A/N: Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: season 8 - round 1
Team: Falmouth Falcons
Position: Chaser 3
The Explorer- Goal: freedom OR Fear: entrapment
Optional prompts
Emotion: hopeful
Colour: gold
Dialogue: "Go to sleep."
For the Hogwarts challenges and assignments
Assignment 8
Subject: Contemporary Circus Performance: What's the Difference?
Task #3 Le Cirque Réinventé: Write about someone 'reinventing' themselves.
Warning: depiction of trauma, mentions of torture
Word count: 2561
Thank you to my amazing team for beatering.
...
Taking Flight
...
Diagon Alley had finally been restored to its former glory. Two months prior, during the Second Wizarding War, the streets were deserted as people were hardly seen out and about for fear of being targeted by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Many shops had closed or been abandoned, and the alley had become shrouded by a cloud of darkness. Slowly, people had begun getting back on their feet as the last shreds of the war dissipated, and now the alleys were brimming with people, and the storefronts and displays were obnoxiously flashing with colour once more.
Draco Malfoy hardly felt at ease. He was well known for the Malfoys' involvement in the War, and the looks he was attracting were hardly friendly smiles or nods. Where once he was a highly regarded member of the Sacred Twenty Eight, he was now regarded with scorn and contempt. But he couldn't hide his face forever, and honestly, Draco needed the fresh air and change of atmosphere.
He was jolted out of his musings as a family of five veered into his line of sight. He stopped abruptly as the three young kids bolted past him, hardly giving him a glance.
"Louise! Samuel! Jasmine!" the mother shouted after them. "Please stay close!"
The children only slowed to a stop until their parents caught up to them and then shot off again, giggling hysterically.
Draco was suddenly seized by an overwhelming sensation of panic. The next step almost sent him pitching forward to the cobblestoned ground. He stumbled the next few steps to the front window of Flourish and Blotts, gasping shallowly as he struggled to steady himself. His vision clouded as his hearing went fuzzy. The mangled Dark Mark on his forearm seared sharply as the screams filled his head. Images of writhing children flashed before his eyes as it grew more intense.
"Are you okay there?" A distinctly female voice brought him out of his paralysed state.
"Um, yes, thank you." Draco winced at how feeble his voice sounded. He felt the blood slowly return to his face and his heart rate return to normal. His surroundings gradually came into focus again. He braced himself against the storefront and was finally able to take a good look at the girl. She was almost a full head shorter than him, with shoulder-length gold-brown hair and vibrant green eyes that regarded him with concern. Her clothing stood out the most to him: denim jeans and a T-shirt of a Muggle band he'd never heard of, something the most respectable pure-bloods like him would never be seen parading in public.
It was those green eyes, however, that helped him connect the dots to her identity: Astoria Greengrass. He wondered what her parents would have to say about her style of clothing. Although, with a start, he realised that Muggle clothes seemed to suit her well. He shook himself abruptly. Where did that thought come from?
"Hello, Astoria. Nice to see you out of your natural habitat," he drawled, fighting back a smile. The last time he had spoken to her was at one of their pure-blood functions two years ago, where he had accidentally found her sitting in one of the old oak trees on the manor's grounds. Feeling quite suffocated in the manor's walls, he had slipped outside for some peace and fresh air. Though she had looked at him with something akin to contempt back then, she only regarded him with genuine friendliness now.
"Hello, Snakeskin." She grinned and shifted the pile of books to a more comfortable position in her arms. "You look even paler than you did when I saw you last. You should really stop letting Pansy leach onto you all the time, it doesn't seem healthy."
He rolled his eyes. "It's genetic, smart-arse," he quipped airily. He absentmindedly swiped his sleeve over his forehead to wipe away the sweat that had formed from his panic-driven episode. He felt relieved that it was Astoria, of all people, who had found him in such a vulnerable state. If it were anyone else, his parents would surely know about it by now and be coddling him.
"I don't think it's natural to be that pale though. Seriously, you seemed like you were going to collapse, and I don't think a Malfoy would subject himself to that kind of humiliation in public unless there was no alternative."
His jaw tightened. He didn't want to go into how he was experiencing flashbacks to his Death Eater days, where he was subject to inflict torture against his will on witches, wizards, Muggles and their children (a task that never failed to make his stomach churn with nausea and his skin crawl), just to please the Dark Lord. He was sure she would have a few nasty choice words to say about that; judging by her choice of clothing, her opinion of Muggles was surely far from the opinion the Dark Lord had held.
