Draco Malfoy, Pensieve Memory, 1996 Spring
Name: Draco Malfoy
Format: Pensieve Memory
Date: 1996 Spring
Relevance: One pensieve memory unwillingly given to the lady whose fate is as black as her name.
RP'ed with teh sexeh, harriedpotter!
There was never a moment's peace in the Slytherin dormitory, so Draco made his way to the only place he knew he would have a bit of respite from the noise and the nonsense: Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was empty, only the sound of drips from the many faucets lining the walls. It's perfect, Draco thought. Perfect to sort things through. He paced like a caged panther, hands clasped behind his back as he went over the events in his mind. How could he, a sixth year, be expected to take out one of the most powerful wizards of their age? It was a suicide mission, and like the kamikaze pilots, he wasn't expected back. Even if he was successful.
Harry consulted the map again, finding it hard to believe that Draco would be out in the open like this. Well, semi-open. He'd barely noticed which bathroom it was when he barged in, head full of steam and ready to blast into him, but instead he found him facing a mirror, sobbing over a sink. He waved Myrtle away, trying not to laugh at the notion that Draco Malfoy was sensitive, yet, there he was, sobbing quietly and Harry found himself at a complete loss as to what to do or say to this.
The tears were subtle at first. A drop here. A drop there. Born of frustration and hurt and anger. But the more he thought about his predicament, the more he realised how unlikely he was to come out of this alive. Soon his tears were falling more steadily, wetting his cheeks and dappling the grey and green stripes of his tie. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. It had been so long ago. He couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror, his eyes puffy. He'd built a reputation on bullying and how would it look if he were caught sobbing? Like. a. fucking. girl. Just a few minutes more, he thought. Just let me get it out of my system. I'm much too busy for this distraction. Unfortunately for Draco, once he started he found he couldn't stop.
All he could do was just stand and stare, aghast at what he was seeing. Draco whirled around at the sink and it was the first time that Harry had really looked at him. His face was drawn and gaunt, under his eyes were dark circles, his eyes red and swollen. Draco looked tired, broken and scared. Something tightened in Harry's chest. Even if he was sure that Draco was up to something horrible, this was the first time that it occurred to Harry that he might not be entirely in control of it. He started when Draco pulled his wand and pulled his in return.
Draco wasn't aware that anyone was watching him. He had always been pretty self-absorbed, so when he looked up into the mirror and saw Harry Potter's reflection staring back at him, it took a moment or so for him to react. Instinctively, he pulled his wand and trained it on Harry, hating him with every pore and fibre of his being. If Potter was going to tell the whole of Gryffindor that Draco was crying, he was determined to get out at least one curse. One vicious, nasty Unforgivable. Snarling with rage, the curse rolled off his tongue with practised ease. "Cru--!"
But again, Harry was just that much faster than Draco. His reflexes took over, mind spinning for a spell, any spell that would stop him. He knew what Draco was about to say, what that spell felt like and his wand was up, swishing in a taut curl, efficient, proud and his mind locked on a spell for enemies. "Sectumsempra!" he shouted, feeling something like power pulse through him and hit Draco ripping him from his chest, parting his face and leaving a stripe of blood like a seam over his body. Draco railed back and Harry followed, rushing forward as if there was anything in the world he could do to stop this. "No!"
The spell caught Draco in the chest, nearly knocking the wind from him as he stumbled backward. Draco watched in horror as the front of his shirt bloodied in a longways pattern. He could feel a sharp tear at his chest, and the white-hot pain that followed had the strength of a hundred paper cuts simultaneously. Draco clapped a hand over his heart to try and stop the bleeding, but it was flowing much too quickly. Slumping against the sinks, the colour washed from his face and his eyes widened in fear. "Wha- what did you just do to me?" he stammered.
He just stared in terror, not at all sure what he'd just done to Draco. He looked over his chest, at the cut on his face, how the blood was staining his white-blond hair and all he could do was think uselessly that this wasn't what the spell was supposed to do. Not that he had clue one what the spell should do. Only that it was "for enemies" and that Draco was his enemy-- but he never, ever wanted him to die. He reached for Draco's hand, almost ready to start apologizing when the door swung open behind him and Snape was shouting at him and he dove out of the way.
Myrtle's high pitched wails must have alerted staff, and through a miasma of pain, Draco watched as Snape came to his aid, moving with quicksilver reflexes to knit the chest wound. He fully expected Harry to be grinning down at him like a madman, but Potter was fear-stricken, lines of worry creasing his that wretched scar. The little git was in for it now. It's too bad, Draco thought as his eyes began to close, that I'm going to miss it all.
The memory ends here when Draco falls unconscious.
Draco woke the next morning in the hospital wing; embittered and envenomed. Potter had put him here with that…that fucking spell. Sectumsomethingorother. Salazar's scrote he hated not being in his own bed. A casual glance over to the next bed, and Draco was not surprised to find the nerdly Hufflepuff named Poindexter wanking. Couldn't the stupid fucking Puff greet his morning like a normal human being with a spot of tea and toast? Folding his arms across his chest, Draco yowled in pain, reminded of the wound at his chest, bandaged and itching.
