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"You've been spending a lot of time alone with Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape drawled as he looked up from the book on his desk. He was going over some notes for his next class. I had come to see him to grab Draco's work but also to update him on what was happening. I felt like I hadn't seen much of the Professor that housed me all summer since starting school. I had been so preoccupied with everything that was happening that I forgot to visit outside of class. I did feel bad after everything he did for me but clearly not enough to get me to do this before the end of October.

"That's what Dumbledore asked of me," I answered trying to avoid the relationship questions. I was interrogated enough from my own friends. It was never ending the bombardment of questions. "Are you together?" "Why do you spend so much time together" It wasn't like we had time for dating anyways. I had a feeling people were trying to grasp on to the last bits of childhood before a war broke out by reading too much into a friendship. I too wished I could simply be snogging someone in a broom closet, avoiding getting caught instead of helping a young Death Eater try and kill our Headmaster. My mind was elsewhere. Or so I hoped it was. I couldn't get caught up in the drama that was a relationship regardless of who it was.

"So, he did. Have you spoken to Dumbledore since arriving?" Snape asked giving me his full attention. He took the hint that I was not interested in talking about my dating life. I knew that Snape was concerned and wanted to help me but didn't know how. I felt bad for him he really was playing both sides of a war, but it left him very much stuck in the middle.

"I haven't. He hasn't called for me," I said simply. Dumbledore is a busy man. I assumed he would send for me if he wanted to say something to me. There was also not much to say. I knew what Draco was up to probably more than Snape and Dumbledore combined. I doubted though that Dumbledore cared what Draco was up to. He knew that Draco would try to kill him, but Professor Snape would get to him first. I wanted to think that Dumbledore was getting his orders in affair and spending time with the people he loves but I knew better than that wishful thinking.

Snape looked at me softly and nodded. He too agreed that Dumbledore would get in contact with me if he wanted to tell me something.

"Draco, I hope his task is getting alone as predicted. He has been refusing to talk to me." Snape took a sip of the potion he had on his desk. It looked like an energy potion, but I couldn't be sure.

"He doesn't trust you?" I asked purely out of curiosity. Snape and Draco have always been close. I had heard whispers that Snape was Draco's godfather, so it was a tad strange to me that he didn't say anything to Professor Snape. There was a possibility that his aunt and father probably whispered in his ear that Snape was a traitor. Over the summer I quickly learned that my old potions professor was not liked by all the Death Eaters. Most of them were jealous that he was practically Voldemort's right hand yet was also in league with Dumbledore. Sometimes even I was fooled by the way Snape pledged his allegiance to Voldemort. I worried that maybe he was really working for Voldemort, but I had to remind myself of all the things that he has done on Dumbledore's orders.

"Not at the moment no. He does not believe me to be faithful to The Dark Lord." My professor confirmed my thoughts. I had an internal struggle for a moment. The two were not as devoted to the Dark Lord as they gave off, yet both acted as if they were loyal to the cause. They were both traitors in their own right, yet Draco refused to get help from his elder. I reminded myself that I would have to talk to Draco about. If Draco only knew how much Snape has been willing to risk his life for Draco's safety maybe he would change his mind about letting Professor Snape help him.

"Are you faithful to the Dark Lord?" I asked my favourite teacher bravely. It was a question that burned in my mind all summer every time he spoke to fellow Death Eaters.

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