SOLSTICE

040

The room was cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire in the grand marble hearth. 

“This doesn’t look like a common room. Where are they?” Rab questioned.

Regulus simply shrugged, his expression unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of confusion. “I’ve no idea.” 

Cyril stood at the center, his tall figure casting a shadow over Draco, who knelt on the floor like a penitent sinner. The plush rug beneath him did little to cushion the weight of Cyril’s gaze.

“Someone is in trouble.” Evan singsonged as the other Malfoys sneered at the scene.

“Do you know what you’ve done? Why you are here?” Cyril’s voice was quiet, yet it seemed to echo, bouncing off the high ceilings and sinking into the air like venom.

Draco dared to glance up, but the frost in Cyril’s cold eyes made him lower his gaze almost instantly. “I—”

Cyril raised a hand, a slow, deliberate gesture that cut Draco off mid-sentence. "I didn’t ask for your excuses, Malfoy. I asked if you understand."

“He’s cold, man,” someone muttered, their voice low, tinged with unease.

“After all, he is my godson,” Evan drawled with a smug smile, leaning back as though Cyril's icy demeanor was a personal accolade.

Draco swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. 

He stepped forward, his polished boots barely making a sound against the gleaming floors. "Let me explain it to you. When you opened your mouth and let that stupid word spill out, you didn’t just make yourself look like a fool. You dragged my court into it."

“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Isabella said smoothly. “People are quick to judge the whole house because of a few bad apples. Take You-know-who, for example. Thanks to him and the Death Eaters, the world’s convinced every Slytherin is born evil.” 

The fire flared behind him, as though responding to his simmering fury. "Do you have any idea what it means when people point their fingers at my people because you lack the discipline to think before you speak?"

Draco’s lips parted, but Cyril’s glare froze him in place.

"I’ll make it simple for you, Malfoy," Cyril continued, his tone dipping into something frigid and unforgiving. "You are not entitled to your stupidity. Not here. Not while you sit among my court. I have no patience for weak links, nor the arrogance of fools who believe their bloodlines make them untouchable."

The silence was suffocating, pressing against the chest of every person in the room. Blaise shifted slightly, his expression a careful mask of indifference, though his fingers twitched against the arm of his chair. Daphne, her usual bravado muted, stared at the floor, avoiding Cyril’s gaze at all costs.

“I’ve told you before that I prefer Draco over Malfoy but you are still struggling to understand it.”

Draco’s breathing hitched, but he dared not speak. 

"I don’t care about your views people beneath you, Draco. What I care about is the filth you drag back to us when you’re careless. Do not make the mistake of thinking I’ll allow it to happen again."

The firelight flickered, casting sharp, jagged shadows across Cyril’s face. His gaze was fixed on Draco, who looked as though he might crumble under the weight of it.