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For Hermione
Nov. 29th, 2014 03:55 pmOver a year in Darrow, and Draco continued to resolutely avoid settling down, in any real way. He'd learned to exist on meager Muggle funds, subsidizing his lifestyle with magic, when possible. It perhaps wasn't the most moral of choices, but Draco had never particularly cared for those types of rules. He wasn't stealing money, but if he could magic a solution to problems for which Muggles might've only had their money to save them, he certainly wasn't going to hold back.
However, there was still one problem he'd yet to solve: Boredom.
It was a constant, creeping pit in his chest, this feeling of listless uselessness. This life without purpose or identity. He didn't even have any real rivalries anymore. He didn't even have any hatred to pour his energy into.
It was pathetic. It needed to stop.
That afternoon, he found himself at the Lamplight. Once, Granger was a bitter enemy, but on the island, she'd become a voice of reason. A person to speak to, when he needed advice. And the sad truth was, in this place, he didn't have anyone else to turn to.
However, there was still one problem he'd yet to solve: Boredom.
It was a constant, creeping pit in his chest, this feeling of listless uselessness. This life without purpose or identity. He didn't even have any real rivalries anymore. He didn't even have any hatred to pour his energy into.
It was pathetic. It needed to stop.
That afternoon, he found himself at the Lamplight. Once, Granger was a bitter enemy, but on the island, she'd become a voice of reason. A person to speak to, when he needed advice. And the sad truth was, in this place, he didn't have anyone else to turn to.
For Carla Jean
Apr. 30th, 2014 01:51 pmIt was becoming increasingly clear that he'd lost all direction in his life.
While he'd managed to survive on Darrow's meager stipend, but it was a bare sort of existence, and while he'd had years on the island to become accustomed to such a life, he felt oddly dissatisfied and directionless in his leisure.
That afternoon, he found himself standing in front of a coffee shop bulletin board, perusing fliers and advertisements, lost pets and calls for roommates. On the board, he found an announcement of art classes at the community college; in particularly, glass blowing. He'd been self taught, largely, but it was a reminder of a life he'd left behind on the island, and skills he'd assumed he'd never need again. With a frown, he tore from the flier one of the little information tabs, a time and address and required fees.
He didn't particularly plan to use it, but he found himself unable to ignore it, all together, and distracted by his nostalgia, he turned blindly, unmindful of whomever might've been standing behind him.
While he'd managed to survive on Darrow's meager stipend, but it was a bare sort of existence, and while he'd had years on the island to become accustomed to such a life, he felt oddly dissatisfied and directionless in his leisure.
That afternoon, he found himself standing in front of a coffee shop bulletin board, perusing fliers and advertisements, lost pets and calls for roommates. On the board, he found an announcement of art classes at the community college; in particularly, glass blowing. He'd been self taught, largely, but it was a reminder of a life he'd left behind on the island, and skills he'd assumed he'd never need again. With a frown, he tore from the flier one of the little information tabs, a time and address and required fees.
He didn't particularly plan to use it, but he found himself unable to ignore it, all together, and distracted by his nostalgia, he turned blindly, unmindful of whomever might've been standing behind him.
Snape, Snape, Severus Snape.
Nov. 13th, 2011 12:36 pmThe years had given Draco the chance to amass a rather respectable wardrobe. It had taken a great deal of time, a great deal of patience, but he had clothes which he could go out in and not feel crippled by embarrassment, which was more than he could say for a lot of the poor fools he saw around the island.
Still, once and a while he had to go back to that evil box, to replace something or other. That morning, he was sifting through stiff dress robes, hideous Hawaiian shirts, maroon and gold t-shirts and even worse, shirts with Harry Potter's face plastered across the front.
With a heavy sigh, he plucked out the one pair of plain, black boxer shorts he'd found, setting that aside. The first in his keep pile. This, he realized, might take quite a while.
Still, once and a while he had to go back to that evil box, to replace something or other. That morning, he was sifting through stiff dress robes, hideous Hawaiian shirts, maroon and gold t-shirts and even worse, shirts with Harry Potter's face plastered across the front.
With a heavy sigh, he plucked out the one pair of plain, black boxer shorts he'd found, setting that aside. The first in his keep pile. This, he realized, might take quite a while.
