Pride (lilianvaldemyer) (July 7)
Title: Pride
Author: lilianvaldemyer
House: Ravenclaw
Date/Challenge: July 7, Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?
Character/Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG, to be safe
Word Count: 500
Notes: First fic i've posted here. The beginning of a series idea I’ve been thinking about for a while now.
This part is dedicated to judas_denied for giving me the prod to write it, and is also archived at my fic journal (here). No copying/reproducing without my permission; as far as other legal matters go, they belong to JKR. I just like to play with them on the weekends.
Draco knew the name Harry Potter before he knew alohamora.
When he was 3, Potter was a dark thing, shadowy and Boggart-like and waiting in the dark under the bed. Father’s voice was still cross, spitting ice at Mother while Draco watched black-cloaked wizards nod politely out of photos. They were his uncles, Father said; uncles he’d never meet “and all the fault of that damn Potter child.”
Anything that could make Father talk like that was something to stay away from.
When he was 7, Harry was a secret. Father rarely mentioned him now, and only ever in undertones while reading the paper. “Remarkable. A mere babe, and still the stuff of legend,” and his eyes narrowed over the coffee cup.
He stayed silent, but thought to himself that Harry was remarkable, as Father said. The same age as him, but Harry was allowed out of doors all day by himself. Harry’s parents never called him back when he was two shops ahead in Diagon Alley. Harry, he thought, looked like the teddy he stuffed under his pillow: black and slightly messy-looking, with big bright eyes waiting for excitement.
At night he gripped its paw as he mumbled nox to Mother’s bedside charm. He held on tight as the dark closed around, and dreamed of him and Harry, and how they would be best friends one day.
When he was 11, he saw Harry Potter for the first time. The boy he stood next to was black-haired and shaggy, eyes shining Slytherin green behind glasses, and he didn’t know why he felt like he knew him or why he suddenly needed to impress this person.
“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” he said slowly, wondering at the feeling in his stomach of sealed fate and missed chances.
If Father or Mother noticed he was quieter than usual for the rest of the summer, they never said anything.
Looking into the carriage, he saw it was too late. Harry Potter had already found friends, people Father would thrash him sure as look at him for talking to. He couldn’t keep the feeling of being cheated out of his voice as he spoke.
“You don’t want to go making friend with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”
Potter spoke in green blazes and silver steel that cut ribbons across his face. He heard Father’s voice, cold in his head: “No one dares speak to my son like that.” Pride cooled the blood in his cheeks to delicate pink, but he knew the emerald eyes had already seen.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter.” Slowly, frantic thoughts crying that things were wrong. Things never went wrong for a Malfoy.
Later, in the dark, he decided it was the damn robe shop. Next time he would see his chance, he would seize it. Dangling the bear by a foot, he pointed his wand and whispered incendio.
Author: lilianvaldemyer
House: Ravenclaw
Date/Challenge: July 7, Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?
Character/Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: PG, to be safe
Word Count: 500
Notes: First fic i've posted here. The beginning of a series idea I’ve been thinking about for a while now.
This part is dedicated to judas_denied for giving me the prod to write it, and is also archived at my fic journal (here). No copying/reproducing without my permission; as far as other legal matters go, they belong to JKR. I just like to play with them on the weekends.
Draco knew the name Harry Potter before he knew alohamora.
When he was 3, Potter was a dark thing, shadowy and Boggart-like and waiting in the dark under the bed. Father’s voice was still cross, spitting ice at Mother while Draco watched black-cloaked wizards nod politely out of photos. They were his uncles, Father said; uncles he’d never meet “and all the fault of that damn Potter child.”
Anything that could make Father talk like that was something to stay away from.
When he was 7, Harry was a secret. Father rarely mentioned him now, and only ever in undertones while reading the paper. “Remarkable. A mere babe, and still the stuff of legend,” and his eyes narrowed over the coffee cup.
He stayed silent, but thought to himself that Harry was remarkable, as Father said. The same age as him, but Harry was allowed out of doors all day by himself. Harry’s parents never called him back when he was two shops ahead in Diagon Alley. Harry, he thought, looked like the teddy he stuffed under his pillow: black and slightly messy-looking, with big bright eyes waiting for excitement.
At night he gripped its paw as he mumbled nox to Mother’s bedside charm. He held on tight as the dark closed around, and dreamed of him and Harry, and how they would be best friends one day.
When he was 11, he saw Harry Potter for the first time. The boy he stood next to was black-haired and shaggy, eyes shining Slytherin green behind glasses, and he didn’t know why he felt like he knew him or why he suddenly needed to impress this person.
“Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,” he said slowly, wondering at the feeling in his stomach of sealed fate and missed chances.
If Father or Mother noticed he was quieter than usual for the rest of the summer, they never said anything.
Looking into the carriage, he saw it was too late. Harry Potter had already found friends, people Father would thrash him sure as look at him for talking to. He couldn’t keep the feeling of being cheated out of his voice as he spoke.
“You don’t want to go making friend with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
“I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.”
Potter spoke in green blazes and silver steel that cut ribbons across his face. He heard Father’s voice, cold in his head: “No one dares speak to my son like that.” Pride cooled the blood in his cheeks to delicate pink, but he knew the emerald eyes had already seen.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter.” Slowly, frantic thoughts crying that things were wrong. Things never went wrong for a Malfoy.
Later, in the dark, he decided it was the damn robe shop. Next time he would see his chance, he would seize it. Dangling the bear by a foot, he pointed his wand and whispered incendio.