(no subject)
[mood| 
sympathetic]
[music| Counting Crows - Colourblind]
My first Harry Potter fic.
Title: Metal Heart
Rating: R, will be N17 in future
Pairings/Characters: Draco/OC, Fred/OC, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, George
Word Count: 1,556
Summery: He needed a war hero. So she returned back to a world that was nothing like how she left it.
Spoilers: This takes place after Deathly Hallows, nearly a year or so afterwards. It's not exactly AU, it's just expanding on a world we don't see much of. (Brief epilogue anyone?)
Warnings: Language and probably substance abuse. My versions of the characters may seem a little OOC but that's because it's after a war, a lot would have happened that would have changed them emotionally, they are probably all still adjusting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or it's various characters, locations or anything else the wonderful J.K has bestowed upon us. Nor do I own the lyrics to "Crosses" by Jose Gonzalez. I only own Ella and any other random original character I chuck in.
Chapter One: Crosses
Don’t you know that I’ll be around to guide you?
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
“This is ridiculous.”
They’re standing in this huge room stuffed full of clothes. A whole room that was just four walls jam packed full of clothes.
“It’s perfect.” He says holding up the strapless silver ball gown.
“It’s a meringue.”
“You have no taste.” He replied, laying the gown over an armchair tenderly.
“It’s not your first born, you know.” She says with a sneer.
It’s not a playful conversation between friends, not the in jokes of barely adults who had known each other for their entire lives. No, the two people standing in this room are drawn together by something entirely more realistic.
He needed a war hero.
And she was the only one he could count on.
“What about this?” He pulls out a green satin gown with what appeared to be a black gossamer over robe. It was ostentatious and very Slytherin. And backless. Well… you could see through the over robe.
She blinks.
“We wouldn’t be setting ourselves apart at all, would we Draco? Isn’t this ludicrous party of yours supposed to be about unity and the new world? Not old prejudices?”
He looks down at the dress in his hands. “Your right,” He says slowly. “I should wear it.”
She snorts with what can only be understood as laughter. “I don’t understand why you need me here.” She says impatiently. Tracing her hand along a pair of shiny patent red stilettos.
“I’m sure I mentioned at some point that it looks overwhelmingly fantastic if there’s a war hero present. Since it is unbelievably unlikely that Potter, Granger, Weasley or Longbottom will make an appearance, you I believe, are my only choice.”
“It helps that I’m a Slytherin, doesn’t it though? I mean, nothing to make you look better than someone who was in your own house and didn’t have a bitter grudge against you to be standing by your side greeting all the ministry officials.”
“I do believe you’ve grasped the basic principal, yes.”
“Thank you for reassuring my long standing belief that you are a heartless worm that uses people for his own purposes.”
“That would make a fantastic obituary Ella, write that one down.”
She looks around the room at all the dresses, all property of the Malfoys. Naturally Ella didn’t own anything Draco deemed appropriate to wear. She wasn’t as much of a showoff as his family and preferred Muggle clothes. It was like an unnatural tick that gave her away, a trait that had buried itself within her during the war. A chill trickled down her spine at the thought.
The doorbell echoed through the manor like a clanging bell. Ella glared in the general direction of the noise.
“Ahhh, guests. I must go greet them.” She watches Draco straighten his dress robes in the mirror. “I’ll be back to check on your choice.”
Ella just stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.
She glances at herself in the mirror. Her lean legs stretching up to her hips that blossomed from the small of her waist, she was pale. Not quite as pale as Draco but the creamy porcelain of white chocolate. It stood out in contrast to her black underwear. Surprisingly, for the amount of time that she and Draco had spent together (of her own admittance, it wasn’t exactly a great deal of time) she was unnaturally comfortable being so naked around him.
She sighs and turns to see her back in the mirror. A dark tattoo curls and blooms on her lower back, only just above that it a large white scar. It wasn’t neat, like the scars on her arms, not easily covered. She winches at its stark trail across the expanse of her back. They’d all earned their scars hadn’t they? Wasn’t that in some speech Harry Potter had given in the immediate weeks after?
The war had ended nearly a year ago. But the pieces were still being picked up. This stupid party that Malfoy was throwing had something to do with his appointment of being made official consort to the French Minister of Magic.