"Well, whatever your reason for your complexion, I still don't think you were okay just then. How about I take you out for lunch?"
Draco tugged at his sleeve unconsciously, a habit born ever since the dark mark was branded into his skin two years previously.
"Yes," he said slowly, "I'd like that very much. Thank you, Astoria." He didn't know what possessed him to say yes, but he knew, with a feeling of weight rising from his shoulders, that it was the right thing to do. And indeed, when he sat down across from her in the nearest cafe, he felt in his gut that maybe, maybe one day, he would be free of the traumas of his past.
...
He was never one for running—he was a Malfoy, a house of supreme aristocracy who moved with flawless stoic elegance and calculated grace, as a house of such sacred blood should do—but he was doing just that. He was laughing, something that used to feel so foreign on his muscles, but with Astoria, it felt natural. And it was Astoria he was running alongside, and nothing felt better than this. Alcohol was clouding his judgement, and he could already feel a throbbing behind his temple, but he knew that he wasn't going to regret anything tonight, not with her.
The sounds of Daphne and Theodore's wedding faded into the distance as they rounded a corner of the Greengrass manor. The trellis ascending to her bedroom came into view, interwoven with creeping vines and blossoming flowers in various shades of yellow, orange, red, white, and purple, silken colours that glowed gold in the light of the setting sun.
He tore his eyes away from the burst of warmth as Astoria tugged his hand and led him away, choosing instead to make a bee-line for the orchid that stood further down the sloping lawn.
They collapsed in a heap of laughter on the neatly manicured grass, her body falling heavily on top of his, jolting the air sharply out of his lungs, but he didn't care.
Her lips were a breath away from his, curved up in that bright endearing smile of hers, and her golden-brown hair, already down from the elegant updo it was in earlier, flowed loosely about her pale bare shoulders and tickled his cheeks. His grey eyes met her vibrant green ones, and the next thing he knew she had taken his breath away.
She pulled him into a steamy kiss that sent all his nerves searing in an all too familiar way. His hands grasped her hips and pulled her closer and he was in the process of rolling them both over until she pulled away, her face breaking out into a smirk that would easily rival his infamous one.
"Not too fast, Snakeskin. I have to show you something first. Let's see if your Malfoy pride can hold out now."
Draco remained sprawled in the grass as Astoria danced away from him and darted towards the nearest tree.
It was a large ancient oak tree, whose branches rose to the sky, exhibiting a presence that would beat back the darkness and command the daylight to fall upon its leaves. Its bark was the right shade of gold, the kind that inspired creativity and imagination and opened endless possibilities to the soul. No wonder this was where Astoria went to recharge and escape from the world in her childhood, where the demands of the high life felt cold, and the touch of the bark and the branches felt like a warm embrace. He was content just to lay there and watch her, her agile body swinging into the tree with practiced ease, her hands and feet — she had abandoned her heels hours ago — most likely already covered in scratches.
"Come on, Draco," Astoria urged, cocking her finger at him with that same pretentious smirk.
Draco laughed. "You're not making me climb a tree, Greengrass." He spat the word tree out as if it were something far beneath him, as most things used to be. But lately he had found himself developing an appreciation for such things, and he was hardly able to resist anything that Astoria told him to do. He had climbed the trellis to her window, for Merlin's sake, like a sodding Romeo, and yes, he had to read Muggle literature just to know who Astoria was referring to. It was worth it though, he thought, gazing up at her fondly as she made her way higher into the tree. It was all definitely worth it.
Draco dragged himself to his feet and took a few steps forward, tugging at the sleeve of his dress robes. It was a habit that had gradually faded into the back of his mind over the last few years, but it nonetheless became part of his mannerisms.
"You know what Muggles say happens in trees?" Astoria teased, her smirk never wavering.
Draco bit back a smile. "Please save me from some potentially scarring information."
Astoria sniggered. "I'm only kidding, Malfoy, keep your socks on. But you should still join me up here."
Draco drew his wand from a pocket in his robes and feigned a lazy swish and flick.
Astoria eyed his wand shrewdly and narrowed her eyes. "You're not going to levitate your way up here, are you?"
"Would never dream of it, Greengrass."
