Draco knew who spoke even before he popped his eyes open. Really, why was his luck so rotten lately? Draco sought his Founder's favour from the moment he learned the man lived in the village. Granted, Salazar experienced some age changes since Draco arrived, but Draco enjoyed knowing each version. However, lately, Draco sought Salazar less. He cringed when thinking about his desperate, eleven-year-old self when it came to the man. Still, outside that week, Draco felt he was letting Salazar down. It was none of Salazar's doing, but Draco's own insecurities. He once promised Salazar to make their House proud, but Draco wasn't sure he was doing that. Back home, at his current age, he knew he was a good and proper Slytherin. His ambition saved him. It made him break out of his dour little hole and carve out a career unlike anyone else in his family. Here? He was going off the rails again. He was weak. He didn't want Salazar knowing, but he guessed talking to himself by a lake welcomed open ears.
"Is that so, sir?" Draco didn't feel like moving, but he stood anyway. He inclined his head slightly and held out a hand. "I would imagine you couldn't find any better at advice than yourself." He flashed a teasing smile. It was then he finally noticed the horse munching on grass. "I didn't mean to disturb you."