In the spirit of "The Greatest Wizard of All is Gay, Tee-hee"
I'm finally re-posting my hd_holidays fic, "Of Malfoy Possessions."
Isn't it so obvious that I wrote it, considering the lack of resolution, hahaha. Will (eventually) write more. Most likely from Draco's pov ^^;;
Am also posting these related cookies publicly. Don't really like the third one, but eh. (Some of you have read these f-locked cookies months ago here).
Originally posted at writing_game:
Prompt: kit
“Absolutely not.”
Round grey eyes widened and a bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
Lucius reluctantly acknowledged that it was high time to start saying no to his six-year-old son.
Narcissa had remarked in three separate occasions that Draco didn't understand the meaning of the word “No.” When he pointed out that she also spoiled him outrageously, she had replied, “That’s a mother’s prerogative, dear. The father is the one who provides discipline.”
Draco hugged the reddish bundle of fur closely to his chest. “Kit is coming home with me. He’ll be my bestest friend.”
“You should say ‘He will be my best friend,’” Lucius automatically corrected him. He couldn’t help but be impressed by his son’s sense of entitlement. There was no question in Draco’s mind that the world will be rearranged to accommodate his wishes.
“You cannot have the kit, son. The mother fox must be looking for him. Why don't we go back to the sunroom? Your mother must be missing you terribly.”
Draco bit his lip. “Will you buy me a pair of kneazles then? They can chase each other on my bed.”
“Very well,” Lucius said wryly, “we shall go to Magical Menagerie tomorrow.”
Action: Cry
Lucius watched helplessly as his son cried--face red and scrunched up while big drops of tear rolled off his quivering chin.
“Draco, what’s wrong?” Where is Narcissa when I need her?
Hiccupping, Draco answered, “Castor and Pollux ran away.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucius said, “We can go to Diagon Alley right now and buy another pair of kneazles for you. A more handsome pair.”
Shaking his head, Draco said between gasps of breath, “I don’t want-another pet. They ran away from me. They don’t like me!”
His face crumpled and he threw himself forward, clutching at Lucius’ robes with small clenched fists.
Lucius ran a soothing hand down his son’s tense back.
“They’re just a pair of dumb magical beasts,” he said in a calming voice. “They don’t know what a wonderful little Wizard you are.”
Draco eventually stopped crying and lifted his head from his Father’s damp robes.
“Really?” His lower lip trembled. “They don’t like me because they’re dumb?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Draco shook his head, looking at his father with wide grey eyes.
“Only stupid animals don’t adore you, Draco. An owl, on the other hand, is an intelligent magical beast--”
Prompt: Haunt. (Don't like this one. Meh. Useful plot ideas though, I think.)
Out of the thirteen ghosts who haunt Malfoy Manor, Draco liked Renard Malfoy best.
Renard did not have the white blond hair and grey eyes that have marked Malfoys for generations. Instead, straight black hair fell into light brown eyes that sometimes glowed amber in the moonlight. It was not a spectral effect-his portrait in the darkened mirror room also had eyes that glowed amber.
Neither his ghost nor portrait ever said anything-Renard would instead give a slow, sly smile under lowered lashes. Accustomed to ancestors who always regaled him about their grand deeds in the past, Draco was intrigued by this silent curve of full lips.
When he asked Father about Renard, Lucius had brusquely answered that he was not a Malfoy by blood. This uncharacteristic apathy to an ancestor only served to flame Draco’s interest. He would spend hours in the Malfoy library poring for any information on Renard.
He learned that the man who came to call himself Renard Malfoy had arrived in the British Isles from a spices ship presumably from the Orient in the 1600s. He soon garnered attention from the Malfoys and other pureblood families for his exotic beauty and cultured mannerism.
Isn't it so obvious that I wrote it, considering the lack of resolution, hahaha. Will (eventually) write more. Most likely from Draco's pov ^^;;
Am also posting these related cookies publicly. Don't really like the third one, but eh. (Some of you have read these f-locked cookies months ago here).
Originally posted at writing_game:
Prompt: kit
“Absolutely not.”
Round grey eyes widened and a bottom lip stuck out in a pout.
Lucius reluctantly acknowledged that it was high time to start saying no to his six-year-old son.
Narcissa had remarked in three separate occasions that Draco didn't understand the meaning of the word “No.” When he pointed out that she also spoiled him outrageously, she had replied, “That’s a mother’s prerogative, dear. The father is the one who provides discipline.”
Draco hugged the reddish bundle of fur closely to his chest. “Kit is coming home with me. He’ll be my bestest friend.”
“You should say ‘He will be my best friend,’” Lucius automatically corrected him. He couldn’t help but be impressed by his son’s sense of entitlement. There was no question in Draco’s mind that the world will be rearranged to accommodate his wishes.
“You cannot have the kit, son. The mother fox must be looking for him. Why don't we go back to the sunroom? Your mother must be missing you terribly.”
Draco bit his lip. “Will you buy me a pair of kneazles then? They can chase each other on my bed.”
“Very well,” Lucius said wryly, “we shall go to Magical Menagerie tomorrow.”
Action: Cry
Lucius watched helplessly as his son cried--face red and scrunched up while big drops of tear rolled off his quivering chin.
“Draco, what’s wrong?” Where is Narcissa when I need her?
Hiccupping, Draco answered, “Castor and Pollux ran away.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Lucius said, “We can go to Diagon Alley right now and buy another pair of kneazles for you. A more handsome pair.”
Shaking his head, Draco said between gasps of breath, “I don’t want-another pet. They ran away from me. They don’t like me!”
His face crumpled and he threw himself forward, clutching at Lucius’ robes with small clenched fists.
Lucius ran a soothing hand down his son’s tense back.
“They’re just a pair of dumb magical beasts,” he said in a calming voice. “They don’t know what a wonderful little Wizard you are.”
Draco eventually stopped crying and lifted his head from his Father’s damp robes.
“Really?” His lower lip trembled. “They don’t like me because they’re dumb?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Draco shook his head, looking at his father with wide grey eyes.
“Only stupid animals don’t adore you, Draco. An owl, on the other hand, is an intelligent magical beast--”
Prompt: Haunt. (Don't like this one. Meh. Useful plot ideas though, I think.)
Out of the thirteen ghosts who haunt Malfoy Manor, Draco liked Renard Malfoy best.
Renard did not have the white blond hair and grey eyes that have marked Malfoys for generations. Instead, straight black hair fell into light brown eyes that sometimes glowed amber in the moonlight. It was not a spectral effect-his portrait in the darkened mirror room also had eyes that glowed amber.
Neither his ghost nor portrait ever said anything-Renard would instead give a slow, sly smile under lowered lashes. Accustomed to ancestors who always regaled him about their grand deeds in the past, Draco was intrigued by this silent curve of full lips.
When he asked Father about Renard, Lucius had brusquely answered that he was not a Malfoy by blood. This uncharacteristic apathy to an ancestor only served to flame Draco’s interest. He would spend hours in the Malfoy library poring for any information on Renard.
He learned that the man who came to call himself Renard Malfoy had arrived in the British Isles from a spices ship presumably from the Orient in the 1600s. He soon garnered attention from the Malfoys and other pureblood families for his exotic beauty and cultured mannerism.