The image of a belligerently-scowling Draco Malfoy is nothing at all new; Sirius reckons his cousin's pale, pointed face may be permanently stuck that way. Typically, he doesn't so much as bother acknowledging the little prat unless he's horrifically bored, but it isn't Draco that draws his eye. No, it's the unmistakable, disheveled head of dark hair perched above a jagged scar shaped like a lightning bolt. An inescapable part of his heart aches at the sight of it and pulls him forward as if leashed, reeling him in to skim careful fingers over glossy, eerily still pages.
As far as family went, Draco and his cousin weren't particularly close. There were branches in the Black Family Tree that had been literally burned away, and Draco had grown up with but contempt for that tarnish in their blood line.
So, he wasn't particularly happy to see Sirius' face that night, but it was something he was willing to ignore. That was, until he started stroking Harry Potter's smiling face like a bloody kitten.
"Fantastic," Draco sighed heavily, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "By all means, join me."
"You're so full of shit," Sirius finally says, glancing up to hold Draco in a calm, steady gaze. "How long're you going to have to live here until you realize all those rules Mummy and Daddy taught you did nothing more than turn you into a prat? I've read the bloody books, Draco; I know about Luna. The pureblood exasperation is not fucking fooling me."
"Thank you for that startling bit of insight. Truly. I'm fully reformed now, thank you," he muttered flatly, his expression wiping away into a blank look of utter boredom.
Chris had been on the island something like four days, which was a sort of brilliant mental that he hadn't been able to figure out yet. But Cassie had shown him where the kitchen was and the box of clothes that never ended, and there was pretty much always spliff, so he wasn't too worried about it all making sense.
After some bitch had yelled at him for smoking indoors, he'd put out his joint and tucked it behind his ear while he went inside to look for something to eat. That was, until passed the rec room and found the angry-looking bloke sitting at the table, surrounded by magazines. Curious, he decided a detour wasn't a bad idea.
"Never really understood what the big deal was about those films," He said, noticing the covers of the magazines, "Bunch of people wavin' fuckin' wands about or whatever. Now 'Driving Miss Daisy', there's a classic."
He might have laughed, really, but that wasn't his style. Laughing at a stranger, certainly, but with them? Lord no. Instead, he let out a huff of a sound that might have been amusement on anyone else and with a arch of one pale brow, he said, "Honestly, I'm not sure if I should be insulted by that or not."
"Big fan, then?" Chris asked, walking over to get a closer look at them all, strewn out on the table, "Didn't mean anything by it."
From the looks of it, this guy might've been a bit obsessed, and Chris wasn't about to start an argument over Harry Potter. Besides, as far as days had gone, he'd had a pretty decent one so far.
"Not quite," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes and swallowing down the rather epic rant threatening to spill out from his throat. It might have made him feel better, if only for a moment, but for a bloke like this, it simply wasn't worth it.
Angua could tell Draco was brooding before she'd so much as walked into the room. The set of his shoulders read tension, and this late at night? She couldn't help wonder how long he'd been brewing.
She crossed the room, silent as could be, and leaned over his shoulder.
The happy, smiling faces of wizards was not what she expected to see. And one in particular...
"Oh, look at you! You're so young!" She snatched up the book, smiling at the photos.
"Angua, please. If you're going to fawn like that, you might as well just kill me now and put me out of my misery," Draco drawled, his face pinching up at the sudden bitterness of bile surging up on the back of his tongue.
"They're talking about a character in the films. I don't know how it works, but I know for damn sure our war wasn't fodder for teen magazines and cheap entertainment. Muggle children's entertainment, no less," he said with a disgusted curl of his lips.
"I was simply looking for a book," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the bookcase, "They just kept coming."
"In the kettle," he murmured distractedly, still twisting at the ring on his finger, the band of precious metal suddenly heavier and oddly constricting.
"Unfortunately, I don't have a monopoly on this room, so I suppose you're welcome to do what you like."
