A/N: *eyes widen hugely* Thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter - so many reviews! Eeep! I've not got that many on a single chapter ever, I think. *hugs* And since you were all so nice as to review, I'll share Draco (and that leather piece sounds good ^_^).
Anyways, strange chapter for ya. It only exists to set up some stuff for later. But, when one thinks about it, everything in the world only exists to set up something for later. *mutters* I want to know what the final something is, that everything's been leading to!
Muse-sama: Bad girl. No thinking, remember? Remember what it does to you?
Anie: Oh hell, I'll just shut up. I won't say anything more about final somethings.
Muse-sama: Good girl. Now everybody read! ^_^
Neither of us ever really fit in, did we? He, the Boy Who Lived; I, son of a Death Eater. What did I really expect?
Certainly not what I got.
I owled Potter back - something along the lines of "Yes, Potter, and your point is?" It's amazing how such a reply can result in another third of the summer becoming devoted to inane conversation. It's also amazing how much you can learn through inane conversation. Between our trading of insults - "Ferret!" "Squib!" "Git!" "Wanker!" "I am NOT a wanker!" - I found out a lot. He wasn't going to the Weasleys' this summer; in fact, he'd hardly talked to either Weasel or the Mudblood, neither of which surprised me. He *had* been talking to Snape - once again, of all people, Snape - and to Sirius. Of course, he never said Sirius's name. It was always "my godfather." Like I didn't know who his godfather was. . . hmph. For all he'd changed, he was still naive, not expecting enemies to keep tabs on him.
I found that his favorite food was cheese, he hated his relatives, and he thought that the Muggle down the street was really a witch. His descriptions of his fat, nasty cousin sent me into fits of giggles - and also brought tears to my eyes. The sheer horror of the Dursleys made me quake. I may have known a lot about him, but I never knew exactly how bad his home life was.
Much like mine, come to think of it, although at least I have the status of heir. But that's another story.
You can also learn from the way someone writes. You can learn how they think, their views and attitudes. Like how Gryffindor was no longer "his house" but simply Gryffindor. Or the way he never once insulted Slytherin. The sarcasm and the meanings between his words. He was breaking. His last walls were falling. I know; I can tell you anything about any wall, and his were nearly crashed to the cold barren ground. Soon he would be bare, completely defenseless. And to tell the truth, I feared for him. Another thing I know about is what it's like to be completely defenseless.
It's not a pleasant feeling.
So I, Draco Malfoy, also know as the git/prat/ferret/insufferable boy/cold unfeeling jerk, decided to help my enemy.
Except that I couldn't be so sure if he was my enemy anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I don't know what I was aiming to do. It was a crackpot idea. My broom was lying there, and I decided to fly to Potter's. I don't know. I just don't know.
I told my father I was flying to a friend's (since when did I think of Potter as a friend?) and received the usual warning: "Cause any trouble, boy, and I'll have your head." It's how Lucius always acts. As long as I don't disturb him, I can do what I want.
That night, I kicked off the ground and followed Hedwig. I'd gotten a rather disturbing letter from Potter the day before, you see, and I guess I trusted myself to help more than I trusted a letter.
Why that is I'm not sure. I'm not exactly your stereotypical shoulder to lean on.
It was a nice flight to Potter's. A warm summer night. . . mmm. Wind in my hair, Hedwig's occassional soft hoots, and that delicious feeling of freedom I get whenever I'm away from home. It was as close as I'd ever gotten to a perfect moment.
Hedwig led me there quickly - she's a fast flier. It was just before dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.
I stopped at his window and looked in.
*tbc*
A/N: Review, and you won't be stuck at a cliffhanger anymore! *evil grin* Don't make me un-share Draco. . . ^_~
Anyways, strange chapter for ya. It only exists to set up some stuff for later. But, when one thinks about it, everything in the world only exists to set up something for later. *mutters* I want to know what the final something is, that everything's been leading to!
Muse-sama: Bad girl. No thinking, remember? Remember what it does to you?
Anie: Oh hell, I'll just shut up. I won't say anything more about final somethings.
Muse-sama: Good girl. Now everybody read! ^_^
Neither of us ever really fit in, did we? He, the Boy Who Lived; I, son of a Death Eater. What did I really expect?
Certainly not what I got.
I owled Potter back - something along the lines of "Yes, Potter, and your point is?" It's amazing how such a reply can result in another third of the summer becoming devoted to inane conversation. It's also amazing how much you can learn through inane conversation. Between our trading of insults - "Ferret!" "Squib!" "Git!" "Wanker!" "I am NOT a wanker!" - I found out a lot. He wasn't going to the Weasleys' this summer; in fact, he'd hardly talked to either Weasel or the Mudblood, neither of which surprised me. He *had* been talking to Snape - once again, of all people, Snape - and to Sirius. Of course, he never said Sirius's name. It was always "my godfather." Like I didn't know who his godfather was. . . hmph. For all he'd changed, he was still naive, not expecting enemies to keep tabs on him.
I found that his favorite food was cheese, he hated his relatives, and he thought that the Muggle down the street was really a witch. His descriptions of his fat, nasty cousin sent me into fits of giggles - and also brought tears to my eyes. The sheer horror of the Dursleys made me quake. I may have known a lot about him, but I never knew exactly how bad his home life was.
Much like mine, come to think of it, although at least I have the status of heir. But that's another story.
You can also learn from the way someone writes. You can learn how they think, their views and attitudes. Like how Gryffindor was no longer "his house" but simply Gryffindor. Or the way he never once insulted Slytherin. The sarcasm and the meanings between his words. He was breaking. His last walls were falling. I know; I can tell you anything about any wall, and his were nearly crashed to the cold barren ground. Soon he would be bare, completely defenseless. And to tell the truth, I feared for him. Another thing I know about is what it's like to be completely defenseless.
It's not a pleasant feeling.
So I, Draco Malfoy, also know as the git/prat/ferret/insufferable boy/cold unfeeling jerk, decided to help my enemy.
Except that I couldn't be so sure if he was my enemy anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I don't know what I was aiming to do. It was a crackpot idea. My broom was lying there, and I decided to fly to Potter's. I don't know. I just don't know.
I told my father I was flying to a friend's (since when did I think of Potter as a friend?) and received the usual warning: "Cause any trouble, boy, and I'll have your head." It's how Lucius always acts. As long as I don't disturb him, I can do what I want.
That night, I kicked off the ground and followed Hedwig. I'd gotten a rather disturbing letter from Potter the day before, you see, and I guess I trusted myself to help more than I trusted a letter.
Why that is I'm not sure. I'm not exactly your stereotypical shoulder to lean on.
It was a nice flight to Potter's. A warm summer night. . . mmm. Wind in my hair, Hedwig's occassional soft hoots, and that delicious feeling of freedom I get whenever I'm away from home. It was as close as I'd ever gotten to a perfect moment.
Hedwig led me there quickly - she's a fast flier. It was just before dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.
I stopped at his window and looked in.
*tbc*
A/N: Review, and you won't be stuck at a cliffhanger anymore! *evil grin* Don't make me un-share Draco. . . ^_~