Draco stiffened and pulled his wand with a glare as he rounded the corner only to be confronted by Nott, Goyle, and the Carrows. They looked at him with deep malice and sneered at his wand. It had been a long first week, between the little attacks from Slytherins, the already very busy classes, and the increase in odd dreams about a glowing orb and his usual nightmares about his father. Not to mention the constant effort it was taking to keep his magic under control. The only relief he got from the strain was in Potions and Runes with Potter, a little in Defense and Astronomy due to Potter’s slight proximity, training with Leif, and while asleep. He was exhausted and truly not up to dealing with Nott yet again.

“Where are you going, traitor?” Nott sneered.

“Place called the library,” Draco said. “Doubt you’ve heard of it.”

Nott stepped towards him. “Won’t find nothing in there that’ll save you.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to the four wands that had been drawn. He fought his magic down. If they learned of it, they’d tell Voldemort, and his bounty would change from death to imprisonment.

“See, we are going to do as we’re told,” Nott said in a low voice. “We’re not weak.” He spat the word and it took everything Draco had not to flinch.

“I think you’re the definition,” Draco said and found himself suddenly pinned to the wall.

Nott threw a knee to his wrist, making him drop his wand reflexively in pain while pressing his forearm across Draco’s neck. His eyes flicked to Hestia as she picked up his wand before moving back to Nott when he shoved his wand into Draco’s cheek. He clenched his teeth as the wand tip began to grow warm, quickly heating. He desperately wanted to do something, but it was four on one and he didn’t have his wand.

Nott leaned in to whisper into his ear. “We were told to show you what happens to traitors which means long and slow. Ready for that? Ready to see if you absorbed your training?”

Draco stiffened further, praying his fear didn’t show on his face. He knew what would be done, at least some of it. Being tortured the way Voldemort would do it was a key part of training. To take it with little to no reaction was paramount. It was also to instill knowledge of what to expect if you deserted.

Nott was right. It was long and slow.

His teeth were beginning to ache with how tightly he was clenching them as he felt his skin begin to bubble under Nott’s wand. Tears stung at the pain, but he refused to let them fall. He glared hard directly into Nott’s eyes.

“Problem, ladies and gentlemen?”

Draco stumbled as he was released so quickly he had no time to regain his balance. He heard wood hit stone and found his wand rolling to his feet. He scowled at the other Slytherins, gingerly covering the no doubt nasty burn on his cheek with one hand while he snatched up his wand with the other. He watched Snape sweep up to them, hands behind his back, robes billowing, and face severe. He had an eyebrow raised as he looked at each of them, his eyes lingering on Draco a moment longer than the others.

“I believe I asked you a question,” Snape said, looking back at Draco’s attackers. “Mr. Nott?”

“No, no problem, Professor,” Nott said. “Just reminding Malfoy about…house loyalty.”

Draco glared at the other Slytherin, dropping his hand from his cheek to grip his bag strap to avoid doing anything.

“I was unaware such a conversation would require wands,” Snape said, looking pointedly at the wands still in all their hands. “Ten points from Slytherin. I recommend, Mr. Nott, having such conversations in more…private locations.”

Draco looked at the professor with wide eyes. Had Snape just told the Slytherins to wait until they wouldn’t be caught to attack him and fulfil their mission? He knew the man had to pretend to also want Draco’s head, but would he really just let it happen?

“You never know who may be watching,” Snape added, giving Draco a very pointed stare.

Draco understood then. Snape was watching him as much as possible and was also watching the others. The comment about private locations was for him, not them. It was a warning and even a plea to try and stay where Snape could see him or find him.

“Yes, Professor,” Nott said tightly and turned to leave, but not before leaning close to Draco to mutter, “Catch you later, Malfoy.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at the deliberate word choice and Nott’s sneer, watching him and the others storm off down the corridor. He turned back to Snape, dropping his glare and pocketing his wand.

“Where are you off to, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked casually.

