Tw: rape (not graphic), suicide, violence, homophobia
The rape is in the second scene (starting: The day has arrived) if anyone wants to skip over, although be warned that there will be references to it for the rest of this chapter.
Lucius adjusts his son's tie for the third time as they wait in the main hall of Malfoy Manor. Before the meeting tomorrow and before the manor becomes overrun with Death Eaters later today, he and Narcissa arranged to meet with Daphne's parents. Draco tries not to fidget around in his itchy suit and unnecessarily tight tie, keeping his hands by his side to not disrupt his carefully positioned outfit.
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to," Lucius tells him. "Remember your manners. Don't slouch and don't sit with your legs crossed."
"Lucius, stop it," says Narcissa. "He'll be fine."
"I need this to be perfect," Lucius says.
"Can you just relax a little," she snaps, as tense as him.
"Relax a little?" Lucius scoffs. Draco rolls his eyes. And they're off again.
"Yes, and you can stop tapping that staff, you're doing my head in."
"How am I supposed to relax when the Dark Lord is sitting upstairs in my own house?"
"You're not the one hosting vem, are you?
"I own this manor, of course I'm hosting vem."
"So you own this house, do you?" Narcissa says, crossing her arms. "Then explain to me why I'm the one doing all the work around here. I've arranged everything, the staff, the food, the rooms, all without your help."
"In case you forgot, I've been busy working, earning us the money to fund all this."
"Oh, don't use your ridiculous job at the Ministry to get yourself off."
Draco stares forward, their words going over his head. His parents are always like this whenever they're closely involved with other Death Eaters and Voldemort, bickering constantly back and forth. As soon as Voldemort is out of their house, they'll both relax, apologise, and return to normal. Just as soon as Voldemort leaves.
Eventually, the hall doors swing open and a small parade of servants shows an extravagantly dressed family into the hall. Daphne is accompanied by her parents, Florian and Adorabella Greengrass, and her younger sister which Draco vaguely recognises from two years below. His parents instantly switch on the charm.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Lucius smiles, going to shake Florian's hand.
"It's a fine place you have here, Lucius," he says, thoroughly shaking his hand.
"Thank you for having us," Adorabella says.
Narcissa nods. "It's lovely to see you both again."
Draco and Daphne exchange a short glance.
"Come, have a seat."
They take seats around the table. "Daphne, darling, why don't you go and talk to Draco?" Florian suggests, holding out a hand to stop her from sitting down. "Take Astoria with you."
"Okay," she says, connecting eyes with Draco again.
Draco looks at his parents for permission, but they don't spare him another glance, already absorbed in chatting with Greengrasses.
Draco takes Daphne with him out to the back of the house, Astoria trailing along behind them.
"Are you two going outside?" Astoria asks.
Daphne looks to Draco in question.
"Yeah," Draco says. "Are you coming?"
"Nah, it's too cold," she says. "I'll be in that room we were in before, Daphne."
"All right," says Daphne.
Astoria shakes her head to let down her hair, and with a full face of makeup, she looks nowhere near fifteen. "Have fun shagging your boyfriend in a bush," she says.
Draco raises his eyebrows, but Daphne seems unphased by the comment as if it was the sort of exchange that happened on a regular basis.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," Daphne calls, throwing her sister a middle finger as she strolls off back into the manor.
They stroll down the garden path and further away from the house.
"Ignore her," Daphne mutters. The cold air isn't helped by the stinging breeze that hits them as they exit the back of the manor. Daphne takes out the large clip in her hair and shakes her head just like her sister did, letting her long blonde hair loose.
"You look nice," says Draco, admiring her all dressed up in a navy flowing dress, hair curled and plastered with a thick layer of makeup.
"God, not you too," Daphne sighs. "I'm fucking sick of being treated like my father's prize doll. They spent an hour dressing me up just to be told to piss off and let the adults talk."
Draco's well-intended compliment fades on his tongue. "Oh, right. Sorry."
"I don't even get why we're here," she continues, taking off her high heels and walking barefoot on the grass. "We aren't like you. My parents aren't in deep shit with the Dark Lord, it's not like they're even siding with vem in the war."
"Why did you come then?"
"My dad wants to get in with people at the Ministry," she says. "Not that they've given me a solid reason, so I assume it's that. All this bollocks about hating non-purebloods is not my parents at all. One of their best friends is muggle-born, so it's all bullshit."
Daphne stops and sits down on the grass, muttering about her feet hurting.
"My parents were shitting themselves about meeting yours today," Draco says.
"God, same. They don't shut up about making a good impression. Clearly, their morals mean nothing," says Daphne. "I don't get why they'd choose to involve themselves in all this when don't have to. They could walk away from it at any time, but no, they 'have to make a good impression on the Malfoys'. Nothing against your parents," she adds.
