Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
—
vote or i'll cry
—
"Oh, Dracooo," Aunt Bellatrix giggles down the hallway, making me set my book down on my lap as I hear her approach my door. "I'm coming in!"
"I—oh, okay," I mumble as the door swings open to reveal my aunt, her crazy black curls falling into her face while she dances her way into my room, humming and laughing under her breath and carelessly dragging her hands over the carvings of my piano before seating herself in the armchair across from me by my bookshelf. "Good morning, Auntie."
"Good morning, Draco," she cheers back, her black eyes dropping to the book on my lap. "Reading, were you?"
"Yes," I say, clearing my throat while lifting the book up to slide my bookmark in place, glancing down at Celeste's scribbles in the margins before closing the book.
"Your father always read. Always had a book shoved up his nose distracting him, but I preferred to keep my eyes out of the pages. I suppose that's why he got caught and I didn't!" she laughs joyously. "He's got so many distractions. He wasn't fully devoted."
I smile tightly.
"We missed you at breakfast, dearie," she coos, her lips forming a soft pout while she blinks at me quickly with those wide eyes.
"Oh, I wasn't—I wasn't feeling too hungry," I say quickly, my stomach twisting at the mere thought of attending mealtimes with Him sitting at the head of the table where my father used to.
They didn't give him a trial.
Maybe it's because he's been caught once and got let go, and now that he's been caught again, they realize they got it right the last time. But they just didn't give him a trial. They didn't give us a chance to visit him, though they let Mother speak to him for five minutes before throwing him into Azkaban to rot, all because of stupid fucking Potter and that old man Dumbledore. He'd be free and sitting in his own chair if those two delusional little fucks didn't exist.
The Dark Lord wasn't happy with him. Father was one of his closest aids, a right hand to him, and this mission to receive the prophecy as Aunt Bellatrix filled in for me was his responsibility. How was it his fault if Potter fucking broke it? He didn't make Scarface a clumsy little shit. But now my family has gone from His closest confidant to scum. He's furious beyond measure with my father, and maybe Father is lucky to be locked away, because at least he doesn't have to deal with it the way Mother and I do. Father and ten others Death Eaters were captured, and now that the Malfoy name is tarnished in His eyes, he's using our home as his base. A punishment.
He took my father's manor, my father's wand, and my father's seat.
I glance across the room where my father's serpent head walking stick leans against the piano. At least I'm left with that.
