"We are Godzilla – You are Japan" by Lostprophets
"Start Somthing" by Lostprophets
A/N:Those are two songs that I listened to over and over while writing this chapter lol. I think they suite his current state of mind.
Disclaimer: Um...all I have to say is that J.K. Rowling is THE GODESS OF ALL! BOW DOWN! -clears throat- um...ya lol
A/N #2: All the above notes were part of the original document, I thought I'd keep them for sentimental reasons. I even listened to the songs while I edited this chapter. I also wanted to add that this is all AU. In my world, Voldemort was defeated in Harry's 6th year, not 7th, making that Ginny's 5th. Fred didn't die because...well, fuck that, that's why! Draco went through all the same thing (forced to help, etc.) and is therefor rather broken and bitter, but with the dark lord gone, he's taking some pleasure in his father's fall from grace in society's eyes.
Red and gold. A private moment, heated and full of fiery passion. Soft, long hair the color of the sky at sunrise. Warmth that gets into the heart and soul, flowing gently through his veins. A sense of peace and acceptance. Suddenly, rage and anger. Regret that burns through him like quicksilver. A gentle whisper that no one hears, "…I love you."
"Young master! Wake up!"
Bleary eyes open to reveal the vision of a concerned house elf. A groan escapes the lips of the young blond boy as he rolls over, pulling the blanket over his head to ward off the sun and successfully knocking the poor elf to the ground. The elf in question quickly lifts herself off the ground, concern still etched into her tiny features.
"You must wake up, young master. Young master gaves Debsy quite a fright with all the tossing and turning and yelling that he was doing. Debsy must be sure of the young master's well being!" She squeaks insistently as she tries desperately to see the face hidden beneath the blankets, but seems too afraid to remove said blankets.
Fortunately, one eye is revealed, his raised brow just visible, "I was yelling?"
The house elf nods emphatically, which warrants a sigh from him, "Well, I'm fine, Debsy, don't worry."
This is enough to make the visibly tense house elf relax slightly and cheerfully announce that it is time for his breakfast anyways. The blanket immediately drops again and it takes about 15 minutes of the house elf's coaxing before Draco Malfoy emerges with tussled platinum hair and a half-lidded expression. Once she sees this, she is out the door before Draco can ask what he was yelling in his sleep.
Breakfast is in the dining room, as always, and, just like always, he is alone. His mercury eyes glide up the stretch of the oak table and a sigh catches in his throat; A Malfoy is never lonely.
He slowly eats his pancakes and bacon and his mind wonders to the nightmares. It's always the same and yet he usually remembers very little. Every time he tries to write an account of the dream, he looks at what he has written with frustration etched across his face knowing that there's more; there's so much more.
Concerned is an understatement when it comes to how Draco feels about these dreams, but to bother his mother (or, merlin forbid, his father) with such a problem is not an option. It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud anyways. Poor little Draco, are these mean dreams bothering you? He thinks to himself. Well…in all honesty, yes.
He vaguely remembers having the same dreams start somewhere just before his second year. They were harmless; he actually rarely experienced them and just brushed them off like most nightmares. They increased in number within the summer though and it's becoming unsettling to say the least. Not to mention that he usually almost always wakes up multiple times throughout the night now because of them. It's ruining his beauty sleep and frankly, they're putting him in a foul mood.
Not that his foul mood is coming entirely from the nightmares; his father could have something to do with it too.
"Young Master, Master Malfoy would like to speak with you."
Draco sighs and sets aside his letter to his mother, rising from his seat to meet his father in his study. She is visiting friends in Paris and writes often to check up on how everything is. Draco is always the one to write back as his father is always 'too busy'. He doesn't mind though, even if they aren't the closest of families (this though almost makes him laugh) he is rather fond of his mother. His father always tells him that love is a weakness, so whenever he asks why he writes to her Draco just says that it'll keep her from writing more often in worry.
"Yes, Father." He says politely, like he has since he can remember.
His father looks up from something he's working on and nods towards a chair in front of his desk, "Take a seat."
Draco obliges and waits patiently as his father finishes something. The silence is normal, a sort of ritual when he talks with his father and he's sure it's because his father is calculating exactly how to say something. After a few minutes of this cold silence, Lucius finally puts down his quill and looks up at his son, his fingers steepled in a way that tells Draco that he's ready to talk business.
"You are going to be finishing school this year," he says, dull blue eyes locked onto bright mercury ones.
Draco does nothing to respond, knowing it's more of a statement than anything and that his father will get to his point in a moment. There is a short pause then he continues.
