Forgiven and Forgotten
Chapter 1: Forgiven and Forgotten
Incessant giggling floated across the terrace from the sundeck where the girls were reclining on oversized lounge chairs in the skimpiest swim attire Draco had ever seen. How these pureblood witches had managed to acquire the mini-sized garments, was still lost on him. He was sure they’d be scolded and made to cover up once his mother discovered them, but when afternoon tea arrived, Narcissa had only complimented the girls on their sense of fashion and discussed the next shopping trip.
Theo and Blaise were another matter altogether. The pair of them had made a game of sneaking around corners and behind bushes, trying to get better angles to “admire the lovely ladies” from. Their cheekiness hadn’t earned them a better view at all, but instead, Pansy had conjured a small rain cloud to storm over them and the boys returned doused in frigid water. Draco let out a loud guffaw at the sight of them, and was even more glad he hadn’t had anything to do with their creeping about.
As humorous as it was to watch Blaise and Theo drool over their female friends, Draco’s attention was hyper-focused elsewhere. Hermione Granger had no intention of visiting with him over the summer holiday, so he spent it the only way he knew how—ignoring any other witch that came into his line of vision, and reading. He had devoured any Muggle literature Blaise was willing to offer to learn as much as he could to impress her when they next met. They had even roped Theo into it after the first week when he and Blaise had droned on and on about And Then There Were None . While Draco had expanded his horizons and moved onto classics, Theo refused to venture away from mystery novels, and instead had written to Granger pretending to be him for recommendations, much to Draco’s frustration. After some confusion regarding why he was requesting the reading material, she did find a few Sherlock Holmes books to unknowingly quench Theo’s new thirst, sending them via owl.
Currently, Draco was attempting to maneuver through Romeo and Juliet but the language was reminiscent of his grandfather’s favorite outdated spell books and he found it difficult to focus as beads of sweat rolled down his back from the stifling summer heat. He no longer held the girls’ lack of clothing against them, and was nearly ready to join in by removing his shirt when the Floo roared to life from the sitting room behind them.
“Ah, Draco, still wasting the summer away unproductively, I see.”
The blonde teenage boy quickly swiped his book closed and slid it under the cushion he was leaning against. To any onlooker he would appear to be lounging lazily with the rest of his friends, soaking in the sun’s rays. He hoped his father hadn’t noticed the quick movement—he didn’t think he could stomach another discussion like the last time he and Theo were caught reading 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea…
“Father,” he answered cautiously.
“We are having guests tonight and you all are to be present and well-dressed. Theodore, Pansy, both of your fathers will be in attendance so prepare yourselves accordingly,” the elder Malfoy drawled with a hint of irritation. Before anyone could pose a question about the nature of the evening, Lucius had left, leaving only the fading sound of sweeping robes across the Manor’s marble floors.
Panic erupted across both Theo and Pansy’s faces. Blaise reached out for the raven-haired witch’s hands and held them tightly, both locking their eyes on Draco.
“What do we do?” Pansy trembled.
…
Apparently assisting Blaise in drafting a formal betrothal contract was what they would do. It took nearly two hours and twelve trashed attempts before they finally consulted Narcissa. The three boys approached her more than a bit embarrassed by what they were requesting, but Draco’s mother displayed only supreme triumph at finally being included in the scheme.
She fetched her own betrothal contract for the boys to use as a template, and offered her advice on allowing for a few well-placed loopholes in the event either of them wanted to call it off. Blaise scoffed at the idea, but after some convincing, included one of the loopholes consisting of an infidelity clause. If either party were unfaithful, then the other could request the contract be nullified if the claims were substantiated. Reluctantly, Blaise signed the bottom of the document and folded the parchment into an envelope and sealed it.
The three boys returned to their rooms to wash and dress for the unknown occasion, certain that the only thing to come of it would be an ill-timed engagement and a five-person-sized bundle of nervous energy.
“So what d’you think this is about?” Theo fidgeted with his robes, straightening and re-shifting them around in the mirror.
“Judging from our limited knowledge of the guest list, I’d say it’s either a betrothal attempt for you and Pansy, or a Death Eater reunion,” Draco said boredly. He had begun making notes of his fathers ‘work meetings’ and travel since the summer had begun. The findings were quite telling to say the least, as his previous business holdings had never taken him to Bulgaria or Russia in the past. It also wasn’t lost on Draco that his mother was no longer allowed to join Lucius on these trips, not even the ones in France.
