The Breakfast
The air was cleaner in the country, and having been surrounded by the verdant orchard, the caresses of the young summer breeze graced the manor with the sweet aroma of lavender. Bordering the gravel walk were the manor's lauded hydrangea bushes, and this year, with tender care and attention, the flowers colored them violet. The beautiful garden aroused in every resident and visitor the freshly awakened lust for life and leisure. What a spectacle it proved to be: trees laden with summer fruit, extraordinary blossoms, and birds young and lively. One would take a look at it and wish to lay in the grass, observing nothing but the migration of the feeble summer clouds or the occasional honeybee that ought to be busier than them.
Severus found the family at breakfast; during the warmer months, they dined in a recess of ivy that bestowed upon them an exceptional view of their masterfully crafted garden. The master of the house, dressed richly in a stately robe of black, had open on his lap the Prophet and nodded silently to himself. Narcissa's tortoiseshell-lined fan moved rapidly, alternating its direction toward her and her son. Severus was glad to see Draco joining his parents at breakfast; for the last three weeks he'd taken his meals in his private suite to display his deep-seated bitterness toward his mother and father. But it seemed that the good weather and the superbness of the garden lured the spiteful boy from the depths of his chambers.
"Ah! Severus!" Lucius casually gestured to the open seat at the table. "Bring our good friend a cup of tea." A man with downcast eyes hurriedly prepared a cup at the bubbling samovar and placed it neatly on a spare saucer, still with his eyes down. Servants on the landing were not permitted to look residents in the eye or speak to them, and to ensure this, the master of the house had cut out their tongues. Severus always felt a terrible unease to be served by the first-floor staff, but said nothing aloud and situated himself between father and son.
Draco looked at him expectantly, and the whiteness of his visage was colored with impatience. With a discreet pat of his breast pocket and a nod, Severus assured his godson that soon he was to receive word from Harry. The boy visibly gladdened and let out a healthy laugh, greatly starling his mother.
"I am quite glad you're early, Severus," said Lucius, studying his son carefully. Draco blushed and hurriedly took a sip from his tea. "The word shall come any second now. It is only a matter of when," he said.
"Yes, let me extend to you my congratulations."
"Not yet," Lucius smiled. "Perhaps this afternoon. Ah, my wonderful Cissa, I apologize that your title of minister's wife comes much too late. You deserve much more and much sooner."
Narcissa blushed, and her fan quickened. "Don't be ridiculous, dear. I'd have been happy without a title preceding my name as long as I was by your side."
Draco groaned and set his cup down loudly on the saucer. "Severus, I cannot go a single day without witnessing my mother and father flirt so openly before me. Is it not rude over breakfast?"
Severus laughed. "It is not as if they mean to vex you, Draco. After all, when in love, isn't it only natural to speak of one's affection?" He looked carefully at Draco, who seemed to understand the allusion, for he immediately abandoned his complaint and resolved to remain silent.
"Draco, sit up straight," Narcissa whispered and quickly smoothed out his white clothes, which resembled those of a sailor—as was fashionable among the young boys in high society. "Remember you are meeting with the Council this afternoon."
"Yes, I remember I must sit there like a doll, nod and oblige to every single thing uttered by those men. Aren't I a highly esteemed member of the Council now? After all, the meetings cannot continue if I do not look pretty," Draco said with a peevish undertone.
Narcissa gasped and looked to her husband for aid. "What disagreeable attitude! I will not have you speaking with so severe a tongue! Pray you behave well during the inauguration. After all, you shall be a minister's son."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Pray I do! And will I remain unbothered for the rest of my life should I become your princeling? I couldn't care for these meetings, those ceremonies, and that wretched tutor!"
Narcissa closed her fan and lightly tapped it on Draco's wrist. "Do not speak ill of Mr. Erksine; he is a highly esteemed academic; you ought to be proud to be his sole pupil."
"Punishment of the most diabolical sort, I'll say!" Draco scoffed. "Can it be that I—"
"Oh, my son, I cannot stand your behavior as of late." Narcissa shuddered and cast a disappointing look toward Draco, whose arms were crossed over his chest. "I understand you are deeply embittered by us having removed you from Hogwarts, but you haven't a right to disrespect your parents as you do."
