Congratulations, Now I Hate You

Prologue

Draco's POV

I've been dreading this moment all week.  I glare at my father across the polished table and violently snap my napkin before laying it in my lap.  He ignores my passive-aggressive protest of being here tonight and watches as his glass is being poured.  When the last of the staff have vacated the room, he finally manages a tight smile and meets my murderous gaze.

"Well, let's not let our dinner get cold, shall we?  We can talk business after-"

"I'd rather discuss it now."

He knows I'm not here to break bread.  I'm only here because he demanded my presence for some "talk".  He also knows that I'm direct.  I've learned from the best.  For the life of me, I haven't been able to figure out why he's been resisting the urge to argue with me lately, and I'm itching to make another try for a knock-down-drag-out fight tonight.

I have my suspicions.  He hasn't been looking well, but given his past behaviour, I fully expect that I'm here because he's going to tell me that he's found love, and that he's going to remarry.  Some gold-digging bitch to take my mother's place, and to steal my rightful inheritance.  

My dark fantasies that have included various ways of offing the old man might be broadening to two people after tonight.

"Well?" I prod him impatiently.

"Draco, I know you're still angry at me.  It's been years and I've already explained why I did what I did.  You had no right to meddle in my private affairs back then."

"But it's alright for you to meddle in mine?"

His lips press together, but to my disappointment, he doesn't lose his cool.  He simply continues on with this plastic, faux patient voice that's setting my teeth on edge.

"You're my only son, and whether you realize it now or not, you love me too.  Someday you'll forgive me for what I did.  Your mother never knew about it and I'm grateful to you for keeping it from her."

"Trust me.  It wasn't for your benefit."

"I'm aware," he says, and picks up his soup spoon.

I glance down at my steaming bowl of liquid and back up at him, arching a brow.  

"What's up with this?  I've never seen you eat soup a day in your life."

His face twists into something between a grimace and a pained expression.  It's then that I notice how much darker the shadows are beneath his eyes, and how gaunt his face has gotten since I'd last seen him.  What was it, two months ago?  Three?  I lean back in my chair and study him a moment longer.  He tries to maintain eye contact but can't.  

Something's coming.

"You're remarrying?"

An incredulous chuckle bursts through his chapped lips and I'm partially relieved.  That isn't it, then.  Then what?

"I'm dying."