At thirteen he'd considered himself not close to his mother - though, as an adult he has memories that indicate she wasn't always as absent as it had felt at the time - and her death had been difficult, but wouldn't have been so difficult for him to choose Divination on that pretext alone. He had, then, been perfectly happy for people to believe that, of course. He had, then, been tolerant of the teasing that came from a whip-smart Slytherin boy taking Divination. The demands Abraxas placed on his only surviving child were certainly explanation enough, and with a professor as his ally (reluctant though it had been on Lucius' side to put his trust in a Trelawney), it had hardly been impossible to hide the rest. The tendency towards headaches, the visions that accompanied them, oddly easier to conceal when he'd been in the close quarters of Slytherin House than when he'd left school.

The Ministry had required more finesse.

It's a moment before he responds, though he lets out a serrated sigh when Bella's fingers press lightly to his temples. He keeps his eyes closed as he replies. "Of a kind," he murmurs. "I shan't be spouting metaphors any time...." And then he stops, sucking in a breath as more visions swirl before him. Malfoy Manor, a much older Bella, a much older him aiming a wand in her direction as she lurches up from a bed.

No, that doesn't make any sense at all.

"...Anytime soon." A breath. "I might have hexed myself years ago if that were the case." He wouldn't have ever been able to keep it secret, either, and even through the pain he thinks of the Minister, their lord, and his eyes slide open, his head tipping back to look at Bella with eyes that are close to black.