"No, I get it," says Draco. "I'd be as far away from here as possible if I had a choice."
"Is that Professor Slughorn?" Daphne suddenly says, squinting at the figure who just waltzed out of the back door. "What the hell is he doing here?"
The mention of his name makes Draco's skin crawl.
"Fuck, he's coming over," he mutters when the figure starts walking in their direction. "Come on."
He pulls Daphne up and they start running through the neatly trimmed bushes, and down into the gardens.
"Where are we going?" she shouts as they sprint further away from the house.
"I'll show you."
Another twenty seconds later, when the two have used all their breath up, Draco slows down as they approach a small shack deep into the gardens.
"Jesus Christ, Draco," Daphne pants. "Give me a warning next time you decide you want to break the world record for the bloody five-hundred metre sprint."
"Sorry," he says, catching his breath.
"It was Professor Slughorn, right? Or am I imagining things?"
"No, it was definitely him."
"So what is this place?" Daphne asks, glancing around the dense woodland and at the wooden planks resembling some sort of hideout.
"It's my shack."
The area is as much a shack as any three planks of wood nailed into a tree are: a dirty grey carpet layers the floor, the area confined by three thick tree trunks.
"I'm not sitting down on that," Daphne says, eyeing the threadbare carpet.
"Suit yourself." Draco brushes any excess dirt off and sits down cross-legged. "I used to come here all the time, it's like my childhood hide-away."
"Yeah, it's very... nostalgic, shall we say."
Draco can't bring himself to smile at her, Slughorn's eyes still piercing through him.
"I should've gone with Astoria, it's bloody freezing out here," Daphne says, wrapping her arms around herself, the skimpy short-sleeved dress not offering any protection against the sharp February wind. She looks pointedly at Draco's thick jacket, but he doesn't seem to notice, gazing off into the distance.
"Do you think Professor Slughorn is working for the Dark Lord?" Daphne asks, shivering slightly.
"I don't know," Draco murmurs. He can't stomach thinking about him.
"He has to be right, if he's come here with all the other Death Eaters?"
"I guess we'll find out soon."
"Oh yes," Daphne rolls her eyes, remembering the scheduled meeting for tomorrow. "I don't envy you, I must say."
"I don't envy me either," Draco says. "I don't know why I have to be involved. You'd have thought the Dark Lord would want someone more experienced to execute veir master plan or whatever the hell ve's planning. I don't see what use I'm going to be, exactly."
"So who are you gonna pick?" asks Daphne. She must've overheard the conversation about Draco having to choose someone to be his aide.
Draco sighs. "Professor Snape, I guess. There are no other options, so I don't know why everyone's making a big deal out of it."
"I'd hate to be alone with Snape," Daphne says. "I feel like he'd raise his voice at me once and I'd start crying on the spot."
"Bullshit," Draco scoffs. "There's no way you're scared of Professor Snape, you were practically making fun of him last week with your arm around me, spewing all that poetry shit, saying how intimacy is 'undervalued'."
Daphne laughs. "Oh, yeah, but that was funny," she says. "If it was something more serious, I feel like he'd be no light relief."
"He's not too bad once you get to know him."
"I hope so, otherwise it's gonna be an awkward few months."
They chat for a bit longer. Eventually, Daphne says, "we should get back now and see if they've finished talking."
"Yeah, okay."
They leave the den and head back to the house. Even though they've been gone a good hour, Draco can still see Slughorn loitering around the back door.
"Let's go round the front," he says, instantly averting his eyes as he sees Slughorn stare back.
The servants guarding the main hall inform the pair that the families are still talking, so they slouch back off.
"How the hell are they still in there?" Daphne mutters. "It's been, like, two hours."
"Do you think we should just go back in?" Draco asks, thinking of Slughorn lurking around the house and wanting nothing less than to run into him by accident.
"You can, but I'm gonna go find my sister," says Daphne. "I think we're going back to our house tonight; they don't want to stay for the whole meeting every Death Eater to exist thing. It's not their cup of tea."
"Alright," says Draco. "I'll see you back at school then?"
"Yeah, see you on Monday."
Draco pauses, looking at her. This is the point they usually exchange a short kiss, but no one is around.
"You don't have to," she says. "No one's watching."
He gives her an embarrassed smile and she waves over her shoulder. "See ya," she calls, walking away.
Draco returns to the main hall, assuming his parents would still be there with only the Greengrasses, but when he goes back, the hall is packed. The Death Eaters have arrived. He gets a fright seeing Slughorn standing with his parents, but before he can turn and speed off in the opposite direction, his father signals him over.
