-insipiration hit me. But whether this will continue or not depends on the reviews and the continual visits of invisible muses of varying kind, and yes this will be a Harry/Draco fanfic, though you see nothing of the sort in this chapter...you more or less learn of Draco's dominat state of apathy-
Rogue Wizard
Chapter 1: Apathy of an Estranged Mind
The loud sounds of footsteps echoing off the cold floor was his sign that the beating had ended and that his ex-comrades had left him alone to take care of his bloodied and bruised hide. A snarl of anger wrenched from his lips only to faulter under a stream of blood that leaked from the corners of his mouth.
He coughed painfully as he forced himself up onto his knees, leaning back on his haunches to slowly catergorize the amount of damage his body had sustained.
Drawing in a shaky breath he pulled himself up onto his feet, tucking his forgotten wand into his back pocket; it had fallen out of his robe and skidded acros the floor out of reach sometime during the duration of the beating.
In truth, the event was of little surprise to him, but then again, little surprised him at all.
He had expected some sort of retaliation once his ex-followers learned of his refusal to join the ranks of the death-eaters . . . for whom was more expected to become a 'noble' Death Eater other than Draco Malfoy?
Hah.
What a bloody joke they were.
Each one was going to pay, oh he already knew which ones had held his arms, he knew which one had made the offer of redemption for their future master; he had known who had made the first blow to his gut, taking the wind from him, catching him off gaurd while tossing him to the ground; even in the darkness of the abandoned classroom he had known it was them.
They knew that, and they knew even together that the lot of them were no match for Draco Malfoy's skills with or without the wand.
But it didn't matter to him as he had decided to just lay their and take it, they would tire eventually, the rage and fury that drove their sails soon to leave their bodies, he waited for the weight of the situation to sink into their skulls as they stopped their attack and left him swiftly.
Crabe.
Goyle.
Zambini.
Parkinson.
He sucked in a breath of air then spat out some spit-diluted blood onto the floor, he patted himself down, searching for his beloved cancersticks and lighter . . . upon reaching them he drew the slim ciggarette from its pack then lit it with the lighter in his other hand.
Bringing the opposite end of the cig' to his lips, he inhaled deeply, holding it for a brief moment, allowing the familiar burning sensation to fill his lungs before exhaling; pocketing the lighter he absently pressed his nimble fingers against the sides of his ribs, a hiss of pain at a sensitive spot, skipping over he continued down, another sharp hiss of pain . . . a broken rib, one cracked...other than that just mild bruising and a few cuts on his arms, and then a smarting bruise on his cheek...no surprise that they would attempt to harm his face. It always happened to be quite the target, being the pretty-boy adonis he happened to be.
But he owed that grand credit to the small amount of veela blood that swam in the Malfoy bloodline.
He could feel his ribs starting to draw together, holding themselves indefinately still for one split-second, healing themselves back into place before releasing its hold, allowing him to breath again.
Cig' still in mouth Draco walked out of the empty classroom and strolled down the hall, not feeling partial to revenge at the moment; which explained his direction opposite to that which would lead him towards the dungeons.
Their wasn't ~exactly~ a rule that prohibited smoking inside Hogwarts, it was just very much looked down upon; besides, no one really smoked anymore either, and if they did, it was only out of some dilluded illusion to make one appear to be cool, though those first-timers tended to choke on the ghastly smoke and nauseous feeling certain ciggarrettes left a person to feel, the lovely wizarding world had spells and potions of the sort that would clean out a body's system, to keep it from contracting all those disgustingly horrid symptons and diseases that muggles tended to catch without the aid of magic.
He himself didn't have to worry about any of that stuff, once again complements of the veela that had been insane enough to marry into the Malfoy bloodline all those centuries ago . . .
The only downfall was that the veela blood had become so thin that the most recent Malfoy's were incapable of changing shape because that particular gene has been dormant for quite some time.
He shook his head, ridding himself of thoughts of bloodline heritage and ancestory as he took another drag from the 'cancerstick', exhaling after a brief moment of breathlessness.
Unsure of what to do with himself at the moment he decided to shove some food into his gullet to keep his body in working order before that insane Headmaster of Hogwarts decided to ask of his services to spy for the side of the 'light' . . . pfft! What did that man take him for?
