Call Me Psyche - Dramione

8

Draco was in the bath. He'd slept all morning, collapsed on the chaise in his bedroom, disheveled in his Christmas party clothes. He was now scrubbed and soaking in a tub of waning bubbles, annoyed at himself for going to Psyche without bringing her anything to eat that morning. There was no excuse for it, not even the excuse that he was overcome by figuring out her true identity as the girl he'd bullied for half his life. That was all the more reason to treat her like a goddess now and keep bringing her offerings.

His hair slicked back, he tipped his head against the rim of the tub and stared wide-eyed at the sculpted plaster ships and stormy seas moving across the ceiling overhead. Psyche was Granger. What in the flaming hell was he supposed to do now?

There was a gentle knock on the door, overlaid by a loud, demanding one. His parents.

"I'm in the bath," he grumbled in reply.

"Then cover up." It was his father's voice. No door in this manor could stay locked against Lucius Malfoy's will, and he was coming in even as Narcissa called him back. Without looking at Draco, he flung a towel into the bathtub intending for Draco to scramble to get it around himself.

"You can cower in here all you like after we've talked," Lucius said.

To show he would not cower for anything, Draco did very little to hide himself with the sopping towel. It bunched across his lap under the water, but otherwise, he sat with his arms spread wide. "What's the great flaming crisis now?" he asked, his eyes still on the ceiling.

"The crisis is yours, your witch," Lucius said, trying the doorknob to be sure Narcissa was kept out. "Meeting with a witch on your nights out is not a cover story, not an excuse. There's no point denying it. Greyback found you with her. Everyone knows it."

Draco smirked. "Yes, he did find us. But were you any different at my age?"

"You tell me, Draco," Lucius said, his eyes narrowed. "You hid her identity, defied the werewolf in protecting her. This is no opportunistic flirtation. You care for her, whoever she is."

"Again. Were you any different at my age?" Draco said.

Lucius continued to ignore the question. "Greyback does not identify people by sight, but by scent. He will know her without seeing her should they meet again. And what's more, he is allied with our rivals, and if he finds and tracks this girl he could use her to manipulate you into further disgracing us in the eyes of our lord. She weakens all of us. I will not let that happen. If you risk yourself or our family to defend her, I will stop you – petrify you, imprison you, whatever it takes until you come to your senses."

Draco stood up, the wet towel barely covering his middle, taunting Lucius with the image of himself when he was young and strong, not tattooed at Azkaban, or bowed by his suffering there.

"Your nighttime roving is over. Give me the Deluminator," Lucius said.

Draco splashed out of the water, jamming his arms into his dressing gown. "No. I was given the Deluminator by Snape, who now outranks you in our lord's service. I will continue to use that magic exactly as he instructed me until such time as Snape revokes his directives. You've got no say in it whatsoever."

Lucius took his son by both of the lapels of his dressing gown, slamming his back into the wall, his wet feet sliding on the marble floor. "You'll see what kind of sway I have over your Snape when he comes to confiscate your toy as soon as I tell him to."

Draco scoffed. "You? If he does come for the Deluminator it will be because mother asked him, not you."

Lucius thrust him harder against the wall. "How dare you – "