SUMMERY - To escape poverty, we left Britain behind. To ensure the ministry never finds us, we locked our wands away. What is left when all you've ever known is gone? And who will be there for us, strangers in a strange land? Harry Potter/ Teen Titans crossover
DISCLAIMER - I do not own Harry Potter or Teen Titans. I do not own any related characters. I do not own... (This list could go on for hours, so I'll just stop here.)
Chapter 2 Home Sweet Home
(revised)
"Look at us, Dray. Look what we have become." Blaise's smooth voice is thick with disgust.
I look away from the book in my hands, eyes traveling over the dust-covered apartment room. True, it's filthy, and we'll have to clean it by hand, but it's better than being dead. Isn't it?
"We're nothing but pathetic, prideless cowards; no better than the muggles we share this place with."
"Of course we're better than muggles." I layer my tone with derision. Sometimes Blaise amazes me.
"Just because we have to live with them doesn't mean we have to think like them. As long as we remember what we are, we're superior to them."
Blaise snaps around to glare at me, sneering. He picks up the book in my hands.
"Lord of the Rings,Drake?" He lays heavy emphasis on my psudonym; his tone as twisted as his lips; "You're a fine one to talk. But you forgot one tiny detail. As long as we remember what we are, we should act like what we are. But we can't do magic without fear of being caught, and you got a muggle job!"
"I had to. You certainly weren't going to. Do you want us to starve?"
"At least then we'd have some pride left."
I've had it with Blaise and his precious pride.
"Better dead than disgraced, is it Zabini? You'd rather be rotting in Azkaban than running? You can't even stand an apartment. How are you going to survive in a cell?"
I'm sure the neighbors can hear me. Right now I really could care less.
"Because in a cell I would at least know that I stood up to my convictions!"
"What convictions, Blaise?"
"I don't know, maybe the ones that are against running like a mudblood!"
Dead silence.
Not even the air moves.
"What did you say?"
I'm furious, angrier than I've ever been at him; too angry to yell. My voice is low and cold.
Blaise is pale under his dark pigment. His eyes drop, then jump desperately to my face. Proud as he is, even Blaise wouldn't be able to survive here without friends.
"Draco, I-"
"Don't you ever accuse me of that again. I am nothing like any of those filthy half-breeds." I can barely talk, I'm so angry. If I spoke it, that last sentence would have been in parseltounge.
I'm reaching blindly for the doorknob before he can say anything else. But as I close the door behind me I remember something, and turn to look over my shoulder at Blaise, still standing where I left him.
"Oh, and you forgot: my name is Drake now."
I slam the door behind me, and run straight into my mother.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy, what is going on here?" Her voice is angry, but her eyes tell me she's worried. "The entire building could have heard you two, yelling like first years."
"Blaise doesn't like it here."
"Then maybe Blaise should leave."
I can't help being horrified. None of us would survive alone; Blaise and his pride least of all.
"He's my best friend. My only friend. How could you say something like that?"
She closes her eyes, swallows. Even I can see the toll recent circumstances have taken on her. She hasn't been the same since father was thrown into Azkaban. Being forced to leave the world she grew up in, forced to leave him behind; it's killing her slowly.
Once she was a great beauty. Now, with her skin ash pale, and purple shadows marking the hollows under her eyes, she could be ten years older.
"I'm sorry, Dray. I'm just tired." Her voice is rough, exhausted. She's far beyond tired.
A soft creaking behind me announces Blaise opening the door.
"Dray, I didn't mean it."
That must have been hard, considering that I've never heard him come even that close to an apology before. I put my hand on his shoulder.
"I know, Blaise."
Mother nods.
"Let's try to avoid shouting matches in the future, shall we?" But some good humor is back in her voice.
She moves to return to the kitchen/living room; then stops.
"Oh, and boys, there are rags in the closet. Dust your room."
Blaise I glance at eachother, then at the layer of dust on every flat surface in the room. I reach into the tiny closet, next to us in the hall, and hand a rag to Blaise. He shrugs.
"Might as well make the most of things."
"Glad to see you finally admitting it."
The words could mean simply what they seem to, but Blaise's dark eyes are suspicious.
"Um-hmm. And just what am I admitting, exactly?"
"That I'm always right." I say cheerfully.
Blaise sighs, but he's grinning.
"Stuck-up pure-blood poster boy."
I grin back.
"Yes I am. Now get to work."
