizarre sight of Potter wrestling with an aluminum can, he wouldn't have been caught. As it was, Draco's mind caught up too slowly with all the clues that is was not Moppet that had entered his new hideout.

House elves didn't use doors, for one. Secondly, they didn't carry the scent of potions ingredients.

Draco drew his wand to cancel the mirror spell, his heart having already sped up as he realized someone knew and his secret was no longer his alone.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape said in a low, dangerous tone. "Trying to hide whatever you've done only makes you appear more guilty than you might be...though at the moment, I don't know if that is even possible."

Draco lowered his wand slowly, then bowed his head.

There was no use in even trying to hide what he'd discovered, though it certainly needed a well worded explanation...and he was fresh out of those. There was one thing he was thinking of clearly, Snape was not one he needed to get on the bad side of, not now anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Draco turned around and stared at his Professor with his head held high. Though he might not feel confident, it didn't mean he couldn't look it. Even if his professor could see straight through his mask.

Snape wasn't looking at him though, he was staring at the mirror with no faint amount of distrust. Draco glanced back and saw Potter had managed to pry the lid off the can and was fishing out bits of vegetables to drop them into his owl's cage.

The owl gazed at him reproachfully and Potter frowned back.

"It's not my fault, Hedwig. Catch yourself a juicy mouse next time you fly out, and bring me back a sandwich while you're at it."

Turning away from his irritable bird, Potter sunk onto his bed which creaked loudly and turned the can of cold soup up and slurped noisily. Snape raised an eyebrow at that, but made no other motion and Draco felt words escape his traitorous mouth before he could swallow them.

"Don't tell."

Snape gave Draco a swift, piercing look. His sharp gaze holding Draco in his place and making him wish he could melt into the carpet. After scanning his face, as if looking for the answers there, Snape looked back at the mirror.

"You have thought about the repercussions you may suffer for breaking several privacy laws, and on Harry Potter no less?"

Draco blinked and then tried not to flush in his embarrassment. "Actually, no."

It was Snape's turn to blink, and he managed to even make that look dangerous, his eyes flashing and hardening as he walked closer to Draco.

"Just when I thought you above this sort of idiocy you go and prove me wrong. Your orders from the Dark Lord have nothing to do with Potter, if you are planning to cause him harm I would suggest you re-think immediately. He is to be left to the Dark Lord--"

"What?"Draco snapped, glaring back at Snape and trying not to feel intimidated. "No, stop--I'm not trying to murder bloody Harry Potter!"

"Language," Snape hissed, eyes darting from Draco to the mirror where Potter was scraping out the last few remnants of his meal.

"I found the spell, wasn't sure what it would do--and it took me ages to get it right and even then Potter's the only one it would work on."

This wasn't entirely true; after getting it to work on Potter, Draco hadn't wanted to pry in on anyone else's life. He doubted anyone else had a secret double life as interesting as Potter's. Pansy certainly didn't, even listening to her talk about her summer on the train ride back to Hogwarts every year made him want to have an out of body experience.

Snape didn't look entirely appeased, and so Draco continued with an explanation that he hoped wouldn't make him look like a complete fool.

"I wanted to use the spell to get some blackmail at first," Draco shrugged, eyes roving back at Potter in the mirror.

He didn't notice Snape's eyes watching him closely. Eyes that always caught the fine details others missed, sometimes aided by his skill as a Legilimens, but sometimes not. Maybe if Draco had been thinking more clearly, he would have tried to compose his face more, but by the time he glanced back at Snape, it was too late. He had seen the hesitation in the way Draco worried his bottom lip, a habit that had gotten his knuckles rapped on by his father's cane many a time. Along with the hesitation, he'd seen the frustration. A frustrated Malfoy was a dangerous thing, and it could make one commit stupid, regrettable actions.

"Explain." The demanding tone made Draco stiffen up and spin around.

"Why should I? This is my house; and I certainly didn't invite you--"

"You clearly don't want anyone to know about this; but if you think I have any qualms about telling your mother and even the Dark Lord himself you are severely mistaken. I repeat, explain."

It was true. Draco didn't want to share this with anyone. They might put a stop to it, and he still didn't understand Potter, he had so many questions still. Like, why did the family that should have adored him seem to despise his very presence?

There was something else as well...Draco felt rather possessive about the spell. He'd made it work, and so he alone should be able to use it in any way he wanted to. Privacy laws be damned.

Though he doubted Snape would go to the Dark Lord, he would most certainly go to his mother, and in some cases, she could be a lot scarier.

"Fine," Draco said finally. "Just so we're clear, I'm not using this spell for any...icky reasons. I have no desire to see Potter in all his scrawny, naked glory--just in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't. But, I certainly am now."

Draco shot him a glare. "No joking right now, I'm serious."

Raising an eyebrow, as if to say, 'Me, jesting? Not likely.' the professor flicked his hand at Draco in a nonverbal demand for his continuation.

"It's just that...I really, just don't understand. Potter isn't supposed to be like this."

Snape seemed to roll his eyes at Draco's inadequate wording. Or perhaps, he had been expecting a more verbose answer.

"What exactly do you have trouble comprehending about Potter? He's not exactly a mystery; just an arrogant brat without any ability to obey authority. This is of course not at all recognizable in the eyes of his adoring friends."

Draco frowned at the words Snape said, each one seeming to drip with disdain.

"That's just it though. The people you'd expect to adore him the most, even worship him, seem to treat him like utter rubbish."

Snape's eyes half closed, as if he was watching Draco become a Potter-lover before his very eyes and he was disgusted by it.

