Venom & Virtue

chapter 38

Two days later the manor had returned to its usual eerie quiet, the evening of the ball already feeling like a far off memory.

I'd replayed the entire night enough times to drive me insane, as if I were pouring over the same faded photograph, trying to find new details.

The Luna situation had eventually settled itself in my mind, although I still had plenty of questions to be answered.

At the very least, the knowledge had made me regard Lucius with further interest when he joined us during mealtimes.

It seemed that the man was a poison in all forms, most people in his life suffering in some way by mere association.

A forgotten sister, a tormented son, a disregarded daughter, abused house elves.

The only person that appeared remotely capable of countering the effects, was his wife; Narcissa in all her poise and warmth, entirely the opposite of her husband.

The witch was uncommonly generous on all accounts, so much so, that it had made me seriously question how she'd ended up with such a man.

If it hadn't have been for the obvious unspoken affection between the two, I might have believed it a marriage of mere convenience.

But it was blatant that the wizard held his wife in highest esteem, not growing angry if she challenged him or treated the servants affectionately in his presence.

Yes, one thing was undeniably concrete upon close observation; when it came to Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius was just the same as any man in love, faithful and considerate, loyal.

She seemed to be the only person that he genuinely liked, even his own children were treated as accidental company rather than welcome members at the dining table.

The night before, I'd made the conclusion with such mental clarity, that it was as if I'd written it with ink upon parchment; Narcissa was Lucius' one weakness in the world, the only person he would bow to if she asked.

Apart from those observations, the Harry and Sirius issue had taken up a lot of my thoughts too, and although Draco's confession had brought the picture into full focus, it didn't make me feel any better.

I hadn't dared to tell the boy to his face, particularly because I knew he'd revolt against the knowledge, but I felt overwhelming compassion for him.

It was an emotion I'd never expected to encounter when it came to Draco, especially upon our initial cruel interactions months ago, I'd thought him to be the last person I would ever sympathise with.

But between the revelation of Lucius' abuse, and his concerns about the Potter boy, my commiserations were unavoidable.

The truth about Draco had grown a fraction clearer: he was isolated, trapped in his solitary pain and terrified, most of all terrified, that he wasn't enough for those around him, that he would never be.

And that's why, when he'd entered my room the previous night, not uttering a word as he removed his blazer and came to lay beside me on the bed, I'd let him.

Even then, it had been obvious how exhausted he was, immediately falling asleep upon the pillow, faint rings under his eyes.

I'd watched him for a while, enjoying how relaxed his face was compared to the usual strain of consciousness, in that moment totally blissful in equanimity. Only his eyelashes fluttered against his skin occasionally, indicating he were dreaming deeply, lost to the world.

Eventually, I'd done the same, careful not to touch his body as I slid under the duvet.

And this morning he was gone, as if he'd never been there at all, a ghost.