Draco pointed his wand at his feet and muttered an indiscernible charm. The ground grew springy under his feet. He jumped up into the air, grabbed the nearest hanging limb and hoisted himself onto a fork beside Astoria. Only realising a moment afterword that he should have checked if the branches were sturdy enough for his weight. Thankfully he didn't fall arse first to the ground.
Draco through Astoria a wink, his trademark smirk gracing his features. 'See, no levitation."
Astoria rolled her eyes, her lips twitching up into a reluctant smile. "Git." She slapped his arm.
"You love me," Draco said confidently.
He peered around curiously. The vantage point gave him a entirely different view of the manor's grounds around him. The lawns seemed to spread endlessly, In the distance, he saw the thousands of twinkling fairies dancing around a delicate marble fountain, and if he listened carefully through the distant rumble of the celebrations occurring inside, he could almost hear the melodic gurgling of the water. He could almost hear the water clearly as if he was right beside it, filling him with a sense of calm he never used to feel.
"It's nice, isn't it?" Astoria said softly.
Draco turned to her, warmth filling his chest. "Yeah, yes it is."
...
"How about this one?" Draco said, placing a picture book before Scorpius. The iridescent blue peacocks jumped out of the cover, their tail feathers bright green dotted with red spots. They strutted proudly across the page, their crests bobbing proudly atop their heads. It was one of the books Lucius had given to Draco when he was a child. Draco could still remember running his fingers over the pages and having the distinct impression of feeling soft feathers beneath his fingertips.
Scorpius, adorably angelic in his dragon pyjamas, his white-blonde hair and grey eyes, so identical to his father's, peered at Draco with an irritating, albeit adorable pout. "No, he said stubbornly, "I don't like them." He pushed the book away.
And suddenly, with an audible pop, Scorpius had transformed into a sparrow and flew from the room. "Hey daddy, catch me if you can." Scorpius's voice echoed down the corridor.
Draco picked up one of the peacocks pecking around on Scorpius's bed and strode from the room.
Draco had only made it to the next room before Lucius appeared before him, sneering. "Why have you got one of my peacocks in the manor?" He reached over, plucked the peacock from Draco's grasp and petted it gently.
"Have you seen Scorpius, father?"
"Scorpius? What is Scorpius when I have this precious pheasant?" Lucius turned away, stroking the bird's feathers softly with a pale finger, cooing to it all the while to the peacock's delight.
"Scorpius is my son! Or have you forgotten?" Draco was not impressed. But Lucius had already disappeared down the spiral staircase.
Draco went to the library and found Scorpius spread eagle on a beanbag.
"Hey, son, it's time for bed."
Scorpius opened his eyes. "I'm hungry. Can we play hide-and-seek?"
Draco knelt down and scooped Scorpius up in his arms and flung him over his shoulder. Scorpius squirmed, his tiny fists hitting Draco's back as he was carried back to his room. Draco threw him onto the bed, knowing he wouldn't be hurt.
And suddenly Draco was holding Scorpius in his arms and rocking him, singing quietly.
"Go to sleep," Draco sang, "go to sleep, go to sleep little Scorpius."
Scorpius giggled. "Daddy, I'm hungry." He rolled off Draco's lap and wriggled away. As if on cue, Astoria entered the room with an ice-cream.
"Darling, one bite then it's bed," Astoria said.
Scorpius took a small bite and the ice-cream disappeared. Scorpius burped and fell back onto his pillows fast asleep.
For once, Draco did not awake from the sounds of screams and flashing lights. The night was quiet, like it always was at Malfoy manor. He could hear Astoria's steady breathing beside him. The images of his dream were quickly fading from his mind, but he could still picture, as clear as if the child was sitting before him, the image of him as a five-year-old; the same blonde hair, grey eyes and sharp cheekbones. And he had the impression in his dream that that was his son, Scorpius. Scorpius, my son. Astoria's son. Our son.
He smiled into his pillow, his face feeling oddly relaxed with the expression. He never would have told anyone, but his heart was soaring. He considered waking Astoria to tell her about his dream but decided against it. He would tell her in the morning. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with images of a curious little child with white-blonde hair and innocent grey eyes. He fell asleep quickly, and when he woke again in the morning, he had forgotten about his dream. But the feeling still remained; that feeling that made his stride longer and his smiles brighter and his love for Astoria become limitless.