#m4tron

Two fingers daintily raise steaming teacup to painted lips as the other hand splays across the front cover of today's Daily Prophet. Cerulean gaze studies the excessively large picture as her expression shifts into something that might be a smile, were it not carved from ice. Another sip and cup returned to saucer, now freed hand smoothing over silver material of her outer robes. Near-translucent material is striking, shimmering under the glacial light, and incongruous with the velvets and heavy furs of those around her. But she was well used to icy fingers on her flesh and, combined with her now onyx hair, it cast her far more as an image of her mother than of her ex husband.

Well, soon to be ex husband. Gaze wanders back to the paper before her, and her own image moving swiftly, precisely. A viper striking. Stood on the steps of the Ministry, moments after her actions had seen their whole family exonerated, Lucius had reached for her. She had met his gaze, hopefully for the last time, and torn her hand away as deliberately as tearing apart their marriage certificate. A reporter had called for her, "Mrs Malfoy!" And as she had stalked through the crowd, all she had responded with was, "it's Miss Black." The elegant and devastating execution of their marriage had made the front page, as she knew it would, and was what now earned her the fascinated stares it took little effort to ignore.

Dumbledore's speech settles into his stomach like a potion brewed by a first year. Poetic ruminations on loyalty and light curdle until Severus is forced to set his spoon down. Attempting to eat while listening to passionate pleas to care for one another was not proving successful. Especially as he had not even enough time to bathe since his last jaunt to find a cure for the rot currently creeping along the headmasters hand.

The only thing to stop him from hastily departing the room at the next sentiment about truth is the tender feel of @m4tron slipping delicate hand into his, concealed beneath the table. Need for subtlety and decorum prevents the wizard from turning his gaze to the beautiful redhead, where he would much prefer it be. But there is marginally less venom in coal that studies the throng of students before him. Can't help but wonder how many will recall this speech when they turn wands on each other in the war brewing like a storm on the horizon.

Lilia winced slightly despite her best efforts as she felt the bandage press against the wound near her wrist. Luckily, it was on her left arm rather than her right, so it wasn't going to affect her too much. Writing wouldn't be an issue, or shuffling the cards, but it looked like any sewing she was planning to do was going to have to be put on temporary hold.

"Thankfully, I've had worse," she admitted.

Harry should have, he supposed, been paying more attention- what would moody say if he could see him right now? The green eyed wizard snorted, mostly at his own thoughts. Truthfully he had been debating going to find Hermione and Ron, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

“You can stay if you want.” he waived her over – “I was gonna go find Hermione but, the view here is really nice.”

It was peaceful in a way he hadn’t been expecting, looking out the window of Hogwarts. “You’re a bit far away from the hospital wing aren’t you?” he asked, more so out of curiousity than anything. Finally after a moment Harry cleared his throat, “I- is everything alright?”

As a younger man the crucio shakes had been far more rattling. Many a night he had returned to Hogwarts, crashed to his knees. And screamed. Always into the silence, always on his own.

Now the shakes are as much from his own ageing bones as they are the curse. And he no longer screams, but offers a few curses of his own into the silent belly of the school.

Unnatural cold creeps from fingers and toes along limbs, reaching threateningly toward his core. Like eldritch shadows on the wall, a looming threat dutifully ignored and drowned by discipline. Severus offers only a grunt as he stalks his way through empty corridors. Merlin help any student he might happen across on his journey.

By the time he reaches the hospital wing, the frigid fingers of the curse poke and prod his joints. Crossing the threshold and his gait is far more limp than stalk. Until each flex of tendon and scrape of bone becomes a crack and a pop.