vii: But you, you've gone too far this time. You have neither reason nor rhyme, with which to take this soul that is so rightfully mine.

His entire body feels heavy as he enters his old home, full of delightfully horrid memories and repressed sentiments. As strange as it sounds though, he's becoming more accustomed to the place with each visit. Yes, this old house harbours much of the source of his issues, but it also made him into the person he is today. While some may disagree, Draco is of the opinion that he's quite the man.

Regardless, the sensation of being lost has been plaguing him more and more often lately. He can't seem to shake it, no matter the alcohol content. Previously, he found salvation at the end of a whiskey bottle, but recently this hasn't been giving him the same relief. He wishes he could find joy in something in his life, because even his job has been leaving him unsatisfied over the past weeks.

His head connects the dots and points to the enigma that is Belle, but he can't fully get on board with that. Draco refuses to believe this could be a reason to his recent change. She doesn't matter to him, and never will, no matter how curious he is about her. She evades his thoughts more often now; he's glad for it.

Draco's been avoiding this visit to his mother's for quite some time now, nearly stretching to a fortnight, but the guilt eventually caught up with him and that's why he's waiting for her in the sitting room now. It's rare that they lounge in the sitting room, his mother favouring much more formal and sophisticated layouts for their social visits.

She enters the room with the same regal air she always has, holding her head high and posture perfect. Narcissa waves the elf off, telling him silently to leave, and takes a seat on the couch opposite him. Her stiffly straight back contrasts with the casual recline of the seat, making her look uncomfortable. Without a word to him, she takes her cup of tea – prepared by her elves – and sips it. After several minutes of this, she eyes him, "I see you do remember where we live and that I am, in fact, alive still."

"Always with the dramatics. Is it any wonder I turned out the way I did?" He grins slightly, eliciting a small softening in his mother.

"You turned out wonderfully, and don't let anyone tell you differently. Especially not that ex-wife of yours; she's nothing but trouble and a farce." Narcissa has never been quiet about her dislike for Astoria, something which used to make him awfully annoyed but now serves as great amusement.

"In any case," He starts, wanting to get to the point. "I'm here now. I'm sorry it took so long, but you know how my conversations with him usually go." Draco refrains from going into detail, knowing all too well how upset these facts can make his mother. She loves Lucius, maybe for reasons Draco can't fathom, but she does and Narcissa hates seeing her husband and son have such an abysmal relationship.

Draco can't remember the last time he genuinely enjoyed speaking with his father, or looked forward to seeing him. This thought inevitably makes him think about his own son; does he feel the same way? Does Scorpius think of him as little more than a nuisance; someone who deserves little of his attention? Perhaps even someone who has ruined him?

Narcissa, thankfully, draws him away from these troublesome ideas, "Unfortunately, I do know. However, you –" she hesitates, looking away. "You might be more comfortable with what I'm about to ask of you."

His curiosity piqued, Draco raises his brow, "Oh? I can't imagine what it could be, unless you want me to castrate him or something equally gruesome."

"Draco!" She admonishes, anger flashing across her demure features. He sits back obligingly, hating when his mother becomes like that. Granted, he may deserve it this time. "As your mother, I command you to stop speaking like that."

"Mother, I'm a little old for—"

"Draco Malfoy."

"Yes." He sighs heavily, "I will stop making comments about gravely injuring your husband."

She lets his less than legit reply slide, and returns to sipping her tea leisurely. Narcissa and Lucius are both highly dramatic beings, and if anyone were to see that, they would understand immediately why Draco was such a nuisance as a child in that regard. Still to this day, he can't deny he doesn't have a flair for drama, too.

Brushing her blonde hair away from her face, after setting down the cup, Narcissa clears her throat. "I don't suppose you've read anything about your father, have you?"

"I can't say I have…" He's confused now, because isn't that a good thing?

"Nor I. That's why I can't understand.. Someone would have surely caught him by now, especially with the Ministry constantly checking up on us for dark magic and such. Yet, he's not my Lucius again," Her eyes are dreadfully sad, something Draco hates to see. He nods understandingly to her, urging her to continue. Her eyes meet his again, looking glassier than before, "He—he's like how he was back then. You know… back then."

