Audacity : DM

Thirty Two

//Mature Content Ahead//

Draco hated these ridiculous meetings—they were useless for him so he always stayed silent, right between his father, for protection, and mother, for support. Not that his father would actually save him if it came down to it—he would probably bail and save himself because he's more "valuable" for the Deatheaters. Yeah? Well if he was so valuable, why was he getting his son to do the his dirty work? When did Lucius ever fix a vanishing cabinet and allow Deatheater into Hogwarts? When did Lucius ever even attempt to kill Dumbledore? That's right. He didn't. That's because he is pathetic and too terrified to ever take action himself.

Narcissas hand tightened her squeezing grip on his hand almost ever time Lord Voldemort glanced his way. He wasn't paying any attention to the meeting—chin bowed to his chest—so he thinks it was some kind of warning signal from his mother. The only thing he could think of was her and that heart wrenching look on Rosalies face when Draco explained the truth. That look—that was why he never wanted to tell her in the first place.

She must be so scared of me, Draco thought as he tried to make the time go faster by aggressively pumping his leg up and down under the table where his Lord couldn't see. At the moment, he knew she would never forgive him. Knew she would never forget his manipulative behaviour. Knew she would never love him after this was over.

And it hurt.

It hurt because Draco never knew he was capable of feeling so strongly for another human being, besides his mother. It hurt because he was falling in love with Rosalie from the moment he laid eyes on her, but pushed her away and waisted away so much of their time. It hurt because when he finally had her, he lost her.

He felt nauseous now, just thinking about her being trapped in a room again. He wanted to help her, save her, get her out, but he couldn't because Voldemort would know she was here and he loved her. That was the last thing Draco needed. If his Lord found out he was in love with a Half-Blood and a Banshee, who knows what he would do to her. It didn't matter because Draco would never allow that to happen.

Reluctantly, his attention fixed onto the dead women—with limbs torn off and chunks of her skin missing because of Nagini—in front of him. Professor Charity Burbage. Draco evidently didn't know her because he was never taking Muggle Studies and he was glad for it. Even though Rosalie changed his perspective on Muggle borns, he still though the class was useless. But he did feel bad for the middle aged women. No one deserved to die that that.

That Rosalie of his sure gave him a heart.

"Lucius," he said softly, snapping Draco out of his own world. Voldemort was standing next to his father, but with one hand on the back of his chair. He stuck his arm out, saying, "Your wand."

With shaking hands, his father reached for his pathetic walking stick and slide out his wand in one fast movement, obviously to frightened to take his time. He used both hands to place it into Voldemort's palm before he started to examine it. When his hand reached the stem, he snapped out the snake head and tossed it onto the table. Lucius held back a gasp but Draco saw the terror all in his eyes.

Draco liked seeing his father like this—so vulnerable and weak and so very, very afraid of death, he'd do anything to suffice his Lord, including dropping to his knees and beg for mercy. He enjoyed seeing how powerless he was against him—watching him shake and whimper and gasp with each of Voldemort's movements.

As for Draco, he could care less.

Sure, he was afraid of Voldemort but not for the same reasons. He was paranoid about wether or not he'd use his mother again. He was worried about wether or not he would make his death quickly or slowly. And he was panicked with the thought that, somehow, he knew about Rosalie. His chest clenched and he had the sudden urge to hurl, but swallowed it down and tasting as it burnt the back of his throat.