Authors Note: I'd like to thank mIsSyBiRd12, my first reviewer.
You will notice I don't mention the War, it isn't my area.
Chapter 3: Empty Days, Long Nights
Draco looked toward the setting sun, shielding his eyes, shadow cast over the upper part of his features. The lake sparkled dreamily, and the Giant Squid was lounging at the surface, swatting lazily at the leaves floating among its tentacles, leaves, which had only just, began to fall. He pushed a bit of hair back from his face, and turned his back on the nightfall. He swept the books into his bag and headed toward the castle, he had retreated to the school grounds to work on a nasty potions essay, it had been impossible to concentrate in the library on such a beautiful day, and he had made serious headway. He slung the bag over his shoulder and crossed the line of dying sun, into the adumbration of the school. He paused for a moment in the gloom. Ascended the steps, into the castle. Alone.
Library, dusk. Hermione Granger bent over her tomes, quiet. Breathing. She was in the farthest corner, nearest the windows. Dust mixed with the warm afternoon sunlight, dancing around her in their own private spotlight. She was alone. Scattered knots of students socialized; work forgotten on the tables before them. She looked up from the crumbling novels, out the window. Fading sun shone on the lawns, the squid tread water, and few groups of students strolled about the grounds, or sprawled beneath leafy trees, which were beginning to bronze. Around the quidditch pitch, a few small figures hovered in air, shooting around in the autumn sky. Hermione sighed, knowing Harry and Ron were out there somewhere, she in here. As most students were moving in packs she noticed the solitary figure almost at once. Silver hair reflected the sunlight, hovering over it like a halo. She watched him walk across the grounds and into the castle. She gazed out the window for a long time.
Draco swept threw the main entrance of the castle, and clopped toward his chambers. His hair was sweaty and matted, Quidditch robes caked with mud. He had come from a grueling practice, which had focused on technique. Draco had been giving a few difficult diving exercises and he felt he had honed some of his skill. He was tired in the way only brutal physical exertion induces, and he was acutely aware of the muscles in his legs and hindquarter. His broom was swung jauntily over his shoulder and his robes twitched impertinently. As he moved down the corridor leading toward the Slytherin dungeons, a group of Gryffindors, containing Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, exited the great hall, directly behind Draco. They joked together, loudly, and at times, lewdly, until Granger brought up the school day.
Through careful eavesdropping and process of elimination, Draco learned Harry was taking the classes required an Auror and Ron had squeezed into the classes bereft Charms breakers for wizarding establishments, such as Gringotts.
Draco wasn't surprised at Harry's career choice, and he noticed a distinct rise in volume when Harry mentioned dark wizards, for his benefit he assumed. Ron snickered appropriately, and Hermione sighed. Draco turned "I'm surprised you'd undertake the challenges of an Auror Harry, not to mention the dangers. You'd be amazed the new developments in mind control, and what they can do. I believe you remember Alastor Moody?" Harry glared at him, while Ron looked fruitlessly for an excuse to get furious. Hermione regarded Draco thoughtfully, and he matched her stare. " I'm sure you'd know all about that, what the dark wizards are doing, wouldn't you Malfoy?" said Harry. Draco slowly slid his eyes to meet Harry, staring at him, until he answered. " Yes I believe I would." His tone was light, distant.
He turned gracefully on his heel and walked toward his suite, the Gryffindors behind him, not sure what to think.
Once in his room, he pulled the offending uniform off and heaped it on a chair, confidant a house elf, maybe even Winky would take care of it. He threw his school robes on, and carried the rest of the school uniform in his arms, as he walked toward the prefects' bathroom. "Mrs. Skower" he muttered, lest non-prefects hear, when he reached it. The door swung open and he stepped inside. It was large and glistening, hazy, without being muggy. Considerably different from the corridor outside.
Turning on several taps he collected towels and cleaning agents from a cupboards placed around the room and turned to the bathtub, which had already filled. He sank into the foamy depths, the water pleasant against his skin. He replayed the quidditch practice in his head, determined not to forget the difficile yet helpful moves he'd learned.
Dinner was uneventful, Gryffindors throwing more than a few suspicious looks toward the table than usual, nothing else. Draco had difficulty to keep from crying out in boredom, frustration, and irritation at the gullible fools he was schooled with, and the meal was over soon enough.
He lay tucked into the great bed that night, cold beneath the covers.
Winter. The forests surrounding the Malfoy Manner were black with frost. The trees had been striped of bark almost to the branches, and the deer had begun to starve. Draco stood at the edge of the wood, watching the small deer shuffle the snow, searching for food. In his hand he held a few pieces of bread that Dobby had given him. He had attempted to feed the deer but soon learned that it feared him, and would not approach. He threw hanks of bread ripped off the slab in his fist, delighted at the snuffles the deer made as it searched for the nourishment. Suddenly, a hand bit into his shoulder, squeezed. He jumped, but made no sound. He looked up at Luscius Malfoy, whose face was hidden by the hood of his robe. He could feel his father smiling, and sensed the danger. Luscius pressed the knife into the 6-year-old Draco's hand, "When will you learn? Bother only with what you can control or manipulate, kill what you can't." Draco protested until his father's hand swung, and he was moved toward the deer by the sheer force of the blow, rather than his own will. Eventually his father pushed Draco's hand into the deer's throat until blood flowed down his fist and into the snow, steaming and red. He stared at the deer, slumped in the snow, the bread thick and scarlet in his hand. He had not bothered with the idea of right-and wrong since.
He had tried to appease his father in anyway he thought possible and had done everything asked of him. As he grew older rebellion stirred his blood, but he knew better than to act on it. He no longer revered his father, seeing him for what he was, but the family fortune certainly meant something to him, he thought he was willing to do anything for it. The deer still haunted his dreams.