"Horace decided to join us," Lucius says with a pleased smile. "I insisted he comes for the meeting tomorrow, after all, you might end up choosing him to be your aide."
"Nice to see you, Professor Slughorn," Draco says robotically, failing to ignore Slughorn's glaringly smug smile.
"It's a lovely place you have here," he says, looking around the room. "I expect you're prepared for tomorrow, Draco?"
"Yes, sir," Draco says.
"How's Daphne?" he asks naturally. "Have you been treating her well?"
Draco narrows his eyes at the audacity of the statement. "Yes."
"Excellent."
"I'm going to my room," Draco says.
"Draco," Narcissa gives him a sharp glare. "Stay and be sociable, don't go skulking off just yet." She smiles through her teeth at Slughorn. "What are they like?"
"Oh, don't worry, I was just like him when I was his age." Slughorn smiles. Draco clenches his jaw.
"Don't look like that, dear," Narcissa says, patting Draco's shoulder. She turns to Horace. "We're both very proud of him," she says. "I'm so pleased the Dark Lord is giving him the opportunity to follow in our footsteps."
"Are you happy with your son being the one trusted to infiltrate Hogwarts?" Slughorn asks. Draco stares at him, unimpressed by the reporter-like question. He wonders which book he got that line out of.
Lucius just nods amicably. "Of course," he says. "I think he's exactly what the Dark Lord is looking for."
"And with this aide that ve's arranging, I'm sure Draco will be as safe as anywhere, won't you, love?" says Narcissa.
Draco nods. Considering his jumpy state this morning, it surprises him how laid-back his father seems to be now. Even his mother is uncovering small vulnerabilities that she usually wouldn't dare around anyone of such social status. Draco despises the ease with which they both trust him. He wishes with all his heart that he never introduced Slughorn to either of them.
"Draco, why don't we leave your parents to it?" says Slughorn, flashing a final smile. "I'm sure they have lots to be getting on with."
"Don't worry about that, Horace," says Narcissa.
"Draco can show you to your room if you like," Lucius suggests.
"I'm not a servant," Draco mutters bitterly.
"You'll do as you're told," Lucius snaps.
"Nice seeing you again, Lucius, Narcissa," Slughorn says, shaking both of their hands in turn.
"And you, Horace. Glad you could make it."
"Sleep well."
"See you tomorrow."
Draco numbly watches his parents walk away and leave him with Slughorn.
"Lovely people," Slughorn says, bouncing on his heels.
Draco doesn't comment or even look at him. He has no choice but to walk out of the hall with Slughorn at his heels. They go up to the isolated west wing of the manor.
Draco remains prepared for Slughorn to start talking to him at any point, but they keep going in silence until they reach their destination. It's a five-minute walk from here to the rest of the manor and guests. The idea terrifies Draco, so far removed from any sense of safety, but he takes a breath and turns to face Slughorn.
"This is your room," he says, pointing to the large wooden door.
"Thank you, Draco," Slughorn beams.
Draco imagines the smile is down to him still floating off the high of pleasing his parents and being accepted into the Death Eater's social circle.
"Have you decided who you're going to choose to be your aide tomorrow?" Slughorn asks before Draco has the chance to slink off.
"No," he says, playing it safe.
"I heard you were leaning towards Severus."
"I haven't told anyone which way I'm leaning."
"Maybe it's about time you did."
Draco reminds himself to keep his body as still as possible, addressing Slughorn with calm assurance to hopefully stop him from lashing out. "I don't know what you want me to say here," he says.
Slughorn raps his fingers up and down against his arm. "I want you to say that you'll choose me as your aide."
Draco sighs to himself, vastly unprepared to even be having this conversation. As the day went on with no sign of Slughorn, he assumed, and hoped, that he would end up not coming all together.
"Look, I'll make this easy for you," Slughorn says, the familiar tint of anger appearing in his eyes. "Tomorrow, you will choose me."
"And what if I don't?"
To his surprise, Slughorn barely raises to the challenge.
"I find it hard to believe you'd be that stupid," he says, threateningly calm. "You're going to choose me. I don't think you want to find out what happens if you go against me."
Slughorn watches Draco bite his lip and weigh up the options.
"Come on, Draco," he says. "I'm helping you out here. I haven't said a word to you all day and I don't plan to hurt you in your own house. That would just be unnecessary."
"Can I go?" Draco says quietly.
"I suppose so. Remember what I said, though. I'm in a good mood, don't be the one to make that change."
Draco walks straight back to his room. His mind is already dead set on who he's going to choose.
[The next day]
Draco has been sitting through the mind-numbingly dull meeting with the Death Eaters along the thick table in the main hall for an hour now. Voldemort has been giving his usual speech about plans of infiltrating the Ministry and Hogwarts, killing Dumbledore, and capturing Harry. Nothing drastically new. It's only during the last few minutes that Draco starts to pay attention, Voldemort looking directly at him.
