Chapter Five: Eat you alive
Subtlety wasn't a word in Ron's in vocabulary.
He was lovable. Dependable. The angel you'd turn to when you wanted a bit of good-natured fun. But he wasn't, even by his own admission, the kind of being you could trust to keep any sort of deep, dark secret – he had a bit of a chronic issue with blurting out things that he shouldn't.
(But we'll get back to that).
Family was important to him, and considering that real, blood relationships weren't exactly common among any class of immortal, he was proud to have one. He was the product of a long line of angels dedicated to the light, and as the sixth son of two beings not normally given free reign to reproduce, he was an anomaly, a celebrity of sorts (although his sister, the lone daughter in the family of infamously troublesome sons, took the cake). And it certainly stoked his ego more than probably was good for him.
He wasn't Heaven's only golden boy, but he was well-liked and respected for plenty of reasons other than the perfectly angelic beings he surrounded himself with. Humor was his most dangerous weapon, and he used it to penetrate some of Heaven's most difficult to crack social circles.
He was a tested warrior, much like many of the others sent to look after the land below, but what set him apart was the fact that he boasted the least amount of failures of anyone in his line of work. And sure, some of that was the result of his meticulous case selection, preferring to take on those that had a high probability of succeeding, but much of his success was the direct result of throwing around the impressively massive corporal form he had been issued.
There wasn't a bad bone in his body, at least not intentionally, and he didn't test his boundaries, at least not the important ones. His failures were rare, but when he did lose, he wouldn't rest until the wrong was righted. And while nuance may not have been his forte, he certainly understood the importance of maintaining the razor thin cosmic balance that kept Earth from erupting into flames enough that he didn't seek out unnecessary and unsanctioned fights.
In short, he was everything he had been bred to be. His image was squeaky clean, his reputation untainted. On paper, he was as perfect as they came.
(…well, at least until recently. And as with the other thing, we'll definitely circle back).
Without being anything other than what he was, he had managed to impress those in charge. He was one of the Old Man's favorite weapons, and as the centuries of his Earth-bound existence passed, he was trusted with more and more of Heaven's most dangerous deeds. It should have made him happy; it should have made him proud.
But none of it was enough to keep the only thing that he had ever really cared about.
Her.
She was a fucking diamond, so perfect and pure, and everyone in her sphere of influence was simply lucky enough to exist in the same general vicinity as her. He had known from the moment he met her that she'd never be his – not really, and yet, he pursued her anyways, telling himself that any time with her at all would be time well spent.
And it was – it really, really was.
It's just that the problem with fantasies is that they're exactly that – fantasy, and when the facade he had built up around the reality of the whole situation came tumbling down, he realized just how deep he had lost himself in an unachievable dream.
They could have been good together, or so he had thought, and even though she had given it a go, it was obvious from that start that she had never seen things the same way. She may have been his perfect match, but she was never destined to be tethered to anyone like him. He loved her and she loved him, but she wasn't actually in love with him, and that would always be the most tragic bit of his generally enjoyable existence. You see, he wanted her with every ounce of his being, always would, but she didn't want him – not like that.
It was a painful revelation, but it was a necessary one, and in the end, it was the push that he needed to do the only thing he knew would make her happy again – he tore his own heart out and simply let her go.
And even after all this time, he loved her still. He spent centuries downplaying the hurt, and no matter how painful it got pretending friendship was enough for him, he couldn't bring himself to walk away from the only bit of her that he had left.
Not even, and this little tidbit surprised even himself, after finding out about the demon she had been consorting with on the side.
Unfortunately, the problem with a bombshell like that was that Ron couldn't just ignore it –in fact, he did the complete opposite. It seemed that when it came to her, he wasn't just irrational, he was a fucking glutton for punishment.
"You don't deserve her," he had told the demon after finding the ferret pacing with his head down in a deserted alleyway.
They were the only words he used to announce his appearance, and before the demon could finish turning around, Ron swung.
The punch knocked the blond right off his feet in a rather spectacular fashion, but Ron's feeling of triumph was only momentary. Because when the demon finally managed to identify who had attacked him, the idiot simply smirked and lounged back into the dirty brick wall behind him as if the position was the most comfortable thing in the world.
And then the blond had laughed – fucking laughed – not even bothering to wipe the blood away from the corner of his mouth as he looked up at Ron with a strange sparkle in his otherwise dark and stormy eyes.
"And let me guess," the demon said, finally answering as he cocked his head and rested an arm on a casually bent knee, "you do?"
