Chapter one

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Draco slipped out of the Room of Requirement, feeling completely and utterly hopeless.

Well, this was it. He was going to die. There was no doubt about it.

Dread clawed its way up his throat at the thought, and he felt like vomiting. He rubbed a trembling hand over his face and released a shaky breath.

Christ, he was fucked. As fucked as anyone could be.

He'd failed, yet again, to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. He simply couldn't do it. He had tried everything, everything, and it...

Draco whipped his head around, eyes darting around the deserted corridor. He could have sworn he'd just heard something. He narrowed his eyes and stared into the shadows, but nothing was there.

Great, now he was paranoid on top of everything else. Though given the current situation, he probably had good reason to be.

It was probably Potter, the specky git, he had been following Draco around, under that ridiculous cloak of his, every chance he got.

Draco breathed in deeply, trying to calm his frayed nerves. If Potter was spying on him right now, he really ought to be careful. He couldn't give anything away. He had to act normal.

Draco continued down the darkened corridor, shoving his hands into his pockets in a relaxed manner. Every so often he would glance out of the arched windows as he strolled by them at a leisurely pace.

Nothing to see here, just a student taking a midnight stroll through the castle, everyone did it, it wasn't really that suspicious... Except maybe it was. He was a Death Eater now after all, and he was pretty sure that Potter had almost figured it out because why else would the annoying twat follow Draco around and glare at him knowingly whenever they shared a class together?

Draco tried not to dwell on that thought because if Potter really did know, then he was definitely fucked, and it was only a matter of time before the Order of the Phoenix took him in.

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. They wouldn't outright kill him, and perhaps if he cooperated, they would cut him a little slack, eventually... but his Mother - his heart dropped to his stomach - she would die for his treachery. She will probably die anyway because he couldn't complete the tasks the Dark Lord had set him.

Either way he was totally fucked.

Draco was suddenly angry. Angry at everything. Angry at the fact that he couldn't do what was needed of him and especially angry at Perfect, Fuck-Boy, Potter.

Life just wasn't fair.

Draco felt so alone, he felt like he couldn't trust anyone, not his friends, no one. The only person he was certain he could trust was his Mother, but he'd been cut off from all contact with her until the tasks were complete. He had no one to talk to about this, he was bearing this burden alone, and he could barely stand the weight of it.

Draco heard a shoe scuff on the stone floor behind him and knew for certain now that Potter was following him. Again. The Bastard.

Draco spun around to face the seemingly empty corridor, grey eyes narrowing dangerously. He heard the unmistakable sound of a sharp intake of breath just off to the left of where he stood, and sneered before charging in that direction. He felt his body come into contact with an invisible, yet solid, form and propelled himself forward until he rammed the arsehole right into the stone wall.

There was a pained wheeze followed by a gasping splutter, and then Draco gripped a handful of the invisibility cloak and pulled.

"Granger?" he said, disbelievingly. "What the fuck are you doing? Where's Potter? And why do you have his cloak?"

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