Draco's eyes widen while his eyebrows take a visit to his hairline. It takes a minute more to process what his mother might be saying, then Draco opens his mouth. He has to construct his next words carefully, because while he doesn't want to set off his mother into tears, he has to know if she's accusing Lucius of what he thinks she is. "Mother, are—are you saying that you think he –"

"Yes, I think he's involved with the death eaters again," She interrupts him, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rush. It's the most flustered he's seen his mother in a long time.

Draco's eyes drop, and an unwelcome sensation builds in his chest. Their family has just overcome the past mistakes, the darkness and baggage they had collected – now his father wants to haul all of this up again? Draco doesn't know if he'll be able to cope with the onslaught he experienced in his youth, and he was better able for it then. And his son, what of his son if Lucius is up to old tricks?

Anger rattles his bones. He welcomes the feeling because apathy has ruined him in the past, and stands a chance at doing it again now.

He grinds out, "How long have you suspected this?"

"A few months." She replies quietly, staring down at her hands.

He makes a sound of fury and impatience, then stands, "I'm going to think. I'll be back though, and I'll help you find out what's going on."

All his life, Draco's been kept at a secure distance from his parents - whether that was for physical safety, emotional safety or that they genuinely weren't expressive, it's a fact. He was never close to either of them, up until his teen years when his mother began to show maternal signs – she was a late bloomer. Ever since then, his relationship with his mother has grown stronger and today, he loves her more than anyone other than his son.

Even with this fact, they're still not as close as some mother and sons. He listens to her trivial stories, and she offers him comfort and advice in regards to work and women, but he never thought she probed deeper. Draco never thought his mother bothered to truly read him. He should have known better, of course, because she is married to Lucius Malfoy.

He only realises just how much she knows when she speaks next, "Don't drink too much. I wouldn't want my son to die by choking on his own vomit."

Work isn't so mind-numbing as he had hoped, with countless memo's from Blaise and a seemingly never-ending stream of employees with inquires, Draco is constantly on his feet and thinking. He supposes that's good though, because as the doors to his office shut for the thousandth time, he's left alone to ponder his visit with his mother.

Draco knows how hard it was for her to come to him for help. Besides the fact that Malfoy's detest having to ask for help, his mother knows how low his opinion of Lucius is already. This is bound to make it even worse, because Draco is aware – and so is she – that no good can from the scenario. Granted, Lucius might be up to nothing of the bad sort, but Draco has little faith in that. Also, his mother wouldn't have brought it up had she not been sure.

Twirling his pen between his fingers, Draco turns from his desk to gaze out upon the people below. They're all completely unaware of his gaze, so wrapped up in their own lives and busy schedules to feel his unwavering stare. Draco wishes he could be one of them; entirely in their own bubble, constantly occupied and always having something to do or someone to see.

It's nearing to home time, despite the fact that Draco only came in three hours ago. After his mothers, he had to have a drink to settle his emotions. He tells himself it's okay, that it was normal to want a drink after the bombshell.

Blaise breezes into his office without so much as a knock then, closing the door loudly behind him. Draco swings around to look at the man, suspicious of him already. He had ignored every one of Blaise's calls and perhaps that had been uncalled for, but Draco isn't in the mood to socialise. He tells his friend this with one stoic glance.

"Don't care how you're feeling, mate. I've been calling you all day, and your bloody secretary keeps diverting my calls. What the hell is up with that?" There's a mild anger to his tone that surprises Draco, but he waves it off.

"I'm not in the mood, Blaise. What do you want?"

Displeased, Blaise takes a second to respond. He decides on shedding his negative sentiments then and tells him, "You missed the international meeting this morning."

"I think it's an awful idea."

There's a mirthless laugh, "Do you? Well, maybe if you came to any of the meetings you would have more foundation to your beliefs."

"What are you on about?" He asks irritably, thoroughly sick of his friend.

"You missed the last three meetings regarding this topic. Are you choosing to skip them or are –" He pauses, leaning forward. Blaise sniffs three times before falling back into his chair. "Is that alcohol I smell?"

