WHEN GODS SLEEP - DRACO M.

NINE.

WHEN GODS SLEEP
Chapter Nine

Night fell upon Hogwarts in all its somber, tranquil glory. It was yet an hour before curfew when Epione began her arduous task of reaching the very seventh floor of the castle, where Draco awaited. She spared barely a glimpse at the portraits cluttering the gigantic walls, painfully aware of their scrutiny, but rejoicing in the silence. Dealing with them had been troublesome at first – she didn't have it in her to fake deafness – but recently developed the kindest of strategies. An off-hand comment about Umbridge or Filtch paired with a spotless impersonation of her mother's attitude and it proved effective enough for them to leave her alone.

         As if climbing all those steps (and backtracking when they stubbornly switched ways) wasn't a workout and a half by itself, her own stressful heart showed her no mercy. By the time she stood where he'd indicated, she was a bit too out of breath to even formulate the thoughts necessary to enter the room. Her mother would blanch if she were to know just how much sense and properness her perfect daughter lost in the face of the youngest Malfoy.

         Or perhaps she would be ecstatic, elated, that she appeared to pursue the walking power-source she attempted to make Asteria seduce.

         She took a couple more breaths to calm herself before walking inside, cautious and with a tinge of amazement at the sight of such place. If she were to spend the seven years of the curriculum dissecting this room, she wouldn't be halfway done. Piles of furniture and books and so much clutter up to the ceiling – an impossibly high ceiling – she wondered what mysteries were hid within.

         Epione followed the cleaner trail towards the battered sofa she recognized from before – the sofa, a large cabinet, and the Slytherin poster-boy tapping his wand against it. She cleared her throat, to which he startled, unaware of her presence.

         'You could've knocked.' He commented, in a significantly calmer tone than she was expecting.

         'Would you have heard?'

         Draco examined her. 'Not sure, haven't tried.'

         Silence set between them for a couple of seconds – the uncomfortable, awkward kind that had her craving for a smidge of courage. Something was different since they'd conversed in the Owlery, that was certain. Had the letter been that influential? She did not wonder for long, for he slid it from his pocket and into her hands.

         Same familiar, pompous and undeniably fine handwriting of Narcissa, so talented in the arts of high-society women, and a tad more of assertiveness than she would expect. The marriage is irrefutable, it is your father's wish and a most important affair.

         'So?' He asked after a few moments, 'What do you make of it?'

         Though with the same love and care she'd always witnessed between the two, Draco's mother hadn't sugar coated it once thorough her lengthy letter. She'd promised that further details would be discussed in the holidays, and that they would have enough time to grow familiar – whatever it meant.

         She looked at him, and was bothered to see he was as unreadable as always. 'My sister told me that your father is set on it because he believes I stood out in the Dark Lord's eyes.'

         'It sounds like something father would do.' He nodded, and the casualness of his tone told her that he'd already come to terms with it, as she feared, simply by the mention of Lucius in the letter. Themis was right, unfairly so.

         She understood Mr. Malfoy was a very sensitive, almost untouchable subject. He was in prison, in the dark and terrifying pit that was Azkaban, and within the few communications he had with the outside word – undoubtedly through the endless amount of galleons in his safe – he pushed for their wedding. Had it been an afterthought, something he remembered from the brief times she was presented to the Dark Lord at his return, or had it been fueled by the information his wife relayed?