"Disrespect you? How comical!" Draco leaned forward. "When have I ever? I've been trapped in this house for the better part of three weeks, and nobody dares to ask me how I feel about anything."
Narcissa set her fan down completely and turned to him. "How unfair, Draco. Every day I inquire after you, but you neglect to answer. And now you sink your teeth into me because I haven't listened to you? But my son, what have I neglected if nothing but indignant scoffs came of it?"
"Well, then you ought to receive an earful one of these days, mother! Because, quite frankly, I am tired of your nagging! 'Sit properly! Wear this, wear that! Cross your legs; don't cross your legs! When will you look for a fiancée? When will you get married? Have you recited your verses yet? Practice your piano! Sing a chanson!' It's enough to make me ill!"
"Draco," Lucius said sternly.
"'Draco,' what? Have I been naughty, father? Oh, whatever shall I do? Please don't take away my garden privileges!" Draco jeered. "I hate that damned garden, I hate the raids, I hate the Lord, and the bloody Veil! Damn it all!" Draco slammed his palms on the table, causing the Venetian glasses to rattle ominously against the silver.
Lucius finally set the Prophet down loudly beside him on the table. "Stand up."
"And damn you too!" Draco shook his head and remained seated with his arms and legs crossed, his body turned away from them all.
Severus wished immediately to either disappear from the table or intercede with a perfectly crafted resolution to end his torment, but he could not say a word. Lucius glanced at Severus, and his entire air changed into a laissez-faire indifference.
"Severus," he said, opening the Prophet once again. "I bid you to take leave at once."
Draco's eyes widened, and with a meek panic, he looked to his godfather and then to his pocket, where he knew the letter awaited him. Severus wondered if he could slip the envelope underneath the linen tablecloth, but he sensed Lucius's eyes—though on the Prophet—observing him intensely. Slowly, Severus stood and lingered indecisively behind his chair.
"Let me come with you," Draco stood at once, but with the wave of Lucius's hand, the boy was glued to his seat.
"I recall that you did not want to stand," said Lucius. "You'll finish your breakfast here with us, then you and I will take a turn about the garden, and perhaps Severus will return again this evening to a well-mannered young man and not the uncouth child before me now." Draco turned to look at Severus as if to implore him to his aid, but Severus dared not interfere with his natural discipline. After all, Draco indeed had been ill-mannered, and there were many times when Severus worried about the scarcity of discipline of his godson. So, with a quick bow, he quickly left the garden. This time, however, knowing his godson had suffered a grave blow to his ego, the garden seemed to lack its previous vivacity.
Lucius watched his son become red-faced with anger as they watched Severus slowly leave their garden through the trellis gateway. It had not offended him so much to be scolded by his son, but Lucius simply could not stand to see his wife visibly pained by Draco's anger. As intelligent as she was, she had a terrible habit of believing everyone—including her son—was capable of a deep hatred toward her. And so Narcissa stood from the breakfast table and left quickly, no doubt, to her boudoir.
"Come with me," said Lucius finally. He stood and made for the lining of trees on which pale lemons hung. "Draco."
With great force, Draco stormed out of his chair and toward his father. The morning ceased to retain its blissful charm, for his son's mood had fallen so quickly the skies had become overcast and the birds stopped their song.
Father and son moved through the pebbled walk without a word for a long while. Lucius knew that anything he said would be utterly useless, for the wound Draco had suffered was still fresh—at the age of sixteen, it could take a long while to heal. But truly, he knew he'd rid Draco of a letter from Potter. Lucius knew from the very beginning Severus had become a sort of messenger between the two boys, and he pretended to be clueless for the sake of their continuance. Theory had not yet been made fact, but Lucius could only assume his son had some sort of romantic ties with Potter. And was it not obvious? The boy eagerly greeted his godfather with his hands clasping his chest, his eyes fluttering with silent worship. These sights and impressions are otherwise brushed aside to the unknowing eye. But Lucius knew, and every day his son kept it from him, it all became increasingly unbearable. He was even tempted to ask his son what his true relationship with Potter resembled: that of a friendship or a romance? And he'd hoped, with ease of any child thoroughly loved, his son would express his honest feelings and the trials and tribulations natural for young love. In all honesty, how frightened his son would become, for it was Lucius who sentenced and enacted every Cleanse. My son, please look at me not as an executioner but as your father, and understand that I would sooner slit my own throat than harm you! I was once your age too, Draco. And I forgive you for everything!