Chapter 3: Empty Days, Long Nights
Draco looked toward the setting sun, shielding his eyes, shadow cast over the upper part of his features. The lake sparkled dreamily, and the Giant Squid was lounging at the surface, swatting lazily at the leaves floating among its tentacles, leaves, which had only just, began to fall. He pushed a bit of hair back from his face, and turned his back on the nightfall. He swept the books into his bag and headed toward the castle, he had retreated to the school grounds to work on a nasty potions essay, it had been impossible to concentrate in the library on such a beautiful day, and he had made serious headway. He slung the bag over his shoulder and crossed the line of dying sun, into the adumbration of the school. He paused for a moment in the gloom. Ascended the steps, into the castle. Alone.
Library, dusk. Hermione Granger bent over her tomes, quiet. Breathing. She was in the farthest corner, nearest the windows. Dust mixed with the warm afternoon sunlight, dancing around her in their own private spotlight. She was alone. Scattered knots of students socialized; work forgotten on the tables before them. She looked up from the crumbling novels, out the window. Fading sun shone on the lawns, the squid tread water, and few groups of students strolled about the grounds, or sprawled beneath leafy trees, which were beginning to bronze. Around the quidditch pitch, a few small figures hovered in air, shooting around in the autumn sky. Hermione sighed, knowing Harry and Ron were out there somewhere, she in here. As most students were moving in packs she noticed the solitary figure almost at once. Silver hair reflected the sunlight, hovering over it like a halo. She watched him walk across the grounds and into the castle. She gazed out the window for a long time.
Draco swept threw the main entrance of the castle, and clopped toward his chambers. His hair was sweaty and matted, Quidditch robes caked with mud. He had come from a grueling practice, which had focused on technique. Draco had been giving a few difficult diving exercises and he felt he had honed some of his skill. He was tired in the way only brutal physical exertion induces, and he was acutely aware of the muscles in his legs and hindquarter. His broom was swung jauntily over his shoulder and his robes twitched impertinently. As he moved down the corridor leading toward the Slytherin dungeons, a group of Gryffindors, containing Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, exited the great hall, directly behind Draco. They joked together, loudly, and at times, lewdly, until Granger brought up the school day.
Through careful eavesdropping and process of elimination, Draco learned Harry was taking the classes required an Auror and Ron had squeezed into the classes bereft Charms breakers for wizarding establishments, such as Gringotts.
Draco wasn't surprised at Harry's career choice, and he noticed a distinct rise in volume when Harry mentioned dark wizards, for his benefit he assumed. Ron snickered appropriately, and Hermione sighed. Draco turned "I'm surprised you'd undertake the challenges of an Auror Harry, not to mention the dangers. You'd be amazed the new developments in mind control, and what they can do. I believe you remember Alastor Moody?" Harry glared at him, while Ron looked fruitlessly for an excuse to get furious. Hermione regarded Draco thoughtfully, and he matched her stare. " I'm sure you'd know all about that, what the dark wizards are doing, wouldn't you Malfoy?" said Harry. Draco slowly slid his eyes to meet Harry, staring at him, until he answered. " Yes I believe I would." His tone was light, distant.
He turned gracefully on his heel and walked toward his suite, the Gryffindors behind him, not sure what to think.
Once in his room, he pulled the offending uniform off and heaped it on a chair, confidant a house elf, maybe even Winky would take care of it. He threw his school robes on, and carried the rest of the school uniform in his arms, as he walked toward the prefects' bathroom. "Mrs. Skower" he muttered, lest non-prefects hear, when he reached it. The door swung open and he stepped inside. It was large and glistening, hazy, without being muggy. Considerably different from the corridor outside.
Turning on several taps he collected towels and cleaning agents from a cupboards placed around the room and turned to the bathtub, which had already filled. He sank into the foamy depths, the water pleasant against his skin. He replayed the quidditch practice in his head, determined not to forget the difficile yet helpful moves he'd learned.
Dinner was uneventful, Gryffindors throwing more than a few suspicious looks toward the table than usual, nothing else. Draco had difficulty to keep from crying out in boredom, frustration, and irritation at the gullible fools he was schooled with, and the meal was over soon enough.
He lay tucked into the great bed that night, cold beneath the covers.
Winter. The forests surrounding the Malfoy Manner were black with frost. The trees had been striped of bark almost to the branches, and the deer had begun to starve. Draco stood at the edge of the wood, watching the small deer shuffle the snow, searching for food. In his hand he held a few pieces of bread that Dobby had given him. He had attempted to feed the deer but soon learned that it feared him, and would not approach. He threw hanks of bread ripped off the slab in his fist, delighted at the snuffles the deer made as it searched for the nourishment. Suddenly, a hand bit into his shoulder, squeezed. He jumped, but made no sound. He looked up at Luscius Malfoy, whose face was hidden by the hood of his robe. He could feel his father smiling, and sensed the danger. Luscius pressed the knife into the 6-year-old Draco's hand, "When will you learn? Bother only with what you can control or manipulate, kill what you can't." Draco protested until his father's hand swung, and he was moved toward the deer by the sheer force of the blow, rather than his own will. Eventually his father pushed Draco's hand into the deer's throat until blood flowed down his fist and into the snow, steaming and red. He stared at the deer, slumped in the snow, the bread thick and scarlet in his hand. He had not bothered with the idea of right-and wrong since.
He had tried to appease his father in anyway he thought possible and had done everything asked of him. As he grew older rebellion stirred his blood, but he knew better than to act on it. He no longer revered his father, seeing him for what he was, but the family fortune certainly meant something to him, he thought he was willing to do anything for it. The deer still haunted his dreams.