"Don't you think, Draco, that you are embellishing just a tad?"

"No, sir. Why would I try to make Potter's home life into some tale of woe? I still hate the ugly git, but--well, watch! You saw him, eating out of a can, as if he was living on the street and used to it. They haven't let him out of that room to do anything other than piss in nearly five days; his Muggle uncle threw his wand in a trunk and carried it off--after yelling in his face and shaking him so hard Potter's head almost flew off..."

Snape was utterly still. His face showed no emotion as he listened but his eyes were constantly roving from Draco and his dramatic speech to Potter in his dark and gloomy room.

"I've only ever seen Potter stubborn and acting all empowered, like he rules whatever room he's in. But here he's like a beaten down puppy scared of making too much noise...you'd think he'd at least be...angry at them, or something! Not just accept it."

Draco crossed his arms, glaring at the mirror charm. "It's just sad, and I don't understand it."

A soft snort from Snape made Draco stiffen and turn his head. "Really, Draco, feeling bad for Potter? I can assure you whatever his relatives have done to him in the short amount of time you've been watching was well deserved. Did you even consider that perhaps every time you've seen him in public, his little show of superiority was just that, a show? He might even believe in all the bravado he puts on. In the face of danger, however, his mask will fall off and then it's clear that he is no more worthy of his title The Boy Who Lived than Gilderoy Lockhart was of his."

Draco opened his mouth to protest and Snape shut him up with a sharp flick of his hand. "No, listen to me. Would Dumbledore himself placed his little Golden Boy in a house where he would be anything other than adored?"

That...was a good retort. Draco immediately found himself doubting, but still he was not willing to back down. He opened his mouth to tell Snape about the dead cat, and how his uncle said he'd only taken Potter in out of a sense of responsibility, but Snape's eyes told him that if continued this argument of sorts, that Draco would regret it.

It would probably be a waste of words and oxygen anyway. Snape probably hated Potter more than Draco did, even if something was wrong in the Gryffindor's household, why would he care? He'd most likely be pleased.

Fine, he would back down now, but only in ways that Snape could see. In his mind, he was sure that Potter was, dare he say it, loathed by his relatives...now came the question of how to use this information for his own good without revealing how he'd come across it. After all, that's why he'd continued watching anyway.

Snape was studying the mirror now, eyes narrowed again as he watched Potter who was now sitting on the floor under his window and staring at the cat flap his relatives used to push food into the room.

"I will keep your secret for now, but, you need to be more careful Draco," Snape murmured. "Ward the door to this room. I will be back, in the meantime, don't forget your mission." With those warning words, Snape cast one last glance behind his shoulder at Potter who still hadn't moved, and swept out of the room.

................................................................................................................

The Headmaster's office was lit only by a softly burning fireplace when Snape flooed in later that same day. One might think that in the middle of summer, the room would be much too hot, but the fire was spelled to bring forth a cozy atmosphere more than it was meant for heat.

Dumbledore seemed intent on surrounding himself with objects and sights that should inspire peaceful and affable emotions. His oddly decorated robes, the immense sock collection he was fond of bringing up when Severus was most loath to listen, and of course, Fawkes.

The phoenix was eyeing him now, rather unnervingly as it always did and Snape inclined his head the slightest bit. Some magical creatures deserved respect.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, not looking at all surprised to see him. One long, wrinkled finger twirled over a teacup filled to the brim with a dark pink liquid that carefully flowed around the edges of the dainty china. In all his years of visits, the majority of which had involved at least one drink, whether it was tea or something stronger, Snape had never seen Dumbledore spill a single drop as he wandlessly stirred his cup.

He'd even tried to shock the older man into clumsily stirring a bit too hard, but he hadn't managed it yet.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon," Dumbledore smiled, and gestured toward his tea. "Would you care for some?"

Snape drew closer, and sniffed delicately. Hibiscus and cinnamon tea, that explained the horrid color, and it certainly wasn't to his tastes.

"No, Headmaster, thank you." He sat down in the chair in front of the large desk, just as he had a hundred times before.

"Earl Grey, then? You know I always prefer to drink with my friends, rather than in front of them."

Snape nodded, "That's fine."

Dumbledore smiled, finally appeased and summoned a house elf to ask for the tea.

"Albus," Snape began, once the elf had returned with the tea and then departed again with a pop. Dumbledore stopped his slow tea stirring, noticing that Snape had something of import to discuss.

"You learned something from your visit with young Mister Malfoy? I wouldn't think he had come across anything worrisome yet," Dumbledore ran a hand over his beard, his eyes looking at the opposite wall of the office with a far off look.

"It may very well prove worrisome," Snape said, almost looking amused, "but not for the reasons you may think. It has very little to do with his mission. Upon his hopeless search, it seems Mister Malfoy came across a spell that does something I don't think he had fully considered."

Dumbledore's full attention was centered on Snape, his hands lightly holding the arms of his chair as he listened. Fawkes was still, possibly sensing the slight tension in the air.

"It's a spell for spying, one I've never even heard mention of. Even after several hours searching my own texts I found only spells whose results were pitiful in comparison to what I saw this spell do. From what I observed, the spell caster receives a full view of the chosen subject, words spoken from the subject and to the subject can be heard as well. The person that Draco has chosen though is the possibly dangerous part."

"Yes?" Dumbledore urged quietly when Snape paused to take a long drink of his tea.

"Albus," Snape said, slowly placing his teacup back on the saucer and leaning back in his chair. "He's watching Potter."