(no subject)
May. 10th, 2011 10:38 pmIt was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy's heart was made of the blackest stone. Or perhaps ice. Frozen solid and frostbitten and shriveled from decades of disuse. And this was no fairy tale. Luna Lovegood had not warmed that frozen little heart of his, nurtured it with her loony brand of love until it had suddenly grown three sizes, springing forth from his chest in a shower of bloody rainbows and unicorns and puppies.
He was still a prat. Would always be a prat.
But she'd come to him that night, tears in her eyes, and she'd planted the seed. Over the weeks it had grown in his mind, ugly and untamed, like a weed, until it was practically all he could think about.
That bastard. How dare he?
He hadn't sought out the redhead twat. Not intentionally. But when he'd seen him, something in Draco snapped and he found himself striding across the grass, closing the distance fast, and at the last moment, drawing his fist back to strike.
He was still a prat. Would always be a prat.
But she'd come to him that night, tears in her eyes, and she'd planted the seed. Over the weeks it had grown in his mind, ugly and untamed, like a weed, until it was practically all he could think about.
That bastard. How dare he?
He hadn't sought out the redhead twat. Not intentionally. But when he'd seen him, something in Draco snapped and he found himself striding across the grass, closing the distance fast, and at the last moment, drawing his fist back to strike.
It happened so quickly. The blink of an eye, it couldn't have been anything but magic. When he closed his eyes, he was sitting in the sun, the ocean stretched out ahead of him. When he opened them, he was in a dimly lit room, vast and chilled, a warmthless fire flickering in a grey stone hearth to his left. He sat regally in a wingback chair, plush velvet cushions cradling him, soft in contrast to the stiff robes he wore.
"Draco, come here."
This night was five years behind him, but he remembered it well. Down to the very last detail. His last night at Malfoy Manor. His last night with magic. His mother and father stood there, looking at him expectantly, and it was as if no time had passed at all. He rose, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides, going to great pains not to give away the excitement threatening to tear him to pieces. In his hand, was a wand, and he could feel the power in it. An extension of himself. Oh, how he'd missed it.
All three of them stood with their backs to the hearth, faces tipped toward the ground, but he knew, even without looking, that Greyback was right. He'd caught Harry Potter. The Dark Lord would be so pleased.
Draco paused, thought about denying it all over again. Defying his parents. Not out of fear this time. No, these were entirely different reasons.
She was already in the basement. Had been, for weeks. He knew that, too.
"Yes. That's them. That's Harry Potter," he heard himself say, looking straight into Potter's swollen eyes, a sneer of triumph on his face. He'd won. He'd come home, finally, and for once, he'd put himself in the Dark Lord's good graces. He would be a legend. He would be the one to deliver Potter to his executioner.
But then... The world went white.
~~~
He was sitting in a chair. Wingback, flickering fire, everything the same as before, and he hissed out a curse, ignoring the displeased looks of his parents.
"Draco? Did you not hear your mother? Come here," Lucius barked, and Draco stood, mind whirring -- Cursing the island. Cursing his parents. Cursing the Dark Lord. Cursing Luna Lovegood with every fiber of his being. What the bloody hell was he doing here? What kind of cruel joke could this have possibly been?
"I can't be sure," he answered simply, then he turned on his heel and marched out, despite the protest of his father. His mother's shrieking voice.
He didn't make it very far.
~~~
Five times. Five times the world went white and he found himself back in that chair. Five times too bloody many.
"Draco, come here."
He rose, he went through the motions of that night. No, he couldn't be sure. Yes, maybe that was Granger. Yes, that was Arthur Weasley's son. Then, his Aunt was sweeping into the room and he suppressed a shiver, watching distantly as she fought with Greyback and his men, as she'd done before.
"If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me," he heard her say, and he grabbed both men by the arms, shoving them toward the door, his wand at their backs. The first two times this played out, he'd killed them in the garden, a flash of green and their dead and sightless eyes staring up at him from the cobblestone. This time, he shoved them into the yard and left them there for his Aunt to deal with.
And then, he slipped back inside, marching quietly toward the cellar and for the first time since all this had begun, he tapped the heavy door with his wand.
"Draco, come here."
This night was five years behind him, but he remembered it well. Down to the very last detail. His last night at Malfoy Manor. His last night with magic. His mother and father stood there, looking at him expectantly, and it was as if no time had passed at all. He rose, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides, going to great pains not to give away the excitement threatening to tear him to pieces. In his hand, was a wand, and he could feel the power in it. An extension of himself. Oh, how he'd missed it.
All three of them stood with their backs to the hearth, faces tipped toward the ground, but he knew, even without looking, that Greyback was right. He'd caught Harry Potter. The Dark Lord would be so pleased.
