Disclaimer: Made it all up.
Romantic Notions
Draco's mother read Romance novels.
Draco can remember the glossy covers, donned with pictures of beautiful ladies in gauzy gowns reaching out their lily white, aristocratic hands toward some lithe, well-dressed, well-endowed man with a hero complex.
He, inevitably, picked up the habit of reading them as well at an early age, much to his father's chagrin. It was only by the good graces of his mother, that he dearly loved, that he was able to keep his father from casting a burning spell on his whole lot of cheesy, commoner trash, or so his father called it.
Being in the lap of luxury had its allure, but it also made for plenty of boredom. Or rather an easy excuse for picking up many less than aristocratic behaviors. Like reading romantic drivel, for instance. He would read about the great heroine's deep, burning desire and pure, perfect love for another. He would sigh and wonder, while no one else was around of course, if he would ever feel like that - that innate desire to love, or as he saw it to burn another, burn for another.
He was a Malfoy though. He did take after his father some after all it seemed. He prided himself on being a realist. Love, no matter how one sliced it, was more up the idealist's alley. Perhaps, he should leave such nonsense to people more attuned to that sort of senselessness. Like Potter, for example - idealistic prat that he was. So, he threw away all of his Harlequin novels and worked on becoming emotionless. Emotions were the bane of life. That is, until he formally met Blaise Zabini. Oh, he had seen him before. He had looked at the leggy brunette that had eyes of the most amazing shade. Draco had pegged them as amber - like tiny, golden leaves flowing under a stream, glinting in the sun. He was graceful in all of his movements, feminine but not. He was not haughty, but rather his eyes expressed a deep confidence in himself and a sureness in all that he did. Draco was impressed immediately with the boy, not that he showed it of course. He merely watched a lot.
Draco had long given up his dreams of smoldering gazes, but then he looked into those amber orbs, and it was like staring at the sun - blinding, he was all he could see. He felt his cold demeanor just melt away as frost does in the blazing first light of day. And when Blaise licked those perfect lips, oh, and moved his sock clad foot up Draco's leg underneath the table during dinner in the Great Hall one night while his eyes glinted under the pseudo storm above, Draco thought maybe he had a bit of idealism in him after all.
fin.
Romantic Notions
Draco's mother read Romance novels.
Draco can remember the glossy covers, donned with pictures of beautiful ladies in gauzy gowns reaching out their lily white, aristocratic hands toward some lithe, well-dressed, well-endowed man with a hero complex.
He, inevitably, picked up the habit of reading them as well at an early age, much to his father's chagrin. It was only by the good graces of his mother, that he dearly loved, that he was able to keep his father from casting a burning spell on his whole lot of cheesy, commoner trash, or so his father called it.
Being in the lap of luxury had its allure, but it also made for plenty of boredom. Or rather an easy excuse for picking up many less than aristocratic behaviors. Like reading romantic drivel, for instance. He would read about the great heroine's deep, burning desire and pure, perfect love for another. He would sigh and wonder, while no one else was around of course, if he would ever feel like that - that innate desire to love, or as he saw it to burn another, burn for another.
He was a Malfoy though. He did take after his father some after all it seemed. He prided himself on being a realist. Love, no matter how one sliced it, was more up the idealist's alley. Perhaps, he should leave such nonsense to people more attuned to that sort of senselessness. Like Potter, for example - idealistic prat that he was. So, he threw away all of his Harlequin novels and worked on becoming emotionless. Emotions were the bane of life. That is, until he formally met Blaise Zabini. Oh, he had seen him before. He had looked at the leggy brunette that had eyes of the most amazing shade. Draco had pegged them as amber - like tiny, golden leaves flowing under a stream, glinting in the sun. He was graceful in all of his movements, feminine but not. He was not haughty, but rather his eyes expressed a deep confidence in himself and a sureness in all that he did. Draco was impressed immediately with the boy, not that he showed it of course. He merely watched a lot.
Draco had long given up his dreams of smoldering gazes, but then he looked into those amber orbs, and it was like staring at the sun - blinding, he was all he could see. He felt his cold demeanor just melt away as frost does in the blazing first light of day. And when Blaise licked those perfect lips, oh, and moved his sock clad foot up Draco's leg underneath the table during dinner in the Great Hall one night while his eyes glinted under the pseudo storm above, Draco thought maybe he had a bit of idealism in him after all.
fin.