The Girl Who Lived (Draco Malfoy x OC)

The Dark Sky and The Stars

February 24th 1997

Snape's office was by far the embodiment of his gloomy personality. Dimly-lit with shadowy walls lined with shelves of jars filled with slimy, revolting things. The fireplace was reduced to ashes, aiding to the coolness of the room. Draco sat down on one of the dark green, ornate chairs; elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand. He watched as Snape tended to his private stock of potions in the corner. Despite being the D.A.D.A. teacher, he still revelled in his hobby of potion making.

Of course, Draco wasn't here for a cup of tea, Snape was giving him another one of his many lectures.

He soaked in the esteemed Slytherin's words, considering his so-called 'advice' and guidance towards being one of the Dark Lord's Death Eater's. For the past month, ever since his return from Christmas at the Manor, Snape had been keeping a close eye on him. Though Draco was uninformed with the details, he knew his parents probably asked Snape to help him with his task. After all, Severus Snape was a long-lasting friend of his fathers. Draco put on a front that he didn't want or need his help, but when it came down to the guts of what he had to do; he was thankful at least one person in Hogwarts knew his burden.

Snape tapped a vial, watching the liquids smoke up within, satisfied he placed it back in his cabinet. As he passed Draco, still uttering words of fealty for the Dark Lord, a cool breeze swept the room. Sometimes it appeared as if gravity turned down only around the man. Draco repressed the need to shiver.

"Your parents wouldn't expect anything less. Is that clear to you?" Snape finished, finally looking at him.

He resisted the urge to spit back that Snape's words were obvious and indisputable, that he wasn't a fool and didn't need some watchdog for his work. Instead he settled on his trademark snarl, eyes darkening as he nodded. Snape just turned his nose up, continuing on with his correlations. Though Draco and his parents suffered under the Dark Lord's hand, he could tell the Slytherin Head was enduring worse. Snape would never lash out towards him, maybe make a self-deprecating joke at worst, but he could see the pain biddled in his eyes. Before Draco could feel any sympathy, he reminded himself of his father's teachings.

A bleeding heart gets you nowhere in this life.

"Enlighten me, Mr. Malfoy, how long until the cabinet is at completion?" The tone was condescending, Draco detested it.

He flicked his fingers on the chair's armrests. "It's difficult to say, a few months at least."

"You do not have a few months."

His lip twitched. "I will get it done."

Snape soon paused in his movements, his back to Draco as he stared at nothing in particular. "Though I imitate a broken record, if you need-"

"I don't need your help," he finally hissed, the words springing forth from the tip of his tongue. "If there is one thing I manage to get right it will be fixing some old piece of fucking furniture. The Dark Lord be damned, I don't need help despite whatever my father has told you. Why he doubts my ability to take care of the Malfoy name, I'll never know. I'm not the failure he is turning himself to be."

"Your father doesn't doubt you, Malfoy," Snape turned to him. "Your mother fears for you. It's never been about capability. She does not want her son's soul torn apart."

"And how can you be so sure of that?" Draco seethed.

"Because I swore to protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow."

"I don't need your protection," he sucked in his cheek, frowning hard at the dying fireplace. "I will please the Dark Lord, he chose me for this and I will prove Malfoy's are still worthy."