"Have you decided on who will be your aide, Draco?" Voldemort booms.
"Yes, my Lord."
Draco stands up, feeling the room's eyes on him. His eyes flick between Slughorn, who's glaring intensely at him, and Snape.
"I would like Severus Snape to by my aide, my Lord."
Draco steels his eyes forward. He spent the entirety of the previous night weighing up the pros and cons of choosing Slughorn rather than Snape, and the decision was obvious. He'd rather take the fall-out of Slughorn's short-term anger than be forced to maintain a long-term social connection with him, subsequently giving Slughorn unlimited access to him.
Slughorn grinds his teeth together, clapping politely with the room.
"Congratulations, Severus," says Voldemort. "The first meeting commences tomorrow at noon."
"Thank you, my Lord." Snape bows his head.
"That's all," ve announces.
As they leave the hall, Slughorn strides next to Draco, grasping his arm tightly. "Don't make a sound," he breathes furiously.
Draco braces himself, anticipating his wrath but convinces himself that it will be worth it in the long run. The fury which radiates from Slughorn as marches down the halls frightens Draco, but he tells himself it's necessary.
Slughorn drags him inside his bedroom.
"Why did you pick Severus?" he yells, losing all his composure the second the door slams shut. "I thought we had an agreement."
Draco tries to control his shaking, keeping his face as expressionless as possible.
"Well?"
"I don't know," he mutters, glaring at the floor.
"You don't know?" repeats Slughorn incredulously. His voice raises to shouting. "You don't know? You've just ruined my opportunity of a lifetime, 'I don't know' isn't fucking good enough."
Slughorn balls his hands and makes a sudden lunge forward towards Draco. Before Draco can react, Slughorn seizes the sides of his head and smashes it into the wall behind him.
"You fucking idiot," he spits, the words coming out distorted for Draco as he staggers sidewards, completely disorientated. He's vaguely aware of hands pushing him somewhere, and as he regains full consciousness, he's aware of Slughorn's hand shoving the back of his head down, forcing his cheek against the grimy kitchen top.
It doesn't register for a moment, nothing registers apart from the pounding pain in the side of his head. Then a sharp pain stabs his lower body. It feels like he's about to be torn in half, the abrupt sensation causing him to cry out.
Draco is too terrified to think, unable to hold back anguished sobs as he becomes fully aware of the situation. The hand on the top of his head, knees digging into the back of his thighs, half his body strewn over the countertop.
An endless eternity of electrifying physical pain, shock, and confusion. His usual method of pretending he's somewhere else is impossible to recreate. Draco begins to wonder if it will ever end.
The pain does stop. Eventually. Draco feels a hand run up his chest.
"You'd better start reconsidering who's going to be your aide," Slughorn whispers right in his ear. "Get out of my sight." He lets go. Draco stumbles out.
His legs are tonnes of bricks as he drags himself to the other side of the manor and into his bedroom. Once the shock wears off, disgust starts to roll over him in waves and he allows the sobs to increase to hysteria as he slams his door shut. The clock's ticking has finally stopped. Overcome by burning clarity, Draco staggers to the window and unfastenes the latch.
Finally: this is the end.
It's a clear night sky but Draco doesn't spare a second to look up at the stars; he fixates down on the endless drop from his window to the ground, hundreds of metres below.
The worst part? It's almost like his life was beginning to be worth something.
Draco glares down at the drop. He can't bring himself to dredge up any sort of resistance by thinking about Blaise, his parents, or even about Ron. At the end of the day, when his body lies dead on the wet concrete, he won't miss them. He won't feel guilt, regret, anguish, or sorrow that he missed out on a life, that he missed out on love, on happiness, on contentedness. He will feel nothing at all because he will be dead. Dead and safe from Slughorn.
Draco edges towards the fatal drop just to feel a dull sense of fear, jolting back like a person who had something to lose would, as if he would be missing anything at all by letting his body fall. He imagines inching off the edge because it wouldn't be a dramatic run and jump; it would be a slump forward, a reluctant embrace, a final sigh.
I don't think you want to find out what happens if you go against me.
Why didn't he listen.
Every second drags longer than the last, and the only reason Draco remains on the ledge rather than at the foot of the manor is exhaustion. To let himself fall would be to shift his legs, and to shift his legs would be to prop his body up, and to prop his body up would be to move his arms, and to move his arms would be to acknowledge his body as his own, and Draco would rather die than to face what just happened to his body.
How nice a release would be.