Draco sneers at him, "I'm none of your business."

"This business is my business, Draco. If you aren't capable of handling it with me anymore, then I need to know and I need to take appropriate action."

The words stay with him long after Blaise leaves – and the ire doesn't go away easily, either.

"The usual?" Draco nods, not bothering to feel perturbed by the familiarity the barman has with him. He's been here more often lately, and Draco maintains that it has nothing to do with Belle. He may have met her here for the first time, but he had enjoyed plenty of drinks here before that.

As a cool glass of whiskey his placed in front of him, Draco's thoughts turn to the mounting emotions inside of him. There's some that are due to recent events, and others that are transpiring from how his life is. Most of all, he feels suffocated. Everything around him is weighing him down, all the factors, responsibilities and people in his life are pulling at him for entirely different directions and he doesn't know how much more he can take of it. That said, he doesn't know what he can do to relieve himself of it.

It's time to admit to himself that he deeply misses what he and Astoria used to be. It's time to reconcile himself with the problems Scorpius has. It's time to acknowledge that his job doesn't give him the satisfaction it used to.

It's finally time to say for definite that he irrevocably and with all his being hates his father.

Draco can safely attribute each and every one of his vices to his father, with little hesitation or consideration. He has a mountain of evidence behind him that is his life, and a good few repressed memories that the jury can see to truly witness the devastation. The only thing Lucius Malfoy sparred him of was sexual abuse, but he sure enough defended himself against the rest. The verbal and emotional slaps, the manipulation and deceit, the humiliation and ruin. He did nothing good for Draco except provide a wealthy standing in life and provide him with life.

Draco would have no qualms with him dying. He would have no tears at his grave, no flowers by his bedside, no reconciliation in his prayers - there would be no prayers even. Draco could only hope, for his mother's sake, that someday Lucius spares her by going quickly.

At this age, completely independent of his parents, Draco believed he could simply cut Lucius out of his life. This stunt now makes him think that that is impossible; you cannot choose your family. Albeit, Draco could let Lucius carry on with his antics and wait for the fall – but he can't take that fall again. He wouldn't withstand that hurdle once more.

He's going to follow Lucius, and he's not going to be lenient once he discovers what is going on. The Ministry, no matter how much he may despise them, is going to be fully clued in. His mother will have to settle for this, because at least Draco isn't plotting to kill.

Draining the last of the burning liquid, that doesn't burn half as much as the first time, he calls the barman over with a flick of his wrist. "Another, please." The please may surprise many, but Draco was brought up with manners, and though he can't always be polite and respectful to everyone all of the time, please and thank you are quite easy to rehash.

As the man, who he has many a time insulted, places the drink down, he quirks his brow, "You're lookin' more miserable than usual."

"Why, thank you. You sound more stupid than usual, given I thought we had an agreement not to speak of anything but alcohol."

He sighs, his moustache moving with the exhale. It's wiry and grey, something Draco knows he will never stand for, no matter what age. It truly resembles a rodent, especially the left side which is still prominently black. There's deep, wretched wrinkles engrained into his entire face, marring whatever youth he once had. His eyes are small and beady, and nearly black in colour. Despite these almost hostile features, he still manages to maintain and exude a friendly disposition. Draco should really take note.

Emptying the glass much slower this time, Draco takes a glance around the pub. It's quiet, but that isn't exactly shocking. His eyes roam the booths for something interesting, something to entertain him because his thoughts are only burdening him.

That's when he sees her. It's rather poetic actually, because the moment he realises who she is, she glances up and their eyes connect. Something strikes him about her that never has before, whether it was because he was otherwise occupied or always trying to figure her out, it escaped him before.

There, shining in the emerald green of her almond eyes, is the same look he receives everytime he looks in the mirror. Loneliness.

So, really, I should just copy and paste my A/N's, because I'm constantly apologising. Even so, the month wait for an update deserves an apology! So, I am sorry for this very tardy update. I hope you enjoyed it, and I definitely hope I get the next one out faster! haha.. Thanks for reading, and please review :)

Disclaimer: Want to know what's not mine? HP or "Roll Away Your Stone" by Mumford&Sons.

CN.