A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed, and thanks to Karen for editing. This
chapter I had a lot of trouble with. I know it's short, but hopefully to
your liking.
Chapter 2
In Which Draco is Cold
Draco Malfoy had been walking for a day, and he was getting colder. At first he didn't mind the rain; in fact, he enjoyed it. But the rain kept falling for hours. He soon became cold and wet and wishing he had his wand to make a fire. He also wished, only slightly less, for some chicken, or any kind of food. When he settled under a large tree to rest (for he knew he would not be able to sleep) he was shivering uncontrollably. He wrapped his wet cloak around himself and looked around. He saw nothing, and yet he knew where he was going. And more importantly, where - and what - he was leaving.
His father. His bastard of a father. To think he once looked up to him, wanted to be just like him. It would amaze him later that all that changed in one night's events. And now he abhorred his father. He picked up a rock and threw it with all his strength, and realized afterwards he had forgotten the cold for that moment. And so, with angry thoughts of his father, he moved on.
The hunger subsided by the second day, but the cold grew worse. What bothered him, perhaps more, was that the mark on his upper left arm was coming back. He had cut most of the skin off before, but the mark was coming back through the wound. He screamed and clawed at the black outline against the red, hoping to scratch it off. But he knew deep inside that it was useless; he was just making the wound bleed. Despite the pain, the warm blood felt good running along his arm.
By the third day, he could no longer use thoughts of his father to forget the cold. It was always beside him, a monster that wouldn't leave him alone. He shivered and shook constantly, and the rain was still falling, with only short sporadic pauses. He hadn't been completely dry since he left.
And finally, he reached his destination.
He flopped down on the ground in exhaustion right outside 12 Grimmauld Place.
Chapter 2
In Which Draco is Cold
Draco Malfoy had been walking for a day, and he was getting colder. At first he didn't mind the rain; in fact, he enjoyed it. But the rain kept falling for hours. He soon became cold and wet and wishing he had his wand to make a fire. He also wished, only slightly less, for some chicken, or any kind of food. When he settled under a large tree to rest (for he knew he would not be able to sleep) he was shivering uncontrollably. He wrapped his wet cloak around himself and looked around. He saw nothing, and yet he knew where he was going. And more importantly, where - and what - he was leaving.
His father. His bastard of a father. To think he once looked up to him, wanted to be just like him. It would amaze him later that all that changed in one night's events. And now he abhorred his father. He picked up a rock and threw it with all his strength, and realized afterwards he had forgotten the cold for that moment. And so, with angry thoughts of his father, he moved on.
The hunger subsided by the second day, but the cold grew worse. What bothered him, perhaps more, was that the mark on his upper left arm was coming back. He had cut most of the skin off before, but the mark was coming back through the wound. He screamed and clawed at the black outline against the red, hoping to scratch it off. But he knew deep inside that it was useless; he was just making the wound bleed. Despite the pain, the warm blood felt good running along his arm.
By the third day, he could no longer use thoughts of his father to forget the cold. It was always beside him, a monster that wouldn't leave him alone. He shivered and shook constantly, and the rain was still falling, with only short sporadic pauses. He hadn't been completely dry since he left.
And finally, he reached his destination.
He flopped down on the ground in exhaustion right outside 12 Grimmauld Place.