HP Prompts -- Draco - Doubt
I'll have to fix the prompt table later, but this is the first in a series of fifty prompts, 1000 words or less, that I'm doing along with cruentum. I need to hurry--he is two ahead of me already.
I'll edit this later with the rest of the info. Gotta get back to work. Sigh.
EDIT: Okay, all fixed.
~~~~~~~~
There was no way out that he could see.
Draco Malfoy stood, still shivering, in his parents' upstairs bedroom in his father's house. He stared through the frost-blushed mullioned windows but his mind was as clouded as the pane. The fire in his grate had almost gone out, but he didn't care. Nothing would warm him now. Nothing would stop the shivering, the terror screeching through his mind. And yet he dared not show it, dare not even think what had brought his life to this point lest someone, or something, detect his uncertainty.
A shiver wracked him, his heart pounded hard in his chest. Still so cold. He couldn't do this. He couldn't... He didn't even know how. He would fail again, as he had already... And the consequences would be a thousand times worse this time. A night in a frozen cell to consider his options would seem like nothing. Still so cold.
He clenched his hands as the memory of Voldemort's sentence rained down on him. "Do what your father obviously could not. Please me, Draco Malfoy. Or..."
Or end up where his father was, destined to live out his days imprisoned against his will. At least that was what Draco had thought was meant. At first. Voldemort's next action had nearly undone him. No matter what he did to try and stop it, the image burned in his mind--Voldemort, one pale hand held out toward a portrait of Draco's mother. It burst into flames. The silent threat had been very clear.
Ensure Dumbledore's death, or Draco's mother would die.
"Don't think about it!" he told himself sternly, thumping his fist on the window. But the words pounded through his mind, taunting him. A prisoner--that's what he was, as much as his own father. Why did it come to this? Was it always meant to?
Was he just as much a puppet to fate as...Potter?
"Stop it!" he yelled, thumping his fist again, this time making the whole window shake. Behind him, he heard a squeak and a small crash. He turned and glared at the house elf crouching before him. "What are you doing in here?"
"Pickle did not mean to disturb Master Draco, no he didn't mean to, he didn't."
The house elf scrambled to its feet and bowed nervously. Over and over again. "Pickle sorry, Master Draco, but Pickle must fix Master Draco's fire. Master Draco is cold. Pickle musn't let Master Draco be cold, no."
"Leave it. And stop that stupid bowing. It annoys me."
The house elf started to bow again, then froze, looking up at Draco with wide eyes. "But Master Draco, Pickle will get in trouble with Master Lucius--"
"I said leave it." Obviously the stupid elf hadn't heard who was master of the house now. With a flick of his wand, the fire roared to life, making the the elf squeak.
"Master Draco, you musn't use magic!"
Like he cared now about anything. Draco walked over to the cringing house elf and kicked him aside. "Get out of my rooms, you stupid elf. Now."
Pickle squeaked as he scrambled away from Draco's boot and with a loud 'pop!' disappeared.
No sooner had Draco sat in his wingback chair in front of the roaring fire did he hear a tentative knock on his door. He ignored it, closing his eyes. But just like every other time he tried to block out the world, his thoughts went back to the meeting that had taken place the night before. And the one that was going to have to take place as soon as his mother returned home. He had no choice but to tell her of the orders, he knew that. But he could never tell her that he was afraid. Mother, I have something to discuss with you...
The door opened. "Draco? Where have you been? I've been so worried."
He stood, his back to the fire. So cold, and getting colder. "Hello, Mother."
He only hoped Voldemort wouldn't make him watch her die.
Prompts Table
I'll edit this later with the rest of the info. Gotta get back to work. Sigh.
EDIT: Okay, all fixed.
~~~~~~~~
There was no way out that he could see.
Draco Malfoy stood, still shivering, in his parents' upstairs bedroom in his father's house. He stared through the frost-blushed mullioned windows but his mind was as clouded as the pane. The fire in his grate had almost gone out, but he didn't care. Nothing would warm him now. Nothing would stop the shivering, the terror screeching through his mind. And yet he dared not show it, dare not even think what had brought his life to this point lest someone, or something, detect his uncertainty.
A shiver wracked him, his heart pounded hard in his chest. Still so cold. He couldn't do this. He couldn't... He didn't even know how. He would fail again, as he had already... And the consequences would be a thousand times worse this time. A night in a frozen cell to consider his options would seem like nothing. Still so cold.
He clenched his hands as the memory of Voldemort's sentence rained down on him. "Do what your father obviously could not. Please me, Draco Malfoy. Or..."
Or end up where his father was, destined to live out his days imprisoned against his will. At least that was what Draco had thought was meant. At first. Voldemort's next action had nearly undone him. No matter what he did to try and stop it, the image burned in his mind--Voldemort, one pale hand held out toward a portrait of Draco's mother. It burst into flames. The silent threat had been very clear.
Ensure Dumbledore's death, or Draco's mother would die.
"Don't think about it!" he told himself sternly, thumping his fist on the window. But the words pounded through his mind, taunting him. A prisoner--that's what he was, as much as his own father. Why did it come to this? Was it always meant to?
Was he just as much a puppet to fate as...Potter?
"Stop it!" he yelled, thumping his fist again, this time making the whole window shake. Behind him, he heard a squeak and a small crash. He turned and glared at the house elf crouching before him. "What are you doing in here?"
"Pickle did not mean to disturb Master Draco, no he didn't mean to, he didn't."
The house elf scrambled to its feet and bowed nervously. Over and over again. "Pickle sorry, Master Draco, but Pickle must fix Master Draco's fire. Master Draco is cold. Pickle musn't let Master Draco be cold, no."
"Leave it. And stop that stupid bowing. It annoys me."
The house elf started to bow again, then froze, looking up at Draco with wide eyes. "But Master Draco, Pickle will get in trouble with Master Lucius--"
"I said leave it." Obviously the stupid elf hadn't heard who was master of the house now. With a flick of his wand, the fire roared to life, making the the elf squeak.
"Master Draco, you musn't use magic!"
Like he cared now about anything. Draco walked over to the cringing house elf and kicked him aside. "Get out of my rooms, you stupid elf. Now."
Pickle squeaked as he scrambled away from Draco's boot and with a loud 'pop!' disappeared.
No sooner had Draco sat in his wingback chair in front of the roaring fire did he hear a tentative knock on his door. He ignored it, closing his eyes. But just like every other time he tried to block out the world, his thoughts went back to the meeting that had taken place the night before. And the one that was going to have to take place as soon as his mother returned home. He had no choice but to tell her of the orders, he knew that. But he could never tell her that he was afraid. Mother, I have something to discuss with you...
The door opened. "Draco? Where have you been? I've been so worried."
He stood, his back to the fire. So cold, and getting colder. "Hello, Mother."
He only hoped Voldemort wouldn't make him watch her die.
Prompts Table