"I know you despise me with everything that you are, but I beg you to try and understand me as I understand you."
"You do not understand me," Draco hissed.
"Do I not? Do I not understand that you do not mourn your godfather's leaving but a letter?"
Draco froze and turned to Lucius with wide eyes. How it broke his heart to see his son begin to tremble before him. "I simply do not like having my letters read," he said with a forced smile. "That is all."
"Yes, that is all," said Lucius warmly. "On the surface, let me agree with you that it is tedious and unnecessarily time-consuming for Scouts to open your every envelope and read it. As a shallow, unknowing man, let me also tell you that it is clever to sneak by me. But as your father, I am deeply offended that you are afraid of my knowing."
Draco shuddered. The boy was exceptionally tall for his age, but now he seemed to shrink into himself beneath the shadow of the lemon tree. "Knowing what?" His voice was stifled by the overwhelming sensation of fear.
"Why don't you tell me, my son?" Lucius said calmly.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco laughed awkwardly, a blush colored his pallid cheeks, and his bottom lip quivered pitifully. "I am sorry for how I acted at breakfast. Let me apologize to mother at once."
"Draco." The sharpness in his voice ceased his son from leaving. "Why do you hide from me? I am your father. Are you truly so scared of me?"
Tears emerged from Draco's eyes, and naturally the sky graced their brows with the preceding droplets of a storm. "I don't know what you're taking about, he said with a hurried whisper. “Don't torment me any longer, I beg you."
Lucius's heart had become thoroughly broken and unable to bear the shame of knowing his failure as a father. "It is nothing?"
"It is nothing," Draco blurted. "Will you search me, father? My room? Do you not trust me?"
Lucius pulled his son away from him and held him firm by the shoulders. "I trust you, Draco. Do you trust me?"
Draco nodded. "I do, but lately to me you've been a council leader and not a father."
"I apologize. I am your father first and foremost. And I applaud you for your tantrum; your words and feelings matter the most to me. If you truly hate the Veil, then I would leave it all behind for you at once. If you truly hate being a minister's son, I will drop my title at once and reduce myself to a beggar, a plebeian. Do you understand me?"
There was a miraculous expression of an intensified life in his son, a mix of outward tranquility and utter shock. With his tear-stained countenance faltering into a nervous fatigue, the boy merely nodded to relay his acknowledgment.
"Can I ask you a simple question, Draco?" Lucius whispered, fixing his son's hair to avoid looking him straight in the eye. "Am I correct when I suspect that your heart hosts a romantic partiality toward men?"
Draco shuddered, his entire frame tensed. It was as if Lucius's words rang through him like a large bell, thoroughly shaking his entire foundation so that he could not produce a single coherent thought. How solemn he looked just then in his feeble terror! Lucius's heartbreak reached its peak, and the utter grief of having been insufficient as a father impaled him with the sight of Draco before him now.
"Why do you ask me, father? Why does anybody ask anyone such a vile question?" Draco tried to laugh, but it came out as shaky breathlessness.
"Forget about the entire world, Draco. Won't you pretend that nothing that matters exists right now?"
"I'm not stupid. What good is it to pretend it does not exist right now when after my answer to you, it matters yet again? You cannot pin a crime onto me—"
"Merlin! Is that really what you believe me to be doing, Draco?"
"Oh, please let me go. I'm thoroughly exhausted. And your answer is no! I am not partial to men at all!" Draco began to shout again. "I swear it."
"Don't lie to me, Draco. Why lie? I am not angry at all, Draco. I will love you anyway, and let me admit that I've known for a while.
"Known what and how? I've never given off such a cruel impression, have I?" Draco held his trembling hands to his chest as if begging for mercy. "I promise you, father. I am pure-blooded; I am a virgin and perfectly untouched. I am just vain in my expectations toward women; that is all it is! Please, do not ask me again!"
"I am sorry," Lucius whispered. The emptiness in his arms so blatant; such was a terrible reminder of the self-made distance between him and his beloved child. Every incident from the past came suddenly to him. When he'd lifted the boy from a soft patch of grass as he'd taken his first steps; the time when his wife and son had fallen asleep in the garden after their pitifully fruitless search of a four-leafed clover; when Draco had wept on his lap for hours when admitting he'd indeed broken a vase after having denied it for several weeks. That child was so foreign now, and Lucius sunk into a paternal depression as he reached aimlessly for his son.
