Author's note: Um, so, I was so excited about this story. We're reading Hamlet in English and I got so inspired. Here's the first chapter to see if you like it. I hope you do.
If you've read Hamlet, then you might understand this a bit more. I don't know. It's very loosely based.
Disclaimer: I own only my limitless imagination.
Chapter 1
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. –William Shakespeare (Hamlet)
He was Draco Malfoy.
The Draco Malfoy. Arrogant badass who didn't take grief from anyone. Tall, thin, white blonde hair, grey malevolent eyes. Just like his father It was obvious he placed himself above everyone else in the Wizarding World (possibly even Voldemort). It wasn't as if he was all talk and no walk. The boy was smart. Cunning. Wicked. Manipulative. He got what he wanted.
Always
He was a young man of sixteen. Fresh out of his sixth year at Hogwarts. He was in his prime! The girls wanted him, the universities wanted him, Voldemort wanted him. His nose was always in the air and his lips always set in a self satisfied smirk. His clothes cost an ungodly amount, and he knew it. He flaunted it. He was first priority. He graced others with his presence.
That's how we find him now. Reclining in the plush seat of the Hogwarts Express, idly watching his "friends" chatter about their upcoming holiday. He carelessly slung an arm around Pansy Parkinson's shoulder, smirking at her excitement.
The rain poured steadily, pounding on the windows and prohibiting any vision. Every once in awhile, the lightning flashed, casting a sliver of light onto Draco's pale face.
He told a joke. A particularly lame one, but a joke.
They laughed. They were supposed to.
He loved how they adored him. How they worshipped him. How they would follow him off the edge of a cliff if he asked them to. Merely to remain in his good graces.
They were supposed to.
He turned his ever wandering attention to the window. He thought about his holiday, and what awaited him at the Manor. Actually, he didn't wonder, he knew. Lavish trips, new clothes, dinner parties, and constant doting from his mother and father.
"…promise, Draco?"
"Huh?" was the intelligent reply.
"I said," Pansy reiterated, "Write this summer. Promise, Draco?"
Write? The girl asks this every year, and every year he writes about one letter, and the claims to be busy. Why should this year be any different? "Sure, Pansy," he said, flashing a charming smile.
She smiled back, of course, and stood up. Giving each of the people in the compartment a hug, she heaved her trunk and left the train. It was only then that Draco noticed that the train came to a full stop. Draco grabbed his trunk, and shook hands with Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini. His friends.
He sauntered with confidence, through the train towards the door. He bumped, elbowed, and shoved any unfortunate first or second year to have the audacity to cross his path. He purposely broke up snogging couples, and hugging friends. He made special care to trip Granger and step on her fingers. He stepped onto the platform and was immediately welcomed with the sight of tearful "hellos" from mums and children.
Leaning against a wall, he lazily scanned the area for his parents. Minute by minute passed and the crowd cleared. Draco was no longer leaning against the wall, but standing straight, eyebrows furrowed.
He watched the Weasley clan with Potter leave through the barrier to Kings Cross. He briefly watched Pansy link arms with her mother towards the barrier, her father trailing behind with Pansy's trunk.
Ten minutes.
Where were they? They never kept him waiting!
He resumed his cocky leaning and closed his eyes. Maybe they got caught in traffic. The weather is horrible.
Finally, finally half an hour later he saw a familiar crown of golden hair glide its way over to Draco. That crown was followed by a regal face, almost mirroring his own.
A single similar face
It was his mother. His beautiful, loving mother. He frowned. She was late. When she saw him, her composed face broke into a bright grin, and she enveloped him in a surprisingly strong embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, letting her coo over him. 'So much taller, so handsome.' or 'I missed you so! You're so skinny!'
She didn't seem to want to let go. Draco got the unsettling feeling that something was amiss. He pulled away, holding her by the shoulders at arms length. He looked deeply into her eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked quite bluntly.
Her eyes, her deep blue eyes, momentarily clouded, darkened. They slid out of focus and revealed a dark secret unfathomable to Draco. "Nothing," she said. She took his hand and led him to the family car.
Tap, tap, tap
The dying rain continued to fall as the car wove swiftly and smoothly on the tangle of roads piercing the countryside. Indistinguishable patterns from the raindrops formed on the window. Sliding, joining, separating, staining the glass. The weak thunder sounded nothing more than a hum.
"How was school this year?" Narcissa asked, desperate to break the choking silence.
"Good," her son replied, nodding his head slightly, "Came second in the class—again." He added somewhat bitterly.
He guessed he should've been used to it, by now. Granger beating him by a point, every year.
"To that Granger girl, I assume?" his mother asked in a tight voice.
Draco sighed heavily, "Yes, though I doubt Dad will take it quite as well as you are."
The thunder growled. The storm was coming back.
"Mmm," was all she said.
The rain picked up. The soft patterns on the window were replaced by angry drops, battling for dominance as they plummeted down the pane.
"Mum?" he asked quietly, hesitantly.
The skies darkened, and lightning was the only beacon of light. The thunder was roaring now. The rain hit the windows like bullets, as if trying to reach Draco. Trying to hurt him.
"Yes, dear?" she asked calmly, pleasantly. Draco, however, saw her clutching her purse, knuckles white.
He noticed
"Where's dad?"
They drove under a canopy of trees, and momentarily the rain couldn't hit the car. The inside was quiet.
"Honey," she said, slowly, deliberately. The rain hit again. This time, with a vengeance. The thunder shook the earth, and the wind screamed. When his mother spoke, it was so soft he had to lean towards her. Even then he couldn't hear her broken whisper. All he see were her lips moving. Mouthing the words that were about to rock the sturdiness of his world.
"He's dead."
He was Draco Malfoy.
He was the arrogant badass who didn't take grief from anyone. Tall, thin, grey malevolent eyes. Just like his father's
He's dead
He was always in control. Always cool, always composed. He was the replica of his dad.
Who's dead
He was Draco Malfoy.
He was first priority. He was admired. He was respected. He was worshipped.
That is, of course, until he went insane.
Well, that's it. Please tell me if I should really continue this. Or is it a stretch?
