𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 || Severus Snape x OC ||

29. TO CATCH A RAVEN

*.·:·.☽ ✧ ☾.·:·.*

It was a wonder that Umbridge had not yet resolved to inspect the owls flying into the Great Hall carrying letters for the students whose hands, big and small shot to reach out the envelopes, their fingers tearing the wax seals, eager to read what their parents had written to them.

On the other side of the Hall, a large eagle owl, with bright orange fire-like eyes and penetrating gaze flapped her wings and landed upon Draco Malfoy's shoulder. Her long sharp claws carefully supported her weight without hurting him as she leaned lower her head and from her beak dropped a letter. Ivory parchment and on the seal of black and green wax, the family crest paid homage to Salazar Slytherin, bearing his colours, as well as images of several serpentine creatures. The Latin words 'Sanctimonia Vincet Semper' appeared inscribed, in an irony of fate and belief that 'Purity Will Always Conquer'.

He flipped it in his hand, tore the envelop and pulled out the letter under the bloodcurdling shriek of his owl before she once again spread her wings and flew up and away, leaving her young master behind as his eyes narrowed and his lip curled at the emerald calligraphic letters of his father. Lucius was a proud, imperious man; their blood line pure as the gold and silver coins of Gringotts Bank. Draco had few tender and loving moments with his father, but he looked up to him, nevertheless.

His bright eyes went through each line of his father's letter and then he rose his gaze, finding Harry Potter talking with the frizzy haired filthy little mudblood and that pitiful red-haired Weasley.

He scoffed.

Unlike Harry's childhood—which ever so annoyingly was spent in ignorance— Draco grew up with an ego installed in him, nurtured and now ripe and ready to be used.

As the only child of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa, sister of Bellatrix Lestrange, the darkness of Draco's world was infused into his heart. He loathed and distained Harry for all the stories all those wizards and witches spoke of him. All the rumours of Harry's prowess as a Dark wizard. For it was these rumours, and the knowledge that his father would support a pure-blood champion with powers to rival Voldemort's, that made Draco try to reach out to Harry years ago. But the fool had rejected him.

He envied him.

Harry's unasked-for fame, his flying ability, and all the bits and pieces throughout all these years that've made Potter ever popular, and overshadowed Draco.

So, he took it out to where he could. He took it all out on that weakling Neville, the mudblood Hermione and her annoying devotion to her studies, the poor pitiful Weasley and his family of too many children and too little money. He even tried to take it out on that abominable creature, Buckbeak, that bit him.

But it always backfired. It always somehow backfired in his own face.

He adjusted himself in his seat, his brows furrowed. He could already imagine his father's judging gaze upon him for each time he had failed. He felt his shoulders heavy with the obligation to maintain a position as leader, to follow in his father's footsteps in the wizarding society.

When he was younger, it all sounded promising. It fueled his ego. Sated his thirst for power. But the passing of time, and his transitioning from a boy to a young man, brought tasks and expectations that a part of him wasn't sure he wanted them truly.

He wanted the power. He wanted the recognition. He wanted his father's approval. And he wanted himself to mean something. To have a cause worth fighting for. He looked up to his father and, more recently, to the Dark Lord as well, hoping to earn his place amongst the Death Eaters. Amongst those that –in his mind— seemed to matter. Those who had the power and the status he was brought up to demand of his life.