“Death Eaters? You really think so?” Blaise mused, tugging at his stiff collar.
“My father’s whereabouts have been more than suspicious the last few weeks, and mother has barely been allowed outside the Manor with the exception of pre-scheduled press-related events, and minimal appearances at her social clubs,” Draco responded drily. How could none of them have noticed? Blaise and Daphne had been practically living at the Manor since they arrived back from Hogwarts, and Pansy and Theo really did live here now. Surely someone else had to have kept an eye on Lucius…?
“I think it’s a bit of a stretch mate, we all know the Dark Lord hasn’t magically risen from the dead, so what use would a bunch of Death Eaters be now?” Theo mumbled unconvincingly.
“They’d get themselves locked up in Azkaban for it, that’s for sure,” Blaise added as he straightened his cuffs.
“Fine, but don’t be surprised when I’m right,” Draco nearly snarled before storming out of the room, almost smacking into Mippy who had appeared with a silent pop!
“Young Masters are to be going downstairs now, sirs!” The elf squeaked as she swatted at them until they jumped into action, quickly descending the stairs in a single file line.
“Thank you, Mippy,” Narcissa called cordially with a tight smile, her simple silken evening gown dripping like liquid gold across her shoulders and down to the floor.
“Mistress is most welcome!” Mippy nodded proudly before popping away again.
“Boys,” Narcissa smiled a bit more genuinely, “you all look dashing.” She gave Blaise a wink and his cheeks burned hot as she appraised Theo and Draco.
Lucius rounded the corner of the hall in all black robes, his blonde hair a shocking contrast. In an instant, his mother’s tight-lipped smile returned, demure and empty. “Ready, darling?” She asked sweetly, and Draco could see it in her eyes that she was Occluding.
“As I’ll ever be,” his father replied tiredly. With a deep inhale, Lucius’s features spread into a standard Malfoy smirk—his lips curled to one side with an eyebrow slightly cocked in preparation for a sneer.
Draco sent a knowing glare to his friends and he could see the true fear in Blaise and Theo’s eyes. This was no betrothal night. It was a Death Eater revival.
…
“So, Draco, your father tells us you’re quite the Quidditch player, eh?” A pallid, podgy man clapped him on the shoulder with a smarmy grin.
“Er, yes, I’m the Seeker for Slytherin,” Draco answered uncomfortably, taking a swig from his champagne flute to avoid looking the man in the eye. Social customs be damned, the ballroom was filled with disgusting filth. Everywhere he turned there were societal pariahs schmoozing it up with real pureblood aristocracy. Even if the man was somehow linked to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they really needed to up their standards. At least a third of the room would make a strong case for contraceptive charms and another third against inbreeding.
“Ever knock anyone off their brooms? Get a little rough?” The man winked with crusty, crinkled eyes.
“No—“
“Mr. Malfoy plays quite fairly from what I’ve heard, Amycus. Some students actually enjoy playing the game, not just maiming students for the sake of violence,” a man Draco recognized as Walden Macnair growled as he joined the pair where Draco stood, a hand resting protectively on his shoulder.
The other man, Amycus, sneered in contempt, but backed himself out of Draco’s personal space. “Macnair,” he spat. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Cutting heads off of animals or something?”
Macnair boomed a laugh, and several heads turned to stare at the odd threesome. The sound must have attracted his father’s attention as well, as Lucius strode over to the pissing contest.
“Draco, your mother has some guests she’d like you to meet. Walden,” he nodded to the bigger man, receiving a curt nod in response. “Carrow,” Lucius sneered in disgust at the other man before promptly turning and leading Draco away from the odd encounter.
“What on earth were you doing talking to Amycus Carrow?!” His father demanded scathingly.
“He came up to me! I tried to get away, but he wouldn’t keep his grimy claws off!” Draco grit out with frustration and disgust.
“Stay away from him. In fact, stay away from everyone here. You can’t trust any of them and most of our ranks are, in fact, delusional and unstable. Merlin forbid Bella ever gets out of Azkaban, she’ll be the leader of them all,” he shook his head to clear the thought from his mind.
“Why would she ever get out? It’s Azkaban—“ Draco tried to assuage his father with logic.
