𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐿𝐹𝑂𝑌

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑 - 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐧 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰

"Pathetic."

And he sounded like Father. The mean tints in his voice resembled what I knew best.

I wasn't going to stay on the cold floor like the 'pathetic' persona that both Father and Snape insisted on calling me. I had fought and worked day and night with empty bottles and safety razors so that I would feel no trace of soul in moments like these. That soul shrivelled up and curled itself in a dark corner and waited for the next bathtub, sip or autumn meadow to show itself. For now, it was crying and it was reducing itself into nothing. That soul was allowing me to look up to Snape with a decisive and cold-calm face.

"Tell them," I said, "that the job will be done before the week is out. Tell them I took my time to make sure it happened the right way. Tell them to get their wands ready and make sure you bring them in the castle through your office fireplace when I give you my sign on Saturday noon. Tell them that the old man will die."

I might have believed myself; I might have not. It was not of any importance because belief comes from the soul and, as aforementioned, the soul was not present to judge my actions with its pathetically sentimental emotionality.

Snape took a step back.

"And find a way to get me off of every class for the rest of the week. I need to find the right curse. Am I clear?"

"Are you sure you can fit it into your busy schedule? It seems too cluttered while you're dallying with an enemy," he said. "Do you know her father is in the Order? Do you know he and his muggle wife are being watched?"

And I didn't react. It was too late for the soul to jump up anyway.

"Am I clear?" I repeated one last time.

Snape flicked his cape and walked away slowly. He shut the door behind him.

I was still on the ground, so I let myself fall back heavily and cover my eyes. I thought that I only needed a moment to get up again but I lost track of time. I laid still on the dark wood of the floor and felt the wood under my fingertips getting warm, the water on my clothes drying again.

I wished I could have Ophelia's music box - no! No music box. A cassette player.

I brought a muggle song in my head. It didn't help. I was still looking for the right song for these moments.

I slept right there, on the cold hardware floor.

It was one of these dreams that you don't exactly know if you're actually dreaming or are just completely lost in your memories, so much that you can feel it as if it's happening right at that moment.

In my sleep, Mother was furious at me. Looking at her eyes felt strange when I was younger because it was like staring in the mirror. Her cloudy-sky eyes were angry.

"Why did you treat that poor elf like this? Why did you shout at him?" Although her tone was austere, she kept her voice in a whisper. She looked down to me in a gaze to that was more painful than Father's hateful one; because I knew it was the gaze of morose disappointment and not utter disdain. I still remembered that she was wearing a pearl necklace that day.

"It was slow-" I gave my case a poor effort.

"It? It?" Mother hissed.

"Mother, I didn't do anything wrong!"

I was only now starting my rapid transition from 'mummy' to 'Mother', and it was obvious she didn't appreciate this shifting of names.

"Draco, I do not like this new attitude! Go to your room right now!" She pointed a long finger to the end of the dark corridor and parched her lips tightly.