Meet Your Match

7. There's No One

A patch of moisture was blooming on the wall in front of him. Draco watched the cinder grow dark and shiny as it gathered. When a droplet broke free and trickled downward, he had to physically shake off the phantom sensation of it sliding down the back of his neck.

“I’ve been spending time with Muggles.”

Lucius Malfoy raised his eyes slowly from the stone floor and fixed them on his son’s face. His expression didn’t change. At all. No shock, no outrage, not even a flicker of surprise.

Draco didn’t know exactly what he’d expected, but given that those were the only words he’d spoken to his father in six months of visits, he’d expected more than nothing.

He wasn’t sure why he’d even said them. Of all the thoughts that tore through his mind as he sat and stared at the wall for an hour at a time, why had those been the words that finally tumbled out?

Lucius just looked at him. Time stretched on, and Draco was determined not to shift under his father’s gaze, not to speak first. But Lucius dropped his eyes back to the floor, and Draco’s resolve broke.

“Nothing?” he asked. “You have nothing to say?”

Lucius rolled his eyes but still didn’t look back at Draco. “Tell me something I don’t know, and I might be tempted to dignify it with a response.”

Draco felt his mouth open in surprise. “Mother told you?”

Lucius inclined his head in an almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgement.

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

Lucius did look at him then, and his expression made Draco’s stomach twist.

“And what, pray tell, was I supposed to glean from your behaviour that would indicate you had any interest in hearing my opinions on how you waste your time?”

Draco ground his teeth together and bit out, “That’s never stopped you before.”

To his surprise, Lucius let out a bark of genuine laughter. Draco nearly recoiled at the slightly horrific sight of mirth stretching sallow skin over gaunt features. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his father laugh. It had to be five years at least but was probably closer to ten—long before he looked like this.

“Very well,” Lucius said, a sneer curving his lips. “Tell me about your Muggles.”

Draco felt his face heating at the disdainful emphasis his father placed on the word. Now that he’d goaded Lucius into asking about them, he found that he had no desire to discuss his friends with him.

“They are very similar,” he said, trying to sound vague. “I was surprised.”

Lucius looked bored. “Similar?” he drawled.

“To us, I mean.”

“With one notable exception, surely.”

“Indeed,” Draco went on. “They can’t use magic.” He let an imitation of his father’s sneer twist his face. “Just like you.”

Draco relished the moment Lucius failed to conceal his reaction to those words. His lips pressed into a thin line and his nostrils flared.