(no subject)
[mood| 
bored]
[music| evermore - light surrounding you ]
Title: Metal Heart
Rating: R, will be N17 in future
Pairings/Characters: Draco/OC, Fred/OC, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, George
Word Count: 1,283
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 "To The Moon And Back" by Savage Garden
Chapter Three: Waking From a Dream
She’s taking her time making up the reasons
To justify all the hurt inside
Diagon Alley is deserted. Naturally. It’s 11pm at night, what idiot would be crawling through an empty street at that time. She’s apparates directly in front of the shop. The window is dusty, the merchandise is faded and the store looks empty. A simple alohamora and she was in the shop.
All around her was the evidence that he had lived. All around her signs that she did the wrong thing. Always the wrong thing. Always the wrong thing, the wrong time, the wrong moment.
There’s a thick layer of dust over everything. Nothing looks like it has been touched since she was here last year. A seventh year buying her school supplies. The twins running around the packed shop serving as many people as they could. She slips in and out. Unseen. They way it had always been.
A shadow girl.
On the far wall, behind the counter is a photo. Probably taken by Creevey. The twins out the front of their shop, probably on opening day, the high-fived and thumb uped the photographer. Ecstatic in their own success.
“What are you doing here?”
Her movement to face the intruder is beautiful. Her hair and skirts flare out, the faint light of moon catches on the dress making it glow in the areas that it touched. Ella isn’t thinking about the moment, she’s thinking about how she’s going to get out. How she’s planning to fight, with no wand while wearing the absolutely ridiculous dress.
When she sees his face for a moment she thinks it’s a ghost, indeed the moonlight washes away the freckles and gives his alabaster skin an almost transparent feel.
“You scared me.” Falls carelessly from her traitorous lips.
“I scared you? You’re the one that broke into my shop.”
She glances back to the photo. The twins in the picture are punching each other in the arm now, laughing joyfully. This is what the war had done. Ripped apart perfectly good souls, torn apart families, laid to rest youthful friends.
This is what death succeeded at.
“I was…” her voice trails off. Where to start? There was no where to start. What could she say to this boy that had lost the other half of him. ‘Hi, I used to hang out with Fred during free periods; I’m sorry about what happened.’ No. No way would Ella say that.
She turns back to George. A living ghost. “I’m sorry.” She holds out her hand. “My names Ella. I’ve been overseas I only just heard about…” She pauses at his name. It would almost be a curse if she said it. “… he was really nice to me.”
George ignores her hand. “I don’t need your condolences.” She notices the bottles of firewhiskey behind him. Some were empty, and there was a glass tumbler, half full by his side. “I need your absence.”
“Fine.” She turns to leave, already half way to the door before she hears his disembodied voice call after her.
“Don’t pretend to be put out. You’re the one that broke into my shop in the middle of the night.”
She opens the door, it trills a tune on the small bell above. She tried biting back a reply but Ella never had a good hold on her anger. “Sorry for caring.”
It’s low. She’s sure he wouldn’t have heard it. But she feels better for saying it. Fred Weasley was obviously a part of her very dream-like past now. Just another useless person to scorgify from her mind while she continued on with her meaningless existence.
*****
Draco finds her. Not really, he comes across her when he heads to bed for the night. She’s curled up in the corner closest to his mammoth four poster bed. It is ironically, also the darkest corner in the room.
“Lurking in people’s bedroom’s now, are we?” he drawls. Expecting a drool reply or nasty snark or even a death glare, what he doesn’t expect is for her look up with swollen eyes and mascara tears.
“Bloody hell Ella!”
He kneels before her. He’s never done well with crying girls. That’s why he got rid of Pansy Parkinson as soon as he could, if that little bitch didn’t get her way on came the water works. Draco loathed any female that used tantrums and tears to get their way. It was another reason he liked Ella so much. Not in the entire time he’d know her had she shed one single tear… except that one time when Crabbe threw a Quaffle at her face and broke her nose. But Draco like’s to think that was just a normal human reaction, for watery eyes to occur when something painful happens to your nose.
“Now is not the time to show your concern for me.” She spits out her voice cracking from the effort of trying to hold back her emotions, “Just let me drown in my own miserable tears in the corner of your bedroom.”
