Cantus Dimindium Argenteum by Mogu2mochi

“My lord.”

“Luciusss. You requested an audience.” The Dark Lord’s slitted pupils bear down on his kneeling form, there is a brief flash of emotion in his eyes, the deathly pale fingers tapping on the armrest of his throne rhythmically like the legs of a centipede. And having to serve under his master for over a decade as his second in command, Lucius understands — The Dark Lord is intrigued, and impatient.

For appearance’s sake, he went to the Ministry and had a long talk with the minister, not after carefully obliviating him of his witness, making sure no other unmarked followers will discover his visit to Hogwarts when prying into the simple-minded man’s mind. Sometimes Lucius has always wondered how exactly the man came to sit at the highest place within the Ministry, even more after said conversation.

“Lord Malfoy, if I— no, if the ministry gains the Princes’ support, perhaps the ministry will overpower Dumbledore’s influences, same as the faith of the public. I vaguely remember you mentioning that you are familiars with that… Snape, if he is well acquainted with the Princes, perhaps you can convince him to tell you more about them, and in turn…”

At Lucius’s raised eyebrow, Fudge foolishly believed that his plan is flawless. While Lord Prince, as implausible as it sounds, hardly ever raised his voice at the dimwitted man at the mention of his exiled and almost completely slaughtered family, and promised a seat proxy within the Wizenmagot, there is too much unknown regarding their stance in the current political climate. After years of trying to stay hidden, or at least being largely unheard of, why return to the place that decimated them, coincidentally at the return of the Dark Lord? The man may not have outright admitted it, but the look Prince gave him suggests that he already knew of the covered return, and most definitely his involvement as a death eater.

“Luciusss, your expression speaks of worry.” The Lord’s tone is that of concern, yet his irritation is clear.

“Apologies my Lord, the news I have heard, it’s rather unsettling, and I am unsure if it poses a threat or not to us.” The Malfoy patriarch dips his head lower, desperately trying to phrase what he is about to divulge carefully, “The Minister confided in me this morning, Dumbledore tried to use the traitor as proof of your return, my Lord. But then—”

A horrible grin splits across the serpentine face, then the man breaks into a maniacal laugh, the raspiness from his voice alongside the hissing of Nagini forms into a nightmarish sibilance, cutting off Lucius’s report

“Such is the faultss of Dumbledore, alwayss too ignorant. That swine of a minister is too cowardly to admit the peace he promised will fall to ruins, yet our dear headmaster is so confident that he is so easily swayed in the face of losing a high position.” The Dark Lord extends his arm as his familiar slithers across his shoulders. “Continue.”

“Then,” Lucius gulps, knowing what is to come, “Someone came by, and resurrected S- Snape.”

“CRUCIO!”

What was a red trickle of light that fell onto the floor days ago, now rams into Lucius full force, as a web of crimson covers his body, sending waves of unbearable pain down to his bones, barely able to hold his screams, he lets out a pathetic whimper.

“How. Is. That. Possible!” With a twist of his arm, the curse strengthens at the Lord’s rage.

“Fudge… said… P– Prince…!” Lucius bites, barely holding himself from collapsing onto the floor, while occluding fiercely.

The man’s twisted face is immediately washed over by surprise and interest, with a flick of his wand, the pain recedes from Lucius’s body, managing to face the Dark Lord as the man puts on his apathetic mask. “Speak.” he orders and beckons his follower to come closer.

Forcing his legs to move forward, which are now starting to cramp from the aftershock, Lucius glides his way as dignifiedly as possible to the Dark Lord’s side, the position that only he is allowed to seize, an honorable position amongst the ranks, yet…

“My Lord,” Lucius rasps, “ the minister confided in me this morning, regarding Lord Prince’s return, and his relations with the traitor.”

“Lord Prince… the heirss are the ones who had set foot in Britain, yet he was never seen.”

“The minister showed me a classified file, my Lord, Lord Prince once led a team of scholars to perform a warding ritual around the Azkaban Prison during Diggory’s tenant in office.”

The serpentine man grabs his chin, forcing blue eyes to face the crimson ones, as the oppressive presence pierces into Lucius’s mind like a rapier, his exchange with Fudge alongside the documents’ contents are brought up to the surface with a harsh pull as the Lord takes his time to inspect each detail, unfazed by the blood dripping out of his underdog’s nose.