He's done with getting up, done with walking up and down his stairs, done with chatting to Crabbe and Goyle, done with holding hands with Daphne, done with watching the clock tick around and around, done with waiting for sleep to come. Tired of the dust from the potions classroom floor sticking to his trousers, tired of wearing high collars, tired of being unable to look at himself in the mirror without crying.
He is done with and tired of everything.
It was only a matter of time, Draco thinks as he stares down into the darkness, until something made him snap for good. Slughorn has broken him in more ways than he cares to admit to himself.
Nothing he can do will stop Slughorn. All he wants is for him to stop. But he won't, not for anything. And if Slughorn won't stop, then Draco must stop.
This is the only way it will end. This is his only way out.
Finally able to escape the congratulations and words of wisdom from what feels like every Death Eater present, Snape slips away to find Draco. Asking around, it seems that no one has seen him since the meeting. He realises that Draco has probably retreated to his room for some peace, so asks a servant to take him there.
Snape knocks on the door on arrival. No response. He knocks again, but no answer. He sighs. Where could Draco be? After a moment of reflection, he decides to check inside anyway.
The heavy door swings open.
"There you are," says Snape, seeing the silhouette of Draco slumped against the window frame. Draco doesn't reply or even register that he's heard him.
"Draco?"
Snape goes over to the window. As he gets closer, he catches a glimpse of Draco's distraught face staring absently down at the fatal drop. Confused concerns fill his mind. Then it dawns on him. He is planning to jump.
"Draco, talk to me," he says, pulling the trembling body down from the edge. Draco's blank expression crumbles as he's brought back to the harsh reality of the situation.
"I need to go," he starts to exhaustedly sob. "Let me go."
"What's wrong? Draco, what's happened?" asks Snape, stepping back. He's never seen him remotely close to being in this state before.
"It's all my fault," he stammers, putting his head between his knees, his voice breaking the weight of everything. "I'm so, so stupid," he continues in a half-whine.
"No, come on," says Snape. "You're not stupid, and whatever it is, we can fix it."
Draco shakes his head violently, shoulders caving.
"This isn't the answer," says Snape. "I promise we can fix it, okay? Did something happen today? Is it because of the meeting?"
"Yes," Draco manages to say. "I promised- I promised-" he says between sobs.
"It's okay," says Snape. "I'm not going anywhere. Take your time."
"I promised Professor Slughorn," Draco breathes, glaring emptily at the floor. "That I'd make him my aide. And I picked you. And he-" He starts crying again, torturous pain wracking through his body. Snape doesn't like the direction of this explanation.
"And he was really angry." Draco heaves, curling up into the smallest ball possible, disgust writhing through his body.
"Angry?" says Snape. "Angry in what way? What did he do?"
Draco doesn't say anything for minutes, and Snape starts to think he's dissociated or similar. He goes over to the window and refastenes the latch, watching Draco rock gently from side to side.
Eventually, he says something muffled by the fabric he's buried into.
"What was that?" asks Snape, leaning closer.
Draco removes his face from his clothes, glaring at Snape in anguish.
"He raped me."
Snape's eyes widen and his face contorts into horror, fury, disbelief.
"He what?"
"I'm sorry, it's all my fault. I never should've chosen you." The words spill from his mouth, tears stopping for a moment. "I knew he was gonna do something bad but I never thought he'd- he'd..."
"No," says Snape, pushing his fury aside to address Draco. "I promise it wasn't your fault, Draco. Look at me, it wasn't your fault."
"He's gonna do it again," Draco chokes out. "I can't, I can't- let it, I can't let it happen again. He's, he'll do it until, until I change the thing, the aide. He's gonna-"
"No, he's not," says Snape, settling his jaw. "I'm not going to let him do that to you, Draco."
"You can't stop him," says Draco. "He teaches me, my parents love him, he knows how to get to me, he knows where I am all the time. I need to change to him. Or he's gonna do it again. And he'll keep- he'll keep doing it."
"We can sort this out," Snape says desperately. "I can talk to him. I can resign from being your aide. Draco, he's not going to do it again, I'll personally see to that."
Draco gazes out of the window and into the comforting darkness. "I just feel... so... disgusting," he utters, his defeat breaking Snape's heart, silent tears dripping down onto the floor.
"You're not disgusting," says Snape quietly. "Please don't do anything to yourself, he's not worth it. You're stronger than this."
Draco closes his eyes, leaning on the wall for support.
"I'm going to go and talk to him," says Snape. "I'm coming right back. Will you be all right here? Are you safe with yourself?"
"Yes."
"Take me to Horace Slughorn's room," Snape orders to the servant standing in the hall where Snape let him. "Now," he shouts. The servant hurries along to Slughorn's room.
"You've got a hell of an explanation to give me," Snape yells, fists balled as he storms into Slughorn's room as he opens the door.