Draco looked at him, unsure how to feel. It had been a strange week of not being around Snape constantly, to not share meals or work space or decently friendly conversations. He understood why they had to be nothing more than teacher and student, but it was hard, given they had clearly been more than that for seven weeks. Not to mention, his magic was going crazy having Snape’s so close and not being allowed to interact or feel it.

“Library, sir,” he said. “Meeting Potter.”

He saw a very small twitch of Snape’s lips and an odd flash in his eye, making Draco wonder if, just maybe, the separation was difficult for Snape as well.

“I’ve been helping him catch up in Runes,” Draco said in a likely unnecessary explanation.

“Very well,” Snape said and suddenly raised a hand into the air. Draco watched curiously as a small jar popped into existence in the professor’s hand before it was handed to him. He took it questioningly. “On your way now. Best not to keep a Gryffindor waiting lest they get bored.”

Draco couldn’t help his half-smile, amused at the jab at Potter’s inability to stay out of trouble. He looked down at the jar as Snape brushed past him, his arm very lightly skimming Draco’s shoulder. The contact made his magic jump and reach out to Snape’s. He was filled, briefly, with the familiar feelings of comfort, grounding, and being held, for that’s what Snape’s magic did. Leif had told him that Snape was his and Potter’s ground, the only magic that could completely calm and support theirs, and not having his around was part of the reason it was hard to stay in control at Hogwarts. Between the Life Bond and the sheer power he and Potter possessed, they were desperate for Snape’s grounding magic and it was necessary to have around. It was unfortunate they couldn’t interact with Snape outside of class and corridor run-ins.

So, he relished the seconds of contact, enjoying the way Snape’s magic wrapped around his before letting go as the distance between them grew. He turned to face the way the professor was heading.

“Professor,” he called and Snape turned around. “My dormmate. You switched Avery with Zabini?”

“I assumed you would prefer not to have to worry about being murdered in your sleep,” Snape said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You have allies, Mr. Malfoy. I suggest you trust in them,” Snape said. “Stay out of trouble.”

Draco smiled, amused, again knowing the comment was because he would be with Potter. “Will I be in trouble if it’s not my fault?”

Snape raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched. “I do not recommend testing that theory,” he said and turned, walking away.

Draco chuckled and continued on his way to the library. He made his way through the shelves to the back where numerous desks were arranged in the open space not far from the Restricted Section. Most of the tables were occupied and he received a variety of glances as he passed, heading for the spiral staircase that was in the corner. He climbed in and crossed the upper level, glancing over the railing down at the lower level of the library. He walked to another far corner where a cozy set-up of a couple of armchairs, a table with a small lamp and desk chairs sat. Potter was already there, books stacked and open on the table and a notebook under his right hand, a quill in hand poised for more writing.

He took a seat to Potter’s left, his back to the corner out of habit, and dropped his bag at his feet, leaning against Potter’s own bag.

“Perfect timing,” Potter said, his friendly tone making Draco arch an eyebrow. The Gryffindor was acting like this was something they did all the time, as though they were…friends. It had been a complete shock when Potter had reached out that first night through their journals and he himself had furthered the shock when he asked Potter to play chess. When Potter had accepted, Draco was sure he’d fallen into another universe. Potter slid the book he was currently perusing over to be in Draco’s view, breaking his musings. “What the hell is that?”

Draco looked where the Gryffindor was pointing. “Merkstave,” he read. “It means ‘dark stick’ and is basically the orientation of a rune when it is carved or written, specifically the opposite of the standard.”

He watched Potter quickly scribble down what he had said.

“That’s what I thought, but my brain wasn’t catching up apparently,” Potter said, pulling the book back and looking up finally. A frown instantly settled on the Gryffindor’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

At first, Draco had no idea what Potter was talking about, but then he remembered what had happened on his way. Pain immediately radiated from his cheek and he looked at the jar Snape had given him.

Burn Paste.

“What do you think?” he said somewhat snappishly as he unscrewed the cap.

