the girl who lost it all [d.m]

twenty one: crudelis

crudelis: cruel, unfeeling, heartless

———

DRACO was exhausted.

It didn't take long for his shoulder to start aching despite the Dittany and powdered silver he'd applied just an hour before he left the Manor. His mother had been eager to keep him in—word was that some of the Dark Lord's loyal supporters were looting and pillaging nearby towns and Narcissa wanted Draco to stay as far away from them as possible. He didn't blame her. Those raids often turned violent and ended in bloodshed.

But he'd placed a kiss on her cheek and told her he'd be fine. Which he would be—he hoped.

The streets were dark and deserted as he made his way down the narrow streets, the crisp wind blowing his cloak around him with every step he took. But he could hear the sounds of the looting further away—shouts, crackling fire, laughter—as the Dark Lord's supporters ransacked people's houses. They'd take everything they could, kill anyone who protested and come back with gold and jewelry as well as supplies that could be used in the war. It was an efficient way to acquire resources.

But Draco wasn't here to join in on a raid—or shut down one. He figured maybe if he was a better person, he'd stop them. All he had to do was give them an order and all of them would scramble at the fear of disobeying Voldemort's right hand man.

But he wasn't a better man. So he kept walking down the twisting streets of Paisley, until he reached his destination—an expensive-looking townhouse surrounded by a black fence.

He strode right through the gate and didn't even bother to knock on the front door despite the elaborate knocker in the shape of an eagle that looked utterly tempting to slam.

"You're early," called a voice from the sitting room as soon as Draco stepped into the dimly lit hallway. He shrugged off his coat, stepping around the fat grey cat that curled around his legs.

"Still alive, I see," he murmured to himself, bending to give the feline a quick scratch under the chin. "I'm surprised, considering your owner is an absolute twat."

"Heard that!" came the answering reply and Draco shook his head, finally heading into the sitting room.

Orion sat on the chaise, his legs kicked up onto the coffee table in front of him, although there was hardly any space on it. Books, newspaper clippings, sheets of paper all covered the surface of the table, punctuated with suspiciously large stains of ink and coffee.

"Have you grown taller?" Orion narrowed those jade green eyes at Draco. "You had to duck to get in through the doorway just there."

"I always had to duck." Draco's eyes swept the room which was as much of a mess as the table Orion had his feet on. "Not surprising, considering this house was made for someone who's five foot nine."