After what seems like an hour, the Dark Lord releases Lucius, dropping him onto the cold floor. He leisurely stands up from his throne with Nagini still hanging across his shoulder, and paces near the edge of the raised platform.

“Luciuss.”
“My Lord.”
“This Lord Prince, who lived for centuries, he and his people are alchemistss, adept at warding and ritualss, and masters in mind artss.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Our traitor also works under thiss, foreign organization, which predates the four founders of Hogwarts, yet you…”

“M- my Lord?” Lucius isn’t sure where this is going, the man’s tone is dangerously unpredictable, his face obscured under the stark line of shadow under the torch, as the snake continues to hiss a string of undecipherable words as if trying to persuade the man of something. Were his shields not enough? Did the Dark Lord break through his defense and discover his visit to the infirmary, what about Draco and Narcissa, and what will become of them? But just as Lucius continues go spiraling down into his fearful thoughts, a sharp pain snaps his attention back to the choking atmosphere, something warm trickles down his left cheek where the Dark Lord’s nails grazed over with a slap.

“Useless carrion!” The man roars as Nagini peers down on the cowering form, whose nose is touching the cool wooden plank with flakes of dried blood, “You have been around Snape the moment he stepped into the wizarding world! Yet you knew not one thing about his exchanges with the Princes?!” The pale wand, the sentence to a painful death now stabbing straight at Lucius’s head, as the patriarch shivers in dread.

“Please forgive me of my incompetence my Lord! I truly know nothing of Snape’s doing! Not even Dumbledore –”

“Dumbledore? Dumbledore does not know of it?”

Lucius hurriedly grovels his way to the hem of the man’s robes, keeping his head bowed, “I saw Dumbledore’s reaction in the minister’s mind, he only knew of the exile and the death of the Prince’s, and he seems displeased by Prince’s sudden appearance in his… territory, alongside his proclamation regarding his relationship with the traitor.” The hair on his back stands up as Lucius feels the Dark Lord’s wand tip slightly turning on his scalp, almost in a drilling motion, after a moment he lets out an ice-cold chuckle, “It seems our dear Severus does not trust the old fool completely either.” He kicks Lucius in the shoulder, “Get up, Luciuss.”

The Malfoy subtly relaxes, composing himself, he stands up with his head slightly raised. As if he did not just crawl on the floor like a whelp.

“We shall continue to work in the dark while the Ministry is ignorant of my rebirth, in the meantime, gain more insight about the inner workings of the Princes. The traitor had both of us fooled, you two are… closer.” The Dark Lord spits the word with distaste, “have his trust, I’m sure having to put up with his presence over two decades, your perseverance should already have earned it. Ah, and dear Draco–”

No…

“Severus always has a soft spot for our future elites, and with Draco and his friendss, we may observe any changes better without alerting the old fool, knowing how their head of house protectsss them.

“But my lord, Draco is not ready for such an important task!” Lucius fails to hold back the desperation in his voice.

“Mere observations and regular reports to you would be great practice for his future, Draco is a competent young man, you shan’t shield him from his aspirationss. Unlesss,” The Dark Lord narrows his eyes, “he has other decisionss after graduation?”

“Of course not, my Lord. He is most willing to serve under you.” Lucius feels his heart being washed by scalding hot water, burnt with fear, yet leaving it to be exposed by the chilling trepidation of what the Dark Lord expects of his son.

The man stares at him dispassionately, then breaks the silence, “Your son is no longer at the age to receive your needless pampering, Lucius, he is destined to be of great success. Abraxas let you in early, and look where you are,” the Dark Lord spreads his arms, gesturing at the wide platform with the throne at its center, then lays a hand on Lucius’s back as he circles around him. “You beside me, my most trusted lieutenant, your authority to order soldiers moving towards victory, one day dear Draco too will take up this honor, a bright continuation to the Malfoy legacy.”

“I’m flattered you think of him so highly, my Lord.” he replies, the reverence that automatically spits out of his mouth churns his stomach.

The ghostly lips turn upwards under the unsparing rubies, painting a juxtaposed omen of suffering, “Fear not, Luciuss. The traitor won’t escape his punishment, but for now, we shall keep a low profile in our planss. Notify the rest of the inner circle about what we’ve discussed, and tell Travers to begin his investigations on Prince, I expect a report next week from him.”

“Your wish is my command, my Lord.”

