RP: Waste Not, Want Not
Date: December 15, 2004
Characters: Draco Malfoy
Location: his flat
Status: Private
Summary: Tinned tomatoes and tiny house-elves do not good company make.
Completion: Complete
"Master is not eating his tinned tomatoes again. Master is being wasteful!" Tinsy stared up at him, her large, protruding eyes practically goggled out of their sockets, one tiny finger waggling at him in an accusatory fashion.
Lowering the scroll of parchment he'd been reading, Draco narrowed his eyes.
Tinsy's finger stopped waggling, frozen in place.
Slowly, one corner of Draco's mouth hitched up. His gaze never faltering, he smoothly re-rolled the parchment and then proceeded to use it to swat the house-elf's hand away. "I'll tin you if you continue to not pay your place any mind."
"Tinsy," Tinsy sniffed, "would not be fitting in tin. Tinsy is being better suited for beaker or even decanter."
Draco stared at the little elf for a moment, the corner of his mouth abruptly dropping. Ungrateful, mouthy slight thing. Why, he could left it sobbing out in the street, and this was how it repaid him for his generosity?
"Saucy thing," he said, lip curling. A beat, and then, inspired, he thrust the can into her chest. "Make yourself useful. Go make some sauce of it and freeze it in the ice box."
"Yes, sir, Draco Malfoy, sir," Tinsy said. A snap of her fingers and the tin was gone. She gave him one last disapproving look. "Wasteful!" she cried and then, before he could flick his wand in her direction, she was gone.
Once again Draco was left alone in library. Dropping the scroll onto the table beside him, Draco leant back in his chair, eyes moving up over the barren shelves. There were a few books here and there, but he hadn't enough information on any one thing to suit himself. Information is power, Father - no, Lucius - had once told him, and Draco had never held as fast to that notion before as he did now. Money was embarrassingly scarce these days, he hadn't many social connections of which to speak at the present, and he had recently come to depend and rely upon one of the most horrid house elves he'd ever had the misfortune to come across. The only thing Draco had of any significance was the information he'd held in his mind.
Come morning, he would have to set out to acquire new books; he'd read the few on his shelves several times over by now.
Information was power, and Draco would do anything to regain it.
He couldn't imagine himself rebuilding his former life without it.
Characters: Draco Malfoy
Location: his flat
Status: Private
Summary: Tinned tomatoes and tiny house-elves do not good company make.
Completion: Complete
"Master is not eating his tinned tomatoes again. Master is being wasteful!" Tinsy stared up at him, her large, protruding eyes practically goggled out of their sockets, one tiny finger waggling at him in an accusatory fashion.
Lowering the scroll of parchment he'd been reading, Draco narrowed his eyes.
Tinsy's finger stopped waggling, frozen in place.
Slowly, one corner of Draco's mouth hitched up. His gaze never faltering, he smoothly re-rolled the parchment and then proceeded to use it to swat the house-elf's hand away. "I'll tin you if you continue to not pay your place any mind."
"Tinsy," Tinsy sniffed, "would not be fitting in tin. Tinsy is being better suited for beaker or even decanter."
Draco stared at the little elf for a moment, the corner of his mouth abruptly dropping. Ungrateful, mouthy slight thing. Why, he could left it sobbing out in the street, and this was how it repaid him for his generosity?
"Saucy thing," he said, lip curling. A beat, and then, inspired, he thrust the can into her chest. "Make yourself useful. Go make some sauce of it and freeze it in the ice box."
"Yes, sir, Draco Malfoy, sir," Tinsy said. A snap of her fingers and the tin was gone. She gave him one last disapproving look. "Wasteful!" she cried and then, before he could flick his wand in her direction, she was gone.
Once again Draco was left alone in library. Dropping the scroll onto the table beside him, Draco leant back in his chair, eyes moving up over the barren shelves. There were a few books here and there, but he hadn't enough information on any one thing to suit himself. Information is power, Father - no, Lucius - had once told him, and Draco had never held as fast to that notion before as he did now. Money was embarrassingly scarce these days, he hadn't many social connections of which to speak at the present, and he had recently come to depend and rely upon one of the most horrid house elves he'd ever had the misfortune to come across. The only thing Draco had of any significance was the information he'd held in his mind.
Come morning, he would have to set out to acquire new books; he'd read the few on his shelves several times over by now.
Information was power, and Draco would do anything to regain it.
He couldn't imagine himself rebuilding his former life without it.