Draco knew word had gotten out pretty damned quick that he'd refused to become a Death Eater, in front of Voldemort himself; of course apparating his skinny white arse away immediately after, he did after all have a sense of self-preservation unlike the wizarding world's Golden-Boy . . .
Ugh . . . he didn't even want to consider that at the moment.
Sitting down at the head of Slytherin table Draco smiled quite pleasantly at Pansy Parkinson; too pleasantly for her liking obviously as he delighted himself to become aware of the delicious shivers of fear that wracked her body.
"Why dearest Parkinson, I do hope you sleep well tonight." Draco said quite pleasantly.
He then turned to share his strangely intimate smile with Blaise, Greggory, and Vincent.
In turn each boy paled several shades whiter, suddenly wondering if they'd taken the right course of action to begin with.
"How d-did you-" Pansy stuttered fearfully, setting down her shaking goblet to wring her hands underneath the tabletop; she didn't know how she knew but he obviously did...but how?
"I do believe you have forgotten I *can* see in the dark, oh! But of course I hadn't *told* you that now had I?" Draco said equally pleasant, if not more so than before.
Deciding he'd scared them enough already and already spotted Albus Dumbledore standing up and making his way towards the Slytherin table, Draco stood up and went to greet the old coot, might as well tell him right off the bat he wasn't going to stick his neck out for anyone, no matter the cause.
Draco took a large drag from his ciggarette, preparing to ride out the gist of the old man's yapping out on the familiar, lung-burningly breathless waves of dizzying nausea . . .
"Ah Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to follow me to my office so we may discuss...certain issues-" the Headmaster of Insanity began...
Unable to take a second more of it, he blew the sweetly-addictive smoke straight into the elder man's face; and here he thought his disgustingly slave-like father would be quite pleased with his respect for elders . . .
"Ah Mr. Dumbledore, if you would be so kind as to believe I know what...certain issues you wish to discuss, that you would also believe I have no intentions of spying for the 'light' nor do I have any for doing so for the dark, I refuse to help in your or any one else's silly cause no matter the reasoning." Draco paused, mimicking the exact, light yet slightly persistant tone with which the headmaster had spoken in, "And with that said, I will continue out this school year and the next until my graduation, with a continued stand of...nuetrality during the duration of this 'war' against the natures of 'good' and 'evil'." he finished congenially, turning from the somewhat shaken proffessor and walking down the aisle of house tables, ignoring the scandolized whispers of the Slytherins and the shocked and curious ones of the Gryffindorks...
Like anything he'd just said had been remotely momentous...but then again, he'd practically declared himself a rogue wizard in his refusal to take either side in the war...but...in retrospect, one would believe that was what Draco Malfoy now was.
Which in his case, he was left to believe such was true.
Hunh.
Once again left alone to his thoughts, walking down a seemingly endless hallway, Draco Malfoy continued to suck on his fastly diminishing cig'.
Until a snowy-white owl that was uncannily similar to the Potthead's owl crashed into his chest, nuzzling overly affectionately against him . . . sadly one particular veelan gene had insufferably refused to die out or go dormant was the natural attraction or affection animals tended to exhibit towards the veela species; more particularly the animals they tended to take form of, and the most favorably tended to be none-other than owls . . .
He sneered at the disgustingly cute bird that had been reduced to nothing but a newborn fledgling head-over-heals in love with him; which also explained the forgotten letter tied to its leg...apparently some owls thought love over duty was becoming increasingly important nowadays...ugh...disgusting lot.
Holding the now insane bird with one arm as it continued to nuzzle against his chest while cooing affectionately into the folds of his robes . . . Alexander, his eagleowl would *not* be pleased with this if he ever caught sight of this...
Turning his attention to the letter he flipped it over and saw Potthead's name scrawled quite sloppily across the front, Hagrid's no doubt; he could spot that half-giant's scrawl anywhere, afterall he did accompany the game-keeper into the Forbidden Forrest on daily excursions to collect insanely dangerous animals for his class; besides, did people honestly believe that Hagrid would come out of that Forrest alive without Draco beside him?
That overly trusting oaf would never believe that any of the creatures would tend him harm, but Draco had never told him otherwise, he wasn't too bad a bloke after all . . . besides, it wasn't like he'd ever ~told~ Hagrid about his veela blood that tended to either make the creatures docile or lovesick at the sight of him . . . or smell of him at any rate.