Draco chuckles. “You know, I would prefer it if you did it while not wearing that dress.”
She looks up shocked.
“You’re ruining it. It’s very expensive.”
A watery chuckle escapes her.
“Of course, can’t ruin a Malfoy Heirloom.”
“Let me help you up.” His arm snake around her back, she lets him pull her up. He’s surprised at how fragile she looks. Not once has Ella ever appeared fragile to him. Not in all those years that the Slytherin’s ignored her. Not once in the past nine years.
“Draco…” She’s shorter than him. He only notices now. She appears much shorter than what she really is. Something has happened. Her skin is burning. He hasn’t felt loose so much control since they were children, barely ready to board the Hogwarts Express.
“Ella, you need to clam down.” She’s startled by the concern in his voice. His charcoal grey eyes have the evidence of panic in them. He feels her pulls herself inwards and her skin cool effortlessly.
“You don’t normally loose it so …” Draco struggled to find the right word.
“I don’t normally loose it. At all.” She snaps.
“You haven’t registered yet have you?” He says quietly. Back peddled to sit on the bed.
“Well I wasn’t going to while that bitch Umbridge was in the Ministry, was I?”
“Ella…” He says.
“I’m not going to. You know I’m not. I can control it. I have for years.” She can feel a slow rage building in her now but she knows it has nothing to do with that other part of her. This was just pure rage.
“It’s dangerous, you know. I’ve read what happens. You could self implode. It’s not likely you’ll live past 25.”
“Draco. In the war, I didn’t think I’d live past the next day. The fact that I’m here and breathing is one giant fucken miracle.”
“You’re the only friend I have left.”
“Me? We were never really friends, you and I. I’m not pureblood enough for you. The only reason our mothers were friends was because the Lord of all things most Evil wanted my mother to join his bloody army. And he was prepared to do anything to get her to.”
“Ella!”
“You know it. I know it. The reason I did the dodgy job during the war. I could have saved people, Draco. But I was full of too much pride. I didn’t want to be put in a cage and poked at for the rest of my life.”
She’s walking away. And he can’t think of the words to stop her.
bored]
[music| evermore - light surrounding you ]
Title: Metal Heart
Rating: R, will be N17 in future
Pairings/Characters: Draco/OC, Fred/OC, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, George
Word Count: 1,283
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 "To The Moon And Back" by Savage Garden
Chapter Three: Waking From a Dream
She’s taking her time making up the reasons
To justify all the hurt inside
Diagon Alley is deserted. Naturally. It’s 11pm at night, what idiot would be crawling through an empty street at that time. She’s apparates directly in front of the shop. The window is dusty, the merchandise is faded and the store looks empty. A simple alohamora and she was in the shop.
All around her was the evidence that he had lived. All around her signs that she did the wrong thing. Always the wrong thing. Always the wrong thing, the wrong time, the wrong moment.
There’s a thick layer of dust over everything. Nothing looks like it has been touched since she was here last year. A seventh year buying her school supplies. The twins running around the packed shop serving as many people as they could. She slips in and out. Unseen. They way it had always been.
A shadow girl.
On the far wall, behind the counter is a photo. Probably taken by Creevey. The twins out the front of their shop, probably on opening day, the high-fived and thumb uped the photographer. Ecstatic in their own success.
“What are you doing here?”
Her movement to face the intruder is beautiful. Her hair and skirts flare out, the faint light of moon catches on the dress making it glow in the areas that it touched. Ella isn’t thinking about the moment, she’s thinking about how she’s going to get out. How she’s planning to fight, with no wand while wearing the absolutely ridiculous dress.
When she sees his face for a moment she thinks it’s a ghost, indeed the moonlight washes away the freckles and gives his alabaster skin an almost transparent feel.
“You scared me.” Falls carelessly from her traitorous lips.
“I scared you? You’re the one that broke into my shop.”
She glances back to the photo. The twins in the picture are punching each other in the arm now, laughing joyfully. This is what the war had done. Ripped apart perfectly good souls, torn apart families, laid to rest youthful friends.
This is what death succeeded at.
