He stands before the door to his father's study, holding
the dagger he recieved on his thirteenth birthday. It's
Ivory, complimented with ebony, and an emerald set as a
dragon's eye. He adored the trivial object at one time,
simply because his father had bestowed it upon him. He
now saw his ignorance and naiviety. His father could
never be anything that Draco needed him to be - his father
would always be uncaring, for him and for anyone else.
He now pities his mother - he now sees the hardships she
must have beared during his life and hers. Now, as he
stands so still, molding himself like a statue, he takes
a deep breath, opens the door and walks in.
Before -
Draco was a happy person - no he could never be
truly happy. This was one of the reasons he despised the
"great Harry Potter" so much. Potter was always so damn
cheerful, it made Draco sick. Even through all the misgivings
in Potter's life, he could be happy. Whether it be sitting
between the other two members of the dream team or beating
the hell out of the Slytherins in Quidditch. Draco wouldn't
be such a prat if Potter possessed some sort of sorrow and
anguish, he would have been able to recognize himself and
align himself easier, but Potter expressed no such emotion.
There was one thing that gave him joy. But, this
to was, he feared, would be corrupted and stolen away from
him. His father would call it weak - his father would say
that it was pure stupidity to put such faith in a woman to
hold all of your secrets and your heart. And, at one time
Draco would have agreed with anything that his father said,
no matter how stereotypical or hipocritical it might have
been, Draco would have killed, just to gain his father's
acceptance.
That's when he saw her. She wasn't beautiful - no,
not that, because beauty is a facade, worn by the faces of
mindless people. She was lovely - her blonde hair and
chubby cheeks, which only served to make Draco love her more.
She walks up from the stairs with a bounce in her steps,
Blaise Zabini at her side. As she nears the Slytherin table,
Draco never takes his eyes off of her, he couldn't bear to
loose the sight of his happiness. She sits away from him,
he abhors that, but he has a good view of her.
Draco has analyzed every detail of her. He knows
that when she is happy, her eyes become brightly lit and her
smile can blind someone if they're not careful. When she's
nervous, she pulls at strands of hair falling from the left
side of her face and bites her bottom lip. And when she's
sad, her eyes become clouded - dim - and everytime Draco sees
this - his heart breaks. Not only does he take on the sorrow
into himself, but takes a new feeling - rage - but more than
rage - stronger - more absolute.
Now she's biting her lip, she knows that he's watching -
she always knows when his eyes are upon her. She slowly turns her
head and casually meets his eyes. Pansy always feels saddened when
she looks into his eyes, they're beautiful, yes, but such sorrow
can pull a person in and make them feel like they are drowning
in a sea of despair.
She has met his eyes and his joy for the day is replenshished.
Her eyes are green and her long dark lashes never flutter, but only
blink in confusion. She still doesn't know why he loves her - why
he can't stand to live a day without some sort of contact - without
some sort of connection with her.
It's out by the lake that Draco feels the safest when at
Hogwarts. The Sytherin dungeons make him feel like he is at home -
cold - alone. He doesn't hear the soft footsteps of Pansy, he never
can tell when she will fill his presence with grace. It's only when
she's beside him, does he know it's her. She falls gently to her
knees and then sits down. Pansy leans back against the tree for
support and breaths the cool autumn wind.
Draco moves toward her and leans his head on her shoulder.
He sighs longingly, his chilled breath causing Pansy to shiver. It's
no secret that she fears him, she fears he's spent to long at that
cold house to know right from wrong.
"I didn't think you would come," he says, dryly.
She ponders for a moment. She knows what's in her heart,
but she's not so sure her mind will allow her to speak the words
she so desperately needs to tell him. If only to re-assure him or
maybe to just re-assur herself.
"I'll always come...always, Draco,"
The words were so simple, but together they let Draco be
free. Something he rarely grasped. Freedom comes without expectation.
There was always something to be expected of him. Always someone
pulling or nagging, he felt like he was being ripped in half.
Pansy was eaten by fear. It swallowed her up and would not
spit her out. Draco had proposed to her, exactly two weeks ago, but
that was the easy part - the good part. It was now, while staying
over at his house - Lucius' house - that fear ran rampant through
her. It chilled her viens and she couldn't speak. She now kicked
herself for agreeing to stay hear for a week or so. Pansy knew
very well how Lucius was - his very nature was that of an arrogant demon.
She didn't even hear the door open - only when he towered
over her was when she realized his intentions. Lucius had used
some sort of silencing charm, her voice was lost and she could not
move. One word - one name she screamed in her mind - Draco. Draco
would save her, wouldn't he? Surely he wouldn't just let her be abused.
