Hey everyone. Once again, sorry for not updating. I've not been able to get
around to doing much writing for the last two months or so as I started a
new job and a new semester.
Thanks to all those that are still reading this and checking back faithfully for updates. I'm rereading a bunch of my fic in order to get back in the groove, so have patience with me.
Chapter 14: Futures and Letters
Dining with the Malfoy's—something Draco had hoped to avoid during his two- week stay, though he knew better. Always filled with the same meaningless conversation, dinnertime seemed to stretch for eons. In fact, Draco was quite certain time actually stopped the minute his father picked up his fork. God was playing a cruel game, he had to be. Nothing else in the Malfoy home seemed more laborious then eating with the "family"—usually the simplest of tasks.
His mother would chat about absolutely nothing, far from caring if anyone was listening. She would have talked to the very wall in front of her if she thought it had the slightest ear for gossip.
"Draco, you're hunching," came his mother's familiar chide. Draco stiffened his back and glanced over to see Narcissa's smile of approval as he fixed his posture. "Oh, Lucius dear, I forgot to mention this earlier, but we received an invitation for tea at the Parkinson's for this Friday afternoon."
Draco raised an eyebrow and looked up from his filet mignon; he knew what was coming.
"Adoria mentioned that Pansy would be joining us as well," she added, taking a sip from her wineglass as if her head wasn't spinning in anticipation. "You know Pansy, don't you sweetheart?" she asked innocently, as if Pansy and Draco were new friends... as if his mother and father hadn't been planning their marriage since the day the two were born.
Rolling his eyes (and silently thanking whatever God possessed Lucius to buy the incredibly long table so his parents could see his expressive face), Draco grunted and took a large bite of his meat, hoping his mother would not question him until his mouth was completely empty. By then Draco hoped to excuse himself and run to his bedroom to escape another interrogation. But his mother was beyond caring for etiquette and she continued.
"Such a lovely girl, that Pansy Parkinson. You know, her family is one of the most prominent in the entire wizarding community, next to ours, of course. They have always..."
Draco could recite his mother's speech word-for-word. She would begin with the Parkinson's in depth history of loyalty to the Dark Lord. Then she'd continue with how the Parkinson's were instrumental in founding the Slytherin house. Narcissa would then conveniently mention how the Parkinson's had a very large estate and an even larger fortune—something that would appeal to any sane man's appetite. The oration always concluded with, "just think about the future you could have with Pansy, think of the future of the wizarding world if the Parkinson's and Malfoy's united."
By then Narcissa was always so worked up in one final dramatic gesture, she beckoned the house elves to retrieve her smelling salts lest she faint in her bowl of soup. The house elves learned (after several beatings) to keep the restorative salts at hand whenever Draco came home, and to dash to their mistresses' side when properly cued. This time was not any different, Narcissa rapidly fanned her face with her hand and Lucius pretended to be concerned while sneaking glances at his newspaper, as the house elves rushed over with the bottle.
Draco took a drink from his glass and smirked slightly at the show before him. It gets more dramatic every visit, Draco thought to himself as he slouched in the straight back chair, taking the opportunity to do so now that his mother's attentions were otherwise engaged.
Somehow, between his mother's fake groans and his father's attention on the Daily Prophet, Draco managed to sneak off to his bedroom. He had no desire to put up with his parent's antics, there were more pressing matters on his mind.
Draco sat down at his writing desk, filled his quill with ink, and pulled out a stack of clean parchment. He stared at the quill hovering over the paper, as if it might be able to write the words Draco could not. Finally, his hand moved.
Ms. Weasley,
It scribbled in the characteristically elegant and loopy Malfoy scrawl. Draco shook his head and crumpled up the parchment in his fist.
"Ms. Weasley? What I'm thinking?" He said allowed, throwing the wad of parchment into the nearby trashcan. "I'm not a bill collector for heaven's sake."
His hand tried again.
Dear Ginny,
He crumpled it again and this time, flung the paper across the room with a scowl. "We had sex, yes, but we're still enemies..." Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair. His blonde locks were beginning to separate into five precise rows through which Draco's fingers plowed when he was frustrated. And that was often.
Ginny,
His hand tried one last time on the third piece of parchment. Draco looked at it. It was simple, but proved the most satisfactory.
Last night was
"amazing" was his first thought. Images of their heated romp floated through his brain and Draco had a hard time controlling himself. Taking virgins was always the most pleasurable. A cold shower would probably be needed later, especially since there were no naive Hogwart's girls here to satisfy him. It would be a long two weeks.
a mistake.
Draco's hand had written the truth; the thing that needed to be said. But she deserved to know more, to be given an explanation as to why his future could never include a girl from her level in society. But Ginny also needed to know that there was something different about her, something that made this letter particularly grueling. Draco shook his head slowly, letting pieces of his perfectly coiffed hair fall over his eyes. As much as Ginny Weasley deserved to know Draco's deepest feelings and thoughts on the matter, he could not bring himself to put it down on paper. It would mean acknowledging that there were feelings, other than pure hatred, about her in the first place, and Draco was incapable of doing that.
-Draco Malfoy
With that, Draco set his quill down and rolled the parchment up, sealing it with the emerald Malfoy crest. He stepped quickly to the windowsill where his eagle owl rested and tied the parchment roll on the bird's thick and obedient leg.
"Fly high," Draco instructed, whispering to the bird uneasily. "You cannot let this fall into unwelcome hands."
The sleek bird squawked its comprehension and shot off the ledge, soaring high into the clouds and disappearing instantly. Draco turned and surveyed his room, making sure it was still empty. He could take no chances, no one could know he had written to Ginny Weasley. The message was short and cryptic, but any involvement with the red-haired girl would be questioned and only meant trouble. For once in his short but full life, Draco Malfoy had to play it safe.
