Choice's Curse {d.m.}

Splinter

Draco's POV!

Going home for holiday break had been equally nice and stressful, as always. Draco's father had never been the affectionate sort growing up, instead choosing to use harsh words and consequences in lieu of any sort of praise or encouragement, and this time was no different in that regard, though his father had been much, much angrier when he had come home for Christmas.

And he got through it. Like he always did.

Shutting down and pushing himself to the limit was really the only way to deal with his father; he had learned that as a very young wizard. Draco's mother, though, was the day to his father's night, the cool spring wind to his father's raging fall fires, and Draco loved her dearly for that. His mother had showered him with praise and expressed how proud she was about his schoolwork this year, and gave him a wildly expensive engraved watch that read, To my son, who gives my life light and purpose. She had always seen the good in him, even when, like now, he hardly believed there was any left in him at all.

Returning to Hogwarts after break was always bittersweet, for as much as he spouted hatred for the school, there were quite a few things that he genuinely enjoyed, but he would never tell anyone that.

He did have a reputation to uphold, after all.

Draco's break had gone by rather fast, and now he was returning to Hogwarts, the noon sun shining weakly through a heavy layer of clouds as he stalked into the castle and made his twisting way down into the damp dungeon. The Slytherin common room wasn't very busy; a few bored-looking students ambled about, relaxing in front of the fire or talking in small groups with hushed voices. When Draco had walked in, a few first years stumbled out of his way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of his intense glares, which filled him with a nasty sort of proudness. He set his stuff down in his shared dormitory, the slightest whiff of boyish stink hitting his nose as Draco saw Crabbe lounging lazily on his bed, his things strewn about haphazardly, which had always annoyed Draco to no end ever since they began school here. Instead of deigning to speak to the brute, Draco simply huffed in disgust and began unpacking his things, his sweaters and jeans the same black and green and grey color palette of his current outfit.

He had tried his best not to think about the wretched cabinet in one of his versions of a room in the Room of Requirement during his holiday, but that was ended the moment the blank expense of skin on his arm peaked out of the hem of his expensive black, rolled sweater sleeve as he reached into his trunk that he had placed on his bed. The soon-to-be-filled space made his stomach roll as he remembered that he had to continue trying to work out that cabinet; merely being around it for too long made him feel awful and tired and he wished that he could figure it out already so that he could stop his semi-weekly visits.

It was an honour is what his father had whispered to him, his hand uncomfortably tight on his shoulder when he hesitated after the request from Voldemort had arrived at the Manor, and that is what Draco repeated to himself every time he had to make the long trek to the seventh floor like the way he was today.

Arriving at the non-descript hallway, Draco looked around to assure that he was alone before approaching the wall, the heavy door carving itself from the stone surface. As he went to open the door, the gentle, floating sound of what he thought was a Muggle composer's piano piece met his ears, the sound growing clear as he silently opened the door and walked in. At the sight of who was at the piano, Draco's lip curled ever so slightly in disgust, his enemy's long, thick hair swaying as Adler moved softly with the song. He hated to admit that her playing honestly wasn't terrible; no, it was so good that he almost wished her hand hadn't slipped into a dissonant chord and that he hadn't snorted reflexively at her misfortune.