I had the most interesting occurrence come to pass today, an event that I feel deserves a paragraph or so of explanation. Draco Malfoy has come to visit me. I just happened to turn around and there he stood, his long arms draped unceremoniously behind his back, his silver hair slicked into it's infamous style. He greeted me politely, addressing me by my fan fiction handle.
"How are you, Black Mage?"
I smiled, inwardly pleased, despite the fact that this was a minion of Satan that was familiar with my work. "I'm fine," I replied, stirring the tea I had been making when he'd made his entrance. "What can I do for you?"
"I need you to write a story."
I considered all my past attempts and grinned. "Maybe you should ask someone else. I'm more of a Lizzie McGuire writer myself."
He sighed, as though my minimal intelligence was annoying him and I frowned. This character, not even one I had created, had showed up my home and *he* was irritated by *me*? The irony..
"Not even really fiction. A true story." He paused. "A love story. Me and Ginny Weasley. Obviously, I would be dictating this to you."
I rolled my eyes and answered, "I don't let evil dictate me, in writing or otherwise. Comes from being a Christian."
"I'm not evil."
"Just misunderstood?"
His hand strayed to his wand, and I visibly winced. Then he licked his lips. "Please."
At this I had to pause, and reflect on all the books I had read in which he played an intricate part. I couldn't recall any words like that being spoken to another. "Okay," I finally answered. "But there are conditions."
"For example?"
"One," I began ticking them off on my fingers, "you are not dictating anything. You tell me the story and I get to use my creative license."
"Fine."
"Two," I continued, "you check your wand at the door. And by that, I mean put it on my computer desk and don't touch it until we're finished. I don't want you to be all, 'Ooo, do what I want or I'm going to turn you into a bean.'"
He chuckled, disarming me. "Agreed."
"And three: I can't be expected to stay up until all hours of the night, and I do have a life. So I'll get you a message when I'm ready to update and you can come back and we'll continue."
"I will leave you my owl."
Okay, so all of that was out of the way. Then he handed me a red, leather bound book.
"This is Virginia's diary," he informed me, as though reading my mind. "She can't be here with us, but she gives her permission to read this and include her story."
I took it gingerly, carefully opened it, inspected the inside. 'To my darling daughter on her 13th birthday. May this year and all the years to come be filled with memories to treasure.'
The book in hand, I turned to the young man staring at me expectantly and smiled. "So, let's do this, shall we?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Heart of Ice
As told to Katherine Diana, also known as Black Mage, by Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.
The air was chilly as he stepped outside. He tightened his long black cloak around his body and resisted the urge to shiver. Malfoys don't shiver. "Malfoys *deal.*" His father's words echoed through his mind now as the cruel winter day attacked his senses. Lucius Malfoy was always saying things like that. Few others could strip a spirit of its humanity as he could. A fact that neither Malfoy was able to overlook and though the senior found this to be quite the compliment, Draco couldn't help wishing that just for one day he could reasonably describe his father as loving.
Inwardly wishing, of course. He didn't have a death wish.
"Draco!" The familiar voice of Crabbe cut through the relaxing silence and the silver haired seventh year fought back a groan. His friend was loyal, sure, and, at the very least, interesting, but there were days (most days, really) when he wanted nothing more to be rid of this torture he called his life.
He forced the trademark smirk onto his lips and snapped, "Did I forget to mention that I have no desire to be around you? My mistake. Now leave me be."
The stunned look on his friend's face caused him to ache to recall the biting words, but he couldn't. One slip in his façade would mean a summer of true torture.
"Sure, Draco," Crabbe replied, backing away quickly. "I just thought you'd like to know that McGonagall is on the war path. She said that if you don't get to class within the next 2 minutes she'll give you a detention that would make *Flint's* hair stand on end."
He ignored the panic rising in his throat and the question in his mind, 'What TIME is it?', and walked lazily through the courtyard, in the direction of the aforementioned teacher's class. He would have run, had his logical mind not forced his feet to move slowly. How would it look for the feared Draco Malfoy to adhere to the rules?
Of course if he was late and actually received the punishment threatened then his image would be the least of his troubles.