"You know that after school, I was hoping that you would choose an appropriate wife."
Draco schools his emotions and merely nods in understand. This is not a choice that Draco has, it is a fact that his father is presenting to him. It's almost like a dare to defy him. This is mainly because Draco refused to choose a wife until he had finished his schooling. He had been sure that, given the Dark Lord's presence in their lives and even their home would mean he would probably not live long enough to have to fulfill this particular Malfoy obligation. Of course, Potter had ruined all that. Now the Dark Lord was gone and he and his father were still here, along with his familial obligations. Bearing the Malfoy name meant achieving the best standings in all school exams, make connections with the right sort of people, marry a woman from a respectable, pure-blooded family, inherit the fortune, and produce heirs. That's what he had been bred for, but now, after everything, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He feels as if he's served enough.
Another long moment of silence follows and Lucius sits back in his high-backed, leather chair, "I've noticed you spending a lot of time with the Parkinson girl. She would be perfectly acceptable for carrying on the Malfoy name."
That name doesn't hold much weight now, but his father still clings to it's importance. Draco knows better than to argue though and simply replies, "Yes, well, I'm not sure about her just yet, Father."
"Now is not the time for caution, Draco." He stands and walks towards a window close to his desk to look out over the grounds, "Her mother has owled me recently, inviting us to tea and I believe we should go."
"Whatever you think is best, Father," an automatic reply, said with a cold, uncaring voice.
It had been a very unpleasant meeting with his father, even more unpleasant than the time he had failed to befriend Potter in their first year. Draco almost cringes at the memory; he couldn't remember a time when he had been in more pain. Only, then it had been humiliation and now it's only frustration. What can he do? The name Malfoy has lost weight in society, yes, but they still have money, plenty of it. Parkinson would jump at the chance to marry him and the thought makes him ill.
Draco doesn't finish even half his breakfast, but he pulls away from the table and begins the walk back to his chambers. The house elf hurriedly cleans up his breakfast dishes and rushes to catch up with the brooding blond.
"Young Master, your mother has told Debsy to remind you that you must go to Diagon Alley soon."
Draco pauses mid-step in surprise, Is it already that close to school? He turns around to look down at the elf.
"How many days until I leave for Hogwarts, Debsy?"
"Why, only 12, young master," she says with wide, confused eyes, "Surely you didn't forgots. You're always so happy to go to Hogwarts, sir."
Draco looks down at the ground frowning. How have I lost track of the days like that? He thinks to himself while the elf in front of him looks on in concern once more. Noticing the expression Draco just waves his hand dismissively at her.
"Don't worry about it, Debsy, I just needed a reminder. Thank you for passing on the message," he says quickly as he turns and continues walking to his room.
The elf's large eyes well with tears from the gratitude and she quickly runs up to her master, hugging his legs. This, of course, impedes his walk and he sighs as he curses himself. He always does tend to forget how the house elf takes gratitude. He looks down at Debsy who looks back up at him with large glassy eyes.
"No, no, young master, thank you! Young master is so kind to Debsy, so kind," she practically sobs out, "Can Debsy start packing for the trip back to school?"
He thinks about it for a second, then nods, smirking slightly as the house elf squeals in glee, apparating to his rooms, no doubt, with a pop. Draco sighs, shaking his head, and starts walking again, his mind still running. What is he going to do about his father? He can't run away, they'd find him in no time, but can he stay?
Once he reaches his rooms, he sits in an oversized armchair with his legs thrown carelessly over one arm of it. His eyes stare into the fire momentarily, his mind going blank as he watches the flames dance. Something about it is comforting, but he's not sure why. When he finally rips his eyes from the fireplace, he pulls back the sleeve on his right arm, exposing his forearm. His fingers slide over the ugly mark there and he tries to imagine the skin the way it was before. He frowns slightly as he thinks of it and groans, roughly pulling the sleeve back down and laying his head back against the chair. There's no way out of it…Draco Malfoy will choose a wife by the end of the year.
A/N: I tried to mirror the first and second chapters as much as possible to really show the contrasting of their lives. One is loved, well fed, and has good friends/family connections; while the other is sorta unloved, not eating well, and has absolutely no connections. R&R please! I'll try to make the next chapter long, which shouldn't be too hard as they will have their first encounter there.
I've lightened this up a bit, taking Voldemort out of the mix changes things, but makes the plot easier for me to handle. I hope it still translates ok. I guess we'll find out!
