(Untitled)

[alethioliar]

It didn't matter to Lyra that her great big marshmallow of a costume was almost uncomfortably hot. She was intensely smug and rather a bit more gleeful at the prospect of hunting down sweets than was absolutely necessary

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[of_badfaith]

Draco was small. Draco was smug. Draco had found the perfect costume, then realized it wasn't quite perfect without Potter himself or the Weasel to taunt with it. So, eleven year old Draco Malfoy was sulking, looking very much as he did that first day at King's Cross, only with a very different wardrobe.

Black tinted hair spray covered his usually glaringly white hair, his face painted a sickly gray, and his round plastic glasses bent askew. The lightening bolt scar on his forehead was painted on with a mockingly careless hand, angry red and bleeding, and his Gryffindor robes were tattered and dirty. He didn't need the white-out contacts the box had given him, his eyes already a deathly silver.

At the angry, impatient knocking, Harry Potter's corpse threw open the door, took one look at the puffy imbecile behind the fishbowl mask, arched one darkened brow, and promptly slammed the door in his or her face.

[alethioliar]

Lyra was indignant.

"Draco Malfoy, you open this door right now!" she bellowed, though the effect wasn't quite as she would have hoped considering the pitch of her voice seemed to be indirectly proportional to her size at any given moment. Anxious to try again, she cleared her throat and added, with a resounding sense of foreboding, "Nnnnnnnow!"

[of_badfaith]

The voice was distant, squeaky, and unrecognizable. But he knew whom it belonged to, just the same.

Ah. Lyra. Of course.

The door slowly swung back, revealing a bemused Draco Malfoy in disguise.

"What on earth is that ridiculous thing on your head?"

[alethioliar]

"What on earth is that ridiculous thing on your face?" she snapped back behind her drawn visor, the effect once again not at all as intended. In a great huff, she pushed the visor up completely, and then just hauled the whole of the helmet off to get a closer look.

"... is that... his scar?"

[of_badfaith]

"I'm Harry Potter's corpse, of course," he said, puffing out his chest proudly and looking down his nose at her, "What are you supposed to be?"

[alethioliar]

Lyra squinted at him and then reached a tiny hand up, pointed finger extended. "Why, I'm an astronaut," she announced just as the tip of that finger nudged up against the scar. It smeared, leaving a red smudge on both their skin. "You need more blood," she decisively added after serious consideration.

[of_badfaith]

Batting her hand away, he said, "I still have the little tube," turning on his heel and moving back into his room, expecting Lyra to follow along obediently.

His opinion on astronauts was clear on his sneering face.