“Right,” Potter said, seemingly awkward. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not dead yet,” Draco said flippantly, dabbing some of the cream onto his cheek.

“That’s not funny,” Potter said with a disapproving frown and Draco looked at him with another raised eyebrow.

“It wasn’t supposed to be,” he said, closing the jar and tossing it into his bag. “What about you?” He pointed to the strip of white tied around Potter’s left hand.

The same hand curled slightly. “Nothing. Cut myself,” Potter said.

“When? Not in Potions,” Draco said, quickly running through Monday and Thursday when they had double Potions. He wasn’t sure who decided to fit Potions into the week by having two double periods Monday mornings and Thursday afternoons, but they were sadistic.

“Dinner. Knife slipped,” Potter said. “Just forget about it. Let’s do this.”

Draco didn’t believe the story for a second, but he also had no illusions that Potter would tell him anything. Despite Potter’s easy welcome, this was not a common situation for them; they weren’t friends. So, he nodded and pulled out his own books, readying for the review session.

They reviewed Ancient Runes for an hour and a half, managing to get Potter caught up on the majority of the introductory concepts such as translation, transcription, interpretation, and identification and the forms of runes including standard, merkstave, variant, and ligature. Draco was impressed at Potter’s interest and willingness to listen to him, not to mention at his own patience for Potter’s questions and, sometimes, intense confusion.

They moved onto other homework once they called a close to the review, this time working in a steady silence, Potter on Charms and Draco on Arithmancy. It reminded Draco a lot of moments at Prince Manor. He was partly surprised it was possible, that they could sit there working together peacefully. Up until that summer, none of those words could have ever been attributed to them as a pair. Could he and Potter possibly be on the way to becoming…friends?

They worked through homework for another hour before pushing it all away and drawing out a chess set. He started arranging the pieces, moving to sit across from Potter instead of beside him. The Gryffindor glanced at the cheap Muggle watch he wore.

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” Potter said. “Were you wanting to go?”

“Not particularly,” Draco said, shoving the white pieces at Potter for set up.

“You’re not hungry?” Potter said, sounding surprised though Draco was sure it was he who should be surprised that Potter didn’t seem to want to go to dinner. He’d been able to make several connections over their seven weeks together, all pointing to Potter having been starved by the Muggles. While he was struggling to decide what ideas of Lucius’ he agreed and disagreed with, he was certain he at least hated Potter’s thankfully now-dead Muggle relatives. He hadn’t sorted out his feelings about Muggles in general, but he felt fine in his hatred and disgust of those particular Muggles.

He glanced at Potter and shrugged a shoulder, placing his final piece, his king-side rook. He could eat, but he could also manage without, especially if it meant he could stay away from all the magic.

“Is it…your magic?” Potter asked almost hesitantly as he made the first move, a pawn.

Draco didn’t look up from the board, pretending to strategize to hide his surprise that Potter had guessed the issue. He moved one of his pawns as well.

“The Great Hall is…a lot,” he admitted, not completely sure why he was talking at all, but not actively stopping himself either. “Especially with the teachers…Dumbledore.”

“Right, strong signatures,” Potter said, moving another pawn. “Have you been…okay?”

“I’m managing,” Draco said. “I’m mostly fine right now.”

Potter glanced at him. “My magic?”

Draco nodded, moving a knight.

Potter hummed. “Alexei told me we need Snape.”

Draco couldn’t help his huff, having been told the same thing. How cruel did fate have to be to give them a ground in a man that hated them and they were banned from being around outside class?

“Maybe we should ignore Dumbledore,” Potter said, moving a rook.

Draco looked at him, taking a white pawn. “Snape wasn’t exactly against the ‘return to normal’ plan.”

Potter sighed quietly. “Guess not.”

“Besides, you weren’t even talking to him by the end,” Draco said, remembering the near-total silence that had encompassed Prince Manor for the end of break. He saw Potter’s face tighten. “What happened?”