When he finally waltzed into the classroom, the Professor was staring at her watch. "Two seconds to go, Malfoy. Have a seat, please."
He was unable to swallow the sigh of relief that flowed through him, but thankfully nobody noticed. And, at that moment, if Crabbe had glanced back at him, the silver haired seventh year might have given him a grateful smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the class dismissed, Professor McGonagall called him to her desk. Ignoring the teasing of some of the braver Slytherin, Draco obliged silently.
The rest of the students filed out and the aged teacher shut the door firmly.
"Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?"
His head, previously hanging in anticipation of punishment to be brought, shot up. "What do you mean, Professor?" Certainly, out of all the teachers, Slytherin and otherwise, *she* wouldn't be the one to notice.
She moved near her student and studied him carefully. "I have known you for the last 7 years as I've known all the children I've taught and lately you've seemed..." Her voice trailed away and her eyes dropped.
He could barely trust his voice as he whispered, "Seemed what?"
"Human, Mr. Malfoy... You've seemed very human."
At those words he grabbed his books and strode out, a scowl darkening his pale features.
"You've seemed very human," her remark echoed through his mind.
What did that mean anyway? And what did *she* know? His father practically paid her salary.
Yet something deep inside warmed at the comment. Compliments-the real ones, the ones that he ached for-were never paid to him. The closest were things like "Certainly *my* child can do better than *this.*"
So wrapped up, was he, in his thoughts that he didn't notice the red haired 6th year rushing towards him, her arms filled with books.
Which would be why he slammed right into her.
"Watch where you're going," he snapped as all the girl's books fell to the floor.
Shooting her a glare that could have chilled Voldermort, he stepped over the pile and continued on his way.
"You bumped into me!" the girl yelled. He paused and turned, bright blues flashing. Then, when he really saw who it was, he almost laughed.
The Weasley girl!
"It would do you well to remember who I am," he hissed, not moving.
She narrowed her eyes as she gathered the scattered textbooks. "A spoiled brat?" she ventured.
He stepped forward warningly. "Watch your tongue, Weasley."
She didn't say another word, but, books piled high, turned back to the path she had been taking.
Sending her another scathing look to her back, he cursed himself for being too soft and stalked off.
"How are you, Black Mage?"
I smiled, inwardly pleased, despite the fact that this was a minion of Satan that was familiar with my work. "I'm fine," I replied, stirring the tea I had been making when he'd made his entrance. "What can I do for you?"
"I need you to write a story."
I considered all my past attempts and grinned. "Maybe you should ask someone else. I'm more of a Lizzie McGuire writer myself."
He sighed, as though my minimal intelligence was annoying him and I frowned. This character, not even one I had created, had showed up my home and *he* was irritated by *me*? The irony..
"Not even really fiction. A true story." He paused. "A love story. Me and Ginny Weasley. Obviously, I would be dictating this to you."
I rolled my eyes and answered, "I don't let evil dictate me, in writing or otherwise. Comes from being a Christian."
"I'm not evil."
"Just misunderstood?"
His hand strayed to his wand, and I visibly winced. Then he licked his lips. "Please."
At this I had to pause, and reflect on all the books I had read in which he played an intricate part. I couldn't recall any words like that being spoken to another. "Okay," I finally answered. "But there are conditions."
"For example?"
"One," I began ticking them off on my fingers, "you are not dictating anything. You tell me the story and I get to use my creative license."
"Fine."
"Two," I continued, "you check your wand at the door. And by that, I mean put it on my computer desk and don't touch it until we're finished. I don't want you to be all, 'Ooo, do what I want or I'm going to turn you into a bean.'"
He chuckled, disarming me. "Agreed."
"And three: I can't be expected to stay up until all hours of the night, and I do have a life. So I'll get you a message when I'm ready to update and you can come back and we'll continue."
"I will leave you my owl."
Okay, so all of that was out of the way. Then he handed me a red, leather bound book.
"This is Virginia's diary," he informed me, as though reading my mind. "She can't be here with us, but she gives her permission to read this and include her story."
