Introduction:
Hello there,
this is a collection of various drabbles for your pleasure. At the beginning of each the main characters (which most often means the implied pairing) are named, the word count and the warnings. These are all assorted musings of mine and not, I repeat, not a story. A few moments out of a few lives if you like, just glimpses through a window.
Standard disclaimer applies: There is absolutely no profit being made off any of this. The copyrighted characters and their world are being used without permission and for personal entertainment only. All things "Harry Potter" are owned by JK Rowling, various publishers and Warner Bros., Inc. This work is not intended to challenge the copyright in any way.
Enjoy,
F
A Severus – Draco drabble.
416 words
No warnings.
Exile
The loss of magic, or rather the loss of the use of magic, had been the easy part. Surprisingly, even the binding was somewhat tolerable. It was the constant company he was having the most difficulty with.
The city is a young one on land where there previously was water. There is no magic in this muggle travesty. The country is an old one and the magic is strong in it, everywhere but on the slab of land he has taken them to. The inhabitants understand English and there is news of home to be found when one knows where to look. He learned quickly enough when the difference between raincoats and wizard robes became easy to see.
Employment was not too hard to come by for him, a person with understanding of timing and measurement can lay claim to some skills at least. A sad tale of an illness, orphaned children and a lack of compassion helped also. Reading people was always laughably easy and in a country full off accepting numbskulls even more so. He has chosen it for a reason.
There is a roof this time although there is still a need for pots and pans when the weather gets particularly ugly. The furnishings are rather ratty but he had learned to live with this a lifetime ago and it only stings a little. It amazed him to discover what people would throw out because of a hole here and a rip there and the relief of a real mattress opposed to the floor outweighed the injury.
Every time he turned that child was there, chewing on already bleeding fingernails.
Pinkish eyes look up at him with an expression he cannot read. There is silver showing underneath the brown, a most distressing sight. To think that those mundane eyes once shone so with defiance. There is only resignation now.
A thin frame, but now distressingly so. Clothing which barely fits or not at all, mismatched socks with bears and ducks and clouds and even skulls on them. A cup of tea which had long gone cold sits on the cabinet doubling as a coffee table.
"Se-… Sebastian."
Still he stumbles over the name. Not too hard to understand, coming from someone whose name came with masses of expectations and accusations. His roots were showing again, he would have to remedy that.
'Seb', that was what those muggles reduced it to. It came close enough to an endearment from long ago to grate on his nerves endlessly.
"Yes, Tom."
The boy cringes and tangles his bleeding fingers in the fabric of his shirt. The name was placed on him for that exact purpose. It never fails and he takes a perverse pleasure from it. He uses the name often.