Said and Done 00/??
Rating: R
Series: Harry Potter (hangs her head in shame)
Year: 6th
Genre: Romance/Comedy
Pairings: HP/DM
Spoilers: A few, but I'll try to keep them to a minimum.
Warnings: Yaoi (AKA Slash); Death; Humor; Et cetera? I try for a well-rounded story...
By Moon Faery
Archived: (eventually at) Moon Faery's Garden
Disclaimer: A statement created solely to save one's ass from becoming lawn for the proverbial legal mower. I do not own Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling does. All materials are used without the permission of their various owners. The only gratuity I accept is verbal (or written), and money doesn't even begin to enter the picture. However, this story line, original characters and plot are MINE. (Holds fic close to her.) Grrrr...
Author Notes: I'm so ashamed of myself... I've strayed from the One True Path of Heero and Duo-ness. I'll probably manage to balance my new HP obsession with my GW one soon, but right now the scales are still swinging heavily towards the "Harry Potter" side. (Damn you Snippy and Snarky! You've ruined me!)
This is just a quick test to see how well my writing will be received on the HP side of the web. ^.~ If you like, review, and I'll see about adding HP ideas to my list of bunnies to write. This is more of a prologue than anything else, so yes, there is more if it's wanted.
Additional Note: (grovels) I want to apologize to everyone who suffered through the horrible spelling of the first posting of the prologue. >>;; I accidentally posted the pre-final check version (I save all my work CONSTANTLY ^^;; ) instead of the final, and I didn't notice until I went to re-read it. I'm sorry!
***
"Father, you're insane." Draco Malfoy glared at his father, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were beginning to hurt. Somehow, he managed to keep his tone to the cool drawl that he had perfected over his childhood, but it was difficult in face of his father's arrogant stupidity. He was dressed comfortably in a pair of charcoal silk slacks and a crisp white linen shirt - he had refused the tie a house elf had offered him, which had been the start of this conversation. Under no circumstances was Draco going to be caught wearing ruffles. "You won't let me go back to school this year because Potter's a bad influence?"
"You presume too much." Lucius eyed his son coldly, eyes shading closer to wet shale than their normal silvery gray. It made him look colder, more sinister. His suit, a carefully chosen black wool ensemble only made the contrast between his eyes and skin all the more striking. "I have my reasons, Draco, and it is not your place to question them."
Draco didn't care about any of it though. He had finally started settling into his role as the top student of his House, his miniature war with Weasel and the Granger chit had grown into something nicely venomous without being violent enough to earn him expulsion and Potter... Potter was slipping. Every year, his resolve weakened a little more, he became just the tiniest bit more unsure of himself. Every time someone around him vanished, died, gave up, gave in, he lost a little more control. This would be the year Draco would finally break the bastard, and his father was going to take it all away! Blood was starting to seep out under his fingernails where they had sliced into his palms. "It's my life, Father. I believe I have every right to question your decisions about it."
The older man looked at his son, eyes dragging over him as if measuring some unnamable quality that he had never noticed before. "You go to far, Draco."
Hematite met slate over the expanse of expensive oak flooring and Asian rugs. In the back of his mind, something hissed that his father was acting different, that this wasn't the time to push. The blonde boy ignored it. Nothing had ever stopped him from speaking his mind to his parents, and some short-lived spark of conscious wasn't about to be the first thing to claim that distinction.
For the first time during their conversation, Draco's eyes warmed up, anger tinting them ever so slightly blue-gray. "I refuse to let you arrange my life to suit yourself, Father." His voice was measured, controlled so tightly that it seemed like it would snap any second, like a worn violin string.
Lucius Malfoy seemed dumbstruck for only a bare moment before he regained his legendary composure. "You mean that."
"Yes, I do." It was the firmest, most adult voice Draco had ever used against his father. He would have to take time to be proud of it later. "I don't want any of it."
Lucius looked like someone had just told him Muggles had stolen his socks. "Any of it?" His gaze focused somewhere off to the left of Draco, and none of Draco's attempts to catch it again did any good.
"None of it." Something balled tightly in his stomach. He had expected to feel relieved when he finally announced his position in matters, but instead dread was chilling his veins. Like all momentous occasions, he had carefully planned out what he would say. Unfortunately, also like all momentous occasions, he found it desperately hard to adhere to his script. "I'm not going to follow in your footsteps, a little Death Eater clone, stuck in your shadow for the rest of my life." The words tried to lodge themselves in his throat, but he pushed them through anyways. "I'm my own person, not your little puppet."
Slate-colored eyes closed wearily as Lucius's shoulders slumped. He looked like a defeated man. Draco stared in shock - he had never seen his father look truly lost and old. Lines that he had never noticed before became suddenly apparent. Before he could say anything, the older man turned and took a few steps away. Draco could see him fiddling with the ends of his sleeves nervously. His steps rolled off the ball of his foot, making him bounce with anxious energy.
Some deeply hidden instinct told Draco that something was wrong. This man wasn't his father suddenly, and it frightened him more than even the Forbidden Forest ever had. "Father?"
Black wool rustled softly as Lucius finally stood still, head tilted back to look at the ceiling. "Remember this, Son. Everything I do.. ever did, is, was and always will be for the best, always for you." He turned around, and Draco realized quite suddenly that he hadn't been playing with his sleeves for no reason - he had been extracting his wand from it's forearm sheath. "I'm sorry Draco."
For Draco, the world moved in slow motion and sound vanished entirely. His father pointed the wand a him, eyes sliding to cold glass over pain, anger, certainty and dozens of other emotions Draco couldn't even begin to name. Lucius' lips moved soundlessly and the world dissolved into a color known only as Avada Kedavra green.
***
[Sneak Peek At Next Chapter]
The world for the moment was warm and firm and scented every so slightly of mown grass and cherry blossoms and Quidditch and dark chocolate frogs and a few dozen other things that Draco never thought of as blending particularly well, but they did. Then it moved. Draco opened his eyes groggily. His head hurt something horrible and he couldn't breathe through whatever it was his face was pressed into. He wondered for a moment if he hadn't been into his father's liquor cabinet again, but there was no rancid taste in his mouth to indicate a hangover, so he discarded the possibility. Around him were sounds of a large gathering of people, including the usual murmur of voices and various clangs and thuds. He attempted to lift his head, but only managed to get it up a few inches before a broomstick caught him under the jaw. His head snapped back for a brief second before he fell forward once more. The impact succeeded in turning his headache into a full-blown world-splitting migraine, but not much else.
"Get the hell off my son, you pervert!"