Draco paused, thought about denying it all over again. Defying his parents. Not out of fear this time. No, these were entirely different reasons.
She was already in the basement. Had been, for weeks. He knew that, too.
"Yes. That's them. That's Harry Potter," he heard himself say, looking straight into Potter's swollen eyes, a sneer of triumph on his face. He'd won. He'd come home, finally, and for once, he'd put himself in the Dark Lord's good graces. He would be a legend. He would be the one to deliver Potter to his executioner.
But then... The world went white.
~~~
He was sitting in a chair. Wingback, flickering fire, everything the same as before, and he hissed out a curse, ignoring the displeased looks of his parents.
"Draco? Did you not hear your mother? Come here," Lucius barked, and Draco stood, mind whirring -- Cursing the island. Cursing his parents. Cursing the Dark Lord. Cursing Luna Lovegood with every fiber of his being. What the bloody hell was he doing here? What kind of cruel joke could this have possibly been?
"I can't be sure," he answered simply, then he turned on his heel and marched out, despite the protest of his father. His mother's shrieking voice.
He didn't make it very far.
~~~
Five times. Five times the world went white and he found himself back in that chair. Five times too bloody many.
"Draco, come here."
He rose, he went through the motions of that night. No, he couldn't be sure. Yes, maybe that was Granger. Yes, that was Arthur Weasley's son. Then, his Aunt was sweeping into the room and he suppressed a shiver, watching distantly as she fought with Greyback and his men, as she'd done before.
"If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me," he heard her say, and he grabbed both men by the arms, shoving them toward the door, his wand at their backs. The first two times this played out, he'd killed them in the garden, a flash of green and their dead and sightless eyes staring up at him from the cobblestone. This time, he shoved them into the yard and left them there for his Aunt to deal with.
And then, he slipped back inside, marching quietly toward the cellar and for the first time since all this had begun, he tapped the heavy door with his wand.
For Charlie
Mar. 10th, 2010 12:41 amThe first night, he pretended not to notice.
It wasn't unheard of, crawling into bed alone. She had a tendency to wander at night, and sometimes that wandering took her all the way to morning. She would stumble in, dazed and smelling of earth and salt water, and he would pretend not to be relieved to see her.
They did a lot of pretending, the two of them.
But he woke the next morning and the other half of his bed was empty, while hers was made and untouched. He'd gone to breakfast, scowled over a plate of toast, and then stalked through the compound, and later disguised a quick check of all her favorite places as a routine morning walk.
She was nowhere, but it hadn't occurred to him yet that she might be gone. She'd gotten her silly self lost somewhere, but the startling thing was that he was actually somewhat worried. Worried, but not to the point that he would allow himself to search out the proper authorities, not to the point that he would begin to ask strangers if they'd seen a wispy blond girl with marbles rattling around in her pretty, empty little head.
She had other friends, but he'd stubbornly refused to get to know any of them. Edmund was the only person he'd ever seen her with that he knew by name, and there was no level of desperation in the world that would send him looking for that twit.
So, instead, he was walking with purpose -- certainly not terror -- down the boardwalk, hoping to come across someone, anyone who might know what the silly little girl had done with herself. That person had better have shown up soon... he was nearing the end of his unraveling rope.
It wasn't unheard of, crawling into bed alone. She had a tendency to wander at night, and sometimes that wandering took her all the way to morning. She would stumble in, dazed and smelling of earth and salt water, and he would pretend not to be relieved to see her.
They did a lot of pretending, the two of them.
But he woke the next morning and the other half of his bed was empty, while hers was made and untouched. He'd gone to breakfast, scowled over a plate of toast, and then stalked through the compound, and later disguised a quick check of all her favorite places as a routine morning walk.
She was nowhere, but it hadn't occurred to him yet that she might be gone. She'd gotten her silly self lost somewhere, but the startling thing was that he was actually somewhat worried. Worried, but not to the point that he would allow himself to search out the proper authorities, not to the point that he would begin to ask strangers if they'd seen a wispy blond girl with marbles rattling around in her pretty, empty little head.
She had other friends, but he'd stubbornly refused to get to know any of them. Edmund was the only person he'd ever seen her with that he knew by name, and there was no level of desperation in the world that would send him looking for that twit.
So, instead, he was walking with purpose -- certainly not terror -- down the boardwalk, hoping to come across someone, anyone who might know what the silly little girl had done with herself. That person had better have shown up soon... he was nearing the end of his unraveling rope.