Blah blah blah. It was great for Draco. After what had happened after the war. The trails. His family only just slipping through the iron clasp of the ministry, well not really. His father was under house arrest for five years. I think Harry Potter vouched for Narcissa and Draco.
She stares at the mirror’s reflection again. A lonely empty soul on the edge of nothing.
She picks up the silver gown, her fingers moving over the brittle fabric. Might as well. She was never going to get to wear something this beautiful or expensive ever again.
The dress is tight on her. Obviously Narcissa does not have the curves that she does. She finds a pair of silver heels and slips them on. Her hair is loose, long milk chocolate with select pink and white curls that fall to her waist, parted on the side with a long side sweeping fringe.
For a moment the brief perception of fairy princess comes to Ella and she very nearly laughs at herself. But her very nature resists the urge… she hasn’t laughed in a very long time. Not since, but she doesn’t want to think of thank. Walking through those halls almost seems more distant and unreal than what is happening right now.
“You scrub up nicely.” He drawls. Leaning against the doorway she can’t help but notice how very good he looked.
“Well, we couldn’t give the honored guests a bad show, could we?”
He spins something around on his finger. “You might want to wear this. It’ll complete the outfit.” He throws it to her carelessly and she catches it with graceful ease. Opening her palm she looks down on a silver necklace. Obviously goblin made. Modest diamonds sit in the hearts of the small roses that link together the necklace.
“Another fabulously expensive item?”
“Only the best.”
“I think that should be your family motto. Only the best. Isn’t that something like ‘tantum optimus’?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You are unappreciative and uneducated.”
“Screw you.”
“I wish.”
She pauses for a second then concludes to ignore him. If Draco Malfoy actually wanted to screw her he would have tried harder.
“You ready?”
She fastens the necklace then turns to him. “Of course.”
Frederic Chopin’s ‘Nocturne in E Flat Major’ was playing as they descended the stairs. The ballroom of Malfoy manor was already full of people, all in the finest. At the bottom of the stairs she notices Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger… all somewhat sulkily. Except Hermione, she appeared generally happy about being there.
“Potter, Weasley… Miss Granger.” Ella notes the insert of Miss for Hermione. Draco was intent on using his manners. They had after all shown up when he had made it quite clear to Ella he thought that they wouldn’t.
“Err… nice party you have going here, Malfoy,” Potter replies.
“Thank you.”
Their conversation is curt. But you can tell that underneath all the school yard bitterness there was some sort of respect for each other.
“Let me introduce you, to my good friend Ella. Ella this is Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you all.” I say politely while shaking each of their hands in turn. “Now Draco if you would be so kind to point me in the direction of the bar?”
Draco blinks for a moment. Then quietly replies. “Near the fireplace. I do believe you are acquainted with the area.”
She smiles gracelessly. “Yes. Thank you. Of course. I’ll make sure not to get too drunk.”
Ginny Weasley came up along the side. “I do believe you have firecracker on your hands Malfoy.”
Ron can’t help himself and sniggers.
Draco can’t even be bothered giving the Weasel a glare before his walks off.
“I’ve seen her before.” Harry says. “I just can’t think where.”
“I’d assume she would have gone to Hogwarts. Don’t you?” Ginny replied.
Hermione sniffed impatiently. “Yes ‘Mione, tell us your great wisdom.” Ron teased.
She sighed. “Don’t any of you read the prophet?”
They all stared at her rather dumbly. “I look at the pictures” Ron says.
“She’s Ella Zamora. She got people out of the country during the war. All the people that wanted to get out. The Muggle-borns, squibs, some of the half bloods and a few ‘blood traitors’. She was in Hogwarts, the year above us though.”
“I think I remember that,” Ginny replies, “Didn’t she ask for payment in return for safety?”
“That’s the interesting part. She took payment but donated most of it to a fund set up to help victims of the war. In the article it said she only took payment because that way people would trust her.”
“Riiight.”
“No, it make’s sense. During the war most people only did things for gain and those who didn’t you were suspicious of. Everyone has their own reasons for doing things; it’s rare that their intentions are as ever as good as ours were.”
Ginny smoothed out the folds in her dress. “Well… if she lives up to first impressions, I think we’ll have fun tonight.”
sympathetic]
[music| Counting Crows - Colourblind]
My first Harry Potter fic.