She can feel the hardness of Lucius' body pressing down on
her. She's scared that he's going to break her. It hurts - the
pain is intense - he's strong and rough. Tears stream down Pansy's
face and Lucius calmly licks them from her cheeks. She hates him -
loathes him more than anything else in the world. In her mind she
tells herself that this is a nightmare - something that will go away
when she wakes up, but it won't.
Pansy fears that Draco will look upon her with disgust. She
was saving herself for him - she wanted Draco to be her first and her
last - but now she was disgrace. As she sat under the scolding water
flowing from the shower, scrubbing every last scent and fell of Lucius
Malfoy from her body, she wished nothing more than to be dead.
-Now-
Now, as he stands so still, molding himself like a statue, he
takes a deep breath, opens the door and walks in.
The first thing he sees is his father's hunched back, laying on
his desk. As Draco nears his father, he sees the empty bottles of whiskey.
Drunk - asleep. This barely regiters in his mind, though. He has come
for a reson - he has come for revenge.
At first, he couldn't believe what his father had done. Draco
truly believed that some shred of kindness was embedded in his father -
he was wrong. Pansy had told him, not right away, which he screamed at
her for. But, when her jade eyes filled with tears and spilled onto the
floor, he cried, too. He held her and whipered that he loved her - never
revealing his plans for vengeance.
Draco kicked the chair holding his father over. Lucius landed on his
back, slowly coming back to life. Lucius' eyes were glazed, the liquor had
already taken too much effect. Lucius recognized his son, though.
"Draco, what the bloody hell are you doing?"
Hesitation was not in Draco's blood, though looking back he wished
he had felt some sort of remorse, but his vengeance seemed justified - if
vengeance can even be justified? He leaned down and offered his left
hand to his father.
"Here, father, let me help you up," his voice was filled malice, undetected by Lucius.
Draco pulled his father up and embraced him, it was only when
he was drunk that he would be able to hug his father - the last time he
would be able to. Lucius felt the dagger in his stomach, at first he
thought it was a dream, an illusion, but he soon realized that his son
had killed him.
Lucius stumbled backwards, blood flowing onto the carpet. It
pain Lucius felt - it was something else - betrayal. His son had betrayed
him. But, he then wondered, didn't I betray him? In the dark, cold chambers
of his heart, Lucius knew he had failed his son. He could have been less
of a tyrant, a better, more loving father. As he layed back on his floor,
Draco towering over him, he saw that Draco would be something he could
never be - a person.
the dagger he recieved on his thirteenth birthday. It's
Ivory, complimented with ebony, and an emerald set as a
dragon's eye. He adored the trivial object at one time,
simply because his father had bestowed it upon him. He
now saw his ignorance and naiviety. His father could
never be anything that Draco needed him to be - his father
would always be uncaring, for him and for anyone else.
He now pities his mother - he now sees the hardships she
must have beared during his life and hers. Now, as he
stands so still, molding himself like a statue, he takes
a deep breath, opens the door and walks in.
Before -
Draco was a happy person - no he could never be
truly happy. This was one of the reasons he despised the
"great Harry Potter" so much. Potter was always so damn
cheerful, it made Draco sick. Even through all the misgivings
in Potter's life, he could be happy. Whether it be sitting
between the other two members of the dream team or beating
the hell out of the Slytherins in Quidditch. Draco wouldn't
be such a prat if Potter possessed some sort of sorrow and
anguish, he would have been able to recognize himself and
align himself easier, but Potter expressed no such emotion.
There was one thing that gave him joy. But, this
to was, he feared, would be corrupted and stolen away from
him. His father would call it weak - his father would say
that it was pure stupidity to put such faith in a woman to
hold all of your secrets and your heart. And, at one time
Draco would have agreed with anything that his father said,
no matter how stereotypical or hipocritical it might have
been, Draco would have killed, just to gain his father's
acceptance.
That's when he saw her. She wasn't beautiful - no,
not that, because beauty is a facade, worn by the faces of
mindless people. She was lovely - her blonde hair and
chubby cheeks, which only served to make Draco love her more.
She walks up from the stairs with a bounce in her steps,
Blaise Zabini at her side. As she nears the Slytherin table,
Draco never takes his eyes off of her, he couldn't bear to
loose the sight of his happiness. She sits away from him,
he abhors that, but he has a good view of her.
Draco has analyzed every detail of her. He knows
that when she is happy, her eyes become brightly lit and her
smile can blind someone if they're not careful. When she's
nervous, she pulls at strands of hair falling from the left
side of her face and bites her bottom lip. And when she's
sad, her eyes become clouded - dim - and everytime Draco sees
this - his heart breaks. Not only does he take on the sorrow
into himself, but takes a new feeling - rage - but more than
rage - stronger - more absolute.