"Let us return," he said. "Forget I said anything. But know this, Draco: no matter what your answer could have been, it would have changed nothing. I'd have sooner bent the laws for you than punished you. It is very important that you understand. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded slowly, dragging his feet through the grass.
"Do not worry about the meeting this afternoon; you have a new assignment."
With a new nervousness, Draco looked to his father. "What sort?"
"A very difficult, trying one," said Lucius. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," he said gloomily.
"Take a bath and sleep for the entire afternoon."
"Pardon?"
"I knew it," Lucius sighed, shaking his head with a forced smile. "I knew it to be much too difficult."
Draco paused. "Do you jest, or are you serious?"
"I am very serious." Lucius was immensely glad to see in Draco a visible respite from his previous torments. "Go on, now. Miss Clarke will be waiting for you."
At the doors of the manor, Draco slipped away into the corridor, but before turning the corner, he'd given one last look to his father.
Lucius found his wife in the boudoir organizing her jewelry and cosmetics, and when she'd seen him, she froze and turned to him with a grave expression. "Goodness, Lucius! How utterly defeated you look! Tell me what has happened. Is Draco alright? Did he have anything to say?" She pulled him onto her sofa and pulled his head to rest on her shoulder.
"He does not trust me," Lucius whispered quietly, taking his wife's small hand and pressing it to his lips. "Draco denies everything and trembled before me as if I carried the teeth against his throat."
Narcissa's face fell. "So it is indeed true. If he carries on like this, then his life would be nothing but purgatory."
"I haven't a clue how to proceed with him," Lucius admitted. "And it terrifies me."
Narcissa kissed his cheek and brushed her hand through his long hair. "Do not worry, my love. Everything will be alright. You see, especially at sixteen, no reasonable person is liable to tell their parents a dreadful secret. He believes we are spiteful for taking him from Hogwarts, so there is absolutely no chance that he will let us in. We get close to him, love him as we do, and make it that he knows by our actions how deeply and unwaveringly we adore him. Oh, my husband! You are much too forward and demanding sometimes, and I thank you for where it has gotten us, but it will never work on a sixteen-year-old. He loves us both, I promise you, Lucius. How I hate to see your pain," Narcissa kissed him again.
Narcissa slipped into the darkness of Draco's room, for only a sliver of summer sun managed its way through the thickness of his Prussian curtains. She found her son curled up under his silk coverlet, laden with embroidered sweet peas and summer blossom. By the rise and fall of the cloth, she could tell he had not been asleep, and she resolved to sit beside him and gently stroke the softness of his blonde hair.
"Will you join us this evening?" She asked in a languorous tone, such as done with ease by a mother.
"What for?" Draco whispered.
"For dinner." There was no reply. "And who knows, maybe it is time you have your first glass of champagne."
"Will Severus be there?"
Narcissa sensed the question would come. "Yes, my dear. He will be there."
"Then I will join you."
"Wonderful." She placed a soft kiss on his head and stood, hoping for him a well-earned rest. If Narcissa had the ability, she'd have rid him of everything that ails him. But then, upon careful speculation, even if his adoration for men caused him much difficulty, it also framed Draco's character in a way that she deemed utterly crucial. No, she would not wish change upon him, for, in her eyes, he was the very embodiment of heavenly perfection.
Before she left the room, she heard his meek voice call out. "Mother?"
"Yes?" She turned quickly with hope that from beneath the coverlet would home a confiding moment—that her son would tell her everything and ask for her aid. Go on, she thought. Tell me everything. Tell me about Harry and your many entanglements with him. I won't yell, cry, or laugh at you! I'll entertain every idea and request to hear everything. I will embarrass you with details, for even if it is a sin, only your sin, my son, is irreproachable.
"I am sorry for scolding you," was his confession. Narcissa's shoulders sank momentarily, but she understood her hopes had possessed her much too quickly. She lingered for a while in the doorframe with a pitiful expectation for more, but nothing came.
"I forgive you," she answered, and she slipped away into the corridor.
