Outing oneself is a delicate matter
Characters: Draco, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy
Date: Sunday March 30, 2002 (backdated, sorry!)
Time: late afternoon
Location: Malfoy Manor
Draco had returned home with appropriate fanfare the day before, but he'd refused to talk about the moon aside from bland comments about how he didn't seem to have any wolfy traits. He'd played up how tired he was, which was only half true.
Getting lost in his head was something he feared and loved. And given the last few days, he needed to think and not about the moon. Because thinking about the moon would inevitably lead to him thinking about June and that mess.
So, instead, he thought about Daphne, and Pansy, and how much he missed the relationships he'd once had. Dwelling on that long-term was not conducive to sanity, so by Sunday afternoon, he'd called both his parents to his room.
Playing with the coverlet so he wouldn't have to look at them just yet, he began by taking a deep breath.
Has to be done. You know that.
Shut up.
Fine.
"I don't have a penchant for rare meat, nor do I get irritable, or any other traits that seem to attach themselves to the wolves." He picked an invisible piece of lint off. "However, it seems I have contracted an allergy," he furrowed his brow, "an intolerance, and it is best to just tell it now."
To force them to ask or just blurt it out? No, he would wait, even a few moments more. He couldn't stomach the idea of telling them. It was...horrific. It was an abomination of its own kind.
Date: Sunday March 30, 2002 (backdated, sorry!)
Time: late afternoon
Location: Malfoy Manor
Draco had returned home with appropriate fanfare the day before, but he'd refused to talk about the moon aside from bland comments about how he didn't seem to have any wolfy traits. He'd played up how tired he was, which was only half true.
Getting lost in his head was something he feared and loved. And given the last few days, he needed to think and not about the moon. Because thinking about the moon would inevitably lead to him thinking about June and that mess.
So, instead, he thought about Daphne, and Pansy, and how much he missed the relationships he'd once had. Dwelling on that long-term was not conducive to sanity, so by Sunday afternoon, he'd called both his parents to his room.
Playing with the coverlet so he wouldn't have to look at them just yet, he began by taking a deep breath.
Has to be done. You know that.
Shut up.
Fine.
"I don't have a penchant for rare meat, nor do I get irritable, or any other traits that seem to attach themselves to the wolves." He picked an invisible piece of lint off. "However, it seems I have contracted an allergy," he furrowed his brow, "an intolerance, and it is best to just tell it now."
To force them to ask or just blurt it out? No, he would wait, even a few moments more. He couldn't stomach the idea of telling them. It was...horrific. It was an abomination of its own kind.