Sure that hippogriff had broken his arm in third year, but it wasn't because of the insult, because he'f thrown every godamned curse and scathing remark he could think of to get it through that thick creature's head that he would *not* have colts with it . . . or whatever you bloody-well called those things babies...
With that thought in mind he was reminded of the threatening letter he'd recieved from his father that if he didn't make the minor injury to be one of hugely questioning concern, that he'd surely beat the shyte out of him, again, more so worse than before if such a thing were possible . . . but that hadn't stopped him from teasing that red-headed weasel and mudblood bookworm about the truth of his injury.
But of course the thing had been 'saved' by Hairy Potthead and Hermione the mudblood's timeturner.
The gits still believed he didn't know about the things they did, they also still believed that he hadn't known that Weasel and Potter had drunk Polyjuice Potion in order to find out if he had anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets in second year, of course Draco played the part accordingly, as he was supposed to.
Oh their he fuckin' went on a tangeant again; Draco sighed and spun on his heals towards the great hall, might as well give Potthead his bird back, he knew it was 'Headwig' no mistaking it, *he* was the only one in the school to have gotten a snowy-owl...
"Would you stop *that*! I don't need everyone to know a godamned owl has fallen for me and my good-looks you know...besides I have better things to do than tote around a lovesick bird that has become utterly infatuated with rubbing it's face into my robes, it's very unbecoming!" Draco scolded absently, not at all surprised to find no venom in his words, he was too tired to care, the excellerated healing, (compliments of Veela Blood once again), took a lot out of the system, and he hadn't aten a damned thing at the table, he'd been too hung up with the beginnings of payback and his declaration of solitarity to remember to eat something.
The bird continued to rub its face into his robes, cooing and clucking consistantly.
He raised his cig to his mouth, he scowled when he found it already burnt out, with a growl he flicked it off to some darkened corner of the hall and shoved the doors back open, little surprised to see all eyes rivoted on him, again.
Supressing the urge to roll his eyes he only had to walk halfway down the hall when the infamous Gryffindork trio stood before him, scowls set in place, wands at ready, challenging and already thinking of the dozens of possible things Draco might have done to Potthead's poor owl...
Damn what idiots the Gryffindor lot were...
"What are you doing with my owl, Malfoy?" King of the Gryffindorks spoke slowly, scathingly as he gripped his wand tighter, restraining himself from walking up to him and yanking the lovestruck owl from Draco's arms.
"Trying to restrain it from attempting to rape me is all, Potter." Draco spoke absently, not bothering with the sneer or drawl, he needed to save whatever energy he had left to make it to the kitchen's and ask Dobby for some food before he decided to pay a visit to Pansy's bed, with all intentions of making her bleed of course.
But back to Draco's statement, he indeed was refraining the bird from doing anything embarassing as he then firmly grabbed the still face-rubbing-in-robes owl and handing it back over to Potter, letter dangling quite forgotten from her leg...
"What did you do to Hedwig, Ferret-face? I know you've had to cast some sort of spell to make anything remotely like you let alone *touch* you!" Came Weasel's smart insult, oooh it must've hurt to think of one that good!
All sarcasm intended.
This time he couldn't stop the roll of his eyes as he patted his pockets down, having forgotten where he'd left his ciggs ... withdrawing one he then grabbed his lighter, lit it, inhaled deeply while watching the trio from a sideglance.
Pocketing his lighter, he turned around and strode out the hall, towards the kitchens; he raised a hand in a short wave behind him as he left, "Whatever Weasel" his parting words as the doors shut behind him.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all shared questioning gazes, until they'd become quite distracted with refraining Hedwig from flying after Draco . . .
Was it just him or had the Potthead added some nice muscle to his lithe frame?
He exhaled a breath of smoke, yeah...he had, not to mention the boy had got the idea to ditch the oculars and sport some contacts . . . good, his emerald green eyes tended to become more vibrant when he didn't wear those wretched glasses . . . but it wasn't like he cared or anything . . .
-r/r I got halfway inspired, I originally had intentions of Draco immediately going after Pansy first while she was in bed (the time at which he'd been gang-beaten more further into the night) but that may or may not be in the next chapter, if there is a next chapter because I still have several other stories to finish and a manga to draw.