"What's going on?" says Slughorn, his face the picture of ignorant innocence.
"Don't," spits Snape. "Don't test me, Horace. I went to check on Draco and when I got to his room he was sat on his window ledge about to kill himself."
Slughorn shrugs slowly. "And?"
"What do you mean 'and'?" Snape says fiercely. "He told me you raped him."
Slughorn sighs, rolling his eyes as if it was an inconvenience.
"So you admit it?"
"I don't have to answer to you," he says smoothly.
"I'm not accepting this," Snape yells. "He is seventeen years old, Horace. He is a child."
"Don't exaggerate things, Severus. He's practically an adult." Slughorn dismisses. "I gave him a simple decision. He chose to disobey me and he knew the consequence."
Snape makes an explosive noise. "Can you hear yourself? I didn't think you were this fucked in the head but Christ was I wrong. Are you trying to excuse rape? Rape of your own student? An underage student? Do you know how many laws you've broken?"
"Oh, please," Slughorn rolls his eyes. "I expect you don't know about Draco's little secret."
"What?" Snape crosses his arms.
"He's a faggot. He's in a homosexual relationship."
Snape doesn't blink. "How is that relevant in any way to this situation?"
"You're talking about me breaking laws," Slughorn laughs. "I'd be out of prison years before Draco."
"What?" exclaims Snape. "He's done nothing wrong, Horace. The law doesn't care about gay relationships, not in practice. He'd be in prison for weeks, perhaps. You would get life in Askaban like you bloody deserve."
Slughorn sighs. "You don't have to be so dramatic. We both know that wouldn't happen."
"I'm not being dramatic," Snape shouts. "A boy could be dead right now, because of you."
"Don't be so naïve," says Slughorn. "It was obviously for show. He wasn't going to go through with it. He's just sympathy starved and you're gullible enough to fall for it. You're playing into his game: he's messing with you, Severus. It has nothing to do with me."
"You're unbelievable," Snape spits. "Imagine Draco calls your bluff and kills himself. What then? You've lost your only way into all of this Death Eater crap and you'll be teaching at Hogwarts for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?"
"Firstly, that's not true," Slughorn smirks, the words rolling satisfyingly off his tongue. "I don't need Draco: his parents need me. Secondly, do you think I'd care if he died? The world rid of another faggot."
"Shut your mouth, you're embarrassing yourself," Snape interrupts. "If you don't need him anymore then why the bloody hell did you rape him?"
Infuriatingly, Slughorn simply shrugs. "You're blowing this out of proportion," he says. "Five minutes doesn't turn a man to suicide. You're the only one making this important. Can't you see that Draco's spinning you a web of lies to extract any ounce of sympathy he can?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Snape retorts. "Don't downplay this, Horace. You are sick. You're sick in the head."
Slughorn sighs as if he's tired of this conversation. "Don't try and claim the moral high ground here, Severus. You betrayed everyone you knew to get in with the Dark Lord. This is nothing in comparison."
"I betrayed no one," Snaps says through gritted teeth. "I had no loyalties to James or Lily or any of them and I have none to Dumbledore. Don't you dare compare us. You've driven one of your students to suicide because you're so eager to work for the other side. Who's the real traitor?"
Slughorn shakes his head. "It was Draco's choice. He knew the consequences."
"He didn't ask to be raped."
"He might as well have."
"You are fucking kidding me," Snape exclaims, his cheeks red with anger. "He did not ask to be raped and that is final. Now give me one reason why I shouldn't go straight to the Dark Lord or Lucius or Dumbledore and tell them about this," he demands furiously. "Because that's what I'm doing once we've finished here."
"No, you're not," Slughorn says calmly. "Unless, of course, you want me to tell everyone about Draco's disgusting little activities with a certain someone. And before you ask, I know exactly who it is, and I could easily ruin both of their lives."
"If I tell the school or Draco's parents that you've raped him, I don't think they're going to be too concerned about his sexuality."
"Who said I raped him?" Slughorn drawls, a bored smile plastered on his face.
"Me."
"Ah," Slughorn says. "That's where your plan fails."
Snape eyes him suspiciously, his jaw still clenched.
"You see, I've been teaching at Hogwarts for forty years. In case you've forgotten, I'm head of Slytherin and I've personally advised Albus many times on which teachers should stay and which should go. Do you know how insignificant you are?" Slughorn chuckles softly. "Last time I checked, you have no friends, the students dread your lessons, and the professors think you're a waste of space. Weren't you the one responsible for traumatising Neville Longbottom? Poor kid. No one wants you at Hogwarts, Severus. Come to think of it, no one wants you full stop."
A coldness consumes Snape.