Thanks to all those that are still reading this and checking back faithfully for updates. I'm rereading a bunch of my fic in order to get back in the groove, so have patience with me.
Chapter 14: Futures and Letters
Dining with the Malfoy's—something Draco had hoped to avoid during his two- week stay, though he knew better. Always filled with the same meaningless conversation, dinnertime seemed to stretch for eons. In fact, Draco was quite certain time actually stopped the minute his father picked up his fork. God was playing a cruel game, he had to be. Nothing else in the Malfoy home seemed more laborious then eating with the "family"—usually the simplest of tasks.
His mother would chat about absolutely nothing, far from caring if anyone was listening. She would have talked to the very wall in front of her if she thought it had the slightest ear for gossip.
"Draco, you're hunching," came his mother's familiar chide. Draco stiffened his back and glanced over to see Narcissa's smile of approval as he fixed his posture. "Oh, Lucius dear, I forgot to mention this earlier, but we received an invitation for tea at the Parkinson's for this Friday afternoon."
Draco raised an eyebrow and looked up from his filet mignon; he knew what was coming.
"Adoria mentioned that Pansy would be joining us as well," she added, taking a sip from her wineglass as if her head wasn't spinning in anticipation. "You know Pansy, don't you sweetheart?" she asked innocently, as if Pansy and Draco were new friends... as if his mother and father hadn't been planning their marriage since the day the two were born.
Rolling his eyes (and silently thanking whatever God possessed Lucius to buy the incredibly long table so his parents could see his expressive face), Draco grunted and took a large bite of his meat, hoping his mother would not question him until his mouth was completely empty. By then Draco hoped to excuse himself and run to his bedroom to escape another interrogation. But his mother was beyond caring for etiquette and she continued.
"Such a lovely girl, that Pansy Parkinson. You know, her family is one of the most prominent in the entire wizarding community, next to ours, of course. They have always..."
Draco could recite his mother's speech word-for-word. She would begin with the Parkinson's in depth history of loyalty to the Dark Lord. Then she'd continue with how the Parkinson's were instrumental in founding the Slytherin house. Narcissa would then conveniently mention how the Parkinson's had a very large estate and an even larger fortune—something that would appeal to any sane man's appetite. The oration always concluded with, "just think about the future you could have with Pansy, think of the future of the wizarding world if the Parkinson's and Malfoy's united."
By then Narcissa was always so worked up in one final dramatic gesture, she beckoned the house elves to retrieve her smelling salts lest she faint in her bowl of soup. The house elves learned (after several beatings) to keep the restorative salts at hand whenever Draco came home, and to dash to their mistresses' side when properly cued. This time was not any different, Narcissa rapidly fanned her face with her hand and Lucius pretended to be concerned while sneaking glances at his newspaper, as the house elves rushed over with the bottle.
Draco took a drink from his glass and smirked slightly at the show before him. It gets more dramatic every visit, Draco thought to himself as he slouched in the straight back chair, taking the opportunity to do so now that his mother's attentions were otherwise engaged.
Somehow, between his mother's fake groans and his father's attention on the Daily Prophet, Draco managed to sneak off to his bedroom. He had no desire to put up with his parent's antics, there were more pressing matters on his mind.
Draco sat down at his writing desk, filled his quill with ink, and pulled out a stack of clean parchment. He stared at the quill hovering over the paper, as if it might be able to write the words Draco could not. Finally, his hand moved.
Ms. Weasley,
It scribbled in the characteristically elegant and loopy Malfoy scrawl. Draco shook his head and crumpled up the parchment in his fist.
"Ms. Weasley? What I'm thinking?" He said allowed, throwing the wad of parchment into the nearby trashcan. "I'm not a bill collector for heaven's sake."
His hand tried again.
Dear Ginny,
He crumpled it again and this time, flung the paper across the room with a scowl. "We had sex, yes, but we're still enemies..." Draco ran an agitated hand through his hair. His blonde locks were beginning to separate into five precise rows through which Draco's fingers plowed when he was frustrated. And that was often.
Ginny,
His hand tried one last time on the third piece of parchment. Draco looked at it. It was simple, but proved the most satisfactory.
Last night was
"amazing" was his first thought. Images of their heated romp floated through his brain and Draco had a hard time controlling himself. Taking virgins was always the most pleasurable. A cold shower would probably be needed later, especially since there were no naive Hogwart's girls here to satisfy him. It would be a long two weeks.
a mistake.
Draco's hand had written the truth; the thing that needed to be said. But she deserved to know more, to be given an explanation as to why his future could never include a girl from her level in society. But Ginny also needed to know that there was something different about her, something that made this letter particularly grueling. Draco shook his head slowly, letting pieces of his perfectly coiffed hair fall over his eyes. As much as Ginny Weasley deserved to know Draco's deepest feelings and thoughts on the matter, he could not bring himself to put it down on paper. It would mean acknowledging that there were feelings, other than pure hatred, about her in the first place, and Draco was incapable of doing that.
-Draco Malfoy
With that, Draco set his quill down and rolled the parchment up, sealing it with the emerald Malfoy crest. He stepped quickly to the windowsill where his eagle owl rested and tied the parchment roll on the bird's thick and obedient leg.
"Fly high," Draco instructed, whispering to the bird uneasily. "You cannot let this fall into unwelcome hands."
The sleek bird squawked its comprehension and shot off the ledge, soaring high into the clouds and disappearing instantly. Draco turned and surveyed his room, making sure it was still empty. He could take no chances, no one could know he had written to Ginny Weasley. The message was short and cryptic, but any involvement with the red-haired girl would be questioned and only meant trouble. For once in his short but full life, Draco Malfoy had to play it safe.