Snape and the classroom of toddlers// Harry Potter Fanfic

Chapter Forty-Eight - Crack

Cocaine

[PHONE PHARAGRAPHS MIGHT BE MESSED UP]
Trigger Warning: Death/thoughts of suicide - I'll mark where the suicide related stuff starts and ends, then after it's over out a brief summary of anything missed: I represents the start and end.

     Lucius aimlessly walked down the empty halls, searching for any memory of his wife. With Draco off at Hogwarts, the manor was barren, excluding himself. His only company were the house elves. 

   "Master?" One of them spoke shakily, apparating behind him. Lucius jumped slightly, whipping around. The blonde man's chest fell as he saw the small elf infront of him. They had slanted green eyes, with pinky-blue wrinkled skin - their frail body was wrapped in a filthy curtain. Lucius glared down at them. "Y-You haven't ea-eaten since this morning," it explained, looking down at it's shriveled feet. Without warning, Lucius raised his hand and slapped it across it's cheek, knocking them onto the floor. 

   The wizard raised his wand, before uttering the words: "Avada Kedavra." It fell limply unconscious. Lucius gently nudged it with his foot, before dropping his wand. The widower ran his hands over his ears, eyes wide. He choked on guilt, as he stumbled. The Malfoy eventually hit his back against the wall, where he slid to the ground. 

    He wanted to scream, but his voice had escaped him like the life of a fleeting ill woman. I His eyes landed on the wand. Struggling, he crawled over to it, attempting to lift it. His trembling hands made this difficult, but alas, he had a sturdy grip around it. Lucius raised it to his own head, closing his eyes. 

What was there to live for?

He pondered over this for awhile, his wand dropping slightly. As his eyes slowly peeked open, he saw it. A photograph hung, framed, on the wall. Draco. The boy didn't look happy in the picture. He had been spoiled his whole life: yet he never seemed happy. It had, until now, never passed the grieving father's mind, that perhaps his son wanted more than just material possessions? He had gotten enough attention from his mother, but now that she was gone?I

Summary: Lucius, feeling guilt for what he just did, considered ending his life but decided against it as he thought of his son.

   It was Lucius' job. He snapped back into reality, throwing the wand down. "Fuck! What am I doing?" Clambering to his feet, he ran from the body of the poor elf, and into the drawing room. There was a stack of parchment on the top of a old, wooden book-shelf. Lucius was quite a tall man, therefore felt no struggle in reaching it. He remembered helping Narcissa reach the supply once. Roughly pulling a sheet down, disregarding the others (a few sheets fell down to the floor). 

    He pulled out the chair that was tucked neatly into a desk, and took a seat. 

Dear Severus.

I'm going to do everything in my power to assist Draco on his mission, it's my fault he has it, anyway: if I had succeeded, he wouldn't have been given such a task. I know you made a vow with Narcissa, but I want you to forget about it. She's dead, anyway, the unbreakable vow won't kill you. Don't try to assist him, V

Lucius stopped writing, considering his next words carefully. 

Fuck it. 

                                                                   oldermort will most certainly kill you. I'm afraid you and Draco are all I have left in this cruel world, and I almost ended my time here not to long ago. But I don't want to leave you feeling the same way I am now. I love you, Severus. 

Lucius Malfoy. 

   He teared up as he signed his name. The security at Hogwarts would most certainly not let the letter get to Severus, so he quickly got another sheet from the ground, writing a cover letter. It was addressed to Severus, and simply told Severus that he was doing well: then, in the corner, scribbled in runes, it read: There is a page underneath this. Rip this off.                                             Then, using magic, he made it look as though the two pages were one. Surely Argus Filch wouldn't be smart enough to read it. 

  "Come in," Dumbledore pleasantly said. Harry Potter slipped into his office, taking a seat as the professor gestured for him to do so. Harry's lessons with Dumbledore had finally began: although with the whole toddler ordeal, they had quite a bit to catch up on. It was now the 17th of November, and it had just struck eight o'clock. 

  "I have a lot to show you," he spoke calmly, "so sadly we must skip any chit-chat." And with that, the lesson began: Harry was shown a variety of different memories. A memory from a Sir. Bob Ogden, a ministry employee, one of Dumbledore's own, where he met and talked with an eleven year old Tom riddle, and a final memory where Voldemort confronted his uncle, Morfin Gaunt, who mistook him for his father, but was proved wrong by Riddle's parseltongue. 

  "I'm sure you have plenty of questions, but it's getting awfully late. Our next lesson will be reserved specifically for questions." Dumbledore smiled softly, his eyes twinkling. "It's nice to see you again." Harry nodded, smiling back at his headmaster. The sixteen year old silently left the office, with more questions then before he entered. So that little boy was Voldemort? And that family, Merope, was that his mother, Voldemort's? 

  He prayed the next lesson would be soon. The quidditch try-outs had been the day before, and he had managed to gather a good team. He knew Ron was hoping to get the keeper position, but as was unable to, Cormac McLaggen, saving five goals, took the place. Harry didn't like Cormac, although he didn't know him very well. He was a bit of a douche. 

 "Er- Potter?" he felt a tap on his shoulder, as he walked through the corridor. Harry glanced around his shoulder, his eyes meeting with Draco Malfoy's. Harry hadn't spoken with him since in the library - although he'd picked back up on his Death Eater theory from his train journey to Hogwarts. "Did- did Binns like the essay?" Harry's cheeks flushed slightly, remembering Draco's helpful, soft words. "Yeah, actually.. Thanks." Draco looked proud for a minute, before he covered it up with a sneer. "You're glad I was there, scarhead, or else you'd've failed, idiot."

   Harry couldn't help but grin at this half-assed cover up. "Thanks," he repeated. He couldn't help but feel attracted to the slytherin Prince, despite their past together. And somehow the thought that under his long, white shirt sleeves there could possibly lie a dark mark didn't turn him off.

   Draco had sounded very proud of himself, the day Harry snuck onto the rack above his carriage. He had told Pansy, who's lap he was lying in, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle that the dark Lord had chosen him a mission, and he wouldn't be needing to return the following year.

  Draco began walking away, but got barely two centimetres past the boy-who-lived when the aforementioned chosen one grabbing his arm. "Wait- could you maybe help me some more?"

  The slytherin raised an eyebrow. "Like- tutor me a bit?" He pressed on, determined to get a yes. "Granger will be back to normal soon, then you can leach off her. There's no point," Draco said coldly, surpressing any erge to agree.

  But then he saw Harry's eyes. Framed by a pair of round glasses, they were a beautiful green colour, and currently resembling a puppies. His eyes silently begged for him, as the blonde boy began to crack. "Okay fine.. But you're not to just copy off me!"

Writers block hittin' me hard so sorry this one's not to great promise next one'll be better.