A Bond for the Ages

Chapter 30

Translations:
[English text] Paidí = [Greek text] Παιδί = Child

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"Such a disappointment you are, Mr. Malfoy," Umbridge said, her tone so fake Draco had to fight not to gag. "So much like your father, aren't you, and not in any of the positive ways."

Draco wanted to snap and rage and curse, wanted to argue that he was nothing like Lucius and that there were absolutely no positive traits to be said about the man. Instead, he bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood and kept his head down, continuing his torturous writing. He glanced at his clenched left hand as he finished the phrase for the forty-eighth time, glaring at the inscribed words that seemed completely resistant to fading now after just four detentions.

I am just like my father.

"I hope you will change your mind and give me what I want, Mr. Malfoy," Umbridge continued. "I can offer you glorious standings in the Ministry despite the blackness of the Malfoy name due to your father."

"I don't want anything from you," Draco ground out, glancing at the small puddles of blood on the desk under his cut hand as he wrote yet another line.

"Not even freedom for your father?" Umbridge almost purred behind him, sending a shiver up his spine. "Freedom for yourself?"

"I've done nothing to warrant such a need and I don't give a damn about my father," Draco said.

"Such selfishness," Umbridge said, clicking her tongue. "I can ruin you, Mr. Malfoy, or you can help me and I can assure you a life after Hogwarts."

Draco said nothing, just wrote his one hundredth line and held back a hiss at the pain it caused. Umbridge sighed obnoxiously loud and moved to his left side, picking up his inscribed and bloody hand. Draco kept his eyes on his parchment, unsure he'd be able to control his temper or magic if he looked at her. He clenched his hand into a fist again when she dropped it and waited.

"You are dismissed," she said. "Do keep my offer in mind and I suggest you keep away from Harry Potter if you do not wish for more trouble."

He took a chance and gave her a quick snarl as he snatched up his bag and dashed from the room, not stopping until he was an entire floor away. He ducked into a small alcove and stood silently, tremours wracking his body as his rage and magic fought to explode. He looked down at his hands, cursing at the silver-white threads twisting through his fingers and around his hands. They were slightly sharper than usual, effected by his anger and long separation from Snape's grounding magic. Every day, he realized just how much Snape's magic and presence had done for him during the summer, and every day, the loss hurt more and more.

There was one other source of relief, though it was not the same as Snape. He took a few deep breaths, willing his magic to calm just enough that it would no longer dance in his hands. Once the tendrils faded away, he left the alcove and headed for the library. He immediately made his way to the second level and to their usual, tucked away corner, secretly thrilled that Potter was still there. He sat heavily across from the Gryffindor, dropping his bag to the floor with a solid thud.

"I'm starting to think I'd rather deal with my father," he grumbled, glaring at his still stinging and weeping hand.

Potter snorted. "I know. Even Voldemort doesn't seem so bad."

Draco hummed and muttered a 'thank you' when Potter handed him a roll of bandages, not bothering to question where they came from. As he wrapped his hand, he reached out with his magic to touch Potter's, relaxing somewhat as his magic stopped pulsing. It wasn't the calm Snape could give, but it was sufficient. His and Potter's magic loved to interact anyway and it was another form of calmness when they were able to.