Rogue Wizard
Chapter 1: Apathy of an Estranged Mind
The loud sounds of footsteps echoing off the cold floor was his sign that the beating had ended and that his ex-comrades had left him alone to take care of his bloodied and bruised hide. A snarl of anger wrenched from his lips only to faulter under a stream of blood that leaked from the corners of his mouth.
He coughed painfully as he forced himself up onto his knees, leaning back on his haunches to slowly catergorize the amount of damage his body had sustained.
Drawing in a shaky breath he pulled himself up onto his feet, tucking his forgotten wand into his back pocket; it had fallen out of his robe and skidded acros the floor out of reach sometime during the duration of the beating.
In truth, the event was of little surprise to him, but then again, little surprised him at all.
He had expected some sort of retaliation once his ex-followers learned of his refusal to join the ranks of the death-eaters . . . for whom was more expected to become a 'noble' Death Eater other than Draco Malfoy?
Hah.
What a bloody joke they were.
Each one was going to pay, oh he already knew which ones had held his arms, he knew which one had made the offer of redemption for their future master; he had known who had made the first blow to his gut, taking the wind from him, catching him off gaurd while tossing him to the ground; even in the darkness of the abandoned classroom he had known it was them.
They knew that, and they knew even together that the lot of them were no match for Draco Malfoy's skills with or without the wand.
But it didn't matter to him as he had decided to just lay their and take it, they would tire eventually, the rage and fury that drove their sails soon to leave their bodies, he waited for the weight of the situation to sink into their skulls as they stopped their attack and left him swiftly.
Crabe.
Goyle.
Zambini.
Parkinson.
He sucked in a breath of air then spat out some spit-diluted blood onto the floor, he patted himself down, searching for his beloved cancersticks and lighter . . . upon reaching them he drew the slim ciggarette from its pack then lit it with the lighter in his other hand.
Bringing the opposite end of the cig' to his lips, he inhaled deeply, holding it for a brief moment, allowing the familiar burning sensation to fill his lungs before exhaling; pocketing the lighter he absently pressed his nimble fingers against the sides of his ribs, a hiss of pain at a sensitive spot, skipping over he continued down, another sharp hiss of pain . . . a broken rib, one cracked...other than that just mild bruising and a few cuts on his arms, and then a smarting bruise on his cheek...no surprise that they would attempt to harm his face. It always happened to be quite the target, being the pretty-boy adonis he happened to be.
But he owed that grand credit to the small amount of veela blood that swam in the Malfoy bloodline.
He could feel his ribs starting to draw together, holding themselves indefinately still for one split-second, healing themselves back into place before releasing its hold, allowing him to breath again.
Cig' still in mouth Draco walked out of the empty classroom and strolled down the hall, not feeling partial to revenge at the moment; which explained his direction opposite to that which would lead him towards the dungeons.
Their wasn't ~exactly~ a rule that prohibited smoking inside Hogwarts, it was just very much looked down upon; besides, no one really smoked anymore either, and if they did, it was only out of some dilluded illusion to make one appear to be cool, though those first-timers tended to choke on the ghastly smoke and nauseous feeling certain ciggarrettes left a person to feel, the lovely wizarding world had spells and potions of the sort that would clean out a body's system, to keep it from contracting all those disgustingly horrid symptons and diseases that muggles tended to catch without the aid of magic.
He himself didn't have to worry about any of that stuff, once again complements of the veela that had been insane enough to marry into the Malfoy bloodline all those centuries ago . . .
The only downfall was that the veela blood had become so thin that the most recent Malfoy's were incapable of changing shape because that particular gene has been dormant for quite some time.
He shook his head, ridding himself of thoughts of bloodline heritage and ancestory as he took another drag from the 'cancerstick', exhaling after a brief moment of breathlessness.
Unsure of what to do with himself at the moment he decided to shove some food into his gullet to keep his body in working order before that insane Headmaster of Hogwarts decided to ask of his services to spy for the side of the 'light' . . . pfft! What did that man take him for?
Draco knew word had gotten out pretty damned quick that he'd refused to become a Death Eater, in front of Voldemort himself; of course apparating his skinny white arse away immediately after, he did after all have a sense of self-preservation unlike the wizarding world's Golden-Boy . . .