Ron clenched his fists angrily. It was irritating enough knowing she had chosen this over him, but the fact that the demon seemed completely unbothered by Ron's sudden appearance and subsequent violence, almost as if he had been expecting it, was beyond infuriating.
"No," Ron replied, ignoring the sting in his already bruising knuckles as his fingernails dug into the palm of his hand. "No one does."
"She's a big girl," the demon noted, making a show of pushing himself back onto his feet and brushing the dirt off his suit, "she doesn't need you to protect her."
They were practically the same height, and the change in their respective positions brought them far closer together than Ron was comfortable with. But it also allowed him to finally get a closer look at the Hell-ish being in front of him. There was a coolness behind his eyes, a shield of sorts, and yet, there was also something uncomfortably familiar buried beneath, a hint of an emotion that Ron hadn't realized a demon could possess.
And that was all it took.
Of course.
"I'm not here to protect her," Ron nearly snorted, smirking with knowing as he caught the slightly confused look on the blond's face. "I just needed to see for myself if it was true."
"If what's true?" the demon asked with a growl, apparently realizing that he had let something slip past his defenses.
And if Ron had been even the tiniest bit unsure before, he definitely wasn't anymore.
"If you really love her," Ron said, lifting a hand to brush a strand of red hair out of his eyes.
The movement finally allowed him to assess the damage the punch had caused to his hand, but the blood and pain were a welcome respite to what he was feeling inside.
She could have had anyone else in Heaven, on Earth even, and it would have been easier than this. But this... God this was just too fucking ironic.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the demon tried, the clench of his fists giving away just how much that was a lie, "I don't–"
"Oh, but you do," Ron asserted, dropping his hand. Injuries could be healed, but this – there would never be another moment like this. "And when she decides to tear your heart out and stomp on it – and trust me, she will – I'm probably the only other person who will be able to comprehend how you feel."
The demon's hands were shaking at his sides, almost as if he was struggling against some innate need to attack, but he didn't move.
"She means nothing to me," the demon managed through a clenched jaw – and at least this time it was a good lie, it's just that Ron wasn't as imperceptive with emotions everyone always thought him out to be.
"She means something to everyone," Ron countered, shoving his uninjured hand in his pocket. And he could tell, could just see it on the demon's face, that she meant a hell of a lot to the demented being in front of him. There really was no other reason for any of this.
"Listen, I don't know what you're–"
Ron threw his hands up in the air and took a step back.
"Just do try not to fuck it up," he said before disappearing.
And as depressing up as it sounds, he had actually meant it.
Now, it would be so much easier if he had just let it go, so much simpler if he had just resolved to move on and let it be. But he didn't – he couldn't. It was too much for one angel to get over on his own, and so what happened next was more predictable than anything that had happened in his exceptionally long and gifted life.
Walking into that damn house may have been a momentary lapse of judgement, but staying, especially as long as he did, and not only willingly but happily, was something else entirely. And the demon waiting for him inside was nothing like the angel he had left behind.
Which was exactly the point.
Their relationship wasn't a relationship (that wasn't her thing) but it was what he needed when he needed it. He gave her everything – his body, his freedom, even his control – and she took it, using it to keep him perched tortuously on the edge of sanity for longer than was probably necessary.
But he loved every minute of it, loved how it made him feel because for the first time in a long time, he wasn't feeling anything about her.
Which brings us right to the idiotic thing he shouldn't have done.
He talked.
And it wasn't just innocent gossip, it was dangerous intel which in the wrong hands was a recipe for quite a bit more than disaster. But the worst part wasn't that he'd talked, it wasn't even that he'd lost his damn mind in the first place, it was that he, an operative trained to identify the kinds of individuals that knew more than they should, had missed the most dangerous one.
So yes, Ron was a soldier for the light, but he was also an unintended informant for another side – one, it turns out, that is much, much worse than Hell. And he knew as soon as the trumpets went missing that he hadn't just royally fucked up, he'd lost the battle before he'd even had a chance to right his most terrible wrong.
There was nothing normal about Draco's relationship with his father.
For starters, father figures weren't exactly standard issue in a place like Hell. Most demons were simply imagined into existence, and only the most devout of satanic followers were allowed to produce their own demonic offspring – which unfortunately for a family-tied demon like Draco, meant that he had to bend the knee to more than one sick, twisted immortal being.
