Author's Note: Extremely short but to be used mainly as plot exposition and proof I am not dead. This is the beginning of Silas Malfoy's part of the story so be warned themes of murder, incest, homosexuality and drug abuse will be alluded too. I intend to keep this tasteful but hopefully sharp and cruel, much as the character is. P.S, apologies it's short but the chapter works for my purposes. Read and review.

Chapter Nine: Prelude of Cruelties

It was a clear, beautiful night that found Silas Malfoy staring at the ceiling in his usual disgruntled fashion. He was spending the weekend at the Looking Glass instead of at Hogwarts. He liked the bar better, and it was a relatively simple thing to steal away during the weekend, when the teachers relaxed their guard and the children resigned themselves to whatever petty pastimes they found to indulge in. Silas was never one for pastimes. He could find no joy in them, nor could he find the patience to pursue something where no immediate benefits could be reaped.

So with no patience or passion, Silas often found himself in a position like this one: well-fed and cared for with still a deep seated hunger that he knew instinctively no youth should have at his age, and no means to stop it. To his credit, Silas knew that this was not normal and tried to remedy it. He played Quidditch at school, courted all the appropriate females, befriended all the moneyed males and even managed to get in just the right amount of mischief to make him admired and watched by the professors. But still he was not pleased. In truth, he found it all so practiced, all so civilized that he should want for nothing and it made him crave desperately for something wild and unimportant.

The girl beside him squirmed in her sleep and Silas- more out of formality then actual ardor- readjusted himself in the bed to allow her to spoon against him. This particular girl had been a welcome change of pace for him and earlier the newness of the situation had motivated him to treat her with even more delicacy and gentleness. He spoke to her in hushed whispers, and mild, clumsy French that made her features blush and eyes sparkle.

Sounds underneath him took Silas' attention away from Narcissa for the moment. His father's voice had broken through the cool air like a whip, making Silas' insides tense up with dread. Silas never liked Karel's presence; his father loomed over him like a Grim and made this polished creature stumble over his words and footing like some pathetic Hufflepuff. Conaire's voice came into earshot for a moment and then retreated just long enough to bait Silas' curiosity. He silked out of bed and, being possessed with some unnatural bout of kindness, turned and adjusted the bed sheets around Narcissa's body so she would not awaken.

She didn't and Silas made his way through the darkened halls of the bar's upper rooms, to the staircase where he squatted just out of sight from his uncle and father.

Conaire Malone was venting; ranting angrily to Karel about some mission that had been foiled. Silas chewed on the inner part of his lip, obsessed with this new image of Conaire. He had never seen his uncle so upset, and angry over anything before in his life and to watch him now sent fear running through Silas' veins and forcing the boy to deal with an emotion he never had experienced before.

From his place at the bar, Silas' father Karel was attempting to lend comfort to his friend and failing at it. This made the air stale and uncomfortable, and although Silas knew he would be better off shying away from the scene but knew he could not. He could blame it on curiosity, or just plain eagerness but both excuses would be in a lie. In truth, Silas was enamored with the excitement that came from the underworld dealings and possibly that in this hiding place Silas might just be able to hear something new.

"We all do things we aren't proud of, Con." Karel was saying amid sips of his milk. Karel had ulcers and this lent itself to the rather unfortunate image of the Malfoy patriarch appearing weak because of his choices of beverages. Silas always despised that about his father; he liked Conaire and his Whiskey. "The important thing is they mean…something."

Conaire looked over, disgusted and stopped himself from speaking. He exhaled after a time, "I'm tired of killing for ideas, brother. They are airy and unformed; they cannot feed the hungry nor clothe the naked, nor provide comfort for those who desperately seek it." He turned away, pained and angry at his torment. "I was once mercy itself. I was once a Kaga Companion; a paragon of compassion and love…and now Voldemort seeks to make me nothing more then a common hit-man."

There was an infinity to Conaire's voice that spoke of terrible wisdom, won at too great a cost. Watching his uncle's pain, something awoke in Silas that he had never before felt: compassion. He longed to understand and alleviate Conaire's pain and more important, he knew he could. It was a childish, certain faith that he and perhaps he alone could make pain flee where Conaire with all his otherworldliness had failed.

He only needed to know the problem.

Providence, it would appear was on his side as well, for Karel had stood and walked to sit beside Conaire and ask. "Why has this one thing troubled you?"

"The family has done nothing wrong."

"Since when was that required in our line of work?" Karel rose and walked slowly to him. "Alphonse will be here for Christmas break and this bloody business will be done and over with and you can go back to clear minds and straight visions."

Conaire snorted slightly, as he leaned against Karel's shoulder. He smiled and patted Conaire's cheek, a motion that warranted another tender response, Conaire kissing the palm of Karel's hand. For a moment, Karel looked as if he wanted to return the sign of affection but forced himself not to, recoiling from Conaire and going quietly to pick up his coat.

Silas felt himself become please with his father's refusal. He didn't like Conaire showing affection to Karel when it should be directed towards him. He bit his lip at this realization, watching his father retreat from the bar.

"You can come out, Silas." Conaire said, although his face never turned from the doorway. "I'll pour you some tea to help you sleep."

Silas grunted as he rose, "How long did you know I was listening?"

"I heard you arrive."

Standing a few steps away from him now, Silas could see his Uncle's shirt was open; revealing a lithe, handsome body devoid of any imperfection. He felt his stomach shift nervously, causing Silas to blush and look down at the table where he sat. He heard his Uncle laugh as he sat across from him.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that." Conaire began easily. His face darkened for a moment. "I didn't mean to come off weak to you."

"Why do you care what I think?"

A small smile blossomed on his face. "Because you are my Silas. I want you to be proud of me."

Silas looked down again. "Nothing can stop that."

His Uncle took a long sigh, "I wish that were so." He said sadly. "I wish all things were as simple as they must seem to you, beloved."

Silas let the silence that followed last as long as he was able to. His Uncle was too deep into another world for him to offer any comfort, and knowing he could do no good there; he did the only thing he could. He left. "I have school tomorrow." He muttered. "I have to go." He rose and began to walk out, leaving his Uncle lost in thought. Then, more on impulse then actual mission, Silas turned and faced him. "Conaire, do you love me?"

Conaire's face lifted from its pallor and lit up. The smile returned, as he nodded. "More then anyone else."