(no subject)
Title: The Draco Series, 1/?
Author: willysunny
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: It's all about JKR. I just like to make things up.
A/N: Draco-fic, because I am smitten.
All chapters here
*
Part 1: Going From Here
*
Draco is sitting in a small cushioned chair, facing the fire. He is alone, for the moment. Snape has retired to another room, taking with him several sheets of parchment, a quill, and his wand.
Draco drops his gaze to his hands, settled uncomfortably in his lap, and to his own wand, clutched between his fingers and pointed at nothing in particular. His hands are still shaking.
He failed. Worse, he failed the Dark Lord. And he fell short of everyone’s expectations. The task was worthy of a Malfoy, something Draco should have accomplished easily, like his father would have done. Lucius had a way of making these missions appear far too simple and controlled, like sand sifting through an hourglass.
It was only a matter of time, Draco muses.
*
The last few days of summer were heady, almost surreal. Draco spent most of the time in his bedroom, carefully plotting while trying not to think about his father, locked up in Azkaban. And he turned a blind eye to his mother’s sickeningly pale appearance and wide, desperate eyes. She would never understand the importance of his assignment. He didn’t blame her, of course. She was his mother, and weaker than most people realized. He silently feared that, in the end, it would lead to her downfall.
When school started and time began to tick backwards and the weight of what he’d been asked to do pressed down on him, making it hard for him to breathe… the first inkling of doubt crept into his bones. And with it, fear.
Snape’s insistent prowling and threats only escalated Draco’s anxiety, and determination. He avoided Snape at every turn and somehow managed to stay one step ahead, until the end. But now…
*
Draco isn't sure which side he belongs to.
Casting a weary glance toward the front door, he exhales. Then he turns his gaze back toward the fire.
Neither, he thinks.
It feels like he’s sinking, slowly. The sensation isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it’s remarkably peaceful, as if he is finally letting go of a small part of who he is, an aspect that he’s held on to for far too long, like a crutch. It’s strangely intoxicating to lose this much control and he slumps down further into the chair, willing the sensation to overtake him.
It’s unclear what’s in store for him now. Others witnessed his treacherous actions-or lack thereof. No matter what Snape assures him, no matter how many wards are cast upon this home, Draco knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens.
Leaning back in the chair, focusing on the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the corner, his eyelids begin to grow heavy.
The last thing Draco remembers as he pulls his knees into his chest, is the image of two brooms, lying against the ramparts. As his mind begins to drift and his surroundings grow fuzzy, Draco is almost convinced that one of those brooms was meant for him, if only he'd been paying attention.
*
Part 2
Author: willysunny
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: It's all about JKR. I just like to make things up.
A/N: Draco-fic, because I am smitten.
All chapters here
*
Part 1: Going From Here
*
Draco is sitting in a small cushioned chair, facing the fire. He is alone, for the moment. Snape has retired to another room, taking with him several sheets of parchment, a quill, and his wand.
Draco drops his gaze to his hands, settled uncomfortably in his lap, and to his own wand, clutched between his fingers and pointed at nothing in particular. His hands are still shaking.
He failed. Worse, he failed the Dark Lord. And he fell short of everyone’s expectations. The task was worthy of a Malfoy, something Draco should have accomplished easily, like his father would have done. Lucius had a way of making these missions appear far too simple and controlled, like sand sifting through an hourglass.
It was only a matter of time, Draco muses.
*
The last few days of summer were heady, almost surreal. Draco spent most of the time in his bedroom, carefully plotting while trying not to think about his father, locked up in Azkaban. And he turned a blind eye to his mother’s sickeningly pale appearance and wide, desperate eyes. She would never understand the importance of his assignment. He didn’t blame her, of course. She was his mother, and weaker than most people realized. He silently feared that, in the end, it would lead to her downfall.
When school started and time began to tick backwards and the weight of what he’d been asked to do pressed down on him, making it hard for him to breathe… the first inkling of doubt crept into his bones. And with it, fear.
Snape’s insistent prowling and threats only escalated Draco’s anxiety, and determination. He avoided Snape at every turn and somehow managed to stay one step ahead, until the end. But now…
*
Draco isn't sure which side he belongs to.
Casting a weary glance toward the front door, he exhales. Then he turns his gaze back toward the fire.
Neither, he thinks.
It feels like he’s sinking, slowly. The sensation isn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it’s remarkably peaceful, as if he is finally letting go of a small part of who he is, an aspect that he’s held on to for far too long, like a crutch. It’s strangely intoxicating to lose this much control and he slumps down further into the chair, willing the sensation to overtake him.
It’s unclear what’s in store for him now. Others witnessed his treacherous actions-or lack thereof. No matter what Snape assures him, no matter how many wards are cast upon this home, Draco knows it’s only a matter of time before something happens.
Leaning back in the chair, focusing on the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the corner, his eyelids begin to grow heavy.
The last thing Draco remembers as he pulls his knees into his chest, is the image of two brooms, lying against the ramparts. As his mind begins to drift and his surroundings grow fuzzy, Draco is almost convinced that one of those brooms was meant for him, if only he'd been paying attention.
*
Part 2