"I can flip this on you as easily as I please," he continues. "Just give me the word and suddenly the hated Professor Snape has raped one of his students, to the horror of the school. He tries to blame Professor Slughorn, but everyone knows he would never do such a thing."
Slughorn slowly circles the armchair, relishing every second. "Why would they believe you?" he says. "What reason would anyone have to defend you? No one would believe you against me. You're nothing."
"You wouldn't do that," Snape says quietly.
Slughorn spreads his arms out. "Severus, I'll do anything I please." His laugh sends shivers through Snape. "I've got nothing to lose."
Snape silently purses his lips.
"I'm willing to cut you a deal," Slughorn continues. "Get out of my room, don't come back, and I won't mention a word of this to anyone."
"If Draco wants me to tell someone, then I'm not keeping quiet about this," says Snape.
"He won't," Slughorn says instantly as if his words were the undeniable truth.
"I know you probably think you have this grip on him where he'll do whatever you say but-"
"I do and he will," says Slughorn. "Now get out of my room," he orders, all the humour from his face gone again. "Count yourself lucky you aren't losing your job and reputation over this."
"Just keep your hands off that boy," Snape says, but the previous conviction of his words has vanished.
"Why are you telling me that?" Slughorn laughs in his face, a cruel, heartless laugh; he knows he's won. Snape has no choice but to leave.
"You owe me, Severus," Slughorn calls as he shuts the door.
He strides back to Draco's room, trying to get rid of the twisted feeling of cold manipulation left by Slughorn. The psychopathic smile on his face that dropped at the click of the fingers imprints itself in Snape's mind. Wrong. That's the only word that Snape can think of. It's all wrong.
The fury and helpless feeling from Slughorn fades into anxiousness as he approaches Draco's room. He could be lying on the gravel hundreds of metres below right now. In hindsight, he never should've left. He rushes in and, to his relief, Draco is sitting in the same position as before, staring blankly at nothing.
"Are you okay, Draco?" says Snape.
"I'm fine," Draco mutters, picking the thread on his button and staring at nothing. "What did he say?"
Snape falters, Draco's words uttered with exhaustion rather than curiosity. "Not much," he says. Draco looks as if he wants to say more, but he doesn't.
"Do you want me to tell anyone about this?" Snape asks. "I can go and get your parents if you want?"
Draco shakes his head. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm fine, it's not a big deal. I was being dramatic."
The very same words Slughorn used to taunt Snape with- it's as if Draco overheard their conversation. Slughorn must have been getting into Draco's head in the exact same way as Slughorn got into his. Manipulating, dramatising, belittling.
"You weren't being dramatic, you had every right to act like that," Snape says. "I wish I could do something else. It's so wrong what he did. It's inexcusable."
Draco shrugs. "It's alright." The words don't even convince himself.
"Are you sure you don't want anyone getting?" Snape asks.
"No. I don't want anyone to know."
"Okay. Do you want some peace?" asks Snape in response to Draco's strained replies.
He nods.
"Okay. If you need me or if you need anything, just come and get me, alright? If Horace comes near you again, tell me and I'll deal with it. He's not getting away with this."
"Don't tell anyone," Draco says, misinterpreting the last part. "Please. He knows- he knows about Ron, he'd hurt us, he'd hurt them."
"No, I won't tell anyone," Snape assures him. "That's not what I meant, I just meant that I'm not forgetting about this."
"Okay," says Draco, still too distracted to decide if this is a good or a bad thing.
"If you want to talk or if he goes near you again, just come and find me," Snape says. "I don't care what time it is, come and wake me up. Look after yourself, alright? I'll see you tomorrow."
Draco nods, biting back tears at the warmth of Snape's words. He leaves, and Draco is left alone. Numbness consumes him and he crawls across to his bed and lies there. He wishes Snape never left.
The clock ticks away, second by second.
Another minute down.
The next morning, Draco wakes up long before sunrise. Sleep selfishly avoided him in favour of the disgust which desperately clings to him like they were lovers saying their last goodbye. Neither the humiliation nor the throbbing pain distracts him enough to stop the events of last night running through his mind again and again, replaying every single second of it from his head hitting the wall to Slughorn whispering warnings into his ear, reliving every moment, his screams for mercy growing louder and louder until he can't bear it anymore.
To think about getting out of bed and embracing the day in any shape or form, even acknowledging that he backed out of killing himself, again like a coward, seems impossible. It's fear that motivates him when nothing else can. Fear that Slughorn remains in the same building, under the same roof, only a ten minute walk away from him. He has to talk to Voldemort; he must change his aide to Slughorn.
A few hours later, Draco forces himself to get up. Pain washes over every inch of his body and dread squeezes its hands around his neck. He needs to do this, he tells himself over and over, putting one foot in front of the other and going to find his father.