“I was…” her voice trails off. Where to start? There was no where to start. What could she say to this boy that had lost the other half of him. ‘Hi, I used to hang out with Fred during free periods; I’m sorry about what happened.’ No. No way would Ella say that.
She turns back to George. A living ghost. “I’m sorry.” She holds out her hand. “My names Ella. I’ve been overseas I only just heard about…” She pauses at his name. It would almost be a curse if she said it. “… he was really nice to me.”
George ignores her hand. “I don’t need your condolences.” She notices the bottles of firewhiskey behind him. Some were empty, and there was a glass tumbler, half full by his side. “I need your absence.”
“Fine.” She turns to leave, already half way to the door before she hears his disembodied voice call after her.
“Don’t pretend to be put out. You’re the one that broke into my shop in the middle of the night.”
She opens the door, it trills a tune on the small bell above. She tried biting back a reply but Ella never had a good hold on her anger. “Sorry for caring.”
It’s low. She’s sure he wouldn’t have heard it. But she feels better for saying it. Fred Weasley was obviously a part of her very dream-like past now. Just another useless person to scorgify from her mind while she continued on with her meaningless existence.
*****
Draco finds her. Not really, he comes across her when he heads to bed for the night. She’s curled up in the corner closest to his mammoth four poster bed. It is ironically, also the darkest corner in the room.
“Lurking in people’s bedroom’s now, are we?” he drawls. Expecting a drool reply or nasty snark or even a death glare, what he doesn’t expect is for her look up with swollen eyes and mascara tears.
“Bloody hell Ella!”
He kneels before her. He’s never done well with crying girls. That’s why he got rid of Pansy Parkinson as soon as he could, if that little bitch didn’t get her way on came the water works. Draco loathed any female that used tantrums and tears to get their way. It was another reason he liked Ella so much. Not in the entire time he’d know her had she shed one single tear… except that one time when Crabbe threw a Quaffle at her face and broke her nose. But Draco like’s to think that was just a normal human reaction, for watery eyes to occur when something painful happens to your nose.
“Now is not the time to show your concern for me.” She spits out her voice cracking from the effort of trying to hold back her emotions, “Just let me drown in my own miserable tears in the corner of your bedroom.”
Draco chuckles. “You know, I would prefer it if you did it while not wearing that dress.”
She looks up shocked.
“You’re ruining it. It’s very expensive.”
A watery chuckle escapes her.
“Of course, can’t ruin a Malfoy Heirloom.”
“Let me help you up.” His arm snake around her back, she lets him pull her up. He’s surprised at how fragile she looks. Not once has Ella ever appeared fragile to him. Not in all those years that the Slytherin’s ignored her. Not once in the past nine years.
“Draco…” She’s shorter than him. He only notices now. She appears much shorter than what she really is. Something has happened. Her skin is burning. He hasn’t felt loose so much control since they were children, barely ready to board the Hogwarts Express.
“Ella, you need to clam down.” She’s startled by the concern in his voice. His charcoal grey eyes have the evidence of panic in them. He feels her pulls herself inwards and her skin cool effortlessly.
“You don’t normally loose it so …” Draco struggled to find the right word.
“I don’t normally loose it. At all.” She snaps.
“You haven’t registered yet have you?” He says quietly. Back peddled to sit on the bed.
“Well I wasn’t going to while that bitch Umbridge was in the Ministry, was I?”
“Ella…” He says.
“I’m not going to. You know I’m not. I can control it. I have for years.” She can feel a slow rage building in her now but she knows it has nothing to do with that other part of her. This was just pure rage.
“It’s dangerous, you know. I’ve read what happens. You could self implode. It’s not likely you’ll live past 25.”
“Draco. In the war, I didn’t think I’d live past the next day. The fact that I’m here and breathing is one giant fucken miracle.”
“You’re the only friend I have left.”
“Me? We were never really friends, you and I. I’m not pureblood enough for you. The only reason our mothers were friends was because the Lord of all things most Evil wanted my mother to join his bloody army. And he was prepared to do anything to get her to.”
“Ella!”
“You know it. I know it. The reason I did the dodgy job during the war. I could have saved people, Draco. But I was full of too much pride. I didn’t want to be put in a cage and poked at for the rest of my life.”
She’s walking away. And he can’t think of the words to stop her.