Tonight his godson was sitting quietly in his office. Obviously a day which had depressed him somewhat, Snape mused as he discreetly scrutinised Malfoy from Dumbledore's desk where he sat answering parent’s letters. It would happen like this; most nights Draco would be arrogant and often spiteful, strutting around Snape's quarters as though he owned both them and Snape himself. Snape would cringe inwardly and attempt to ignore the more subtle threats and hints against his character and loyalty to the Dark Lord while using indifference as an answering tactic to the more obvious slants which the boy threw towards him.

Occasionally he would wonder how much Draco really knew and how much he suspected. If he was really suspicious as to which side of the card his godfather's face looked out from or if he was merely trying to assert his own manhood and feeling of self-power by belittling Snape's own authority.

But then, other nights, such as tonight Snape would spend the evening watching his withdrawn charge look like the young boy he really was. Confused and scared of the world and the hatred which filled his small portion of it. For, on nights such as these Snape truly believed that Draco admitted to himself that he had taken a wrong turn and had signed his life to something which now entrapped him, suffocating his joy and drowning him in its madness.

On nights such as these he felt hope.

Hope that the world was mad and that Draco would one day walk free from the insanity before it consumed his soul. As it had done his. 

Snape scratched out a student’s idea of what made a safe and effective potion to heal magical burns and told them that they should try reading a textbook before they left school. The next paper proved little better. They had at least managed to assemble a rough idea of the correct ingredients however, Snape mused. He thought for a moment and then flicked the paper back over to see the name of the author.  'Luna Lovegood'. Snape narrowed his eyes before thoughtfully scribbling in red ink across the entirety of her methodology and writing that he would have 'thought someone who had managed to attain a place in their 6th year at Hogwarts should have been able to concoct even the simplest of potions that Brunei had described as to the healing of burns.'  He hoped the girl would take the hint to find the book in the library and that no-one else would see the suggestion for what it was.

There was a movement by the fireplace and Snape glanced up to see Draco had shifted to lie across the chair arms and was scowling into the fire. Snape frowned. If Draco had been facing him (and he hadn’t trained him so well in the art of occlumency) he might have tried finding out what was going through his godson’s mind. As it was...

"Problem Draco?" he asked his voice silky with indifference. But just at the right level to suggest he did care about the boy's wellbeing. He knew he would expect nothing less.

"Not that you would care!" Draco snarled back. Then flushed slightly and shifted in his chair. Snape raised one eyebrow. "Uh- I didn't mean it like that. I- I meant that, um, it isn't really any of your business." Snape pursed his lips and leaned back slightly in the headmaster's chair. Draco must really be bothered by something tonight - it wasn't like the boy to be so inarticulate.

"I would still care, Draco." Snape said his voice surprisingly gentle. Draco looked round in surprise. Then he turned back to the fire.

"I know." He muttered, slouching down in the chair. "But, like I said, it's not your business."

Snape's lips thinned then. There had been a time, when Draco had been younger that the boy would have confided in him with anything. Especially that which he felt unable to talk about with his father. But ever since Lucius' arrest, Draco had spoken less and less to his teacher, preferring his own counsel and the listening ears and silent mouths of his two bodyguards.

And though Draco had initially allowed Snape to see his grief and terror after Dumbledore's death last summer, he was now more of a closed book than ever before. Snape did not know if Draco was worried about his allegiance to the Dark Lord, or if the Dark Lord had produced another task for the young Malfoy to prove himself. He hoped not. He had not heard of any such plans and if there were any then it did not bode well for him as it could only mean one thing: he was falling out of favour with the Dark Lord. And if that happened... Snape suppressed a shudder. The order needed any information he could silently feed them, whether they would accept it or not. And Dumbledore had tasked him with a message to deliver to the Potter brat, which, if the Dark Lord chose to reject him, would mean almost certainly that he would fail.

As things stood now, even with the potions he had made and his position in the school and inner circle, he did not fancy his chances against his Lord. Since he had killed Dumbledore he had found it harder and harder to maintain his occlumency shields and focus. He needed the Dark Lord's complete trust to avoid a true invasion and investigation of his mind.

Time to change the subject.

"Draco, what happened today between Mr Nott and Mr Longbottom?"

"Huh?" Draco craned his head round to look at Snape. "Oh, nothing much I don't think Severus, just the usual stuff."

"Mr Nott tried to curse Mr Longbottom did he not?"

"Hmm... Quite possibly.  Would have served Longbottom right if Nott had managed to hit him." Draco smirked and Snape winced inwardly. He did not think that even James Potter would have tried the same curse. Of course, Black might have, he mused. He was sure his brother Regulus would have heard of it.

"Mr Nott should have been more careful." He snapped. "Had it hit Mr Longbottom his grandmother would have been able to file for expulsion."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Severus - you're being over dramatic. Whose side are you on anyway?" Snape froze, before narrowing his eyes to slits. He opened his mouth to berate the boy's cheek when, "Gryffindor's or ours?"

Snape allowed himself to smirk. "Ours, naturally Draco. But the school governors are unfortunately terribly unbiased in that respect." A pause. "And I must at least play the part of Headmaster of a, even if my rules would be quite different. At least for the moment." He let the last sentence hang in the air as a suggestion of future times. Anything really that Draco cared to imagine. It would not do, after all, to be too specific in his morals.

The boy smirked lazily back at him from under his platinum blonde fringe. He looked like a cat with the cream. And Snape relaxed in that gaze, allowing the mantle of Death Eater and loyal follower of the Dark Lord to fall over him completely that night.