“Dismissed.”

The cursed blessings from the Dark Lord continue to linger on during his journey back to Malfoy Manor. The moment he steps into the brightly lit living room, Narcissa comes rushing to him, using her wand to scan for any injuries while patting across his robes for possible blood-soaked spots— she must have reinstalled the vital checking system at the gates. His wife raises a hand to cup his face but settles on a firm grip just above his wrist.

Lucius takes her hand and holds it in both of his, the familiar warmth saturates his haunted emotions, arms tangling together, as they take comfort from each other’s presence, pureblood decorum tossed aside.

Quick footsteps come closer from the end of the corridor. Raising his head reluctantly, Lucius spots Draco rushing into the living room, who stops just a couple of feet away to look at them, glacial eyes meet each other, and his son’s relieved expression immediately turns cold.

“Father.” he says, “Good to see you are well.” The spite in his tone is not lost on him.

“Draco-” Narcissa turns to their son.

“I am turning in,” Draco cuts her off, “Good night.” with that he stiffly turns with a straight back facing them and walks down the corridor.

“We will be heading to Hogwarts tomorrow, Draco.”

The young man stills before his shoulders start to raise and shake, he snaps his head back at them, the former frosty demeanour melts into that of belligerence, “What, betraying your Lord to sympathize with some half-blood traitor that you don’t associate with?”

Lucius feels his temper flaring, but upon spotting a familiar spark of fear in those eyes, he immediately clamps it down. “No, Draco. We are visiting your godfather, there is something we must discuss, together.”

Bullet-like tears hang stubbornly around those eyes, Lucius feels like he is facing a mirror. He watches as the boy disappears down to the hall as the heels click like hammering nails.

“Come, Lucius. It is getting late, you need rest.” His wife methodically wraps her arm around his elbow, back to being the perfect dutiful wife, and leads him to the relative safety of their rooms. Sinister shadows stretch and overlay each other as they walk past the chandeliers, the judging gaze of Abraxas Malfoy and the many former Malfoy Lords. A sharp turn to the right, Lucius’s platinum hair swings and shields him from the everpresent scrutiny.

Narcissa gently pushes him down to sit on the edge of the bed, magically removing his boots and summons a tray— the “usual”. He stays silent as his eyes follow the elegant hands of hers gently massaging salves onto the dark purple spot on his shoulder, in circles over and over. She increases her strength, circles become harsh, erratic, jagged lines, caresses turn painful, and the manicured hand that was holding him still is now crushing him.

She doesn’t stop, even when her face starts to transform from apathy to anger, to frustration, to fear, to concern.

At last, she breaks down without a sound, breaking him alongside in the process, she slowly bends to lay her head on his shoulder, hitting him, but not hard enough to worsen the bruise.

Lucius lets her.

The oil lamp dims despite its charmed properties, Narcissa straightens herself, dabbing her tears away, and lets out a shaking breath. She floats the tray away, and sits next to Lucius, he wraps around her and leans against each other, their fingers intertwined.

“What did he say?” Narcissa sighs.

Lucius pauses to think of the best way to reply without distressing her too much, “The Dark Lord wishes Draco and his housemates to provide reports regarding… their Head of house, the upcoming school year.”

“But–”
“Not in person, Draco will be reporting through me, same to those from the inner circle.”

“Still… after that, he might…”

One of the few things he is grateful of his father is his bonding with Narcissa — intelligent, capable, she can garner the attention of the entire room with just a simple gesture. Yet sometimes, Lucius cannot help but think how great it would be if she is a little less intuitive so that he can shield her a bit more.

“The portkey, is it with you?”

“You’re sending him out of the country?” Narcissa pulls away, red-rimmed eyes reflecting the golden speckles of the lamp.

“You will go with him.” Lucius looks away, mind far away.

“Lucius, no–”

“Listen to me, Cissa.” He holds onto his wife, “You know I never wanted our son to work under him, but now it’s merely a lesser evil compared to the old coot. I’ll find a way for him, and you need to be there for him, as he will to you.”

“What about you?” she breathes, “He will not let you go, nor Draco, you will get yourself tortured, killed.”

“That’s why you both have to go.”

“I vowed not to leave you no matter what we face, have you not done the same?”