Ugh . . . he didn't even want to consider that at the moment.
Sitting down at the head of Slytherin table Draco smiled quite pleasantly at Pansy Parkinson; too pleasantly for her liking obviously as he delighted himself to become aware of the delicious shivers of fear that wracked her body.
"Why dearest Parkinson, I do hope you sleep well tonight." Draco said quite pleasantly.
He then turned to share his strangely intimate smile with Blaise, Greggory, and Vincent.
In turn each boy paled several shades whiter, suddenly wondering if they'd taken the right course of action to begin with.
"How d-did you-" Pansy stuttered fearfully, setting down her shaking goblet to wring her hands underneath the tabletop; she didn't know how she knew but he obviously did...but how?
"I do believe you have forgotten I *can* see in the dark, oh! But of course I hadn't *told* you that now had I?" Draco said equally pleasant, if not more so than before.
Deciding he'd scared them enough already and already spotted Albus Dumbledore standing up and making his way towards the Slytherin table, Draco stood up and went to greet the old coot, might as well tell him right off the bat he wasn't going to stick his neck out for anyone, no matter the cause.
Draco took a large drag from his ciggarette, preparing to ride out the gist of the old man's yapping out on the familiar, lung-burningly breathless waves of dizzying nausea . . .
"Ah Mr. Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to follow me to my office so we may discuss...certain issues-" the Headmaster of Insanity began...
Unable to take a second more of it, he blew the sweetly-addictive smoke straight into the elder man's face; and here he thought his disgustingly slave-like father would be quite pleased with his respect for elders . . .
"Ah Mr. Dumbledore, if you would be so kind as to believe I know what...certain issues you wish to discuss, that you would also believe I have no intentions of spying for the 'light' nor do I have any for doing so for the dark, I refuse to help in your or any one else's silly cause no matter the reasoning." Draco paused, mimicking the exact, light yet slightly persistant tone with which the headmaster had spoken in, "And with that said, I will continue out this school year and the next until my graduation, with a continued stand of...nuetrality during the duration of this 'war' against the natures of 'good' and 'evil'." he finished congenially, turning from the somewhat shaken proffessor and walking down the aisle of house tables, ignoring the scandolized whispers of the Slytherins and the shocked and curious ones of the Gryffindorks...
Like anything he'd just said had been remotely momentous...but then again, he'd practically declared himself a rogue wizard in his refusal to take either side in the war...but...in retrospect, one would believe that was what Draco Malfoy now was.
Which in his case, he was left to believe such was true.
Hunh.
Once again left alone to his thoughts, walking down a seemingly endless hallway, Draco Malfoy continued to suck on his fastly diminishing cig'.
Until a snowy-white owl that was uncannily similar to the Potthead's owl crashed into his chest, nuzzling overly affectionately against him . . . sadly one particular veelan gene had insufferably refused to die out or go dormant was the natural attraction or affection animals tended to exhibit towards the veela species; more particularly the animals they tended to take form of, and the most favorably tended to be none-other than owls . . .
He sneered at the disgustingly cute bird that had been reduced to nothing but a newborn fledgling head-over-heals in love with him; which also explained the forgotten letter tied to its leg...apparently some owls thought love over duty was becoming increasingly important nowadays...ugh...disgusting lot.
Holding the now insane bird with one arm as it continued to nuzzle against his chest while cooing affectionately into the folds of his robes . . . Alexander, his eagleowl would *not* be pleased with this if he ever caught sight of this...
Turning his attention to the letter he flipped it over and saw Potthead's name scrawled quite sloppily across the front, Hagrid's no doubt; he could spot that half-giant's scrawl anywhere, afterall he did accompany the game-keeper into the Forbidden Forrest on daily excursions to collect insanely dangerous animals for his class; besides, did people honestly believe that Hagrid would come out of that Forrest alive without Draco beside him?
That overly trusting oaf would never believe that any of the creatures would tend him harm, but Draco had never told him otherwise, he wasn't too bad a bloke after all . . . besides, it wasn't like he'd ever ~told~ Hagrid about his veela blood that tended to either make the creatures docile or lovesick at the sight of him . . . or smell of him at any rate.