It still bothered him, how polite everyone was. It wasn't out of fear, like he was used to, but out of a kind of genuine friendliness he had a difficult time understanding.
Someone had made cookies, and Alexis collected several and put them on a plate to take with her to the rec room, enough to share while she checked out what kind of dubious reading material the bookshelf wanted to give her.
"Oh, hey Draco, what's...up." She'd started out cheery, with a smile, but tapered off when she got closer and saw just what he was looking at.
"Oh," she said, cringing just slightly and drawing the word out a little. "That's - yeah, that's gotta be weird."
"There are so many of them," he admitted distantly, a rare moment of honesty slipping free while he wasn't paying proper attention. He couldn't explain why this felt different than the movies or the books. With those, he could almost trick himself into believing he'd stumbled across bits of history books, memoirs and historical film footage. There was no mistaking this.
Clearing his throat and blinking away the haze, he pushed steadily to his feet, leaning over to gather the magazines so that he could put them away on the shelves where they belonged.
"Apparently the bloke with Potter's face did a stage production with his bits all flopping about. Now I know what to think about, if I ever really need a laugh."
"Yeah, it's...pretty popular where I come from," Alexis said, setting down the plate of cookies so she could help Draco pick up the magazines. She didn't think most people, herself included, ever really thought about what fictional characters would think about stuff like fans and magazines and all that if they just happened to be real somewhere.
"Equus," she replied almost automatically, then smiled a bit sheepishly. "It was pretty well known, since it was, you know, Dan Radcliffe. I remember when it was on Broadway."
"Spectacular," he muttered, shoving a stack of them onto the shelves, "You know, a working wand would be rather useful, at the moment. I could burn them all to cinder without risking all the precious souls inside."
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So, he wasn't particularly happy to see Sirius' face that night, but it was something he was willing to ignore. That was, until he started stroking Harry Potter's smiling face like a bloody kitten.
"Fantastic," Draco sighed heavily, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "By all means, join me."
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"And what exactly do you know about Luna?"
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After some bitch had yelled at him for smoking indoors, he'd put out his joint and tucked it behind his ear while he went inside to look for something to eat. That was, until passed the rec room and found the angry-looking bloke sitting at the table, surrounded by magazines. Curious, he decided a detour wasn't a bad idea.
"Never really understood what the big deal was about those films," He said, noticing the covers of the magazines, "Bunch of people wavin' fuckin' wands about or whatever. Now 'Driving Miss Daisy', there's a classic."
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From the looks of it, this guy might've been a bit obsessed, and Chris wasn't about to start an argument over Harry Potter. Besides, as far as days had gone, he'd had a pretty decent one so far.
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"Let me guess. You're new."
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She crossed the room, silent as could be, and leaned over his shoulder.
The happy, smiling faces of wizards was not what she expected to see. And one in particular...
"Oh, look at you! You're so young!" She snatched up the book, smiling at the photos.
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"Anyway, that isn't me. It's an impostor."
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"Is it? But I even see your name," she added, showing him a page devoted to Draco Malfoy.
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"I was simply looking for a book," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the bookcase, "They just kept coming."
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"It's probably gone cold."
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It still bothered him, how polite everyone was. It wasn't out of fear, like he was used to, but out of a kind of genuine friendliness he had a difficult time understanding.
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"Oh, hey Draco, what's...up." She'd started out cheery, with a smile, but tapered off when she got closer and saw just what he was looking at.
"Oh," she said, cringing just slightly and drawing the word out a little. "That's - yeah, that's gotta be weird."
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Clearing his throat and blinking away the haze, he pushed steadily to his feet, leaning over to gather the magazines so that he could put them away on the shelves where they belonged.
"Apparently the bloke with Potter's face did a stage production with his bits all flopping about. Now I know what to think about, if I ever really need a laugh."
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"Equus," she replied almost automatically, then smiled a bit sheepishly. "It was pretty well known, since it was, you know, Dan Radcliffe. I remember when it was on Broadway."
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