You'll be the Death of Me

Chapter 88

Draco massaged the back of his neck and tried to break up the knot that had formed there. He was no closer to finishing that damn cabinet than he had been at the beginning of the year. Graham disagreed, he seemed to think that progress was being made each day, but Draco wondered if he was only saying such things to keep him from having a mental breakdown.

He pulled his thoughts away from Graham. They hadn't spoken since yesterday at breakfast, and Draco had a feeling they wouldn't be speaking for a while. He had let exhaustion and emotions overtake him and said too much. Graham Montague was the last person he should have spoken so honestly too.

Sometimes he forgot why Graham was helping them. Forgot that they had paid for his services and his loyalty. Even his genuine feelings of warmth towards them came from the fact that Graces had buried his sister. Draco had thought about it a lot last night and the more he thought of it the more he began to see that even Graham's friendliness towards him was to aid in a smooth marriage to his sister. Graces was far more likely to be fond of Montague if she knew him to have been close with Draco.

And that left Draco with the realization that he was truly alone. What he had feared was already his reality. He swallowed the emotions that truth brought and dragged his feet to the Slytherin common room, hoping that he could maybe get twenty minutes of comfortable sleep before having to go to breakfast and classes. He yawned the password to his common room and halted in its doorway as Professor Snape slowly stood from the from his seat beside the fire.

"Mr. Malfoy."

His heart pounded. Never had he seen Snape look so—gentle wasn't the word—non-severe.

"Please, sit."

"What's going on?"

"Mr. Ma—Draco," Snape corrected, doing his best not to flinch at using the given name and still not seeming irritated with Draco not obeying. "Sit."

A heat began to spread across his skin, prickling at the surface and causing his breaths to shorten. He wanted to move, but it took longer to actually make the action. Slowly, Draco made it to a seat across from his professor and then forgot the instruction to sit.

"Is it my mother?" he asked tightly, thinking of all the ways the Dark Lord may punish her for his incompetence. "Is—did our Lord—"

"Your mother has not been harmed. Now, sit."

He sat, aware that he could feel and hear the very blood coursing through his veins. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and waited.

Snape looked at him for a moment, before calmly reaching into his robes. Draco flinched, thinking an attack was to happen, but Snape pulled out a vial of potion instead, his eyes darkening as he noticed Draco's fear.

"Why would you bring me a calming draught?"

"Because I need you calm."

"Are you about to tell me something upsetting?" Draco asked.

Snape's face revealed nothing. "Mr. Malfoy, I am trying to be patient with you, but my patience does not extend far. You are clearly already upset, and yes, what I have to say will be distressing. So take the potion. Because I cannot guarantee my restraint if you behave foolishly, which I suspect you will."

Draco looked away for a moment before reaching out for the vial. Snape handed it to him and waited.

Draco looked around, his mind and heart racing.

"Draco," Snape growled. "Take the draught." His throat dried. He couldn't even swallow his own spit. "Mr. Malfoy," Snape warned.

"Is everything alright?"