Ficlet: Signs (Draco, PG)
I'm just tickled that Draco's a Gemini, and in honor of that I spent a pathetic amount of time trolling astrology sites. In the end, naturally I had to scribble a bit 'cause I was so overwhelmed with love, clearly. And also felt the need to poke fun; y'know, the usual.
Disclaimer: not mine.
Author's Note: astrological descriptions lifted almost entirely from annabelburton.com, heh. Not that I imagine anyone cares.
- Signs -
When Draco turned all of sixteen, he remembered that his Mummy had told him that he was dual-natured, and therefore superior. Except she didn't quite put it like that.
"See that constellation over there?" she said, pointing a thin white arm at the sky. Draco tipped his head up, feeling a little woozy and giggling at the pretty twinkling lights. "Those are the twins, Draco. They're there to make sure you grow up even more charming, clever and cunning than your father, who's of the goat, and-- well, I don't suppose you need to know." She chuckled oddly and gave Draco a long look, pushing the hair back out of his eyes. "I'd always been pretty rubbish at Divination, but it's clear you're meant to be in the midst of some great conflict one day."
Draco listened attentively, eyes shining up at his mother and ignoring the stars. "What great conflict, mummy?"
"Oh, don't bother yourself with such matters, darling." Impulsively, his mother lifted him up into her arms, settling down onto the large lawn chair by the double balcony doors. "And don't tell your father I told you." She nuzzled the side of his fuzzy head with her forehead, sighing.
"You will be malicious and inconsistent," she said, "restless, fickle and petty."
Draco blinked. "M-mum--?"
"As well as gossipy, scattered and transparent." His mother hummed thoughtfully. "But it could be worse."
By now Draco's eyes were as wide as saucers. "H-how?" he stammered.
"You might have turned out to be a Gryffindor!" she said brightly, and five year-old Draco frowned a little.
"What are Gryffindors, mummy?"
"Oh, they're a pompous bunch of lions," she said, mouth pinched as if the lions were sour. "You must never suffer such fools gladly, as they're all stubborn, patronising, self-centered perverts."
Little Draco shivered delicately, burying his face in his mother's breasts. "I'm scared," he snuffled piteously.
"You're a Malfoy, Draco," she said primly. "You don't get frightened; you change your mind."
Disclaimer: not mine.
Author's Note: astrological descriptions lifted almost entirely from annabelburton.com, heh. Not that I imagine anyone cares.
- Signs -
When Draco turned all of sixteen, he remembered that his Mummy had told him that he was dual-natured, and therefore superior. Except she didn't quite put it like that.
"See that constellation over there?" she said, pointing a thin white arm at the sky. Draco tipped his head up, feeling a little woozy and giggling at the pretty twinkling lights. "Those are the twins, Draco. They're there to make sure you grow up even more charming, clever and cunning than your father, who's of the goat, and-- well, I don't suppose you need to know." She chuckled oddly and gave Draco a long look, pushing the hair back out of his eyes. "I'd always been pretty rubbish at Divination, but it's clear you're meant to be in the midst of some great conflict one day."
Draco listened attentively, eyes shining up at his mother and ignoring the stars. "What great conflict, mummy?"
"Oh, don't bother yourself with such matters, darling." Impulsively, his mother lifted him up into her arms, settling down onto the large lawn chair by the double balcony doors. "And don't tell your father I told you." She nuzzled the side of his fuzzy head with her forehead, sighing.
"You will be malicious and inconsistent," she said, "restless, fickle and petty."
Draco blinked. "M-mum--?"
"As well as gossipy, scattered and transparent." His mother hummed thoughtfully. "But it could be worse."
By now Draco's eyes were as wide as saucers. "H-how?" he stammered.
"You might have turned out to be a Gryffindor!" she said brightly, and five year-old Draco frowned a little.
"What are Gryffindors, mummy?"
"Oh, they're a pompous bunch of lions," she said, mouth pinched as if the lions were sour. "You must never suffer such fools gladly, as they're all stubborn, patronising, self-centered perverts."
Little Draco shivered delicately, burying his face in his mother's breasts. "I'm scared," he snuffled piteously.
"You're a Malfoy, Draco," she said primly. "You don't get frightened; you change your mind."