Fathers and Sons
Date: August 13, 2001 (predated just a hair)
Time: dawn
Location: Malfoy Manor
Characters: Draco and Lucius Malfoy
Rating: PG
Draco set his wand against the gates and whispered. They creaked open for him, and he walked up the long walkway. He'd chosen not to simply apparate to the front door, though he knew he had the right. His parents would not have minded. He needed the crisp air though, the sun's rays not high enough over the horizon to warm it. The path was neatly tended, though he knew his mother would never have settled for anything less. She was pristine and impeccable. Her house and grounds would be also.
Watching his breath form before his face, he stared up at the house that would one day be his. Well, if he didn't manage to call down the wrath of the Black family temper his mother was graced with. Images of the tapestry he'd never seen but only imagined flickered through his mind. Burn marks marred where the blood traitors had once been listed. He knew his name was on that tapestry. They'd told him as much. Now that Potter had the house, the tapestry would remain forever unchanged. But he couldn't help wondering, if it still belonged to his family, would his name eventually be burned?
Standing before the elegantly carved doors, he debated knocking, then simply entered, ordering the house elves not to disturb his parents. They cowered, but nodded, and retreated, leaving him in solitude. He walked to his father's study and placed his hand on the wall near the door. He knew better than to touch the door proper, or even the frame, though someday it would be his presence the wards were tuned to.
He turned and walked to the sitting room and stared out the window at the rising sun. A symbol of hope and rebirth. He chuckled silently. He wasn't here for either. It had been difficult, though the choice had been made easier by the crumpled parchment in his breast pocket. He had hoped sleep would calm him, help him see reason, though he tossed and turned as surely as he had the night before.
His help wasn't needed? Who was she to refuse a Malfoy? A Weasley? It was unheard of! He hadn't even been rude about it! He'd simply offered her payment. His money wasn't necessary. That was the term she'd used. Necessary.
He would show her. No one snubbed a Malfoy. No one.
He would wait for his father. He would rise early, he always did. Then he could start the process of making himself necessary to Miss Weasley.
Time: dawn
Location: Malfoy Manor
Characters: Draco and Lucius Malfoy
Rating: PG
Draco set his wand against the gates and whispered. They creaked open for him, and he walked up the long walkway. He'd chosen not to simply apparate to the front door, though he knew he had the right. His parents would not have minded. He needed the crisp air though, the sun's rays not high enough over the horizon to warm it. The path was neatly tended, though he knew his mother would never have settled for anything less. She was pristine and impeccable. Her house and grounds would be also.
Watching his breath form before his face, he stared up at the house that would one day be his. Well, if he didn't manage to call down the wrath of the Black family temper his mother was graced with. Images of the tapestry he'd never seen but only imagined flickered through his mind. Burn marks marred where the blood traitors had once been listed. He knew his name was on that tapestry. They'd told him as much. Now that Potter had the house, the tapestry would remain forever unchanged. But he couldn't help wondering, if it still belonged to his family, would his name eventually be burned?
Standing before the elegantly carved doors, he debated knocking, then simply entered, ordering the house elves not to disturb his parents. They cowered, but nodded, and retreated, leaving him in solitude. He walked to his father's study and placed his hand on the wall near the door. He knew better than to touch the door proper, or even the frame, though someday it would be his presence the wards were tuned to.
He turned and walked to the sitting room and stared out the window at the rising sun. A symbol of hope and rebirth. He chuckled silently. He wasn't here for either. It had been difficult, though the choice had been made easier by the crumpled parchment in his breast pocket. He had hoped sleep would calm him, help him see reason, though he tossed and turned as surely as he had the night before.
His help wasn't needed? Who was she to refuse a Malfoy? A Weasley? It was unheard of! He hadn't even been rude about it! He'd simply offered her payment. His money wasn't necessary. That was the term she'd used. Necessary.
He would show her. No one snubbed a Malfoy. No one.
He would wait for his father. He would rise early, he always did. Then he could start the process of making himself necessary to Miss Weasley.