𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒

XXII

Act XXII.

Veritas Obscura

Dark Truth

Sharp mercurial eyes narrowed into thin slits of silent fury as Lucius watched the smug bastard kneel in front of their master and administer his report. He watched his colleague closely, almost unblinkingly, soaking up every detail lest one betray the man’s true intentions. Because Severus Snape was a traitor, he knew that for a fact. It was a bitter truth that left a sour taste in his mouth. The need to expose everyone, especially their master, to this truth was so potent that it haunted his every thought and it was whispered in each movement he made. Every waking moment was now spent waiting in the wings. Watching, observing for that one revealing sign; a wrong choice of words or a subtle facial expression.

It only took one.

After all, one could fall and slip so easily.

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Severus strode quickly through the decrepit halls of the manor, thanking the gods that he was actually in a position where he could walk through them effortlessly, instead of limping heavily as he usually had to after facing a livid Voldemort when a mission had failed. He sighed in relief when he was able to reach the Apparition point, and returned home.

Once there, he hastily locked himself in his den and as he sat in his study, he reached for the Firewhiskey hidden in his cupboard. He swirled the amber liquid around in his glass as he stared at the drink. The color reminded him of the necklace Narcissa had always worn. He had never seen her without it. He wondered idly if that too had been burned away when Lucius had killed her. Groaning heavily at the morbid turn his thoughts had taken, especially at a time when he was trying not to think at all, he downed his cup and reached for the bottle again, knowing that tonight would require a good deal more alcohol than usual if he wanted to get any sleep at all.

Unfortunately, when one bad thought escaped, it soon led to another and another until his head was reeling with them. He thought of Draco and how badly the boy was going to take the news of his mother’s death, and worse yet when he learns about his father’s hand in it. He thought of Lucius and how the man would likely retaliate. He thought of Dumbledore and the many things he still needed to do for him. Biting off a curse, he closed his eyes painfully as he rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe away the headache that was now pounding in his ears. There were so many things that needed to be done, so many debts to be repaid and vows to be fulfilled.

And Draco was in the middle of it all. The once spoilt heir of a notorious Death Eater, the former ruling brat of Slytherin, a boy he wasn’t supposed to care about this deeply. But he did, Merlin help him, but he did. He was like the son he never knew he wanted. A bright beautifully annoying fixture in his dreary life and as times got darker and more dangerous, he couldn’t help the terrifyingly strong urge to lock the boy up somewhere safe where no one could find him, much less hurt him. He laughed dryly, a harsh, hoarse sound. When the hell did he become such a mother hen?

Choking in a mixture of grief and fear, he reached out for a quill and parchment. Then with a hand that wasn’t quite steady and a heart filled with desolate sorrow, he began to write a letter he hoped he would never have to send.

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Draco woke up slowly from his surprisingly dreamless sleep. He blinked up dazedly as he waited for his vision to clear. He tried to sit up gingerly, only to find out what a monumental mistake that was. Clutching his pounding head, he complained miserably, “Oh my god! Everything hurts. Shite! I’m dead, aren’t I? I’m dead and I’m in hell.” He whimpered pathetically as he doubled over in pain. “I got drunk with the poster boy for Gryffindor and the Slytherin gods have come down to smite me in their revulsion.”