Passed Around Dark Lords

45

"Draco Malfoy, my protege, how wonderful to see your progress. Bellatrix tells me that you have been performing wonderfully." Draco could feel his bones shiver with the way the Dark Lord's words seemed to fly over him. His father was not here, not that his being there was any use in the first place. The man had been a coward for the longest time now it almost felt silly how frightened of him he was. Not when the contender was the Dark Lord, so much...more...so much more...frightening. Terrifying. Any number of negative adjectives.

"I am honored to hear that, My Lord," Draco whispered softly, not daring to raise his voice lest Voldermort get angry. He had seen that, multiple times, and Voldermort's anger was swift, cutting, and horrifying. It was more terrifying than his father's own, because at least with Lucius you had some warning to prepare yourself. The Dark Lord was not like that. In moments he could go from being pleased to pissed to pleased again.

"Of course, you will need to have your shields perfected, in order to handle Dumbledore's legilimacy." Draco bowed his head a little further, goosebumps raising over his skin at the feel of the Dark Lord's hand pressing itself against his shoulder. He could barely breathe, too nervous and scared. He was not sure how his body handled all these emotions. There was so much it felt as though he was drowning in fear.

"I anticipate having them just that, My Lord,"

"I would not anticipate anything less than, after all, you would be remiss to anger me," Draco felt his lower lip wobble at the thought, his tears burning his eyes as he refused to let them do something stupid, like fall down his face.

"I anticipate great success My Lord, Dumbledore's death is all but assured."

"Good, I cannot stand the man, and he poses a problem the longer he is kept alive." The fingers curled around his shoulder lifted, and he felt the fabric of the Lord's cloak caress his cheek as he moved away from him. "If you have any need, whatsoever, please do inform me, or have Bellatrix do so. I am more than willing to help ensure you have all the tools necessary at your disposal." Draco did not answer that, not knowing if he was supposed to. What he did know was that in spite of the Dark Lord's reassurance, he did not think that he was going to be able to kill him. He just nodded his head to the Lord, and thankfully that was enough.

Draco jolted, slightly, fingers yanking up towards his neck for a split second, before it got pulled down harshly by Abraxas, who ignored Tom's cutting glare at the audacious action. Draco could feel his breathing strain against his ribcage. He cursed himself inwardly, and could not believe that he had let himself slip before the very person he had fought so hard to elude. Dumbledore.

The man was young. Quite a bit so. He didn't have his long beard yet, and his hair was not white, but auburn instead. He had short hair, rather than those long white locks, and just seemed so...different. He did not have that grandfather like twinkle. Draco had heard many people say that it seemed like Dumbledore had this gradfatherly aura, and that was how he tricked so many into trusting him. Draco did not really know what that was like. Abraxas and his father had a strained relationship long before Draco came alone, and he had only met the man once or twice, but while he had never felt threatened, he also did not feel the same feeling that would inspire trust and comfort. Not that he felt Dumbledore did either. Draco had always been one to see through these false acts.

This one though, he did not know, it seemed more genuine a verson of the old man he knew.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you could please demonstrate the teacup to gerbil since it seems you have no need to pay attention."

"Professor, I hate to say it, but...which of us would you be speaking to?" Abraxas' lighthearted jab did nothing to ease Draco's spirits, or his nervous mood.

"You know perfectly well I was speaking of the younger one, Mr. Abraxas." Draco grit his teeth. If this was how Dumbledore was as a teacher, he was well and truly fucked. He hated the tone. He could never stand people who second guessed his abilities, and even less those who were condescending. Especially without the backup. At least when Severus was dismissive Draco knew he had every reason to be. His godfather was quite talented, and quite knowledgable of Draco's own abilities as well.

Still, he knew it would be best not to question the teacher, much less in front of the whole class, and while Draco may have dwindling morals, and less than steller behavioral changes after this infernal war he was thrust into because of his father, he still retained some self preservation. So, instead, he merely pulled his wand out, whispered the incantation, and in moments a live gerbil stood where the teacup had been. The class, dumbfounded, simply stared at him. Draco cleared his throat, his fingers absently finding Tom's own, and nervously squeezing his hand. His pupils were wide, though fixed on the desk, nervous of what Dumbledore would do, or say.

"Perfect, ten points to Slytherin, wonderful work, Mr. Malfoy, as expected of the newest addition to the Malfoy family." Dumbledore turned on his heel and walked back to the front of the classroom, giving Draco time to breathe, and attempt to pull his hand from Tom, who refused to let it go. Draco did not even bother questioning or insisting, and simply let Tom have his hand. In truth, he was grateful that Tom hadn't gotten pissed that he had dared to touch him without prompting, and even more grateful that he still held his hand, because while he may portray ice on the outside, he was positively trembling on the inside.