“Now that that damn cousin of yours has done it, some of these fools actually believe it possible to achieve…it’s no matter for you to worry about. Your mission has not changed. Keep your head down at school and bring me any new information on Potter and Dumbledore. We’re collecting too many moving pieces,” Lucius said dryly as his pale blue eyes flitted around the room, calculating, ”and I’ll need a firm grip on them before the start of term.”
“Yes father,” Draco said despondently. Who would want to break Aunt Bella out of Azkaban? She was a nutter before she went in there…surely she’d have only gotten worse!
“Oh, Draco, darling! I’d like you to meet some new acquaintances of ours!” Narcissa cooed at him once she caught sight of her son. She gestured to the small group she was standing with. A tall, stern looking woman with dark auburn hair gave him a reserved, appraising look, while the dumpy and mustached wizard to her right ignored his presence entirely in favor of the frizzy haired witch hanging off his arm. Both of the latter appeared to have drunk themselves into quite the state and were now waving around recently downed glasses of champagne.
“This is Ms. Amelia Bones, I believe you know her niece, Susan?” Narcissa smiled demurely and Draco could tell she was uneasy beneath the gaze of the sharp woman.
“Ms. Bones, pleasure to meet you,” he gave her a polite nod, “I have seen Susan in passing, but I haven’t had the pleasure of making her acquaintance yet.” This seemed to appease the woman for the moment, but her face seemed to convey deep scrutiny in the entire event around them, especially the hosts.
“And here,” his mother gestured with her other hand, “is Mr. Barnabus Cuffe and his associate Amphitryia Rookwood. You’ll recognize Mr. Cuffe as the Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Prophet .”
Draco extended his arm for a handshake but was stopped mid-motion.
“Hem hem,” a third, squat, toad-faced witch edged her way to the front of the group, her elbow digging into Amelia Bones’ hip as she went, earning her a hawklike glare. The tall auburn-haired witch tipped her nose up aristocratically and rejoined the rest of the party.
His mother looked least pleased at the interruption of the fourth guest, but made the introduction nonetheless. “This is Delores, she’s just informed me that she is the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister—“
“Oh yes, and you must be Draco Malfoy. We’ve all heard such promising things about you,” she grinned like a Cheshire cat as she interrupted her own introduction. “I am Delores Jane Umbridge, lineage through the Selwyns, of course, via my father’s family.” The woman extended her plump, hand, which Draco took reluctantly. Narcissa looking extremely put out and scandalized by such impolite behavior, nearly rounded on the woman but Draco cut in to prevent any claws from extending.
“Why thank you, Madam Undersecretary, I do hope you are enjoying the party,” he said with his own false propriety. The woman seemed unable to tell the difference, and her smile widened a fraction of an inch.
“Now tell me dear boy, do you often speak to the Headmaster at Hogwarts?” She pried.
“Not if I can help it,” Draco said offhandedly before he could catch himself. Damn champagne.
She gave a falsely girlish, high pitch giggle, “yes, an awful man that one. Some have said he’s losing his touch, you know.”
Draco’s eyebrows shot up at the direct insult to Dumbledore. Surely he heard that wrong. Wasn’t Fudge constantly corresponding with the Headmaster? It was mostly common knowledge that the Minister felt the need to get Dumbledore’s approval on nearly every subject. If this Umbridge woman works for Fudge shouldn’t she be supporting the Headmaster?
“I only meant I try to stay out of trouble,” Draco said smoothly, but the toad-faced witch gave him a sly smirk before pressing on.
“Yes, of course, well, your secret’s safe with me, Mr. Malfoy! It’s not as though you’re spending your days running around with mudbloods,” she claimed a bit too loudly.
Draco clenched his jaw tightly and caught his mother’s cautioning eye over the toad woman’s mop of hair. “Of course not. That would be Potter, and he and I are nothing more than schoolyard rivals—quidditch, houses, although I can’t say there’s much of a contest between our grades, he does rather abysmally in most of his classes unless there’s a creature teaching it.”
Narcissa glared at him abruptly, but the squat woman looked very interested—gleeful even.
“Draco, I think it’s time you re-joined your friends and retired for the evening,” his mother said curtly, brokering no room for arguments and silencing Delores’s protestations.
“Yes, mother,” he offered apologetically realizing he had just put not only his old Professor, but one of his mother’s oldest friends in direct danger of the Ministry without even thinking, “it was lovely to meet you all.” Draco bid adieu to the rest of the guests in his vicinity and hurried away to find his friends. Surely Theo and Pansy would need saving by now.