Sure that hippogriff had broken his arm in third year, but it wasn't because of the insult, because he'f thrown every godamned curse and scathing remark he could think of to get it through that thick creature's head that he would *not* have colts with it . . . or whatever you bloody-well called those things babies...
With that thought in mind he was reminded of the threatening letter he'd recieved from his father that if he didn't make the minor injury to be one of hugely questioning concern, that he'd surely beat the shyte out of him, again, more so worse than before if such a thing were possible . . . but that hadn't stopped him from teasing that red-headed weasel and mudblood bookworm about the truth of his injury.
But of course the thing had been 'saved' by Hairy Potthead and Hermione the mudblood's timeturner.
The gits still believed he didn't know about the things they did, they also still believed that he hadn't known that Weasel and Potter had drunk Polyjuice Potion in order to find out if he had anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets in second year, of course Draco played the part accordingly, as he was supposed to.
Oh their he fuckin' went on a tangeant again; Draco sighed and spun on his heals towards the great hall, might as well give Potthead his bird back, he knew it was 'Headwig' no mistaking it, *he* was the only one in the school to have gotten a snowy-owl...
"Would you stop *that*! I don't need everyone to know a godamned owl has fallen for me and my good-looks you know...besides I have better things to do than tote around a lovesick bird that has become utterly infatuated with rubbing it's face into my robes, it's very unbecoming!" Draco scolded absently, not at all surprised to find no venom in his words, he was too tired to care, the excellerated healing, (compliments of Veela Blood once again), took a lot out of the system, and he hadn't aten a damned thing at the table, he'd been too hung up with the beginnings of payback and his declaration of solitarity to remember to eat something.
The bird continued to rub its face into his robes, cooing and clucking consistantly.
He raised his cig to his mouth, he scowled when he found it already burnt out, with a growl he flicked it off to some darkened corner of the hall and shoved the doors back open, little surprised to see all eyes rivoted on him, again.
Supressing the urge to roll his eyes he only had to walk halfway down the hall when the infamous Gryffindork trio stood before him, scowls set in place, wands at ready, challenging and already thinking of the dozens of possible things Draco might have done to Potthead's poor owl...
Damn what idiots the Gryffindor lot were...
"What are you doing with my owl, Malfoy?" King of the Gryffindorks spoke slowly, scathingly as he gripped his wand tighter, restraining himself from walking up to him and yanking the lovestruck owl from Draco's arms.
"Trying to restrain it from attempting to rape me is all, Potter." Draco spoke absently, not bothering with the sneer or drawl, he needed to save whatever energy he had left to make it to the kitchen's and ask Dobby for some food before he decided to pay a visit to Pansy's bed, with all intentions of making her bleed of course.
But back to Draco's statement, he indeed was refraining the bird from doing anything embarassing as he then firmly grabbed the still face-rubbing-in-robes owl and handing it back over to Potter, letter dangling quite forgotten from her leg...
"What did you do to Hedwig, Ferret-face? I know you've had to cast some sort of spell to make anything remotely like you let alone *touch* you!" Came Weasel's smart insult, oooh it must've hurt to think of one that good!
All sarcasm intended.
This time he couldn't stop the roll of his eyes as he patted his pockets down, having forgotten where he'd left his ciggs ... withdrawing one he then grabbed his lighter, lit it, inhaled deeply while watching the trio from a sideglance.
Pocketing his lighter, he turned around and strode out the hall, towards the kitchens; he raised a hand in a short wave behind him as he left, "Whatever Weasel" his parting words as the doors shut behind him.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all shared questioning gazes, until they'd become quite distracted with refraining Hedwig from flying after Draco . . .
Was it just him or had the Potthead added some nice muscle to his lithe frame?
He exhaled a breath of smoke, yeah...he had, not to mention the boy had got the idea to ditch the oculars and sport some contacts . . . good, his emerald green eyes tended to become more vibrant when he didn't wear those wretched glasses . . . but it wasn't like he cared or anything . . .
-r/r I got halfway inspired, I originally had intentions of Draco immediately going after Pansy first while she was in bed (the time at which he'd been gang-beaten more further into the night) but that may or may not be in the next chapter, if there is a next chapter because I still have several other stories to finish and a manga to draw.