Miss Clarke stood and set down her book on the wooden bench—Lucius appointed her a position of Draco's secondary guardian, for his trust of the guests in his house was weary. "Madam, I pray everything has been reconciled. What a terrible mood he was in this morning; I foresaw a tantrum as I was dressing him. Oh, how truly witty he is with his insults and jests!"
"Everything is fine. And on his behalf, I apologize if he'd offended you," Narcissa said with a wavering smile. "Get him dressed in his clothes by half past five. Color his face with powder; I know he will be lividly pale when he wakes. His clothes for tonight shall be modest and comfortable. Ensure he is very much at ease. If he is still tense, then order dinner to his suite. Do you understand?"
"Yes, madam."
Miss Clarke bowed as Narcissa quit the corridor. And the moment she was out of sight, the matron of the house was overcome with a fleeting concern that the governess might hate her.
When Severus arrived to dine with the family, his coat was promptly removed in the foyer, and he was led directly into the drawing room, for—according to an upstairs servant—the master of the house wished to engage with him in a private conversation. With great anticipation, Severus moved behind the dining room, where the gentle clinking of china and silver could be heard, into the drawing room, where the master stood alone. Upon seeing him, Lucius poured a glass of whiskey and offered it to him. Severus obliged.
"A terrible event came of the incident at breakfast," Lucius began, his dark eyes darting toward the door in case of curious listeners. "I foolishly interrogated my dear boy about his homosexuality." The latter half of the sentence caused the master great visible pain, but Severus knew it to be due to the guilt of his conduct rather than his son's.
"And?"
"Nothing came of it. I terrified him," Lucius sighed and sunk gloomily into the velveteen sofas. "Has he admitted to you anything? Surely you must know more than I the relationship had between my son and Potter."
Severus shook his head. He regretted withholding so crucial information about Draco, but if Lucius still did not know, then it simply goes that Draco is not yet ready for his father's knowledge. "They are just friends," said Severus. That was no lie; the two boys were just friends who dare not admit the pellucid feelings held toward one another. Even Severus could not bear to watch Harry simply address Draco as his friend when the very name in the air caused the boy to puff out his chest and straighten his posture.
"Have you read their correspondences?" Lucius asked. Then he waved his hand in dismissal in front of his face as if a petulant flea attacked him for the hundredth time. "Oh, never mind that. It is fathers without a conscience who eavesdrop and read unopened letters. But do I have a conscience?" Lucius set down his own glass of whiskey and looked into the hearth with a solemn expression. "I have simply allowed myself to follow aimlessly in my own father's footsteps. How many pitiful men and women I've had to Cleanse with the sentence of homosexuality. Even poor Regulus Black, who was scarce eighteen. And I haven't given it a thought until recently. It is truly miraculous to watch what a vile man such as I can reconcile himself to. Every single execution had been justified by verse, by solidarity. How could I slaughter and hate my own father when I have grown to be just like him? A terrible hypocrite."
"You're not at all like him," said Severus. "Lucius, for a long time I'd known your silent protests against his ways. When you'd come to Hogwarts, your true conduct was no mystery to me. But your father terrified you to your marrow when he'd beaten you nearly to death. Every ounce of your individuality vaporized."
"Oh, do not blame my crimes on the wickedness of that man," Lucius sighed woefully. "I alone am guilty of it all. Regulus did not deserve to die. The others, indubitably. Their crimes were truly wicked against us—the distribution of our text and goods to those mudbloods—but merely loving another cannot be helped. Such is not a choice, for why would my son choose to muddy his image?"
"Draco will soon confide in us," said Severus. "But naturally, he is afraid.
"You brought Potter's letter?" Lucius asked, casting a weary look at his pocket.
"Yes."
"Does Potter love my son?"
Severus paused momentarily. "Yes," he said. "I believe so."
Such an answer should have taken great hesitation to relay, but during this moment, Severus experienced great clarity. Lucius had ceased to view Potter as a corrupting player but seemed to consider him a net for Draco to fall on. If Lucius had known all along of their secret exchange and had allowed it to continue merely for the happiness of his son, then Potter, in Lucius's eyes, must've become a sort of unwilling saint. And perhaps learning of Potter's love for Draco will only fortify Potter's rising position in Lucius's silent game.
