Draco Malfoy character sketch
Yeah... I don't own the character, though I wish I had him tied up in my basement he were mine to exploit refine and expand upon for reals.
If you watch glass long enough, you come to realize it never quite leaves its liquid state behind. Perfect panes grow thicker at their bottom edges, and slightly lumpy, clarity rudely disrupted by the slow slide of the brittle stuff. Some windows at Hogwarts are like this, and Draco Malfoy has noticed.
The top edges of the panes are thinner than parchment, thinner than breath, thinner than the light they admit. Draco discovered a pane that had a small hole in it, in his third year. He measured it carefully, as an experiment, so he could watch it pull itself open. He isn’t sure why he wants to do this, except he’s sure it applies to him somehow, it’s a clue and he has to find the mystery it solves.
He comes to that window often, though the view from it is unremarkable - a distant hillside, barely visible past one of the many towers of the castle, and he doesn’t even know which tower it is that blocks his view. Once, Harry Potter and Seamus Finnigan flew past it when he was there. He left, feeling invaded and fevered, and was crueler over supper that night, telling Millicent she ought to stop eating so many cakes, or she’d lose her broomstick up her arse.
Draco isn’t a very self-aware boy. He’s a follower, and this suits him well enough. He thinks he will follow his father’s patterns, marry a woman and get a son on her, and not be faithful because his won’t be a marriage of love, but politics. His son will grow up in the Malfoy tradition, and Draco will keep to the narrow path he’s allowed. It’s safer to do what’s expected of him.
But at Hogwarts he’ll observe the strange phenomenon of forever-liquid glass, and play Quidditch, and dream of what he wants, rather than what he may have. He’ll measure holes, and perhaps touch their finely-scalloped edges, and just before he leaves school for the last time, he’ll shatter every window he’s ever studied.
If you watch glass long enough, you come to realize it never quite leaves its liquid state behind. Perfect panes grow thicker at their bottom edges, and slightly lumpy, clarity rudely disrupted by the slow slide of the brittle stuff. Some windows at Hogwarts are like this, and Draco Malfoy has noticed.
The top edges of the panes are thinner than parchment, thinner than breath, thinner than the light they admit. Draco discovered a pane that had a small hole in it, in his third year. He measured it carefully, as an experiment, so he could watch it pull itself open. He isn’t sure why he wants to do this, except he’s sure it applies to him somehow, it’s a clue and he has to find the mystery it solves.
He comes to that window often, though the view from it is unremarkable - a distant hillside, barely visible past one of the many towers of the castle, and he doesn’t even know which tower it is that blocks his view. Once, Harry Potter and Seamus Finnigan flew past it when he was there. He left, feeling invaded and fevered, and was crueler over supper that night, telling Millicent she ought to stop eating so many cakes, or she’d lose her broomstick up her arse.
Draco isn’t a very self-aware boy. He’s a follower, and this suits him well enough. He thinks he will follow his father’s patterns, marry a woman and get a son on her, and not be faithful because his won’t be a marriage of love, but politics. His son will grow up in the Malfoy tradition, and Draco will keep to the narrow path he’s allowed. It’s safer to do what’s expected of him.
But at Hogwarts he’ll observe the strange phenomenon of forever-liquid glass, and play Quidditch, and dream of what he wants, rather than what he may have. He’ll measure holes, and perhaps touch their finely-scalloped edges, and just before he leaves school for the last time, he’ll shatter every window he’s ever studied.