June 1993

"-went to investigate-"

Draco had never been very optimistic. He hadn't needed to be. Growing up as Lucius Malfoy's son he wanted for nothing. Things had been better (he hadn't known they could be worse).

"-from them in months-"

And even if he had not be so fortunate, he didn't really see how wishful thinking would in any way alter his situation. (But he had been hoping, quietly enough that his heart could hardly hear, that his parents weren't dead.)

"-ouse was in disrepair. The house elv-"

He was thankful for the numbness sinking into his skin (it wouldn't be very dignified to start crying).

"-is no need to identify the bodies. However, there is the matter of-"

Why the hell was this man still talking? Draco didn't care that the manor was a wreck or that the bloody house elves were missing (or that his mother had been found rotting in that one sitting one where he used pretend he was a pirate and his father had been reduced to ashes).

"-in addition, the late Mr. Malfoy held-"

He didn't care. (Why was he still talking?)

Aunt Dromeda cleared her throat which was apparently enough to silence the man (he should have just kicked him like he'd been wanting too, he should've, he should've-

His parents were dead.)

"Thank you, Mr. Cummings. I am aware that there are many matters the need to be seen to, but surely you can understand this news is upsetting. Perhaps, if you would be so kind, we could settle these financial matters at a latter date."

The man, Cummings, hurriedly nodded. Belatedly realizing how utterly pointless his blathering had been. 'How thoughtless,' he simpered. 'Of course,' he assured.

Draco wished hating him meant something (because in that moment he hated him more than anything he'd encountered before).

The Silver for once seemed to respond to his will and he could feel it rouse and peek out from behind his eyes. It could kill this man. It could make him suffer for surely he deserved it.

The truth was everyone (everyone, all of them, in every place) deserved it.

His blood began to burn (he could feel lazy intent at the back of his eyes).

His aunt's hand landed firmly on his shoulder and displaced the blood thirsty desire that had been settling in him. His eyes widened in terror. (He had almost, he had almost, almost, almost.)

"Good day, Mr. Cummings. We'll be in touch."

The man, Cummings, was then gone in an instant. Draco had almost (he had almost and it would only get worse).

"Draco what do you need?"

He felt a rush of gratitude towards his aunt. She didn't ask if was okay (he wasn't). Or what she could do for him (not die). Or what could make him feel better (he had no ideas that would not end up making him feel a whole of a lot worse).

He just shook his head. What he needed was a spell to reverse his parent's deaths (to reverse their disappointment, to reverse being missorted).

Aunt Dromeda sighed. "They found a letter addressed to you in your father's study."

In his father's study? How had they gotten in there? No one was allowed in his father's study. (Not him or his mother or the elves that had gone and disappeared.)

Letter?

"He wrote to me?"

His mother's sister just quietly handed him the sealed parchment before disappearing into the kitchen leaving him alone in the living room.

The seal was his father's (but it was crooked and ever so slightly off center, his father never, his father never, his father never would anymore).

With great care he undid the creases of the precisely folded parchment in his hands.

Son,

I've always been very proud of you. I should have been better at showing it. Know that no matter what happens your mother and I love you.

And I am sorry; I cannot shake the notion that I have set into motion events far beyond mortal reckoning.

May You Stand Firm,

Your Father

Draco couldn't stop his hands from shaking. This letter was everything his mother's was not. This letter was a goodbye. (Had his mother already been dead?)

Had his father known what was coming for him (what haunted his dreams, lingered in the shadows of his mind).

His father wasn't supposed to be sorry (Malfoys weren't, they didn't).

If his father couldn't be a proper Malfoy, how was he supposed to?

(Why did everything just keep getting worse?)