After dinner, during which Draco had not spoken a word nor looked to either of his parents, Severus found him sitting solemnly at the foot of the grand staircase, hidden away in the shadow of a marble embossing of narcissi. His arms were folded over his legs, on which his chin rested; he did not stir when Severus took notice of him and accompanied him on the last step.
"Your letter," said Severus. From his pocket he produced a wrapped box tied thoroughly with twine, under which a letter slipped. "Harry finally managed to slip into town; he bought you a present."
Draco took it in his hands and stared at it. The severity of his every feature imparted a certain bitterness and loneliness. Never before had he greeted with heaviness a letter from Harry, and even if it accompanied a gift, Draco seemed to regret having received it. Then, the brown paper wrapping was darkened with spots of tears, and soon the boy was crying softly beside him.
There is not a string of words capable of reconciling Draco. In this time, when a thousand questions flooded his mind, Severus knew all he could do was simply sit beside him and let the natural path to acceptance take its course. But sitting on the dark steps, where even the sliver of moonlight could not reach, Severus felt only the heaviness in his heart and heard nothing but the patter of water upon parchment and gentle sobs from his godson.
Eventually, Draco returned to his room and asked Miss Clarke to leave him alone. Severus bid him a good night and stared solemnly at his door as it closed behind him. The governess, too, looked downcast, as if she was thoroughly disappointed to not have any occupation.
"Let me take you to the drive," she said, grabbing her coat from the bench. "It will give me something to do, and from the drive, I can collect some hydrangea's for the grace's porcelain vases. Come."
The two of them found Lucius and Narcissa nearly as despondent as their son. Narcissa seemed to be consoling her husband as the two of them shared a hushed conversation behind the drawing room's closed doors. And when Severus said his farewell, they merely nodded with a bow.
The cool summer evening proved to be an excellent remedy to the stifling dispiritedness of the manor. The governess must've felt the very same way, for she'd let out a deep exhale and stretched her arms high above her head.
"You must be thoroughly exhausted," said Severus. "I assume it was particularly trying after the incident this morning."
"Oh, I've gotten used to his moods," said Miss Clarke, scanning the hydrangea bushes for worthy decor. "But it is having to sit outside his room when he demands to be alone during the day that proves to be my heel."
"Ah." Severus nodded. "The master is weary of the many guests that come and go into the manor. Nowadays there are many, and he must feel unsettled to have his son alone in his room."
"Not so much the guests but the Lord," said Miss Clarke. With great agitation, she looked over her shoulder for any uninvited participants. "The master told me directly he did not want the Lord alone with Draco, and at first, I thought he was afraid of the Lord trying to sway his son into voting against his father. Such is always a trifle among politicians." Miss Clarke laughed at her own expense and did not continue her thoughts immediately afterward. The moment they'd reached the end of the gravel walk, she began to rub her hands nervously. Severus noticed her fleeting gaze, and he grew to be uneasy. "The Lord stands outside of the grace's room door as if it is made of glass and is watching his every move. Now, it is not for me to accuse Him of spying, but when I come back with the heir's freshly pressed clothes or linen, the Lord flees with his head down as if terribly ashamed. And now, I cannot even leave for a moment! Not even to retrieve the boy's linen, soaps, or flowers! I've become so terrified of my own thoughts toward the Dark Lord that I refuse to look him in the eye for fear he may understand me at once. But tell me, Severus, that I am a fool! That a woman whose education stopped at fourteen couldn't possibly comprehend what the Dark Lord might want with their dear boy?" Miss Clark grabbed Severus by his robes and shook him with her tremulous grip, her eyes possessed by a wild fear.
Severus himself became unbearably paranoid and looked to the apartment where he knew the Dark Lord stayed. From the windows came a feeble glow of candlelight but nothing more. He could not risk sending the poor governess into a deeper crisis and merely gave her a calm smile.
"I will look into it, but do not fret. Attend to your duties as necessary and try not to concern yourself with their affairs. But you are right to wish to chaperone Draco always; I hope you continue to attend to the master’s orders." Severus squeezed her hands comfortingly and let them go. "Good night, Miss Clarke."
She bowed, turned on her heel, and with an unnatural haste, she made for the manor once again. Severus stared at the Dark Lord's window and wondered what twisted plans were currently being conjured up within those walls.