WITH FIRE AND IRON | Draco Malfoy

xi. clouds

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The day Alexei Romanov lost his wife, was the day he lost his soul.

A walking corpse wandered the halls of his Manor at night, the usually lively home was nothing but a shell of what it was once—when she was alive. Alcohol constantly stained the carpets, night wasn't merely a specific time, death became something he craved more than the air his lungs did.

Dull. Pale. Grey. Empty.

Nothing seemed to entice him more than to join her soul into the dark abyss of the afterlife.

He was so consumed in his grief, that he had forgotten she never really left. That she had left a piece of her—a testament to the world that she existed. That she had loved a man even after death.

The day he saw Diana, after months of turmoil, he never thought he'd feel anger, so raw and so powerful it made him weak in the mind. Though he spent his days living like the dead, what-ifs weren't an unusual topic. It was a daily one.

If she didn't get pregnant, if she did not give birth in the first place, she would be here. With him. His soul would still be with him.

Red masked his eyesight—like the color he wanted to coat the bed where the thing that caused her demise laid.

But then, she smiled.

His daughter smiled. His. Hers.

Their daughter.

How could he? How dare he? Rationality came knocking yet again on his door and for the first time in a while, instead of shutting it out, he had let it in.

He vowed then and there, to make up for the failure that he was, no matter what, he'd be his daughter's shield and sword. He would always be by her side, give her the world, and love her unconditionally.

So when the day she had asked him to teach her to use a dagger, he could not say no.

For months he had watched his little girl turn into a lethal blade—determined to cut down whatever stood in her way. Horror filled his withering body the moment he looked into her eyes. They were once sparkling, but now they hide certain darkness only those who have lost something dearly. He would know.

Something changed in her. Something dark and painful. He would find himself running towards her room with a gun readied hand whenever he heard her screams of terror. He would find himself staring at her half-eaten meals. He would find himself visiting his brother more than once a day because he was terrified of the thoughts running through his head. Of the thoughts of his daughter running down a path, he could not reach.

"How is she?"

Today wasn't any different. Alexei was lounging on his brother's couch. His body felt heavier than normal, crippled with the anxiety for his daughter once again laying on her bed drenched in sweat.

She had insisted that she was fine, that it was only the cause of her carelessness from her training. She wasn't wrong. She had been careless. Neglecting her limits, and continuing to push and test them constantly put a strain on her. Hence why she had landed herself glued unto her bed.

"Her fever has gone down but she's still weak. The doctor said she'll be alright after a week of rest," Alexei answered as he nursed a drink in his hand. He took a swig of the wine and let the sweetness tickle his throat.

"A week? Have you written to Dumbledore then?" asked Emperor Nicholas, his voice overpowering the sound of papers shifting underneath his hands.

It was the 2nd week of August and Diana was supposed to be in England, buying her requirements for school. Of course, her family didn't let her until they knew she was completely fine—much to her annoyance. There was a chance she would be starting late into the new year and contacted the Headmaster in advance. As much as she tried her best to convince them she was in no way dying and that she had simply overworked her body, their overprotectiveness overrode her insistence.