I've decided that this story will end with Draco succeeding in suicide . .
. Either that chapter or the one after it will be the final one. This one
is placeholder to chapter 4, where the little plot-type things I wanted in
chapter two will finally form. Hopefully. You know, this is going to get
very drawn out, very quickly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside, Harry and Ron were coming back from visiting Hagrid. It was the middle of the afternoon. The shy was a light and depressing gray.
"What do you want to do, Harry?"
"Have a snowball fight. " Ron looks around. "That's bloody brilliant, but where're we going to get the snow?"
"It's winter, we're wizards. We should be able to think of something." Harry waved his wand around aimlessly. "Remember the charm Flitwick taught us?"
"Snickers something?"
"I think it was . . . Snowballum Colrumi!"
A large pile of colored snowballs appeared on the ground in front of him. Ron reached down, picked up a blue one, and sniffed it. "Cotton candy, I think." He bit it. "Excellent. I think you've invented a new charm, Harry."
Harry stared at the pile of colored balls of snow a bit dispiritedly. "Maybe it was Plentori."
Soon, there are piles and piles of strangely colored snowballs around. They have some interesting results, along the lines of Berrie Bott's Every flavor Beans. "Look! I got lime!"
"Well, I got cinnamon!"
"Butterbeer!"
"Wine!"
"Wine?"
"Sure tastes like it. Sort of fruity."
(A/N: No, I am not planning to get the school drunk on snowballs. Although it is an idea. Maybe later.)
~*~
Dumbledore decided to visit Severus.
"Severus?"
"What is it, Albus? I'm busy."
"I need to talk to you." He looks at the poisonous-looking potion. It was roiling slowly, in a color like congealed blood, tinted violet. "A Draconium potion?"
"To be reinforced with a Spell of Living."
Dumbledore is worried. Does he have two suicidals on his hands?
"Young Mr. Malfoy has not been in the best of health lately." The Draconium potion is incorrectly named, in that it gives one the (typically) strong will to live of a dragon, not the form.
Dumbledore doesn't understand. "Health?"
"He is . . . suicidal." Snape looks at him searchingly. "But you know that."
"I do."
"He also bloodlets."
"Bloodlets."
Snape demonstrates with an imaginary knife, drawing it across the inside of his forearm. "Some use it as a relaxant."
This is no tremendous surprise to the headmaster . . . In Malfoy's first year here, when he had tried to die, there had already been many scars on his arms, where his robes would hide them.
"Severus... what do you think the boy has to live for?"
Snape reaches for a sharp, thin knife, and slices some nameless (thank god) chunk of a snot-colored sausage into thin slices, dropping them into the potion. They sizzle, steam, and melt. "Not very much, perhaps."
Dumbledore is the epitome of calm rationality. He does not even believe in his own position, but Devil's Advocate is a favorite pastime of wizards. Even though, for some, it can get a little too literal. "Then why do you wish him to?"
Snape is a reformed Death Eater. But, dammit, a _moral_ reformed Death Eater. "Life is precious."
"And his father could wreck the school."
Snape twitches a little bit. That is not at the top of his list of reasons, but if Hogwarts was closed, Snape would be out of a job, and highly unlikely to be trusted by anyone else in the wizarding community.
Snape is tense with anger, hunched over the cauldron, stirring it in mechanical motions. "I take it that you have taken... action."
*Yes, action, my friend... but quite definitely not the one that you would expect of me.* Dumbledore paces a few steps in each direction, his long beard swinging. "Do not be disappointed in me, my friend. I was coming to ask you for the very potion you brew."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dumbledore wants Draco to learn something. Draco needs to learn how to want to live. It is a lesson that, when it must be learned, often comes at the price of a few scars, and those who don't catch the lesson at speed tend to hit the trees a'purpose, and with fatal consequences.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside, Harry and Ron were coming back from visiting Hagrid. It was the middle of the afternoon. The shy was a light and depressing gray.
"What do you want to do, Harry?"
"Have a snowball fight. " Ron looks around. "That's bloody brilliant, but where're we going to get the snow?"
"It's winter, we're wizards. We should be able to think of something." Harry waved his wand around aimlessly. "Remember the charm Flitwick taught us?"
"Snickers something?"
"I think it was . . . Snowballum Colrumi!"
A large pile of colored snowballs appeared on the ground in front of him. Ron reached down, picked up a blue one, and sniffed it. "Cotton candy, I think." He bit it. "Excellent. I think you've invented a new charm, Harry."
Harry stared at the pile of colored balls of snow a bit dispiritedly. "Maybe it was Plentori."
Soon, there are piles and piles of strangely colored snowballs around. They have some interesting results, along the lines of Berrie Bott's Every flavor Beans. "Look! I got lime!"
"Well, I got cinnamon!"
"Butterbeer!"
"Wine!"
"Wine?"
"Sure tastes like it. Sort of fruity."
(A/N: No, I am not planning to get the school drunk on snowballs. Although it is an idea. Maybe later.)
~*~
Dumbledore decided to visit Severus.
"Severus?"
"What is it, Albus? I'm busy."
"I need to talk to you." He looks at the poisonous-looking potion. It was roiling slowly, in a color like congealed blood, tinted violet. "A Draconium potion?"
"To be reinforced with a Spell of Living."
Dumbledore is worried. Does he have two suicidals on his hands?
"Young Mr. Malfoy has not been in the best of health lately." The Draconium potion is incorrectly named, in that it gives one the (typically) strong will to live of a dragon, not the form.
Dumbledore doesn't understand. "Health?"
"He is . . . suicidal." Snape looks at him searchingly. "But you know that."
"I do."
"He also bloodlets."
"Bloodlets."
Snape demonstrates with an imaginary knife, drawing it across the inside of his forearm. "Some use it as a relaxant."
This is no tremendous surprise to the headmaster . . . In Malfoy's first year here, when he had tried to die, there had already been many scars on his arms, where his robes would hide them.
"Severus... what do you think the boy has to live for?"
Snape reaches for a sharp, thin knife, and slices some nameless (thank god) chunk of a snot-colored sausage into thin slices, dropping them into the potion. They sizzle, steam, and melt. "Not very much, perhaps."
Dumbledore is the epitome of calm rationality. He does not even believe in his own position, but Devil's Advocate is a favorite pastime of wizards. Even though, for some, it can get a little too literal. "Then why do you wish him to?"
Snape is a reformed Death Eater. But, dammit, a _moral_ reformed Death Eater. "Life is precious."
"And his father could wreck the school."
Snape twitches a little bit. That is not at the top of his list of reasons, but if Hogwarts was closed, Snape would be out of a job, and highly unlikely to be trusted by anyone else in the wizarding community.
Snape is tense with anger, hunched over the cauldron, stirring it in mechanical motions. "I take it that you have taken... action."
*Yes, action, my friend... but quite definitely not the one that you would expect of me.* Dumbledore paces a few steps in each direction, his long beard swinging. "Do not be disappointed in me, my friend. I was coming to ask you for the very potion you brew."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dumbledore wants Draco to learn something. Draco needs to learn how to want to live. It is a lesson that, when it must be learned, often comes at the price of a few scars, and those who don't catch the lesson at speed tend to hit the trees a'purpose, and with fatal consequences.