Potter was silent for a while, staring hard at the board. “Remember the prophecy I learned about?”

Draco moved a bishop to take the rook Potter had finally moved. “The one that shouldn’t be real anymore, but Dumbledore and Voldemort still believe it?”

Potter nodded, moving a pawn. “It’s the reason Voldemort killed my parents and Snape gave it to him.”

Draco didn’t say anything. What could he say? He considered his move while trying not to think about his own parents. He’d been so distracted by classes, his magic, and his death sentence that he’d hardly thought of his parents. He didn’t know what was happening to Lucius and he’d avoided confronting his utterly confusing grief and guilt over his mother’s death. He’d hardly been able to deal with the fact that she was dead, let alone how to feel about it. He felt the grief and guilt threaten to choke him now he acknowledged them, and he stomped them down, moving a knight perhaps more aggressively than he intended if Potter’s look was telling of anything.

“I think I’d like to go back,” Potter said and Draco looked at him in question. “Prince Manor.”

Draco watched Potter move a bishop. He gave a small nod. “Me too.”

It was the truth. Prince Manor was like nowhere he’d ever been before. It had been the best seven weeks of his life and things had been…simpler at Prince Manor. They’d been able to just…be, none of this hiding and acting, though it was hard to know what was the act. Was ‘Summer Snape’ and ‘Summer Potter’ the act or was ‘Hogwarts Snape’ and ‘Hogwarts Potter’? He wanted summer to be real and he wished they could go back. He couldn’t help but think that, somehow in seven weeks and the mess that was the relationship between him, Potter, and Snape, Prince Manor had become…home, the home he couldn’t truly have and would never see again.

They fell silent then, Draco fighting thoughts of his father, dead mother, and his longing for Prince Manor. Potter’s furrowed eyebrows and slight frown indicated he was also stuck in hard thoughts and memories. Their chess game continued and, regardless of his inner turmoil, Draco still enjoyed playing with the Gryffindor who was clearly getting better with every game. This game was a testament to Potter’s improvement as it lasted twice as long as all their other games and he managed to check Draco a handful of times.

Draco smirked when, after a truly valiant attempt, he finally put Potter into checkmate. Potter cursed and sat back with a huff, eyes flickering over the board.

“Losing streak continues, Potter,” he said smugly.

Potter scowled but Draco could tell the Gryffindor wasn’t actually angry. “I’ll beat you at least once.”

“Rematch next weekend?” Draco offered, feeling his stomach twist with nerves. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hang out with Potter and he couldn’t be sure this Saturday wasn’t meant to be a one-time thing. It had been enjoyable, though, and reminded him of Prince Manor.

“Sure,” Potter said, starting to pack away the board. Draco was surprised at the easy, casual agreement. “Has to be Sunday. I’ve got Quidditch practice Saturday.”

Draco nodded. “Same.”

Potter looked at him with a grin. “Still on the team then?”

Draco scoffed in mock offense. “Of course. Not letting Gryffindor get the Cup again.”

“Not likely, Malfoy,” Potter said, still grinning. “I might not be able to beat you at chess, but no way I’m letting Slytherin win the Cup.”

Draco smirked. “We’ll see.”

Potter laughed and got to his feet, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. Draco did the same.

“Let’s go,” Potter said. “It’s almost curfew.”

Draco nodded and they left the library together. Once they got to the Grand Staircase, Draco turned to head down to the dungeons and was surprised when Potter did the same rather than going further up the staircase for Gryffindor Tower. He stopped on a landing and looked at Potter with a frown.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Potter shrugged, looking slightly unsure. “Thought I’d come with you, make sure no one…attacked you again.”

Draco couldn’t explain the immediate rise of defensiveness in him. “I don’t need a Gryffindor to protect me,” he snapped.

“Maybe, but it couldn’t hurt to have a hand if they’re waiting for you,” Potter said.

