4

Okay, this be a Simon and Garfunkle song. It be called I Am a Rock, and be also from their 10 hits Compact Disc. At the moment, I be listening to Mrs. Robinson. Strange, I know a Mrs. Robinson…heh heh heh (no comments in the review section Jo!! :-) Jesus may do love Mrs. Robinson, but Mrs. Robinson no do love me…(that's a nod to the lyrics for those of you who haven't heard the song :-) Anyhoo, here's the songfic…

A winter's day

In a deep and dark December

I am alone

Gazing from my window to the streets below on a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow

Draco looked out of his drawing-room window into the ice-enclosed garden. His father was in the next room waiting for him, along with a few other people of importance.

I am a rock I am an island

Draco didn't want to leave this room when his father called him out. He sighed and looked down at his best robes, all silk and black thread. Black thread to match the fabric.

I've been walls

A fortress deep and mighty

That none may penetrate

I have no need of friendship

Friendship causes pain

It's laughter and it's nothing I disdain

Draco hadn't been able to tell anyone about what he was going to do. He had no one to tell, not even his old Slytherin schoolmates. Some of them had already done what Draco was hesitating to do. Others were already dead from it. Draco tried to smirk at their incompetence, but gave up after he realized it hurt too much to move his taut muscles right now. Why should he think about those other people? They weren't friends anyway. None of them were like Draco. Besides, in Slytherin House, you made alliances, not friendships, as his father had always reminded him…

I am a rock I am an island

Friendships were unnecessary bonds that took away from one's life. They tied you down with so-called fantasies called loyalty and love.

Don't talk of love

Well I've heard the word before

It's sleeping in my memory

I won't disturb its slumber of feeling that have died

If I never loved I never would have cried

Draco had loved his father and mother, once. When he was little, all he had to do was smile and their faces would light up in glee too. He remembered his father using his wand to levitate him and fly him around the room, diving to the floor, soaring up until his baby fingers could touch the expensive frescoes and carvings on the walls…his mother would shriek with pretend fear and scream at her husband to bring her baby back, but at the same time trying to keep a smile off her face. As Draco got older though, his parents seemed to become more and more distant from both him and each other. The gifts and the smiles still rained down on him whenever he wanted, but his parents didn't seem real anymore. His father was always leaving the house dressed in black robes much like the ones Draco was wearing now, leaving behind a crying wife. They both became more and more cruel to the house-elves. They had separate bedrooms. They left Draco alone more and more often, until he never saw them except at mealtimes.

I am a rock I am an island

And then they packed him off to Hogwarts, and things really changed. His father was always sending him letters reminding him of how to keep up with the family honor that Draco needed to work for to gain, and his mother's owls were always full of crisp and perfumed notepaper, full of simpering paragraphs politely inquiring about his health and the weather. Draco saw how capricious love was, after that. He didn't need it.

I have my books

And my poetry to protect me

I am shielded in my armor

Hiding in my room safe within my womb

I touch no one and no one touches me

Draco glanced around the drawing room, his eyes resting upon a pair of ebony bookshelves that had been in the family for generations of Malfoys. As had their contents. Draco stood, the black silk rustling against his skin, walked over to the bookshelves and studied their titles. The Beauty of the Dark Arts. Ancient and Arcane Spells Reviewed. A Guide to the Old Families of Britain and Their Descendants. A History of Great Wizards. The titles marched on forever.

I am a rock I am an island

Draco had learned all of these books by heart, especially the ones that dealt with his family. They had all been Dark Wizards, or at the very minimum supported others. Draco felt empty inside whenever he read these books, like his heart simply stopped and he continued on without a soul. Maybe a part of him didn't want to be a Dark Wizard, but what could he do? Refuse his father? That would be like refusing his destiny. As the next Malfoy heir, he had to uphold the family beliefs. His fate was inescapable.

And a rock feels no pain

Draco heard footsteps outside the door, heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. He quickly set the book in his hand back on the shelf and turned to face the door, pulling a length of silk from his pocket as he did so. His father turned the handle of the ornate door, and stood in the opening he had made. He wore a black mask.

"The Dark Lord waits for you, Draco Argentus Malfoy."

Lucius Malfoy didn't even sound like he was addressing his only son. Draco pulled the silk that was in his hand over his head, tying it in the back, adjusting it so that only his steel grey eyes glittered through the thin slits. He could faintly see the light of a poisonous green fire flickering on the walls, illuminating his father from behind.

His fate was inescapable.

"I'm coming."

And an island never cries

His fate was inescapable.

If anyone has a better middle name for Malfoy, I beg you to tell me. I just pulled out my old Latin book (ah, the days of homeschooling long past…) and looked in the back for cool-sounding words. Argentus came from silver. Malfoy, the silver dragon…

ouch, that was emotional for me…I hope I captured that on ppr. In my little world, it's not the grammar and spelling that matters (though it is very nice) but the emotions that your words ensnare. It's weird. I have about twenty people running around my head, each with their own little bundles of emotion that someone created specially for them. Emotions, the souls of words…that's why writing is a good outlet for emotion. Everything that you're feeling at the moment you sit down to write reflects the words, sentence structure, actions of your characters…you should see what I write when I'm angry! On this subject, I'd like you to meet someone. This is Ivan.

Ivan: hi.

Morough: oh, right, I introduce you to and all you say is 'hi?' you're so inhuman…

Ivan: Spasiba.

Morough: your Russian doesn't impress me.

Ivan: ya it does. You think I'm sexy!

Morough: no, that's the other people who know about you…

Ivan: dances and sings I'm too sexy for my shirt…

Morough: you know, one swift Ctrla and Backspace key, and all one hundred and eighty pages that I've devoted to you will be GONE…

Ivan:

Morough: good. Stay that way. And yes, Jo, that was inspired by Jeff…you know, last St. Patrick's day, Chelse and I asked him where his green was, and started to undo his pants? gags and giggles