On the flip side, however, the early days of his existence couldn't have been easier. Demons seemed to fear and revere him almost as much as they did his father, and getting what he wanted was as simple as voicing his frustrations about something within earshot of one of his father's many cronies. It had all been ever so endearing, ego-boosting even, until he realized that it wasn't really him that everyone was so afraid of, and while it wasn't exactly a cheerful revelation, it was the one he needed to finally grow the fuck up.
But Draco wasn't just the spawn of one of Hell's most feared and favored fallen angels nor was he simply his father's wayward offspring destined to come crawling home eventually, he was also half of the only being who'd ever managed to tame that untamable beast – his beautiful and mysterious mother. So, when he finally began to carve his own way, he flourished in ways that he never would have from within his father's shadow, and not unsurprisingly, he became Hell's most formidable Prince of Darkness. And it was a not so minor detail that his father tended to overlook.
Of course, there was no erasing all the time Draco had spent idolizing his father, all the time he'd wanted nothing more than to be just like him nor the seeds that his childish behavior had planted in his father's mind. But things couldn't stay the same, and as his centuries above ground ticked by, he focused less and less on his father's wishes and more on his own. And sure, that didn't change the fact that he owed every moment of his gloriously demented existence to the very demon he was trying so desperately to distance himself from, but at least he no longer felt guilty about living his perfectly demented life.
So, to say things were complicated with his father would be a bit of understatement.
Especially considering that the beast himself had just shown up announced after nearly a century of stone-cold silence.
"What do you think he wants?" Theo whispered as they moved together down the stairs.
Draco's eyes were busy scanning the dance floor below them, but he didn't miss the sharp edge to his friend's hushed voice.
"No fucking idea," Draco mumbled in reply, waving a hand to quickly repair the damage to the front of his suit.
"I spot two by the bar," Theo said, concealing his survey of the space in front of them with a practiced flip of his hair. "And at least one other near the back door."
Draco nodded in acknowledgement, pausing in the well-placed shadow near the bottom of the stairs to tug at the ends of his sleeves. "Three by the back door," he corrected as his eyes passed over two comically large men standing to the side of the scantily dressed woman Theo had spotted. "For fuck's sake," he groaned as he caught sight of a few more not-so-inconspicuous demons. "He brought the whole fucking brigade. There's one more by the entrance, and I count at least four others on the dance floor."
Theo grunted, and while to an outsider the sound may have appeared dismissive, it was simply the noise Theo made when he wasn't exactly sure what to say.
Not surprisingly, however, the demon was quick to recover.
"He always did like to travel in style," Theo noted, turning to place a hand on Draco's back. "Definitely sucks to be you," he jested although the look in his eyes was anything but cheerful.
But Draco rolled his eyes anyways because fuck, in this exact moment, Theo certainly wasn't wrong, and if that wasn't funny, he didn't know what was.
"Keep Blaise out of trouble," Draco told him, forcing himself to smile. He certainly couldn't afford to look anything but composed. "The last thing we need is a repeat of last time."
Theo shook his head and chuckled quietly. "With pleasure," he replied, offering Draco one last (slightly pained) smile before turning and disappearing into the crowd.
With his last few seconds of peace, Draco took a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew it would be futile for him to try to relax completely, but he needed to do something to release the more obvious tension in his body. Taking a deep breath, he rolled his shoulders back slowly and move his head side to side. And then, once he was satisfied that he was as relaxed as he was going to get, and before he could turn and run, he put one foot in front of the other and made for the front door, moving a single finger in front of him so that he could maneuver through the dance floor without having to fight against the sea of bodies blocking his path.
He moved slowly but purposefully, doing his best to exude calm despite still feeling anything but. It was unnerving being watched as he was, and even though he could still sense the glances of hopeful adoration from a handful of human souls, they were overwhelmed by the near-suffocating glares from the immortals now sprinkled across the vast, dark room.
Fucking demons.
He was only a few steps from the entrance when he heard a low, gravelly voice calling his name, and he turned to see one of his father's favorite goons leaning against a nearby table, staring at him with a stupid, almost knowing grin on his face.
"Goyle," Draco acknowledged, trying to keep his face blank.
He wasn't the brightest of his father's so-called followers, but he was extremely dangerous, and the pit in Draco's stomach grew.
"Look who's all grown up," the demon replied, lifting an eyebrow in what Draco assumed was amusement. The end of a toothpick was sticking out of the side of the demon's mouth, and Draco had to resist the urge to reach out and snap the thing in half. "You certainly took your sweet time coming down here."
"I was busy," Draco replied, refusing to take the bait.
The demon chucked. "I'm sure you were," he mused as he removed the toothpick from his mouth and pushed himself off the table. "You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Then by all means," Draco began, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice, "take me to him."