Draco glared, unsettled by the strange feeling in his chest. Eventually, he just nodded stiffly, knowing it was useless to argue with a Gryffindor, especially Potter. They were in a slightly more uncomfortable silence as they descended the staircase.

“Are there any Slytherins that don’t want to kill you?” Potter asked.

“Plenty, but not many willing to stop those that do,” Draco said.

“Any that are?”

Draco put his hands in his trouser pockets. “Zabini has…helped a couple of times.”

Potter nodded. “Thought it seemed like he and his crew were on your side.”

Draco snorted quietly. “More they’re just not Death Eaters. I really don’t know them.”

“Even still,” Potter said. “At least you’ve got some protection. Snape’s doing what he can too, seems like.”

Draco just nodded. He had noticed Snape’s efforts in Potions as well as the common room. He was surprised Snape was taking any risks to help him, was surprised Snape was helping him at all beyond the summer.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter,” a high voice said, breaking Draco’s thoughts and making the two of them stop. He glared down the hall off their landing at Umbridge. “Out after curfew?”

“It’s not curfew yet,” Potter said and Draco noticed the Gryffindor’s bandaged hand curl into a fist and shake.

“And where are you going, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge said. “As I recall, Gryffindor Tower is in the opposite direction.”

“Just walking with Malfoy,” Potter said.

“I do not believe you, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said. “Another lesson in lying is in order, I see.”

Draco glared. Since the first day, Umbridge had been targeting Potter, just as they’d been warned. “He’s telling the truth, Professor. We were in the library and—”

“I do not believe I was speaking to you, was I, Mr. Malfoy?” Umbridge said. “Helping Mr. Potter with his lies or hiding something yourself? Seems you may be just like your father. How disappointing.”

Draco’s own hands clenched into fists and he glowered at the woman.

“Detention for the both of you,” Umbridge said. “Tomorrow evening after dinner.”

“But—”

“And Tuesday evening,” she interrupted Potter. “To your common rooms now and I suggest reconsidering this secret keeping you've both begun."

Draco could feel Potter’s magic itching to burst out and, while his wasn’t much better, he surreptitiously reached out with a tiny bit of his to try and calm Potter. It wouldn’t do to have Potter accidentally attack a professor and Ministry official, no matter how much she deserved it. He felt their magic tangle and saw Potter relax just a tiny bit.

“Night, Potter,” he said and, when Potter nodded at him, he pulled his magic back. With a final glare at Umbridge’s sickening fake smile, he turned and left, continuing the path to his common room alone. He didn’t see any other students on the way, but found himself immediately confronted when he entered the common room.

The moment he entered, he felt magic hit him and his legs suddenly collapsed underneath him. He barely managed to catch himself to stop from cracking his skull on the stone. He gasped and rolled away when a burn hit his hand and a minor Cutting Curse hit his neck. He pulled his wand, but found it immediately flying out of his hand as he was effectively disarmed. He scrambled to his feet and moved to run for his wand only to be thrown through the air and flung into a wall. He would have crumpled to the floor again if a hand hadn’t suddenly appeared around his throat, pinning him to the wall. His hands flew to the wrist at his neck, wincing at the wand tip that jabbed into his jugular. He glowered at Ivan MacNair while struggling for air. Behind him with wands out stood William Avery and Silas Perrot.

He supposed it was only a matter of time before more Death-Eaters-to-be took their shot at him. It was too much to hope that he’d only have to deal with Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and the Carrows.

“Caught ourselves a traitor at last,” MacNair sneered.

“Pretty poor showing,” Draco sniped. “Took you an entire week. Nott at least took a shot on the train.”

The hand on his throat tightened and the wand dug in harder. He clawed at the hand, leaving nail marks on the skin and gasped for a breath.

“Not sure you’re in much of a position to be smart, Malfoy,” MacNair said.

“How’s it feel to be a traitor? A deserter?” Avery sneered.

“A murderer of your own mother?” Perrot said with an evil smirk.

Draco’s eyes hardened. “Voldemort killed her,” he said, ignoring his deep-seated guilt.