Title: Metal Heart
Rating: R, will be N17 in future
Pairings/Characters: Draco/OC, Fred/OC, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, George
Word Count: 1,556
Summery: He needed a war hero. So she returned back to a world that was nothing like how she left it.
Spoilers: This takes place after Deathly Hallows, nearly a year or so afterwards. It's not exactly AU, it's just expanding on a world we don't see much of. (Brief epilogue anyone?)
Warnings: Language and probably substance abuse. My versions of the characters may seem a little OOC but that's because it's after a war, a lot would have happened that would have changed them emotionally, they are probably all still adjusting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or it's various characters, locations or anything else the wonderful J.K has bestowed upon us. Nor do I own the lyrics to "Crosses" by Jose Gonzalez. I only own Ella and any other random original character I chuck in.
Chapter One: Crosses
Don’t you know that I’ll be around to guide you?
Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you
“This is ridiculous.”
They’re standing in this huge room stuffed full of clothes. A whole room that was just four walls jam packed full of clothes.
“It’s perfect.” He says holding up the strapless silver ball gown.
“It’s a meringue.”
“You have no taste.” He replied, laying the gown over an armchair tenderly.
“It’s not your first born, you know.” She says with a sneer.
It’s not a playful conversation between friends, not the in jokes of barely adults who had known each other for their entire lives. No, the two people standing in this room are drawn together by something entirely more realistic.
He needed a war hero.
And she was the only one he could count on.
“What about this?” He pulls out a green satin gown with what appeared to be a black gossamer over robe. It was ostentatious and very Slytherin. And backless. Well… you could see through the over robe.
She blinks.
“We wouldn’t be setting ourselves apart at all, would we Draco? Isn’t this ludicrous party of yours supposed to be about unity and the new world? Not old prejudices?”
He looks down at the dress in his hands. “Your right,” He says slowly. “I should wear it.”
She snorts with what can only be understood as laughter. “I don’t understand why you need me here.” She says impatiently. Tracing her hand along a pair of shiny patent red stilettos.
“I’m sure I mentioned at some point that it looks overwhelmingly fantastic if there’s a war hero present. Since it is unbelievably unlikely that Potter, Granger, Weasley or Longbottom will make an appearance, you I believe, are my only choice.”
“It helps that I’m a Slytherin, doesn’t it though? I mean, nothing to make you look better than someone who was in your own house and didn’t have a bitter grudge against you to be standing by your side greeting all the ministry officials.”
“I do believe you’ve grasped the basic principal, yes.”
“Thank you for reassuring my long standing belief that you are a heartless worm that uses people for his own purposes.”
“That would make a fantastic obituary Ella, write that one down.”
She looks around the room at all the dresses, all property of the Malfoys. Naturally Ella didn’t own anything Draco deemed appropriate to wear. She wasn’t as much of a showoff as his family and preferred Muggle clothes. It was like an unnatural tick that gave her away, a trait that had buried itself within her during the war. A chill trickled down her spine at the thought.
The doorbell echoed through the manor like a clanging bell. Ella glared in the general direction of the noise.
“Ahhh, guests. I must go greet them.” She watches Draco straighten his dress robes in the mirror. “I’ll be back to check on your choice.”
Ella just stuck out her tongue at his retreating back.
She glances at herself in the mirror. Her lean legs stretching up to her hips that blossomed from the small of her waist, she was pale. Not quite as pale as Draco but the creamy porcelain of white chocolate. It stood out in contrast to her black underwear. Surprisingly, for the amount of time that she and Draco had spent together (of her own admittance, it wasn’t exactly a great deal of time) she was unnaturally comfortable being so naked around him.
She sighs and turns to see her back in the mirror. A dark tattoo curls and blooms on her lower back, only just above that it a large white scar. It wasn’t neat, like the scars on her arms, not easily covered. She winches at its stark trail across the expanse of her back. They’d all earned their scars hadn’t they? Wasn’t that in some speech Harry Potter had given in the immediate weeks after?
The war had ended nearly a year ago. But the pieces were still being picked up. This stupid party that Malfoy was throwing had something to do with his appointment of being made official consort to the French Minister of Magic.