(no subject)
Feb. 25th, 2010 11:27 pmFrom here
He took in a deep breath of the cooler night air and felt immediately better for it. Lighter, even with her there at his side, when normally, he would insist that her very presence was murder on his tightly coiled nerves.
Snatching the mask from her hands, he tossed it into the bushes with a flick of his wrist, then after a moment of hesitation, he closed his hand around he wrist and led her toward the path. He wasn't the type to hold hands, even with someone other than Loony Lovegood, and if anyone suggested that holding her wrist was a close substitute, he'd be sure to gouge their eyes out with his otherwise useless wand.
He took in a deep breath of the cooler night air and felt immediately better for it. Lighter, even with her there at his side, when normally, he would insist that her very presence was murder on his tightly coiled nerves.
Snatching the mask from her hands, he tossed it into the bushes with a flick of his wrist, then after a moment of hesitation, he closed his hand around he wrist and led her toward the path. He wasn't the type to hold hands, even with someone other than Loony Lovegood, and if anyone suggested that holding her wrist was a close substitute, he'd be sure to gouge their eyes out with his otherwise useless wand.
Locked to Luna
Dec. 19th, 2009 10:19 pmChristmas. The season of love and giving and peace and good will and blah blah blah...
He'd been... melancholy lately, to say the least. Even for him. It wasn't Christmas that had brightened his spirits, and certainly not her, he told himself, and it didn't come from any sort of self-awareness... some revelation that he needed to pull himself out of the dumps if he ever wanted to have anything resembling a life again. No, it happened gradually. He thought less and less of what he'd lost, until one morning he woke up and didn't immediately want to throw himself off a cliff.
Still, stopping off in his room to grab his favorite hat before he went traipsing out into the snow and finding the brood of magazine cut-outs of Potter's face staring up at him from his pillow, jolly and glittery and smiling awkwardly in a row, he heaved out a sigh. Gritting his teeth and snatching them up, he calmly carried them into the rec room, where he knew there was a fire.
He'd been annoyed there, for a moment, but tossing the little faces into the flames helped to lighten his mood even more. Maybe he ought to thank her...
Not likely.
He'd been... melancholy lately, to say the least. Even for him. It wasn't Christmas that had brightened his spirits, and certainly not her, he told himself, and it didn't come from any sort of self-awareness... some revelation that he needed to pull himself out of the dumps if he ever wanted to have anything resembling a life again. No, it happened gradually. He thought less and less of what he'd lost, until one morning he woke up and didn't immediately want to throw himself off a cliff.
Still, stopping off in his room to grab his favorite hat before he went traipsing out into the snow and finding the brood of magazine cut-outs of Potter's face staring up at him from his pillow, jolly and glittery and smiling awkwardly in a row, he heaved out a sigh. Gritting his teeth and snatching them up, he calmly carried them into the rec room, where he knew there was a fire.
He'd been annoyed there, for a moment, but tossing the little faces into the flames helped to lighten his mood even more. Maybe he ought to thank her...
Not likely.
Loony Lovegood
Sep. 29th, 2009 12:01 pmAll he ever did was read. It was embarrassing. No war, no sides to pick, no Potters to intimidate. Only a lonely, miserable wizard with too much time on his hands and a roommate that didn't know the meaning of the word boundaries. It was humiliating, and Draco took it all with the grace and maturity of a two year old. At least he was consistent.
He couldn't hide, even if he'd wanted to. His room was no longer the safe haven it had once been. So he'd wandered out to the ocean, wearing a pair of green swim trunks and a dingy white t-shirt advertising some cheap Muggle diner he'd never heard of, his pale legs bare and his eye squinted against the sun. His book was discarded in the sand, tissue-thin pages fluttering in the wind, abandoned while he took a moment to look out over the surf.
If he'd been a normal man, he would've thought it beautiful, sitting with his knobby knees drawn up to his chest and his grey eyes watching the water foam up over the sand. If he'd been normal, he might've considered going for a dip.
But he wasn't normal. He was a Malfoy, and at the moment he was imagining the ocean surging up and swallowing the island whole.
He couldn't hide, even if he'd wanted to. His room was no longer the safe haven it had once been. So he'd wandered out to the ocean, wearing a pair of green swim trunks and a dingy white t-shirt advertising some cheap Muggle diner he'd never heard of, his pale legs bare and his eye squinted against the sun. His book was discarded in the sand, tissue-thin pages fluttering in the wind, abandoned while he took a moment to look out over the surf.
