(no subject)
Cepheus is napping, curled up in his mother's arms. All the better for him not to see her brooding.
Mrs. Malfoy is sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a cup of tea that's long since gone cold and the family's Tales of Beedle the Bard by her. Story time was simple, if repetitive: a few tellings of Cepheus's current favorite, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. This copy, with notes from Dumbledore, has occasionally brought up the family name.
Malfoy.
Ever since her rather disastrous conversation with Harry, she's been questioning herself. Her morals, her actions, everything she ever was, is, or will be. Surely something's been compromised in her youth so that she could be with Draco, though Draco has grown to the extent that such compromise is no longer necessary. But is he the one who's changed? She certainly couldn't have been static all these years. She must be different from the young lady she once was. Perhaps she's let herself slip.
Does marrying someone also espouse you to the ideas of the whole family, regardless of how you may feel about them?
Mrs. Malfoy's thin fingers stroke through her son's hair, more for her comfort than his as she continues to ask herself.
Is she really nothing but another Malfoy?
Mrs. Malfoy is sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, a cup of tea that's long since gone cold and the family's Tales of Beedle the Bard by her. Story time was simple, if repetitive: a few tellings of Cepheus's current favorite, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot. This copy, with notes from Dumbledore, has occasionally brought up the family name.
Malfoy.
Ever since her rather disastrous conversation with Harry, she's been questioning herself. Her morals, her actions, everything she ever was, is, or will be. Surely something's been compromised in her youth so that she could be with Draco, though Draco has grown to the extent that such compromise is no longer necessary. But is he the one who's changed? She certainly couldn't have been static all these years. She must be different from the young lady she once was. Perhaps she's let herself slip.
Does marrying someone also espouse you to the ideas of the whole family, regardless of how you may feel about them?
Mrs. Malfoy's thin fingers stroke through her son's hair, more for her comfort than his as she continues to ask herself.
Is she really nothing but another Malfoy?