Now she's biting her lip, she knows that he's watching -
she always knows when his eyes are upon her. She slowly turns her
head and casually meets his eyes. Pansy always feels saddened when
she looks into his eyes, they're beautiful, yes, but such sorrow
can pull a person in and make them feel like they are drowning
in a sea of despair.
She has met his eyes and his joy for the day is replenshished.
Her eyes are green and her long dark lashes never flutter, but only
blink in confusion. She still doesn't know why he loves her - why
he can't stand to live a day without some sort of contact - without
some sort of connection with her.
It's out by the lake that Draco feels the safest when at
Hogwarts. The Sytherin dungeons make him feel like he is at home -
cold - alone. He doesn't hear the soft footsteps of Pansy, he never
can tell when she will fill his presence with grace. It's only when
she's beside him, does he know it's her. She falls gently to her
knees and then sits down. Pansy leans back against the tree for
support and breaths the cool autumn wind.
Draco moves toward her and leans his head on her shoulder.
He sighs longingly, his chilled breath causing Pansy to shiver. It's
no secret that she fears him, she fears he's spent to long at that
cold house to know right from wrong.
"I didn't think you would come," he says, dryly.
She ponders for a moment. She knows what's in her heart,
but she's not so sure her mind will allow her to speak the words
she so desperately needs to tell him. If only to re-assure him or
maybe to just re-assur herself.
"I'll always come...always, Draco,"
The words were so simple, but together they let Draco be
free. Something he rarely grasped. Freedom comes without expectation.
There was always something to be expected of him. Always someone
pulling or nagging, he felt like he was being ripped in half.
Pansy was eaten by fear. It swallowed her up and would not
spit her out. Draco had proposed to her, exactly two weeks ago, but
that was the easy part - the good part. It was now, while staying
over at his house - Lucius' house - that fear ran rampant through
her. It chilled her viens and she couldn't speak. She now kicked
herself for agreeing to stay hear for a week or so. Pansy knew
very well how Lucius was - his very nature was that of an arrogant demon.
She didn't even hear the door open - only when he towered
over her was when she realized his intentions. Lucius had used
some sort of silencing charm, her voice was lost and she could not
move. One word - one name she screamed in her mind - Draco. Draco
would save her, wouldn't he? Surely he wouldn't just let her be abused.
She can feel the hardness of Lucius' body pressing down on
her. She's scared that he's going to break her. It hurts - the
pain is intense - he's strong and rough. Tears stream down Pansy's
face and Lucius calmly licks them from her cheeks. She hates him -
loathes him more than anything else in the world. In her mind she
tells herself that this is a nightmare - something that will go away
when she wakes up, but it won't.
Pansy fears that Draco will look upon her with disgust. She
was saving herself for him - she wanted Draco to be her first and her
last - but now she was disgrace. As she sat under the scolding water
flowing from the shower, scrubbing every last scent and fell of Lucius
Malfoy from her body, she wished nothing more than to be dead.
-Now-
Now, as he stands so still, molding himself like a statue, he
takes a deep breath, opens the door and walks in.
The first thing he sees is his father's hunched back, laying on
his desk. As Draco nears his father, he sees the empty bottles of whiskey.
Drunk - asleep. This barely regiters in his mind, though. He has come
for a reson - he has come for revenge.
At first, he couldn't believe what his father had done. Draco
truly believed that some shred of kindness was embedded in his father -
he was wrong. Pansy had told him, not right away, which he screamed at
her for. But, when her jade eyes filled with tears and spilled onto the
floor, he cried, too. He held her and whipered that he loved her - never
revealing his plans for vengeance.
Draco kicked the chair holding his father over. Lucius landed on his
back, slowly coming back to life. Lucius' eyes were glazed, the liquor had
already taken too much effect. Lucius recognized his son, though.
"Draco, what the bloody hell are you doing?"
Hesitation was not in Draco's blood, though looking back he wished
he had felt some sort of remorse, but his vengeance seemed justified - if
vengeance can even be justified? He leaned down and offered his left
hand to his father.
"Here, father, let me help you up," his voice was filled malice, undetected by Lucius.
Draco pulled his father up and embraced him, it was only when
he was drunk that he would be able to hug his father - the last time he
would be able to. Lucius felt the dagger in his stomach, at first he
thought it was a dream, an illusion, but he soon realized that his son
had killed him.
Lucius stumbled backwards, blood flowing onto the carpet. It
pain Lucius felt - it was something else - betrayal. His son had betrayed
him. But, he then wondered, didn't I betray him? In the dark, cold chambers
of his heart, Lucius knew he had failed his son. He could have been less
of a tyrant, a better, more loving father. As he layed back on his floor,
Draco towering over him, he saw that Draco would be something he could
never be - a person.