Blah blah blah. It was great for Draco. After what had happened after the war. The trails. His family only just slipping through the iron clasp of the ministry, well not really. His father was under house arrest for five years. I think Harry Potter vouched for Narcissa and Draco.
She stares at the mirror’s reflection again. A lonely empty soul on the edge of nothing.
She picks up the silver gown, her fingers moving over the brittle fabric. Might as well. She was never going to get to wear something this beautiful or expensive ever again.
The dress is tight on her. Obviously Narcissa does not have the curves that she does. She finds a pair of silver heels and slips them on. Her hair is loose, long milk chocolate with select pink and white curls that fall to her waist, parted on the side with a long side sweeping fringe.
For a moment the brief perception of fairy princess comes to Ella and she very nearly laughs at herself. But her very nature resists the urge… she hasn’t laughed in a very long time. Not since, but she doesn’t want to think of thank. Walking through those halls almost seems more distant and unreal than what is happening right now.
“You scrub up nicely.” He drawls. Leaning against the doorway she can’t help but notice how very good he looked.
“Well, we couldn’t give the honored guests a bad show, could we?”
He spins something around on his finger. “You might want to wear this. It’ll complete the outfit.” He throws it to her carelessly and she catches it with graceful ease. Opening her palm she looks down on a silver necklace. Obviously goblin made. Modest diamonds sit in the hearts of the small roses that link together the necklace.
“Another fabulously expensive item?”
“Only the best.”
“I think that should be your family motto. Only the best. Isn’t that something like ‘tantum optimus’?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You are unappreciative and uneducated.”
“Screw you.”
“I wish.”
She pauses for a second then concludes to ignore him. If Draco Malfoy actually wanted to screw her he would have tried harder.
“You ready?”
She fastens the necklace then turns to him. “Of course.”
Frederic Chopin’s ‘Nocturne in E Flat Major’ was playing as they descended the stairs. The ballroom of Malfoy manor was already full of people, all in the finest. At the bottom of the stairs she notices Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger… all somewhat sulkily. Except Hermione, she appeared generally happy about being there.
“Potter, Weasley… Miss Granger.” Ella notes the insert of Miss for Hermione. Draco was intent on using his manners. They had after all shown up when he had made it quite clear to Ella he thought that they wouldn’t.
“Err… nice party you have going here, Malfoy,” Potter replies.
“Thank you.”
Their conversation is curt. But you can tell that underneath all the school yard bitterness there was some sort of respect for each other.
“Let me introduce you, to my good friend Ella. Ella this is Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you all.” I say politely while shaking each of their hands in turn. “Now Draco if you would be so kind to point me in the direction of the bar?”
Draco blinks for a moment. Then quietly replies. “Near the fireplace. I do believe you are acquainted with the area.”
She smiles gracelessly. “Yes. Thank you. Of course. I’ll make sure not to get too drunk.”
Ginny Weasley came up along the side. “I do believe you have firecracker on your hands Malfoy.”
Ron can’t help himself and sniggers.
Draco can’t even be bothered giving the Weasel a glare before his walks off.
“I’ve seen her before.” Harry says. “I just can’t think where.”
“I’d assume she would have gone to Hogwarts. Don’t you?” Ginny replied.
Hermione sniffed impatiently. “Yes ‘Mione, tell us your great wisdom.” Ron teased.
She sighed. “Don’t any of you read the prophet?”
They all stared at her rather dumbly. “I look at the pictures” Ron says.
“She’s Ella Zamora. She got people out of the country during the war. All the people that wanted to get out. The Muggle-borns, squibs, some of the half bloods and a few ‘blood traitors’. She was in Hogwarts, the year above us though.”
“I think I remember that,” Ginny replies, “Didn’t she ask for payment in return for safety?”
“That’s the interesting part. She took payment but donated most of it to a fund set up to help victims of the war. In the article it said she only took payment because that way people would trust her.”
“Riiight.”
“No, it make’s sense. During the war most people only did things for gain and those who didn’t you were suspicious of. Everyone has their own reasons for doing things; it’s rare that their intentions are as ever as good as ours were.”
Ginny smoothed out the folds in her dress. “Well… if she lives up to first impressions, I think we’ll have fun tonight.”