The demon studied Draco for a moment longer before flicking the near-destroyed toothpick to the ground and gesturing for Draco to follow him outside.
They moved through the elaborate entrance quickly, and Draco made a mental note to thank Blaise for his insistence on installing the blinding display of overhead lights because it was likely the only thing masking the nerves that had managed to commandeer the features as he waked. He inhaled slowly, using his breath to focus on clearing his mind as he followed the stout demon out onto the street and around a dark corner. Thankfully, by the time the demon turned around and pointed to a figure waiting in the shadows, he had his emotions under control.
Draco nodded and sauntered (as privileged sons so often do) toward the figure, making a show of checking his watch as he approached. He would have known it was his father without looking – there was no mistaking the perturbed aura around that fucker – but the long platinum hair was a dead giveaway.
It was Lucius, and whether Draco was happy about it or not, there would be no escaping until his father deemed it acceptable.
"Draco," the figure called out as he came to a stop at the edge of the shadow.
Other than the length of their hair, they were near perfect mirror images of each other. Their skin was the same shade of alabaster. Their eyes were both piercing and unnaturally grey. Their mannerisms were identical – somehow both effortless and calculated. Even their heights matched, although Draco, who was still very much so vested in the physicality of his role, was more broadly built.
They were very much so the same in so many ways, and yet Draco had still grown into something his father had never expected – a disobedient and uncontrollable son.
"Father," Draco replied, bowing his head less out of respect and more out of habit. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
The demon finally stepped forward into the moonlight, illuminating his face.
"Business," the demon said, frowning slightly as his eyes traveled over his son.
It appeared, even after all this time, that his father was still capable of finding something wrong with his appearance – only this time, Draco was all too happy to ignore the flash of disproval in his father's eyes.
"Care to be a bit more specific?" Draco asked, feigning some combination of irritation and impatience. "I'm in the middle of something."
His father snorted, seemingly amused with the last bit, but if the comment bothered him, he chose not to address it. "As much as I'd love to avoid going inside that horrid establishment, what I came here to discuss requires a bit more–" he paused, looking around him with blatant disgust "–privacy."
"Blaise was just finishing up with someone in his office," Draco offered up, trying not to think too hard about the immortal being his friend had indeed been 'finishing up' with. "I'm sure he'll have disposed of them by the time we make it inside."
"I don't suppose there's a back door we could use?" his father inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I'd rather not be seen."
Draco nearly shook his head in annoyance but thought better of it. "We're standing right in front of it," he pointed out. "As I'm sure you're well aware."
His father smiled. "Wonderful," Lucius said happily. "Do lead the way."
Draco turned, breathing a quiet sigh of relief that his father hadn't plopped himself outside the 'only to be used in case of serious emergencies' door – the very same door an angel would be using to escape – and the tightness in his chest eased somewhat. When Blaise first presented his designs for his club, his request for multiple secret back doors, one of which to be more heavily guarded by magic than others, seemed a bit superfluous, but in retrospect, it was yet another seemingly ridiculous design element he'd have to remember to thank Blaise for. And it seemed, at least for now, that Blaise's foresight had managed to trick a demon exceptionally skilled at sniffing out things that he wasn't meant to find.
But Draco knew that next time, they might not be so lucky.
The hidden door his father had managed to locate was one of two that could be opened from the outside, and as Draco approached the seemingly blank brick wall, he waved his hand to reveal a large metal door that would allow them to intercept the stairway that led to Blaise's (hopefully abandoned) office. Gritting his teeth, he opened the door and stepped inside.
A noise prompted Draco to turn around, and he caught sight of an obviously confused Goyle.
"Wait here," he heard his father order before following him inside, and Draco, who was as surprised as Goyle at his father's request, relaxed a bit more than he had expected would be possible. Whatever his father had come to speak to him about, it at least didn't require the assistance of a bodyguard – which meant that this was either family business or something his father couldn't trust with even his closest associates.
Draco smirked as the other demon bowed his head and backed away – just like a fucking dog – but he only paused for a moment before waving a hand to seal the door again.
"Handy," his father noted, although it wasn't exactly a compliment.
"Yes," Draco replied as he turned again. "Blaise's office is on the next level," he added, pointing up the stairs.
He didn't wait for an acknowledgement from his father before he started moving, but he knew the older demon would follow without question. It was one of Lucius' favorite power plays, and Draco figured he'd toss his father this one little unexpected bone before the inevitable disappointment had time to settle in.