He spotted Theo lurking in a darkened corner of the room, avoiding eye contact and conversation with anyone moving in his direction.
“You gotta get me out of here, mate!” Theo begged when he spotted Draco heading his way.
“Already on it,” Draco nodded. “Where’s Pansy? It’s a full rescue mission.”
“Haven’t seen her in at least half an hour,” Theo answered dejectedly. “Blaise went with her, but the old blood seem to be using a divide and conquer tactic tonight.”
Draco certainly agreed with that sentiment. From what he had noticed in passing, those who would’ve been on the old guard or ‘veteran’ Death Eaters, were isolating any new blood or younger Death Eaters present as if sizing them up and assessing them for a fight. He supposed they were, this was a recruiting soiree afterall. It wasn’t hard to decipher through his father’s thinly veiled ‘dinner party’ plans. The moment he saw fear in his mother’s face, he knew. Narcissa Malfoy did not cower in fear.
A flash of black and pale blue caught his eye, and Draco grabbed Theo by the forearm, tugging him along. “What is it?” Theo questioned.
“I think I saw Pansy, now shhh! If it’s Mr. Parkinson, we have to be careful about how we interrupt.”
“The game is afoot!” Theo declared, pulling a tobacco pipe from his pocket to place between his lips.
“Seriously? Now?” Draco huffed at the ridiculous response to such a serious situation. “Where did you get that thing anyway?”
They left the ballroom and twisted down first one hall then another, always catching just a slight glimpse of her dress fluttering around the corner. Eventually, they hit a dead end, the corridor leading only to one room with the door cracked open. A light glowed around the edges of the door, and Draco smirked as he went to push the door open. However, before he even touched the wood, Theo grabbed his arm back to stop him.
“We don’t know what’s in there! Weren’t you the one saying we need to be cautious?” Theo whispered in a tone that wasn’t actually much of a whisper at all.
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Draco pushed the door all the way open, “I happen to know this is just the kitchens.” He chuckled at Theo’s irritation over someone using Sherlock Holmes quotes against him. Pansy was perched on the counter top of the center island, holding a plate overflowing with chocolate cake and a fork stuffed in her mouth. Eyes wide, she watched the exchange, refusing to give up her dessert.
“Wha-re yoo guys ta-llin’ ‘bout?” She asked, sucking the remaining chocolate off the fork before digging back into the giant slice of cake.
“Draco, here, thought you were being abducted by your father or some other nefarious villain!” Theo jumped to defend his ego.
“Yes, thank you for that, Theodore. Sorry for wanting to make sure our friend was alright considering the positions we’ve all been in tonight!” Draco replied snarkily.
“Cake?” She asked around the fork in her mouth as she extended her plate in Draco’s direction and patting the spot beside her.
“Absolutely!” Theo scrambled toward the witch who quickly retracted her offer as she shot Theo a glare.
“Not you.”
Draco gave a full-bellied laugh and Theo pouted. “I was worried too, ya know!”
“Oh fine.” Pansy gave in and called for Mippy to bring two more plates of cake and a pair forks.
Draco, Theo, and Pansy enjoyed their dessert in comfortable silence when the former suddenly remembered he needed to address a certain werewolf about a future press issue.
“Where are you going?” Pansy called as Draco headed toward the kitchen doors.
“I may have said something I shouldn’t have in front of someone from the Ministry…” Draco winced.
Theo chuckled, “So? You’re a Malfoy, shouldn’t they be bending to your will and whatnot?”
“I didn’t get myself into trouble—not with the Ministry woman at least—I may have accidentally thrown Professor Lupin into the line of fire,” He corrected.
“And you want to get ahead of it before Narcissa finds out,” Pansy hummed.
“Mother was there when I said it.”
“Oh, you’re in for it then!” She cackled at his guilty demeanor. He knew just as well as they did that his freedom wouldn’t last after the party was over.
Head hung low, he marched up the stairs to his cousin’s room where he knew he’d find his former professor. Draco’s feet led him reluctantly onward, coming to a halt in front of the door. The light was on, glowing through the open space at the floor. He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. How do you tell someone you put a Ministry target on their back? Especially someone like Lupin—someone who actually gave him a chance to be more than just “the Malfoy Heir”.
