The boy is nothing like his father. He tries hard, certainly, but it is never quite good enough. In Severus’ opinion, Draco surpasses his father in the ways that truly matter, but the boy is young and stupid, as youth always is, and fails to see beyond childish hero worship of a man who is far from a hero. He craves Lucius’ approval like a young pup seeking warmth from its mum. It’s very unfortunate that the boy has yet to realize that nothing in regards to his father is ever warm.
Severus does not particularly like the boy, though this is more the rule than an exception. To him, one must prove themselves worthy of his attention or respect before he shall even consider analyzing them in regards to potential feelings. Emotions are an area better left for those who actually care for the messy ambiguousness of such things. He has little time or indulgence for them himself, so there have been only three people in this pathetic world who have ever managed step above cool indifference and many fall into a category that earns contemptuous aversion.
Two of those three are now dead, one killed by his own hand. The other thinks him a traitor as she struggles to take over what Albus helped to build. Unlike the boy, though, he does not cower by the small fire and shiver like an orphaned street urchin. Cowering has not been a part of Severus’ life for many years, thankfully, though he can give quite a performance when absolutely necessary.
The boy looks up, and Severus notes the circles beneath his eyes, the damp cheeks that betray his emotions, and the lost look that says far more than the boy would ever put into words. Unlike Lucius, who is a weak coward who rarely puts himself at risk, this boy has attempted to do the unthinkable in a misguided effort to please his father, protect his mother, and give himself some sense of pride. Death and despair are nothing to be proud of, a lesson that he, himself, learned when he was not much older than the boy, but still foolish children fall into a trap of their own making with false ideas of power and glory.
Severus flinches when he feels the slow burn begin on his arm. The boy bites his lip and whimpers when the pain increases. He is looking to Severus for direction, perhaps finally realizing that his father is not deserving of such devotion, and there is a moment when Severus can almost see the battle raging within the boy’s mind. Instead of standing and immediately Apparating as per his Lord’s beck and call, the boy endures the growing pain with a quiet bravery that is unexpected.
The calling becomes worse, as their Lord does hate to be ignored, but they remain by the fire with their teeth clenched and fingers curled into fists. Severus reaches into the pocket of his robe and removes a bottle of potion that he had the foresight to bring along. He applies force to the cork with his thumb until it pops out, then pushes up the sleeve of his robe and the shirt beneath to apply three drops of the potion on his mark. The boy watches him curiously, but doesn’t speak. There’s no point, really, because what is there to say about what‘s happened?
Severus leans forward across the fire, feeling the warmth of the flames reach up as if to claim him, and thrusts the bottle into the boy’s hand. “Three drops,” he mutters before sitting back down. The boy almost smiles, just a faint twist of his lips, and begins to apply the soothing ointment to his own mark. Severus scowls, having no interest in smiles or gratitude, but he finally acknowledges one emotion he feels as he watches the boy and reflects on the last few days.
He’s proud.
End
Proud
Story Notes:
10/29/06