“I…”

How can Lucius forget? It was one of the best days of his life, the sweetest of words like nectar he has ever heard, knowing someone will face the end of time by his side. But this is war, and sentiments come with a price, until there is no blood or flesh left to enact the payment. Abraxas eyed him sternly as he struggled not to weep during his mother’s funeral, who died during a conflict, imploring that it’s merely a trivial matter amidst the rise of the Dark Lord. He in turn taught his son that there are always sacrifices to be made in order to let others live, taught him to hold himself up as a pureblood heir, and even train him to become indifferent to someone else’s — the weaker’s suffering, there are always worthier objectives to focus on. Some things are meant to be let go of at times needed.

Lucius shakes his head, worn down by everything.

In truth, he can never let go of them, as deadly as it is.

Scenes of Draco taking unsteady steps towards him with a smile on his rosy cheeks. His first words, throwing a tantrum as a toddler. Laughing with friends at a birthday party, innocent games in a “play-date” organized by elites. His first broom ride, the proud look beaming in his way as he waves the toy snitch he just caught for the first time.

Picking up school supplies at Diagon Alley, formal greetings between him and the other young heirs at the station, a well-written letter in perfect cursive back home about the expected sorting results and his relationships with housemates. The hesitation to be around him after his lost of position as a board governor. A brief letter about his injury on his arm, a results card full of O’s, except an EE on transfiguration.

He stayed at school during Yule that year.

Things changed, and now Lucius understood why… Severus sent that note to ask about their family.

“We need sleep.” Lucius says. “Let’s discuss this tomorrow, hm?”

How many tomorrows do they still have?

He changes their clothes into nightclothes with a swish of his wand, untying Narcissa’s hair and setting the ribbon aside as they settle under the soft covers, still cradling her.

“Do you think… any of it… any of him, to us, to our son, is real?” She asks.

“Draco looks up to him, as do most of the house, it should be.”

“Draco knows him personally, the others trusted him for his position, and now…”

Can they even trust a man who lied to the Dark Lord, and possibly them for decades?

“I don’t know.” Lucius answers honestly.

The man he first met as a poverty-stricken, manner-lacking boy, is also the very same who can hold himself amongst the high-class wizards without fail after years of painstaking etiquette tutoring.

The man, a half-blood whom Lucius was taught not to even look at them at all, caught his eyes with his talents, later forming becoming friends-of-benefits, to later naming him as the godfather of their only child, softly vowing at the sleeping infant that he would protect and cherish him forever.

And the same man, who volunteered to help them, and one day brought a finalised potion that later on helped Narcissa conceive Draco to full-term safely after months of experiments and research. He almost collapsed through the floo upon hearing the news of her bearing a healthy baby, exhaustion evident upon the darkened spots under his eyes.

If it is all just a facade…

“Never trust someone fully, my son, or it will be your fault when they use it against you.”

Lucius nuzzles close to Narcissa’s smooth neck.

“But I trust him.”

At least till tomorrow.

A heavy fog settled over the high Scottish mountains early in the morning, faint outline of the stone bridge and unlit lamps showing through the shrouds, its ends fading into obscurity. The tall towers beyond the school gates loom over them as they walk closer, Lucius’s wand light guiding them through the sea of grey.

Narcissa hasn’t let go of Draco’s hand ever since they apparated to their destination, subtly pulling their son behind her as they march toward the gates, Draco’s hand trembled under her grasp, yet was unwilling to hold on, simply allowing them to pull him along. She dares not to look back and check on him, knowing that they all have the same doubts, she does not want her son to face a heartbreaking truth. So she leans a little closer to Lucius for reassurance, the few men he can truly rely on, or perhaps the only one now.

Upon approaching the gates, a soft chime rings a tug in their minds — they are at the edge of the wards.

Lucius beckons Draco forward, as the boy limply slips his hand from hers, dejectedly moving a few steps forward to feel and touch the invisible threads, he does not spare his father one look. Their son’s emotionless expressions switch into a surprised one as his hunched shoulders straighten up, a glint of hope returning to those dead eyes.

Lucius opens his mouth to inquire about their son’s reaction but quickly halts himself, turning his eyes back to the other side of the gates.

After a while, two figures — one tall and the other short from the brightened arc of the entrance begins to walk down the stone pavement, the sound of clicking boots echoing throughout the mist. Their footsteps slowed as they approached the iron bars, Lucius and Narcissa once again instinctively pushes their son behind him, who tries to hold his ground but relents after a look from her.

“Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Mister Malfoy.” Auror Shacklebolt, also an order member nods at them and looks back at the half-goblin Professor. Surprisingly, neither of them brandish their wands.

“May I ask if you have had an appointment with the headmaster?” The charms master asks, looking at Draco.

“We–”

“We are here for a visit,” Lucius cut him off, as Draco draws in a sharp breath, “An impromptu one, and extremely urgent, if I am honest. May we?”

It is rare to hear Lucius asking for permission, Malfoys don’t asks, don’t beg, and just as any other menage of a pure house, as the others would eagerly give what they have in face of an open palm with rings of prominence adorning its fingers. Not that she does not recognise the need in this situation, just an… unfamiliar sight.

Shacklebolt and the professor exchange glances, then promptly release the lock and the access in tandem, the gates creak wide open, like open arms, or a jaw. Narcissa is unsure which image is more apropos.

“Follow me.” The Auror says, he turns and leads them towards the lit entrance, with the professor tailing behind them, closing the gate with a resounding clank. She holds her son close again, feeling how the air gets heavier as they approach the wooden door, this time Draco leans closer.

Despite having been here just a few days ago, their trip to the is almost obscenely short, as if someone is either pushing them to have faith in a life-long friend or mocking them for their decision two decades ago to take a “no-good half-blood” under their wing. And the more Narcissa thinks about it, the more agitated she becomes, still encased under a mask of ice, she wills herself to face the truth — no matter what answer he gives, the end shall be the same.

“He is recovering well, there is no need to worry, Mister Malfoy.” She hears the professor whispering to Draco, catching a glimpse, her little boy is finally smiling a bit. He’s always the soft-hearted son no matter what Malfoys were supposed to feel, despite how he portrays himself, she will always see him as the boy who cried because he accidentally pulled a peacock talon off.

He will die. Narcissa hand clenches into a fist. If he lied to my son.

Reaching the bench next to the closed infirmary door, Shacklebolt raises his wand and with a “tempus” a blue mist rises from the tip, forming into the familiar Armillary sundial. “You said the headmaster is in Ministry, Professor?”

“Correct.” that answer makes Narcissa raise her eyebrows, as the wards would not have allowed them access without the headmaster’s approval, the old coot might have foreseen their visit, yet he would have to be present for them to even get through the school gates. She thinks back to her son’s reaction upon touching the invisible threads, and the arrival of the two members…

Upon realisation, the weight in Narcissa’s heart is lifted off completely as she breathes a sigh of relief, Thank Circe.

Hogwarts itself approved and granted their son access, he will be fully protected as a student.

And that, to a mother, is already enough.

The other four look at her questioningly, and she shakes her head. Shacklebolt continues, “While the headmaster is away, we are unsure when he may return to school grounds, so it’s best for you to finish quickly.”

Lucius narrows his eyes, “Your leader will certainly react badly for you to be this… lenient with their foes?”

Shacklebolt pauses and looks at Flitwick, “While we may not be on the best of terms, Mr. Malfoy, I assume we all care about Severus, he insisted to send a message to you three and has been inquiring about your family’s safety.” the half-goblin replies.

While her rationale continues to support the everpresent occlumency shields, somewhere deep down she feels alleviated by the statement. Still, Narcissa can not suppress a flinch at the mention of their “care about” a certain individual.

“Draco.” Lucius breaks the silence, “You may go first.”

In the blink of an eye, Draco disappeared from their sight, the only indication that he was ever there with them was the quick but soft click at the infirmary. The charms professor could not quite suppress a chuckle, but his expression returned to a neutral one quickly.

Lucius lead her to sit on the bench, they sat close without touching shoulders, her hand covering her husband’s atop the wooden surface as they both look straight ahead. Waiting until the auror and the professor look away and start murmuring by the corner does she dare to take a look at Lucius. Neither of them can hear the happenings beyond the closed doors, but his gloved right arm is clutching his knees, whereas the left one rubs her palm lovingly. Narcissa took the relaxed hand in both of hers and places it on her lap, resuming to let her thoughts wander out into the pale desolation beyond the stretched windows.

The fog dissipates slowly as time goes on, and thick clouds begin to rise from the valleys. Narcissa isn’t aware of how long has her son been inside the infirmary, what have they been talking about? What is Severus telling him? How would Draco react to everything? Would Severus see Draco as an enemy?