If he'd been a normal man, he would've thought it beautiful, sitting with his knobby knees drawn up to his chest and his grey eyes watching the water foam up over the sand. If he'd been normal, he might've considered going for a dip.
But he wasn't normal. He was a Malfoy, and at the moment he was imagining the ocean surging up and swallowing the island whole.
Locked to Lyra. Backdated Opp!plot.
May. 11th, 2009 12:19 amIf there was one thing that would truly make his day complete, this would be it.
Draco stood in the kitchen, apron tied firmly on, peeking into the oven window to check the delicious brownies he'd prepared for his very best friend in the entire world.
Universe, even.
The sun was beginning to set, and his cheeks had ached since noon from all the smiling, but he certainly couldn't complain. If his muscles were unaccustomed to the simple act of showing his pleasure, he would just have to retrain them.
"They're almost ready," he said, looking up at her with his eyes bright, and there might have even been a flush of color in his cheeks.
This was a good day.
Draco stood in the kitchen, apron tied firmly on, peeking into the oven window to check the delicious brownies he'd prepared for his very best friend in the entire world.
Universe, even.
The sun was beginning to set, and his cheeks had ached since noon from all the smiling, but he certainly couldn't complain. If his muscles were unaccustomed to the simple act of showing his pleasure, he would just have to retrain them.
"They're almost ready," he said, looking up at her with his eyes bright, and there might have even been a flush of color in his cheeks.
This was a good day.
Create a post in your pup's journal where others can ask for or give details of interaction/shared experiences that haven't been played out, and then link that post in a comment here. The details can be silly or trivial (They see each other at breakfast everyday), or a shared anecdote (Remember that time when they got attacked by the angry parrot?), or the seeds of a bigger plot to be played out later.
(no subject)
Dec. 4th, 2008 02:56 amHis roommate never. left. the bloody. compound. EVER. He was always around, always quiet and staring and infuriatingly impossible to rattle. Even Nagini failed for frighten him off, which Draco was certain was a sure sign he wasn't human. Something nasty and soulless, of course. Or worse: Someone brave and pure of heart or some such nonsense.
But this was a special day. He was blissfully alone, Nagini having slithered out to sun herself in all the terrible heat, and his roommate gone off... to do whatever it is those types do. Draco didn't want to think about it. At the moment, he was propped up on a stack of pillows, and while they didn't compare to the down-filled linens he'd of course had back home, enchanted to always stay fluffed and warm, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. He had a heavy tome propped in his lap. An ancient book of black magic, similar to the copy from his father's library which he'd thumbed through multiple times throughout his childhood.
Today, all it did was make him miserably depressed. Not that anyone could tell the difference.
But this was a special day. He was blissfully alone, Nagini having slithered out to sun herself in all the terrible heat, and his roommate gone off... to do whatever it is those types do. Draco didn't want to think about it. At the moment, he was propped up on a stack of pillows, and while they didn't compare to the down-filled linens he'd of course had back home, enchanted to always stay fluffed and warm, but it was better than nothing, he supposed. He had a heavy tome propped in his lap. An ancient book of black magic, similar to the copy from his father's library which he'd thumbed through multiple times throughout his childhood.
Today, all it did was make him miserably depressed. Not that anyone could tell the difference.
Locked to Angua (Dated May 15th)
May. 13th, 2008 10:08 pmHe'd never been so humiliated in all his life.
It had been a rather high bar to clear, but being reduced to a sobbing, begging mess at the hands of a girl half his size had done a nice job of setting its own record. She was clearly out of her mind, and he could only imagine what might have become of him, had he been someplace less inhabited. He shuddered to think, really.
He'd been told by the imbecile Muggle doctor on duty that his nose was just fine, but he didn't trust their expertise any more than Longbottom's potions skills, and he stood there now in front of the bathroom mirror, prodding at his bruised face and scowling back at himself. Nagini had taken to following him again, and she lay coiled on the cool tiles, tongue flicking and her glass eyes staring back at him. Mocking him.
"What are you looking at?" he muttered, tenderly probing the cut on his cheek and sniffling back tears. He was seventeen years old and he'd had a backstage pass to one of the greatest Wizarding Wars the world had ever seen, and here he stood, trying not to cry over a few nicks and scratches.
He was a Malfoy, for hell's sake. Father would be so disappointed.
