Edmund’s shoulders ache sometimes from how he used to swing swords with joyful abandon, but the muscles have never torn there. It is a phantom pain, but it is enough to scare him into taking better care of himself this time around. Mostly better - for the first few months he takes up cigarettes to cultivate an image of himself as a laid-back fellow, but it’s nowhere near as good as the betel leaves of Calormene, so he stops.
He was raised to know his place in the world, and always thought he did: at the top, looking down on all the rest with well-deserved condescension, as a wizard and a Pureblood ought. But sixth year finds him hiding in a disused privy, the hem of his robes sopping from overflowing toilet-water and the Dark Lord's first victim hovering without any particular judgment around his head, and the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he knows nothing at all.
I can do this, he tells himself, I can, and he imagines himself doing it, and lifts his wand to practice the gesture he'll need - but the sneering smirk he tries to affect looks wrong in the mirror, and when he tries to mouth the words avada kedavra, the only thing that comes out is "I can't."
They met on the corner every night; he in his almost too big and worn overcoat, she in her fading cloak. She knew that he wasn't a muggle, he was no stranger to magic, but he wasn't magical either (it was the mystery that drew her to him.) He knew she wasn't any ordinary person, she had known darkness like he had, he could see it in her eyes (it was the fact that she kept on smiling anyway, that made him come back every night.)
Sooo.... I haven't written anything in two years, so I'm sorry that this didn't quite fit the prompt, but hey! Writings! From me!
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Mostly better - for the first few months he takes up cigarettes to cultivate an image of himself as a laid-back fellow, but it’s nowhere near as good as the betel leaves of Calormene, so he stops.
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I can do this, he tells himself, I can, and he imagines himself doing it, and lifts his wand to practice the gesture he'll need - but the sneering smirk he tries to affect looks wrong in the mirror, and when he tries to mouth the words avada kedavra, the only thing that comes out is "I can't."
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Sooo.... I haven't written anything in two years, so I'm sorry that this didn't quite fit the prompt, but hey! Writings! From me!
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"Think my name's funny, do you?" said Draco, and drew his wand.
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