“Mother, Father.” Both of their heads immediately snap to the infirmary door, her son slowly spins his way around the gap of the half-opened door with grace. There is an envelope in his hand, she sees Lucius once again stop himself from asking anything else than how he is doing, Draco looks at both of them, and flashed a smile before covering it with a cough. And to both older Malfoys, that is more reassuring than a thousand words.

Shacklebolt turns to them, once again checking on the time, “Best to finish within 15 minutes. I suspect the minister won’t let him stay that long.”

They nodded in thanks, Lucius holds up a hand in front of her as she accepts it, steeling themselves, Lucius pushes the door open, and steps in with their masks in place, like how they always do when they present themselves.

Draco sits down on the bench after watching his parents glide through the entrance, silently shrinking the envelope into his pocket, he looks out to the window where the fog surrounding the school continues to disperse.

“Tell me your thoughts, and I shall answer your questions.” His godfather was straightforward as ever, his face remained stern, but having known him since birth, he can see the apprehension in Severus’s eyes.

Are you a death eater? “Legally, yes.”

But you are not loyal to… him. “Correct.”

Since when? “Couple months before his first demise.”

Why? Severus stayed silent and shook his head.

So you are loyal to the headmaster? The man shook his head again.
You think muggle-borns are equal to us? “Depends.”

A muggle-lover. "I am half muggle, as you know, I do not love them, but I understand them to my advantage.”

Why did you save Potter? “"I am obligated, and ordered to."

But he is our enemy. “"He is the Dark Lord’s enemy."

He would have anyone kill us! Severus gave him a bemused look and huffed.

You know the so-called light families have been banning our traditions! “"I am aware, however, Potter will not kill you or your family, even if he has the power.”

They continued their conversation in that stiff manner, almost like an interrogation, but both of them knew the boy would not be satisfied until all his questions are answered — his views, his relationships with the fools, Potter, the blood traitors and all, sometimes he answered, sometimes he just shakes his head. And when Draco ask if Dumbledore orders to kill them would he follow the order, Severus made a horrified face and shook his head vehemently, while it was one of the rare moments where the man show that much emotion, he did not answer it verbally.

Finally, he braced himself:

Are you, being my godfather, my parents’ friend, the Slytherin head of house and all, everything that you’ve done and said, is it real?

Severus looked at him intently, until he felt a presence in his mind, not intrusive, but similar to a knock at the door, like when he checks up on his studies during summer. He slipped an envelope under the blanket into his hand, subtly glanced to the corner of the infirmary, and squeezed his hand. A hopeful warmth lingers within as the presence retreats.

“Perhaps.” He announced, after ruffling his hair and gesturing at him to let his parents in.

Does Draco still trust him? He certainly didn’t like some of Severus’s answers, but at the same time he never publicly talk about his views on those subjects. He is loyal to neither the Dark Lord nor Dumbledore, then again, a Slytherin will always keep his loyalties and motivations to himself. He cannot help but make excuses for Severus, his doubts regarding someone who technically lied to them for years are not quelled either.
v There have only ever been two paths for him, either join the cause or become one of those muggle-loving fools, the right or the wrong way. He’ll never acknowledge, hell even look at a muggle even he can help it, but would he eradicate them? Even the children? Perhaps he would have been eager to take up the job, but now?

“Some people are born to be less than.” But Draco doesn’t want to kill them.

“Muggles are a threat to Magicals.” They are, but he doesn’t want to kill them.

“It’s either killed or be killed in a war.”

The faces of his Father and godfather after each meeting, they are supposed to lead the Wizarding population to glory. Each retelling of muggles being burnt alive as retribution for the burning times, it’s a crusade to victory.

“She was having breakfast when we confringo-ed the house, and she just laid there with food still all over her face like a pig.” Draco was eating with his parents in the dining room that morning too.

“We froze him in the middle of the shower and his limbs snapped so easily like icicles.” The same night, Draco didn’t dare to stay in the bath for more than five minutes.

“We turned her mittens into black mambas, the kid frothed up a storm.” Draco has only worn gloves since then.

He doesn’t want to kill anyone, he can’t bear to see anyone close hurt, just thinking about Severus’s blackened arm makes fear well up from his stomach. But the other road would be even more miserable, well, because of Dumbledore.
I don’t want to die.

