He Would Be Proud
AN:
Okay, wow, hi. Just a tiny little oneshot about Young Mister Draco Malfoy, and his thoughts on a summers day. This is set quite early on, incase it isn't clear ( second or third year at Hogwarts )
So... Please enjoy, a few reviews would be lovely, and do notify me of any errors you spot, as I don't have a beta.
VIVERE
Draco tilted his head slightly, a small smile gracing his thin lips as the suns' warmth melted into his skin. Calmly excusing himself from his peers, he wandered slowly over to the cracked railing and leant casually into it, the cold stone sending a shiver flowing over his skin. A soft breeze stroked the long summer grass on the grounds and rustled the trees. Students shrieked and tumbled as they played, wading noisily in the lake, and climbing precariously in the trees, completely oblivious to all the adult things that they never worried about, that no children should ever worry about.
VELLE
And Draco felt himself join them, let the mirror water, the sun wind, and the clean grass fill him completely, no room for the lies and the anger, no time to hurt and corrupt. The distant sound of laughter whirled throughout he air towards him and he sighed, imperceptibly. If only he could run to them, join their playground games, laugh at the nonsense jokes, oh, he wanted it too much for words but the firm hand of his father always held him back. His father knew best. Of course, Draco knew that, and disobedience was evil. But he could dream, and dream he did.
ABOMINARE
Eyes half closed, he let himself lean against the stone support, and watched the world through shuttered eyes. The picture of a silver Malfoy. He drifted through the scenes before him, enjoying the peace, until he head quick steps clattering across the stones behind him. He turned his head. Thick chestnut hair. Tidied uniform. Clever face. Pointed nose. Pretty mouth. Beautiful eyes. Draco opened his mouth and tried to smile.
"Mudblood."
Broken glass stare. Quick steps. deus. He hated her he hated her he hated her.
RELIGARE
He turned back to the grounds and gazed over the idyllic scene again, but this time his view was tainted by anger and jealousy. He felt the familiar sneer twist his mouth, his back straightened and he glared imperiously out from his silver eyes. All of a sudden he looked mournfully down at the pale skin of his left forearm. Tentative fingers stroked the skin, barely daring to touch. Already he could imagine the poison ink, blossoming out from the tip of his wand, staining him forever. Unbidden, a hard lump rose in his throat, suffocating him. Tears pricked his eyes and he gripped his arm in anger, refusing to allow himself to look away.
He would be proud. He would be elatus.
AN:
And by the ways, the bold words are LATIN ( because Draco's first language is Latin ) and mean the following:
vivere - to live
velle - to want
abominare - to hate
deus - God
religare - to bind
elatus - proud