(no subject)
Nearly a week on, and he could still feel that place under his skin. Shivering down the length of his spine. Three years on, and for the first time, he felt truly ready to put that place behind him. Be rid of it for good. After that brief moment of euphoria, having a wand back in his hand and control of himself for the first time in years, the reality of it came crashing down around his ears. There was no rush of relief, no feeling of coming home after such a long time away. No warmth at finally seeing his mother, no respect for his father. Nothing but disappointment and fear and hate. Hate for that place. For his father, simpering and falling at the Dark Lord's feet, all the pain it had caused their family. All that they'd lost.
For the first time in his life, he felt he understood Harry Potter and some of the things he'd done, and perhaps that was the most disturbing thing of all.
Nearly a week back... back on the island... back home -- Dear Lord, what a horrific thought that was -- Draco sat alone on the beach, a glass in hand, filled with an amber liquid that burned its way down his throat. It was well past dark, moonlight shining down on his pale head, and in his plain t-shirt and blue jeans, he looked the part of any average Muggle man of twenty-one. He could feel it seeping into him, these people that he'd hated for so much of his life, this place becoming a part of him.
Funny thing was, he'd only just realized: Maybe he didn't have to keep fighting it. What a novel idea.
[[Find him anywhere on the beach, sitting in the sand with a glass of whiskey in hand. This is an especially good time for new faces, but old faces are encouraged as well. ST/LT more than welcome.]]
For the first time in his life, he felt he understood Harry Potter and some of the things he'd done, and perhaps that was the most disturbing thing of all.
Nearly a week back... back on the island... back home -- Dear Lord, what a horrific thought that was -- Draco sat alone on the beach, a glass in hand, filled with an amber liquid that burned its way down his throat. It was well past dark, moonlight shining down on his pale head, and in his plain t-shirt and blue jeans, he looked the part of any average Muggle man of twenty-one. He could feel it seeping into him, these people that he'd hated for so much of his life, this place becoming a part of him.
Funny thing was, he'd only just realized: Maybe he didn't have to keep fighting it. What a novel idea.
[[Find him anywhere on the beach, sitting in the sand with a glass of whiskey in hand. This is an especially good time for new faces, but old faces are encouraged as well. ST/LT more than welcome.]]