His train, no, trains of thought are suddenly broken up by a loud thump within the infirmary. The other men next to him turn their heads at the noise, then look at him, he shrugs in response.

“...my family, my son into this!”

“...down! …Draco…”

“...this mess… half-blood coward!” Another loud thump.

Draco flinches violently at the term, as well as the harsh exchanges from the three adults, he has never heard his father loose his temper like this. Professor Flitwick gently lays a hand at his knees, offering comfort, before looking at the Auror, “Should we go in?”

None of them notice that the three Gryffindors are currently hiding under an invisibility cloak at the end of the hallway.

“...work under him… all would have died.” The familiar levelled voice seeps through the wooden door. “...your son… three rounds a day?”

SLAP!

“Lucius!”

Draco feels like he’s suffocating, Shacklebolt strides towards the infirmary door, only to find it tightly lock, and stays stubbornly shut as both older man tries to open the door with a plethora of charms, along with brute force. Draco holds onto the shrank envelope with a shaking hand, but he thought… he thought…

“Severus open the door!” The Auror shouts.

The door does not budge, the infirmary becomes a stronghold that holds a war within.

Draco is still trembling when his parents push the infirmary door open. His father's glacial eyes blazing in barely controlled anger as wild magic rolls off his body in waves, while his mother looked sickened by everything. The three meet eyes, and Draco knows it’s time for them to leave, hastily getting up on his unsteady legs, he trails his parents as they storms their way to the school entrances, while the Auror and Professor rush past them into the infirmary.

They don’t speak when they apparated back within the Malfoy gates and march back into the manner with Draco finding it increasingly difficult to follow his father’s footsteps. Only when they reached the living room do both his parents slump down onto the sofa, himself tentatively moving to sit on the couch facing them.

During the pregnant silence, Draco continues to rephrase and practice his question until he builds up enough courage to ask.

“Father–”

It is immediately cut off, when the father holds onto mother’s face and kissed, in a rather heated manner, while she responded with the same amount of passion, uncaring for their son’s gaping mouth and face flushed like a tomato. The two continue until both go breathless, moments after they draw apart, both parents run to hug him, leaving a flabbergasted Draco.

“Wha- what?”

“Take out your letter Draco.” Mother pulls back and smiles, a tired but relieved one “Let us discuss.”

The letter within the envelope is addressed to a “Master Desjardins” — A potions master from France, an acquaintance of Severus from the International Potions Guild, who has her small group of researchers working in her apothecary that focuses on remedies that help with birth defects, a relatively new subject in across the magical world.

[“I think you would be interested to have him as an apprentice, Madame.”]

Being a potioneer that focuses on healing has always been Draco’s aspiration until he stopped thinking about it after the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

“So… I’m leaving?”

His parents' expressions drop slightly, “No, it is not safe for us to send you away currently.” Father breathes in deeply, “The coming year will be a hard one, especially for you, I understand that you… do not want to follow my path.”

Draco flinches and lowers his head, father must be disappointed.

“I will be honest,” Father grips his shaking hand, “I would rather that you do not.”

Draco snaps his head up, and sees the exhaustion upon the man’s face, but also a long lost hint of gentleness.

“But there is something you must do first, similar to your housemates, the inner circle knows of it, the Dark Lord requires regular reports just from us, listen Draco.” He forces himself back onto the couch instead of bolting away, “Everyone will be monitoring Severus, including people from the other side, creating any doubt will only spell our demise. You, and your housemates will be on observation duty, and only have to report to me, just providing a memory will do. I will handle the rest.”

“But… Severus?”

“Things will have to change, Dragon, Severus said the same.” Mother caresses his chin, “ We will have to keep a certain amount of distance, but he remains your uncle Severus, and our anti-social friend, he will be there until you are safe to leave.”

Why the sudden trust? They were arguing just now in the infirmary, did they somehow secretly—

Severus glanced at the corner of the infirmary, giving silent answers, legilimising him to get his attention to hand over the recommendation, the emotionless voice yet assuring smile.

Oh.

“I know this is a lot to take in Draco, will you help us? Just this once?”

Draco doesn’t say anything and melts into the hugs, he still fears for his future, maybe just a little less knowing that the adults do too, and he is not alone.

“Malfoys aren’t to be refuted, as they are always right.” is something grandfather taught father, then to Draco himself.

But for once, it is good to be proven wrong.

L,

You could have at least taken your Platinum rings off.

S