A Bit of a Maniac
Title: A Bit of a Maniac
Author: scarysnapey
Rating: PG13
Warning: None
Pairing: Draco/Sirius
A/N: Written for the deatheatercest drabblethon, which I have officially decided is a better idea than sleeping right now.
Draco has been lazing around all day. While the others are at Hogsmeade, he is shut up behind the curtains of his bed, staring at that bloody scrap of newspaper.
He’s chucked the rest of it in the bin; the articles are long and boring. But he could stare for hours at this one scrap (and he does) because he loves to watch the raving, ragged man in the picture.
Sirius Black stares back at him and laughs like a lunatic, and Draco cannot look away.
We’re related, he keeps thinking, and the thought alone is confounding. How could a man who looks like that be related to Draco, who looks cared for and pristine like his mother and father?
It baffles him, and Draco has decided that they cannot be related, and it is only this shred of a lie that he clings to in order to justify staring at this scrap of newspaper while he wanks before bed each night.
He crumples it into a little ball and shoves it in his pocket, taking to the empty halls in an attempt to calm his mind. It seems that everyone has returned now, for the sounds of laughter and cries of delight are wafting from the Great Hall.
He finds himself in one of the corridors he seldom frequents, with the portrait of that heinous, fat witch in the puffy pink dress. He has no desire to eat.
Draco is halfway down the corridor when he sees a man that he’s never seen before.
But that’s not quite right; there is a picture of him in his pocket.
The man looks at him, and they stand at a crossroads of awkward recognition.
“I’ll be off then,” Sirius Black says slowly, his voice insufferably level even as Draco’s eyes lock on the knife and flicker to the chopped up portrait.
Bravery lights within his heart, and Draco sees this as a sickeningly wonderful opportunity. This man is just that, a man, whether he is intent on killing Harry Potter or not.
Sirius Black is a maniac, and maybe Draco is, too, because he opens his mouth and calls out, even as Black is retreating.
“I can do it whenever or however you want,” he calls, and Black stops for a moment. Draco’s words hang in the air, and there is no doubt to what he means, what he wants.
He turns and grins, and his mouth is too large for his ravaged face. “Sticking it to mum and dad?” he quips. “I admire the effort.”
And then he’s gone, just a set of fading footsteps in the empty corridors.
Draco heads to dinner after all, the picture clasped in his hand within his pocket, the faint hope that this might not be over thrumming through his veins.
Author: scarysnapey
Rating: PG13
Warning: None
Pairing: Draco/Sirius
A/N: Written for the deatheatercest drabblethon, which I have officially decided is a better idea than sleeping right now.
Draco has been lazing around all day. While the others are at Hogsmeade, he is shut up behind the curtains of his bed, staring at that bloody scrap of newspaper.
He’s chucked the rest of it in the bin; the articles are long and boring. But he could stare for hours at this one scrap (and he does) because he loves to watch the raving, ragged man in the picture.
Sirius Black stares back at him and laughs like a lunatic, and Draco cannot look away.
We’re related, he keeps thinking, and the thought alone is confounding. How could a man who looks like that be related to Draco, who looks cared for and pristine like his mother and father?
It baffles him, and Draco has decided that they cannot be related, and it is only this shred of a lie that he clings to in order to justify staring at this scrap of newspaper while he wanks before bed each night.
He crumples it into a little ball and shoves it in his pocket, taking to the empty halls in an attempt to calm his mind. It seems that everyone has returned now, for the sounds of laughter and cries of delight are wafting from the Great Hall.
He finds himself in one of the corridors he seldom frequents, with the portrait of that heinous, fat witch in the puffy pink dress. He has no desire to eat.
Draco is halfway down the corridor when he sees a man that he’s never seen before.
But that’s not quite right; there is a picture of him in his pocket.
The man looks at him, and they stand at a crossroads of awkward recognition.
“I’ll be off then,” Sirius Black says slowly, his voice insufferably level even as Draco’s eyes lock on the knife and flicker to the chopped up portrait.
Bravery lights within his heart, and Draco sees this as a sickeningly wonderful opportunity. This man is just that, a man, whether he is intent on killing Harry Potter or not.
Sirius Black is a maniac, and maybe Draco is, too, because he opens his mouth and calls out, even as Black is retreating.
“I can do it whenever or however you want,” he calls, and Black stops for a moment. Draco’s words hang in the air, and there is no doubt to what he means, what he wants.
He turns and grins, and his mouth is too large for his ravaged face. “Sticking it to mum and dad?” he quips. “I admire the effort.”
And then he’s gone, just a set of fading footsteps in the empty corridors.
Draco heads to dinner after all, the picture clasped in his hand within his pocket, the faint hope that this might not be over thrumming through his veins.