"Father," says Draco. Lucius is sitting alone in the middle of the main hall, bent over some paperwork.
"Draco," his father says in acknowledgment, not moving.
"I need to speak to the Dark Lord," says Draco.
Lucius snaps his head up. "What?"
"I need to talk to the Dark Lord," he repeats.
"You can't just speak to him- vem, whenever you want, don't be ridiculous." He looks back down to the paperwork.
"But it's important."
"I can assure you that it's not important enough for you to disturb vem for."
Draco's shoulders slump in defeat. He stands there for a few seconds in silence. His father doesn't look up again. The sound of his boots echoes around the empty hall as he walks back out.
Draco goes directly to Voldemort's section of the manor in the east wing. If his father won't help him, he'll do it himself. Being in Voldemort's company terrifies him, let alone speaking to vem uninvited, but if he doesn't get this sorted out now, the consequences might be to take a run and jump after all.
He passes a few servants on the way but doesn't see any of the Death Eaters from yesterday.
"No entry," growls a servant, blocking the path with an axe attached to a pole as Draco rounds the corner. He stops. The door to Voldemort's room is at the end of the corridor, heavily guarded.
"I need to speak to the Dark Lord," he explains. "It's urgent."
"We have not been informed of this," the guard says, not lowering its instrument.
"Do you know who I am?" Draco says, raising his voice to hopefully intimidate the guard. "My father is Lucius Malfoy, the owner of this manor."
"What's going on?" a tiny goblin-looking creature calls at the commotion, standing right in front of the doors to Voldemort's room.
"Tell this... thing," shouts Draco. "To let me the hell in."
All of a sudden, the large doors swing open and Voldemort stands in the centre of the doorway. Ve strides forward, dramatically sweeping veir cape behind vem.
"Draco, my child." Ve bears veir teeth in some twisted version of a smile, opening veir arms.
Draco bows his head. "My Lord."
The guards quickly jump to the side, bowing to the floor and letting Draco pass through.
"The man said to let him through," Voldemort spits to the guard with the axe pole. In one swift motion, ve has it at veir mercy, writhing on the floor in agony.
Draco stops himself from reacting to the tortured squeals of the guard. It slumps to the floor, unconscious a few seconds later.
"Come in, Draco," Voldemort orders.
Draco follows vem into the best room of the manor, kept in perfect condition for circumstances like this. The translucent crimson curtains cast a blood-red tint to the room, black furniture pushed to the sides to make way for a thick circular table in the middle. Only one chair is pushed up to it.
Voldemort sits down, leering at Draco who stays stood at the other side of the table.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" ve asks.
"Thank you for having me, my Lord," Draco gulps. "I am incredibly sorry to disturb you but I wanted to change who I picked to be my aide."
Voldemort's mouth slowly droops down to veir usual stony expression. "I don't know if that can be arranged, Draco."
"I am truly sorry, my Lord," Draco says, bowing his head again. "I know I should've been more prepared."
Voldemort considers this, playing with the thick ring on veir index finger. "Who do you want to change it to?"
"Horace Slughorn." The words stick in Draco's mouth and the trace of contempt with which he says them doesn't pass over Voldemort.
Ve doesn't speak for a minute and Draco begins to think he's offended vem by the suggestion.
"Are you certain you'd rather have him than Severus?" ve eventually says.
"More than anything, my Lord."
"Draco," Voldemort grins, leaning forward. "We both know that's not true. But you've intrigued me, so I will grant you your decision."
"Thank you, my Lord," Draco says, his voice wavering only slightly.
"Go and tell him now," ve orders, enjoying the instant of fear that flashes through his eyes.
"Yes, my Lord," Draco says. "Thank you, again."
Draco strides across to Slughorn's room as ordered. The familiar path sends waves of nausea rolling through him. The smell of decaying plaster chipping from the walls, the dark brown carpet, the framed pictures of long-dead relatives.
Slughorn opens the door after a few knocks. Draco feels the breath get knocked out of him as memories of yesterday flash through his head.
"You're now my aide," Draco states.
He spins around before he has the chance to see the corners of Slughorn's mouth turn up, and without a care for how it looks, he turns and sprints down the corridor and back to his room.
It's done. Slughorn has no more reason to be angry with him; he did everything he asked. Running back to his room, he has never had such an immediate urge to kill himself quite like this before, the mere thought of it cruelly appetising.
Once back in his bedroom, Draco drags a chair against the door. He holds his hands around his neck and mimes choking himself, falling dead onto his bed. Tears start falling down his cheeks as he curls up under the sheets. He only stops crying once he lies unconscious, too exhausted to exist for a second longer.
Tomorrow will be better, he tells himself. And if it's not, it will be his last day alive. Just like the good old days.