“Come in,” an unexpected voice called from within.
Draco silently opened the door and stepped in. Sirius and Remus were lounging in a matching pair of armchairs, their postures depicting their true natures. Lupin sat relaxed, but upright with one leg crossed over his other knee, hand poised under his chin in deep thought as he studied his companion’s next move in their game of Wizards Chess. Sirius, on the other hand, was sprawled with one leg dangling over an arm of the chair, his neck bent over the opposite side with one arm underneath, his other arm reaching for his rook.
“Hello, Draco,” Remus smiled up at him, “I’m about to destroy your cousin in Wizards Chess. Would you care to watch?” The mirth and pure enjoyment are on the professor’s face sent a crack in Draco’s facade that didn’t go unnoticed.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Sirius sat up eyeing Draco with concern. For a moment, Draco actually enjoyed his reaction—a father figure caring about what was wrong with him, or even noticing for that matter, instead of just demanding a new task from him.
“Actually, it’s about Professor Lupin,” Draco lowered his eyes to the floor in embarrassment.
“Draco, we’ve talked about this, you can just call me Remus. I’m not your professor anymore,” the werewolf said with a genuine smile.
“Go on then, Draco,” his mother’s voice called sternly from behind him. Panic flooded his veins, laced with fear and regret. He had forgotten she was the one who called him in to begin with. “Why don’t you tell Remus what happened downstairs?” Her left eyebrow rose to a surprisingly high arch, daring him to back out and face her wrath.
Clearing his throat, Draco turned back toward Remus, who now looked severely more concerned than moments before, making the entire situation that much more difficult.
Squaring his shoulders and looking the man directly in the eye, Draco informed both wizards of his failure. Expecting to see outrage and disappointment, he hung his head. The sounds he heard were so foreign to his expectations that he couldn’t even process them at first—laughter.
Remus rose from his chair with the agility of an eighty-year-old man, his joints popping with ungodly volume compared to the silence enveloping the rest of the room. Narcissa looked scandalized by the outburst of unexpected laughter emitted from the werewolf, and concern bled through her hardened eyes at the man’s physical state.
“Remus, do you understand the implication of what he’s done?” She quickly asked, imploring him to see the bigger picture.
“Oh, I understand perfectly, sweet Cissa.” Remus smiled at his old friend kindly, if not a bit condescendingly—his tone a reflection of her own. “The Ministry has already made my life quite difficult. I can no longer be hired as an employee, nor can I take out a loan for a home or even keep an account at Gringotts. The Ministry confiscated what little I had in my vault long ago.”
Narcissa’s hand was covering most of her face, obscuring her features from view, but Draco could see the single tear rolling its way down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away. “Remus, please—“
“No, Cissa, Draco may have given that Ministry woman what she thought was breaking news, but I’ve already been dragged through the mud. My name was smeared the moment I left Hogwarts in June. It was all over The Daily Prophet in another attempt to fracture Dumbledore’s image.”
Sirius barked a laugh, “they’re barmy if they think that’ll ever happen!”
“Greater men than Dumbledore have fallen much farther for much less,” Remus replied thoughtfully as he scratched at his scruffy chin.
“Yeah, well, they weren’t Albus Dumbledore!” Sirius crowed.
Remus looked to Draco for a reaction. Surely it was obvious he had little reason to like the Headmaster, let alone admire him with such fervor as Sirius or Potter did. Clearing his throat, Draco attempted to bring the conversation back to its origins.
“Remus…,” the name sounding a bit foreign after referring to the man as professor or by his surname all year, “I am sorry for putting your name back at the top of the Ministry’s list. I’m not sure what that woman wanted, but she was very keen on any information she could get about Dumbledore and Hogwarts, and I’d wager she would just as soon throw you into the fire to get it.”
“All’s forgiven and forgotten, Draco.”
…
“Draco!” She bounced in her armchair with a barely-contained level of energy.
“Mina…” he greeted apathetically as he sat in his own chair.
“Pardon my enthusiasm, but I do believe we’ve made at least some progress in our sessions this summer, don’t you?” She was wearing her lime green Healer robes today, and while Draco understood the necessity and ease of requiring uniforms for the profession, that particular shade of green was truly an eyesore. Clearly blinding patients wasn’t much of a concern.
“Draco?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you thought we had made some progress with your condition?” the witch asked eagerly, overlooking his serious lack of interest in their meetings.