Their ascent was quicker than the descent Draco had dragged out a few minutes ago, and when he reached the door to Blaise's office, he threw it open roughly, purposely making enough noise so that if anyone was still inside, they would know now was a good time to hide. The older demon waltzed passed him into the room with his nose slightly scrunched, and it took every bit of Draco's willpower to not laugh at the image. He kicked the door shut behind him and watched as his father moved farther into the room, using his cane to being poking at random objects.
"So, what is it?" Draco asked, leaning back against the wall as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"An opportunity," Lucius replied, not bothering to turn around as he prodded a pile of books on the edge of Blaise's desk.
"For what?" Draco said, unable to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Because whether you believe it or not, I don't actually need help in the demon-ing department."
Lucius pushed the top book from the pile onto the floor, and Draco could almost hear the smile on his face. "No, son," he said as he paused his prodding.
His voice was too bloody cheerful, and Draco didn't like it – not one fucking bit.
"Alright, I'll bite," he said, eyeing his father suspiciously as the older demon resumed his inspection of the objects on the desk in front of him. "An opportunity for what?"
Lucius paused again, this time turning around to face his son. But instead of immediately focusing on Draco, the demon's eyes flickered over to the closed door as if to double and triple check that it was properly closed.
"It's charmed," Draco offered, although he was sure his father had already probed the wards. "No one will be able to hear us."
"Indeed it is," his father said, finally meeting Draco's eyes. "And to answer your question – power."
And even an idiot wouldn't have missed his father's emphasis on the last word.
"We have power," Draco replied flippantly, but the sparkle in his father's eyes was disconcerting, and he knew without having to ask that whatever it was his father was on about wasn't, strictly speaking, legal for an immortal being bound to Hell. "Lots of it, in case you've forgotten," he added, hoping it was a firm enough statement to finagle his way out of the entire conversation.
Of course, it wasn't – it never would be.
"Not this kind, Draco," his father assured him, his voice noticeably lower than it had been a moment ago. "Not the kind that would give us the control we were destined to have."
It wasn't the first time Draco had heard his father lament about not being in command of Hell's vast resources, but it was the first time he'd ever heard his father talking as if taking Hell's top seat was even remotely achievable for anyone other than the demon who currently sat upon it.
"Father," Draco warned, his voice almost a whisper. "What you're talking about is treason."
And now it was Draco's turn to glance nervously at the door. He wanted no part of this – whatever this was – but he knew if the wrong people overheard what his father was suggesting, then not even Draco could avoid the punishment that would likely follow.
"Of sorts," his father tried to assure him with a smile. "And only if we lose."
But Draco was shaking his head before his father had finished speaking.
"No," he said, uncrossing his arms. "I'm not doing this. You're not doing this."
"Oh, but it's already begun," Lucius replied blithely, lifting his cane higher into the air so that he could twirl the perfectly polished snakehead in his hand. "And I'd like you to take your place at my side."
Draco opened his mouth to protest but promptly shut it again.
You've got the be fucking kidding me.
"Father," he said, bringing his hand to his head and using his thumb and middle fingers to apply pressure to his temples. He could feel the sudden onset of an intense headache, and he knew that he'd be spending the rest of the night drinking himself into a stupor to escape it. "What did you do?"
"I did nothing," Lucius replied rather unhelpfully.
And that was all Draco needed him to say because suddenly, everything clicked into place.
The missing trumpets. Hermione's desperate plea for help. His father hadn't just gone off the rails, he had started an unsanctioned war with the only side capable of destroying them all.
"What did you do?" Draco growled, hoping this time his father would actually answer him.
"We've been doing servants work for far too long," his father began, annoyingly choosing to once again side-step the question. "Wouldn't you prefer to finally be in charge of your fate?"
"I prefer to not be killed in some horribly inventful and public way as punishment for an attempted and failed coup," Draco told him angrily. "And unlike you, I'm perfectly content with the way things are."
His father laughed laughed. "Are you really?" he asked, staring at his son like there was something he knew that he shouldn't. And it was another one of his father's looks that Draco wasn't particularly fond of.
"Yes," Draco replied, trying to keep his face impassive.
"You always were a bit too narrow-minded for my liking," Lucius noted as he looked down at his fingernails again, "but I suppose it can't be helped that you're not one hundred percent mine." He paused, cocking his head in an almost threatening manner.
"And I'm sure mother will be so pleased to learn that you still think so little of her," Draco growled in response.