Maybe, Draco thought. Maybe just this once, I am too stupid to live.
Format: Pensieve Memory
Date: 1996 Spring
Relevance: One pensieve memory unwillingly given to the lady whose fate is as black as her name.
RP'ed with teh sexeh, harriedpotter!
There was never a moment's peace in the Slytherin dormitory, so Draco made his way to the only place he knew he would have a bit of respite from the noise and the nonsense: Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was empty, only the sound of drips from the many faucets lining the walls. It's perfect, Draco thought. Perfect to sort things through. He paced like a caged panther, hands clasped behind his back as he went over the events in his mind. How could he, a sixth year, be expected to take out one of the most powerful wizards of their age? It was a suicide mission, and like the kamikaze pilots, he wasn't expected back. Even if he was successful.
Harry consulted the map again, finding it hard to believe that Draco would be out in the open like this. Well, semi-open. He'd barely noticed which bathroom it was when he barged in, head full of steam and ready to blast into him, but instead he found him facing a mirror, sobbing over a sink. He waved Myrtle away, trying not to laugh at the notion that Draco Malfoy was sensitive, yet, there he was, sobbing quietly and Harry found himself at a complete loss as to what to do or say to this.
The tears were subtle at first. A drop here. A drop there. Born of frustration and hurt and anger. But the more he thought about his predicament, the more he realised how unlikely he was to come out of this alive. Soon his tears were falling more steadily, wetting his cheeks and dappling the grey and green stripes of his tie. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. It had been so long ago. He couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror, his eyes puffy. He'd built a reputation on bullying and how would it look if he were caught sobbing? Like. a. fucking. girl. Just a few minutes more, he thought. Just let me get it out of my system. I'm much too busy for this distraction. Unfortunately for Draco, once he started he found he couldn't stop.
All he could do was just stand and stare, aghast at what he was seeing. Draco whirled around at the sink and it was the first time that Harry had really looked at him. His face was drawn and gaunt, under his eyes were dark circles, his eyes red and swollen. Draco looked tired, broken and scared. Something tightened in Harry's chest. Even if he was sure that Draco was up to something horrible, this was the first time that it occurred to Harry that he might not be entirely in control of it. He started when Draco pulled his wand and pulled his in return.
Draco wasn't aware that anyone was watching him. He had always been pretty self-absorbed, so when he looked up into the mirror and saw Harry Potter's reflection staring back at him, it took a moment or so for him to react. Instinctively, he pulled his wand and trained it on Harry, hating him with every pore and fibre of his being. If Potter was going to tell the whole of Gryffindor that Draco was crying, he was determined to get out at least one curse. One vicious, nasty Unforgivable. Snarling with rage, the curse rolled off his tongue with practised ease. "Cru--!"
But again, Harry was just that much faster than Draco. His reflexes took over, mind spinning for a spell, any spell that would stop him. He knew what Draco was about to say, what that spell felt like and his wand was up, swishing in a taut curl, efficient, proud and his mind locked on a spell for enemies. "Sectumsempra!" he shouted, feeling something like power pulse through him and hit Draco ripping him from his chest, parting his face and leaving a stripe of blood like a seam over his body. Draco railed back and Harry followed, rushing forward as if there was anything in the world he could do to stop this. "No!"
The spell caught Draco in the chest, nearly knocking the wind from him as he stumbled backward. Draco watched in horror as the front of his shirt bloodied in a longways pattern. He could feel a sharp tear at his chest, and the white-hot pain that followed had the strength of a hundred paper cuts simultaneously. Draco clapped a hand over his heart to try and stop the bleeding, but it was flowing much too quickly. Slumping against the sinks, the colour washed from his face and his eyes widened in fear. "Wha- what did you just do to me?" he stammered.
He just stared in terror, not at all sure what he'd just done to Draco. He looked over his chest, at the cut on his face, how the blood was staining his white-blond hair and all he could do was think uselessly that this wasn't what the spell was supposed to do. Not that he had clue one what the spell should do. Only that it was "for enemies" and that Draco was his enemy-- but he never, ever wanted him to die. He reached for Draco's hand, almost ready to start apologizing when the door swung open behind him and Snape was shouting at him and he dove out of the way.
Myrtle's high pitched wails must have alerted staff, and through a miasma of pain, Draco watched as Snape came to his aid, moving with quicksilver reflexes to knit the chest wound. He fully expected Harry to be grinning down at him like a madman, but Potter was fear-stricken, lines of worry creasing his that wretched scar. The little git was in for it now. It's too bad, Draco thought as his eyes began to close, that I'm going to miss it all.
The memory ends here when Draco falls unconscious.
Draco woke the next morning in the hospital wing; embittered and envenomed. Potter had put him here with that…that fucking spell. Sectumsomethingorother. Salazar's scrote he hated not being in his own bed. A casual glance over to the next bed, and Draco was not surprised to find the nerdly Hufflepuff named Poindexter wanking. Couldn't the stupid fucking Puff greet his morning like a normal human being with a spot of tea and toast? Folding his arms across his chest, Draco yowled in pain, reminded of the wound at his chest, bandaged and itching.
Maybe, Draco thought. Maybe just this once, I am too stupid to live.