vi. 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙

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six
the dirty little secret























        Draco Malfoy is much like a lethal weapon. He does just enough to get by, to go unseen and stay hidden behind the shadows as he pulls the strings of the people around him, bending them to his will when convenient, not a soul suspecting. It's only when something interrupts him, catches him unaware or causes difficulty to his plan does he become known. Lethally known. There was a time, during the War, when this skill was essential to staying alive and manipulating the Death Eaters to keep yourself safe. Now. . . Draco's lost the talent of thinking logically and carefully. That disgusting black mark upon his skin still anchors him somewhere in the past, Artemis thinks. It's like he's always got to be on the guard for something.

        In this instance. It's Artemis. Since the moment Draco's children were born, he lost all kind of rationality, now thinking with his heart and complex emotions instead. That's what makes him a lethal weapon. If anything happened to his children, he'd unleash unholy hell on the world.

Artemis has only ever experienced the true and fearful wrath of Draco Malfoy once in her life. When she was nine years old, Blair, Tiberius and herself were playing a game of hide and seek out in Blair's garden—which Mr Zabini had transformed into a maze for the kids to roam around in. Competitive and cunning little Artemis wanted to win, so she vanished into the deepest part of this small maze and crawled into a tight space in the hedge. Four hours later, Artemis got yanked out of the hiding space and was crushed almost to death in her fathers arms, who sobbed the hardest he'd ever sobbed before.

Draco and Blaise argued that day, it was awful, they went three months without talking. When they got home, Draco lectured his daughter about taking things too far. He then grounded her for the rest of the summer, not able to yet get over the fright of almost losing her.

Looking back at it now, Artemis questioned whether or not she'd actually ever truly witnessed her fathers anger.

        It was only the father and daughter inside the potions masters office, the latter sitting on a chair in front of the desk while the former, all rustled and stressed, stood behind his desk with berated glares and trembling fingers. To stop them from trembling so much, he had to rest his hands on his hips, in a very cruel scolding position. Twenty minutes they've been stuck like this. Draco opening his mouth with empty air coming out. It doesn't take a genius to tell he's trying really hard to choose the right words, which Artemis appreciates, but she'd rather he just get out all of the gruesome bits first.

"Dad, could you say something—?" Was definitely the wrong thing to say. Like the lethal weapon he is, full of hiding and burying emotions, Draco erupted into fury.

"How—" Draco slammed a fist down onto the desk, causing Artemis to jump sharply in her chair. She couldn't bare to look at him. "—Could you be so irresponsible? After I told you—after your aunt Daphne told you not to, you still went ahead to do it anyway! Why, for Salazar's sake, why did you do it?" Her fathers words echoed around the enclosed room, bouncing off the walls and hear eardrums, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand and goosebumps trail down the paths of her forearms. "Dammit, Artemis. Look at me when I speak to you."

Slowly Artemis lifted her head, their matching eyes meeting in a dramatic burst of anger, frustration, upset and loss. Flames seemed to burn in the silvers of his eyes, tainted with loss and worry of what's about to come. She can already see how he's mentally preparing for the worst. "I'm sorry—"

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