Draco's words seemed to distract his father for a moment, and the older demon's eyes glazed over slightly as if he was reliving a very specific and painful memory. Unfortunately, the moment was gone almost as soon as it had begun, and the dream-like tint in his father's eyes was quickly replaced with something a bit more menacing.
"Do you really think they'll let you keep that angel of yours?"
Draco blanched.
"I don't–" he tried, but his father cut him off before he could finish.
"She is a pretty one," Lucius remarked. "It'd be a pity if something happened to her."
"I haven't seen her in years," Draco lied, waving his hand dismissively in the air as he scrambled to compose himself. "She was a hell of a fuck, but I grew bored of her antics – honestly, you'd be doing me a favor by getting rid of her."
If his father had known Hermione was here moments ago, he would have slipped in unnoticed just to prove a point, and so while it was a dangerous lie for Draco to tell, it wasn't a lie that his father could unravel… yet.
"The way I heard it, she was the one who grew bored of you," Lucius goaded, and Draco clenched his jaw so tightly that he was surprised the teeth in his mouth didn't shatter.
"What is it you want from me?" Draco managed finally, returning his father's glare with one of his own.
His father didn't actually have to verbalize his threat. He was willing to overlook Draco's extracurriculars, cover for them even, if, and only if, Draco did what he was told
"Join me," Lucius told him, leaning leisurely against his cane.
"Just you?" Draco asked dubiously.
He already knew the answer, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his emotions under control if the conversation returned to her, and so he happily pushed the conversation in another, albeit similarly troubling, direction.
"And others."
It was an unhelpful response, but at the same time, it gave quite a bit away.
"What others?" Draco queried, his breathing slowly returning to normal as his father seemed perfectly content to follow the new line of questioning.
"I'm afraid that's need to know," Lucius replied with a sneer.
"And I don't?"
"No," his father told him. "Not yet at least."
Draco threw his hands up to his face and groaned.
"I'm not one of your lackeys," he said angrily as he dropped his hands back to his sides. "I won't follow you blindly down some asinine path
"It's not asinine, Draco," his father asserted. "This needs to happen."
And it was obvious even from where he was standing that his father truly believed that.
"Do I even have a choice?" Draco asked after a few moments.
"Would it be easier if you didn't?"
Translation – Draco didn't, not if he wanted to keep her alive.
"God damnit!" he shouted, turning to punch the wall next to him. "I'm not a child anymore. Either be more specific about what you're asking me to do, or this conversation is over."
And although he wasn't a child – far from it – his little burst of anger was the most childish thing he'd done in centuries, and as soon as his fist collided with the wall he wished he could take it back. But since he couldn't, he simply dropped his bloodied hand to his side and glared at the demon on the other side of the room.
His father's eyes flickered over his son, almost as if he actually cared, and then he did something he had never done in front of Draco before – he sighed.
"There's a man," Lucius began.
"A human man?" Draco asked, shooting his father a glare that to anyone else would have been incredibly unnerving.
"A human man," his father confirmed with a nod. "He has powers I've never seen before – can manipulate people's reality, and not just Earth's reality."
"So, you're asking me to follow a magician," Draco groaned sarcastically although inwardly his father's brief explanation was more than concerning. "Fucking wonderful."
His father seemed unbothered by the comment, however, and he continued without so much as a pause.
"He wants to change things," Lucius explained. "Wants to usher in a world where humans bend to our will not the other way around."
"I wouldn't exactly call what we do bending to anyone's will but our own, but okay," Draco mumbled, not caring if his father heard him or not.
"We're stuck playing a game that isn't ours," his father said. "We've been relegated as the pawns in something we can't control, and it's far past time for it to end."
Draco snorted. "And you think jumping ship to play pawn to someone else is the answer?" he asked incredulously.
"This one doesn't want control," his father told him. "He'll give that to us willingly if we help him accomplish the one thing that he can't do alone."
"And what is that?"
"The complete destruction of Heaven and Hell."
And Draco didn't even attempt to hide his surprise because the idea wasn't just stupid – and it was on so many other levels than one – it was also a cancerous thought, one that, if left unchecked, would undoubtedly threaten the very world that those very entities had been created to manipulate.
Song - Animal by Maroon 5
a/n: I'm the worst - clearly, I have no concept of how long these updates are going to take me. One of these days, I'm really going to find a way to get these out faster, but until then… thank you to everyone who's been (ever so patiently) sticking with this! I'm also posting this after an exceptionally long day of staring at my computer screen, so any errors are the entirely the fault of my barely functioning eyeballs.