“Oh, er, I guess so? Is the dark spot nearly gone then?” Draco was only in these meetings for one thing—to get rid of that dark spot on his magical core. While he couldn’t feel it , every spell he cast made him second guess whether he was the only one casting. It was eerie…like the Shrieking Shack or the Forbidden Forest…the unknown was more of a threat than the actual thing itself.
“See, that’s the thing,” she clasped her hands under her chin like a giddy school girl, “it’s not! We’ve examined every angle—the Parseltongue transference, the soul passing through your body—it just doesn’t lead us anywhere! We’ve monitored it and tested it with everything we could imagine—even the experimental stuff—and, well, nothing!” She said with a shrug.
“So what now?” Draco drawled, decidedly in a much worse mood than when he’d walked in only moments before.
“Dunno,” she shrugged again, sipping on her over-brewed coffee. “I’d say, we just keep monitoring you, maybe once every few months and see what happens.”
“Are we finished then?” Draco growled, growing more disgruntled with each sentence spewing out of her mouth.
“Oh, sure, sure,” she waved him off, “just keep me updated if anything changes!” She looked a bit too glad to be rid of him considering only a year ago he was her big breakthrough case…
“Uh thanks?” he offered uncertainly as he walked back toward the door to her small office.
“Anytime!” newly promoted Healer Higgins smiled cheerily, turning back to the files on her desk.
At least now he only needed to focus on his Occlumency for the remaining holiday. Draco returned to the Manor much earlier than he’d expected to, and it was still just as quiet as he’d left it. Fancying a bit of toast and jam before everyone else woke for breakfast, he strolled through the first floor of the Manor toward the kitchens.
Deeper voices drifted down the hall toward Lucius’s study causing Draco to pause in his venture. Why would his father be up so early the morning after hosting—whatever that was—late into the evening? Perhaps he never went to bed at all…
Draco tiptoed down the hall, well aware he was deliberately breaking the “no eavesdropping” rule and if caught, he would be much more severely punished than he had been at eleven. Although he did ponder that perhaps his father would see him as the man he was growing into and be proud of his son for getting involved in the family affairs.
He reached for the door handle but caught clips of the sharp tones tittering back and forth behind it. Draco paused, coming to the conclusion his interruption would most likely be received with significantly less enthusiasm than previously anticipated.
One of the voices grew louder—Lucius. “The Quidditch World Cup is NOT the place !” He spoke with determined finality.
Draco leaned toward the door. What’s wrong with the World Cup?
“Not the place?! It’s the best place, Lucius, and you damn well know it! It’s a world stage for us to make our statement!” A low, gruff voice retorted.
“Walden, there is no proof that He is back! We would be painting international targets on our backs!” His father’s voice rang out.
“The marks grow darker and more defined every day! Don’t bury your head in the sand or you may just find it cut off…”
Lucius’s sneer was nearly audible through the closed, solid wood door. “You dare threaten me in my own home , Macnair?” He spoke calmly, but Draco knew his eyes would be hardened steel and ice. “Don’t forget how you made it out unscathed last time. I may be unwilling to help an old friend should the Ministry come calling—“
“I didn’t mean it as a threat—only that—well, there’s talks among the ranks that you’ve lost your authority,” Macnair quickly cut in. “I think if you were to marshall this attack, it would keep any rising mutinies at bay.”
“Led by yourself, I presume?” His father laid the trap out, open and ready for only a single misstep.
“M-me?! No! Of course not, Malfoy! Loyal ‘til the end!” Macnair stumbled through his words. The trap snapping shut, cutting his legs out from beneath him. Walden Macnair was a deadman and he didn’t even know it yet. His father enjoyed the long-game. Hell, he might even toy with him for a few years before pulling the rug from under the man.
While his mother’s brand of Slytherin was cunning and deceit, she was never one to relish in another’s suffering—always cutting them to the quick with her veracity and sharp tongue. His father, on the other hand, certainly enjoyed playing with his victims, and while entertaining at the least of consequential times, a man’s life was something else altogether. Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it…or even what his own version of Slytherin traits would define him.
“ Malfoy is it now? Interesting. I will consider the proposal, but I suggest—“
Draco hurried to the kitchens, not chancing a glance behind him. His father certainly would not appreciate his knowledge of what had just transpired, and Draco wasn’t even sure he fully understood the implications either.