“Because you abandoned her,” Perrot said. “You abandoned everything you were meant to be.”

“Suddenly too good for our lord?” Avery said.

“Rather degrade yourself with Mudbloods and traitors,” MacNair said. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed you and Potter.”

“What does it matter?” Draco said. “A traitor’s a traitor, right?”

MacNair leaned in, sneering. “Right.”

“Oh, is there a party?”

Draco’s eyes, vision dotted with spots, flicked over MacNair’s shoulder as his attackers spun, though MacNair’s grip never loosened. Zabini was casually leaning against the back of a sofa, arms crossed over his chest and ankles crossed. He was gazing at them with a calm expression, one eyebrow raised slightly.

“Leave, Zabini,” MacNair said. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re attacking a fellow Slytherin,” Zabini said. “Makes it every Slytherins’ business. I’m just the only one willing to stop you.”

There was a heavy silence as Zabini and MacNair stared at each other. Avery and Perrot looked between the two, clearly waiting for orders, while Draco fought for breath, just praying something would happen that would set him free.

“So, what’s it going to be, Ivan?” Zabini said, cocking his head to the side as though intrigued by the answer he was waiting to receive.

Draco mustered up a glare through his light head and darkening vision as MacNair turned back to him with a snarl.

“Another time then,” MacNair said.

“Can’t wait,” Draco gasped out.

Growling, MacNair released him and he collapsed to the floor, heaving and coughing. He heard heavy footsteps, indicating MacNair, Avery, and Perrot walking away.

“Wise choice, gentlemen,” he heard Zabini say.

Aside from his wheezing, the common room fell quiet until he heard light steps move around. After a few moments, Zabini crouched next to him, making him flinch at the unexpected proximity. He pushed himself up so he was sitting, putting his back against the wall and dragging his eyes up to Zabini. He was surprised when the other boy held out his wand, obviously retrieved from wherever it had fallen after his disarming.

Frowning and breathing hard, he took his wand while Zabini just watched him calmly. “Why…” he swallowed thickly and painfully when his voice broke. “Why…are you…helping me?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” Zabini asked lightly.

“There’s always a reason,” Draco said. “Nothing is free of strings.”

“I suppose that’s true for the circles you’ve been a part of,” Zabini said and Draco’s eyes narrowed at the implications being made. “Luckily for you, I’m not a part of those circles so no strings here.”

Draco didn’t know what to say and remained tense, just staring at the other boy. He hadn’t expected to have any support, especially not from Slytherins, and he had no idea how to react.

Zabini sighed quietly and gestured to Draco’s neck. “That’s going to be quite heavy bruising. Want me to get Snape?”

Draco looked at him sharply. “What?”

Zabini rolled his eyes. “Come off it. I know about him.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed again, on guard. “How? How do you know any of this?”

“Well, that is quite a long story,” Zabini said, draping his arms over his thighs.

“I’ve got time,” Draco said and was somewhat startled when Zabini quirked a small grin.

“Guess you do,” he said and pushed on his knees to stand. He held out a hand to Draco. “Let’s go then.”

After hesitating a few seconds, Draco took the hand and let Zabini help him to his feet. With a smile, Zabini turned and headed for the dorms, allowing Draco entrance into theirs first. They both sat on their beds, perched on the sides and facing each other.

“You sure you don’t want me to get Snape?” Zabini said, pointing to his own neck. “That’s going to hurt tomorrow.”

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Draco said. It wouldn’t be the first time he was in pain and unable to speak due to being strangled.

Zabini huffed lightly and rubbed his forehead, just over his eyebrow. “Merlin, I’m glad you’ve left those bastards.”

Draco frowned, but said nothing. He just waited as Zabini leaned forward on his knees and looked at Draco.

“My parents are a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Council,” Zabini said and Draco’s frown deepened.

“What are you talking about?” Draco said, confused. “There’s no such thing.”

