Author's Note: Hey everybody! I recently read about Drapple and I thought it'd be totally fun to do, and may just be my favorite crack ship. I tried really hard to keep Draco mostly in character here, despite the obvious that he's falling for an apple. Other than that gaping out of character fact, I tried to justify it and keep him in character.
Reviews are awesome!
This is dedicated to Aryn, and Shelby. Aryn, because you suggested I write about Drapple, and Shelby, because I think you'd get a kick out of it.
Nope, I'm not J.K. Rowling, and I don't own Harry Potter.
Pancakes!
Draco Malfoy was exhausted. He had spent nearly all day camped out in the Room of Requirement struggling to repair that damn vanishing cabinet, all to no avail. As the afternoon had worn on, and the cupboard had come no closer to working properly, he had been left feeling increasingly tired, hungry and discouraged. Who had he been kidding? He could not fix that cabinet, and even if he could, what made him think he would be able to sneak an army of Death Eaters into Hogwarts under the nose of Dumbledore?
He was tired of failing; his failed attempts to kill the Headmaster looked more ridiculous each time he recalled them. He was tired of the Dark Lord's task, tired of imagining his father in Azkaban and his mother at the Dark Lord's mercy. He was tired of Snape offering assistance only so that he might look better. He was tired of Potter beating him in potions, and stalking him to overhear his conversations. He was sick of the imbeciles he was surrounded by; Crabbe and Goyle blindly going along with everything he demanded of them, Pansy Parkinson staring at him like lovesick puppy dog. He was sick and tired of the world and everyone in it. He wanted to scream as loud as he could that he was done with all of them; that they could each and every one of them take their expectations and threats and bribes and guilt-trips and duty and shove them, he was through giving a damn.
But the voice of reason, or perhaps cowardice, always reminded him that the world did not work that way. He could not simply slip away from all the sphere of their eyes and words because he was sick of it. No, he must suffer through it. He must wake up each day and know that he, Draco Malfoy, would have to kill Albus Dumbledore. He must know that his father was in prison, and his mother completely vulnerable to the world. He could only sneer at Potter, and watch his back because he and Snape were always there following him. He would have to resent Crabbe and Goyle's stupidity and humor Pansy's infatuation quietly because it was what was expected of him. It was what he had been coerced by guilt and threats and bribes to do. It was his duty, no matter how sick of it he was.
There was only one thing which was Draco's constant comfort and companion through this bleak world. He had first brought the shiny green apple with him to the Room of Requirement in order to test the cabinet with it. When the cabinet had again failed, Draco had taken the apple in his hand, preparing to chuck it into the labyrinth of discarded junk as a means of releasing his anger. But as his fingers had closed around its glossy surface, he had found an odd comfort. He looked down at it. It looked just like every other apple he had ever seen. Its green skin was smooth and speckled with many spots of a darker hue. It was symmetrical in its proportions and its surface was unmarred by bruises. It just looked like an apple, but it was the most beautiful apple he had ever seen. He had always harbored a bit of a soft spot for apples, and as he stared down at this particular fruit he was seized with a sudden fondness.
Ever since that day, the apple had resided in the pocket of his robes. It was always with him, and he often reached his hand into his pocket to touch throughout the day. He was convinced now that Apple, which had become the name given to this one fruit rather than the whole species, was his only true friend in the world. Only Apple knew how much he suffered, how fed up he was with the world. It was to this silent, un-judging piece of fruit that Draco confided his discouragement. It was to Apple that he described his hopeless, bleak world. And Apple never said anything, which he was truthfully grateful for because he already had enough reasons to question his insanity. But it was alright that Apple remained silent. In fact, he suspected that that might be precisely why he had grown to love Apple the way he did. Apple may not be able to comfort him, but it also never asked anything of him. It did not use double edged words like 'duty' or 'your father'. It did not demand that he walk down one path, or seek to belittle him for its own good. It simply was, and that allowed Draco to simply be. To Apple he could put all his doubts into words. He could rant about Snape and Potter's meddling, he could show Apple the dark tattoo upon his left arm without fear of either losing his friend to fear or awe.
Apple was with him through it all, when he was alone in the night and could not suppress the tears, when he struggled to fix the cabinets, when he broke down screaming his hatred for his father and the Dark Lord and the world at large. Always Apple was with him, and it never thought any less of him. Not once did he fail to live up to that Apple's expectation of him. He was aware that loving an inanimate object the way he loved Apple was wrong. But it was so much less terrifying to offer his love to something that he could not fail. He was tired of failing, and Apple was the only thing he had ever known that would not sway in its opinion of him no matter how many times, or at what he failed. For that, he loved it, and that might have been wrong, but honestly nothing was right in Draco's life at the moment; being in love with an apple was the least of his worries.