I took it gingerly, carefully opened it, inspected the inside. 'To my darling daughter on her 13th birthday. May this year and all the years to come be filled with memories to treasure.'
The book in hand, I turned to the young man staring at me expectantly and smiled. "So, let's do this, shall we?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Heart of Ice
As told to Katherine Diana, also known as Black Mage, by Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.
The air was chilly as he stepped outside. He tightened his long black cloak around his body and resisted the urge to shiver. Malfoys don't shiver. "Malfoys *deal.*" His father's words echoed through his mind now as the cruel winter day attacked his senses. Lucius Malfoy was always saying things like that. Few others could strip a spirit of its humanity as he could. A fact that neither Malfoy was able to overlook and though the senior found this to be quite the compliment, Draco couldn't help wishing that just for one day he could reasonably describe his father as loving.
Inwardly wishing, of course. He didn't have a death wish.
"Draco!" The familiar voice of Crabbe cut through the relaxing silence and the silver haired seventh year fought back a groan. His friend was loyal, sure, and, at the very least, interesting, but there were days (most days, really) when he wanted nothing more to be rid of this torture he called his life.
He forced the trademark smirk onto his lips and snapped, "Did I forget to mention that I have no desire to be around you? My mistake. Now leave me be."
The stunned look on his friend's face caused him to ache to recall the biting words, but he couldn't. One slip in his façade would mean a summer of true torture.
"Sure, Draco," Crabbe replied, backing away quickly. "I just thought you'd like to know that McGonagall is on the war path. She said that if you don't get to class within the next 2 minutes she'll give you a detention that would make *Flint's* hair stand on end."
He ignored the panic rising in his throat and the question in his mind, 'What TIME is it?', and walked lazily through the courtyard, in the direction of the aforementioned teacher's class. He would have run, had his logical mind not forced his feet to move slowly. How would it look for the feared Draco Malfoy to adhere to the rules?
Of course if he was late and actually received the punishment threatened then his image would be the least of his troubles.
When he finally waltzed into the classroom, the Professor was staring at her watch. "Two seconds to go, Malfoy. Have a seat, please."
He was unable to swallow the sigh of relief that flowed through him, but thankfully nobody noticed. And, at that moment, if Crabbe had glanced back at him, the silver haired seventh year might have given him a grateful smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the class dismissed, Professor McGonagall called him to her desk. Ignoring the teasing of some of the braver Slytherin, Draco obliged silently.
The rest of the students filed out and the aged teacher shut the door firmly.
"Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?"
His head, previously hanging in anticipation of punishment to be brought, shot up. "What do you mean, Professor?" Certainly, out of all the teachers, Slytherin and otherwise, *she* wouldn't be the one to notice.
She moved near her student and studied him carefully. "I have known you for the last 7 years as I've known all the children I've taught and lately you've seemed..." Her voice trailed away and her eyes dropped.
He could barely trust his voice as he whispered, "Seemed what?"
"Human, Mr. Malfoy... You've seemed very human."
At those words he grabbed his books and strode out, a scowl darkening his pale features.
"You've seemed very human," her remark echoed through his mind.
What did that mean anyway? And what did *she* know? His father practically paid her salary.
Yet something deep inside warmed at the comment. Compliments-the real ones, the ones that he ached for-were never paid to him. The closest were things like "Certainly *my* child can do better than *this.*"
So wrapped up, was he, in his thoughts that he didn't notice the red haired 6th year rushing towards him, her arms filled with books.
Which would be why he slammed right into her.
"Watch where you're going," he snapped as all the girl's books fell to the floor.
Shooting her a glare that could have chilled Voldermort, he stepped over the pile and continued on his way.
"You bumped into me!" the girl yelled. He paused and turned, bright blues flashing. Then, when he really saw who it was, he almost laughed.
The Weasley girl!
"It would do you well to remember who I am," he hissed, not moving.
She narrowed her eyes as she gathered the scattered textbooks. "A spoiled brat?" she ventured.
He stepped forward warningly. "Watch your tongue, Weasley."
She didn't say another word, but, books piled high, turned back to the path she had been taking.
Sending her another scathing look to her back, he cursed himself for being too soft and stalked off.