“Unless you’re on it,” Zabini said. “It’s a shadow council. Purebloods don’t particularly like being watched and controlled. Terribly ironic considering how many of them are Death Eaters.”

Draco silently agreed with the irony, but didn’t comment on it aloud. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“The Council ensures the pureblood families follow the rules of pureblood society and determines if a bloodline is accepted or removed from the list,” Zabini said. “My father…enforces the rules and my mother tracks the bloodlines and their…activities. As a legacy, I watch all of you, the children of these families, and I tell my parents anything of importance.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Draco said.

Zabini nodded. “We needed to know if you were following your father’s path. I didn’t think you were, but Lucius Malfoy is fairly untouchable, even for the Council. I needed proof that he was breaking the rules, but I could never get any until now.”

“What rules?” Draco asked.

“You know most of them,” Zabini said. “All those rules about lordships and contracts and connections. The dull stuff. However, my parents keep track of one rule in particular.”

Draco looked at him curiously.

“Magical children are special and are not to be harmed,” Zabini said and Draco stiffened. “Like I said, I never had proof Lucius Malfoy was breaking the rules with you. I knew he was, but you’re good and I never had anything to bring back to my parents. Now, in terms of making children become Death Eaters, the Council can do nothing if the children are actively choosing it as long as no other rules are being broken. The only way the Council can step in and stop Marking or protect a Death Eater is if someone deserts and refuses or repents.”

“Like Snape,” Draco said.

Zabini nodded. “And you.”

“But, Snape’s not a pureblood,” Draco said. “How do you know about him?”

“He came to the Council after Halloween of nineteen eighty-one and his…arrangement with Dumbledore,” Zabini said. “He has the Council’s protection and support because of his agreement to help protect Slytherins and Potter, and to help take down Voldemort.”

“So, you’re telling me that I gained the Council’s protection because I ran away?” Draco said, trying to understand.

“Exactly,” Zabini said. “We’ve been wanting to help you for years because I could tell Lucius was doing something to you and that the Death Eaters weren’t what you wanted. I couldn’t say anything though. You had to decide for yourself.”

Draco shook his head slightly in disbelief. “So, Nott and MacNair and the rest of them are afraid of you because of this?”

“My father has beaten the living hell out of most of their fathers at least once for breeching pureblood rules,” Zabini said. “They know I report to my parents. All families only get one such…warning. To be removed from the Sacred Twenty-Eight is the worst insult, if you care about that rubbish.”

“The Zabinis aren’t on the list,” Draco pointed out.

“Because we created it in the first place as a way to watch the purebloods,” Zabini said. “My family knew generations ago the lengths pureblood parents would go to in order to control their children, climb in the wizarding world, and get their way. Some great ancestor of mine decided a council was needed to make the rules clear and enforce them, but in a way the pureblood families wouldn’t really notice unless they became a target because, as I said, purebloods react badly to being controlled. Once again, the irony sits heavy.”

Draco had no idea what to say.

“There are plenty of bloodlines that could be on the list and would likely be far better representations of pureblood society, but they don’t care enough to apply.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed.

“I’m not helping you just because you have the Council’s protection now though,” Zabini said and Draco looked at him again. “I’m doing it because I want to. You’re a way better person than you’ve pretended to be all these years and I want you to still have a place here. You’re still a Slytherin and a better one than most of these bastards.”

Draco was floored and his mind raced. He could hardly focus on any one thing, preventing him from fully processing and understanding all he’d learned. It was too much and far beyond anything he’d expected when he returned to Hogwarts.

“Stick with Potter, too,” Zabini added. “You’ll find a few others willing to help you out through him.”

Draco frowned. He really didn’t appreciate the added confusion.

“Sleep on it,” Zabini said. “We’ll talk more if you need, but feel free to hang out with me and my friends whenever.”

Draco readied himself in a daze and just fell into bed. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep, but the previous adrenaline and his whirring brain proved to be exhausting, and he drifted off staring up at his canopy.