serpentqueen13: Holding Out For A Hero (Draco/Morag, PG)
Title: Holding Out For A Hero
Author: serpentqueen13
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.3
Prompt: #037. Heroes
Word Count: 819
Summary: Morag rips herself apart as she mends.
Warnings: Het, implied infidelity, implied boy!slash, minor angst.
Notes: Also for hp_ficathon prompt 'Hero' and hp_100songs prompt 'Holding Out For A Hero'
Stitch, stitch, stitch
Push, pull, push, pull
In, out, in, out. Breathe, just breathe…
Morag MacDougal was sewing, mending to be more specific. It was a task and a motion that she was well accustomed to and quite skilled at; something she had learned at her mother’s knee with ancient rhymes along with the most basic and oldest of spells-those of hearth and home. Usually, she could lose herself in the mindless rhythm of the work, her mind quieted and calmed by the familiarity of it all, like a moving pulse beneath her fingers or a cantering horse.
One, two, one, two
Today, though, there was no comfort in the cloth slowly coming together under her nimble fingers, no thoughtlessness to make it easier. No, today she was slowly mending every shirt she had ripped or torn that belonged to Draco Malfoy. Well, those that she could find, anyway. This was her last one, a simple thing, white cotton, so similar to the shirts he had worn in Hogwarts.
Set the button, make sure it’s perfect…
He was out again, which was just as well, he’d not know what to think if he saw her doing this, and if he knew why he’d just try to stop her. As it was, he was off getting pleasure, being happy and that’s just how she wanted it. She couldn't even recall what the excuse had been this time, the lies were meaningless. All her anger had left her before she had even begun her menial task and now all that she was feeling was a sort of receding numbness that disappeared with every movement of cold steel through cloth.
Stitch, sti…ow…
When she had first realised he was cheating, she had waved it off, sure it was a reflection of her own insecurities, but that preconception had quickly disappeared. Draco had always been shite about hiding things from her. They were both so untrustworthy and deceptive, which is why they had worked for so long-why they could trust each other. She understood how his brain worked and he understood hers.
Great, now I’ve gotten blood on it…ha, appropriate.
Her first reaction had been anger, at him somewhat, but mostly at herself, for letting herself fall in too deep, for not keeping her emotions out of it like they had always promised, and most of all, for not being enough. She had been unable to fight her instincts, to use every shady skill and seedy contact she had to find out who it was-if only to know. Perhaps it was the Ravenclaw in her or maybe it was her masochistic side, but it was never with the intent to kill or harm, surprisingly. And when she had found out, well, all of the fight had been drained out of her. There was no way she could compete with that.
A tiny tear in the collar, that would have been the nails.
She hadn’t been surprised that it was a man. She knew better than almost anyone what buttons to push and how hard, but who, that had flabbergasted her. She had acted as if nothing was the matter, as if she didn’t know-because after all, she was just as evil as he was, just as sadistic, could rival him for dryness and sarcasm. She had prided herself after a year on being an almost perfect counterpart, or she had tried, but in the end he had always been holding out for that hero.
Finished…you’d never know it was torn at all if you didn’t know better-except for that drop of blood.
She folded the shirt carefully and piled it on the rest, taking the shirts up and setting them on their--his--bed, before carefully packing her things with a few spells and writing a quick note, leaving it on top of the clothes. She left it unsigned and she didn’t even know if he would understand, but the second note-the one with the galleons on the bed table, for rent, would make it obvious. Two years, all boiled down to a pile of meticulously mended shirts two pieces of parchment and a bag of gold, something she had stopped expecting so long ago.
I’ve fixed them all. I’m sure the hero won’t rip any more of them so you can rid yourself of the fear for your wardrobe.
With that, and a small, tired, pop of Apparition, she disappeared from Malfoy Manor, reappearing in her own home, in her own room, resetting and strengthening the wards before quickly wrapping herself up in a dozen blankets because she was cold and shivering despite the heat. It wasn't hard to will herself to sleep, she had to sleep. She wouldn’t let herself cry. She couldn’t, because as much as Draco had been holding out for his hero, he never quite realised that he had always been hers.
Author: serpentqueen13
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 100.3
Prompt: #037. Heroes
Word Count: 819
Summary: Morag rips herself apart as she mends.
Warnings: Het, implied infidelity, implied boy!slash, minor angst.
Notes: Also for hp_ficathon prompt 'Hero' and hp_100songs prompt 'Holding Out For A Hero'
Stitch, stitch, stitch
Push, pull, push, pull
In, out, in, out. Breathe, just breathe…
Morag MacDougal was sewing, mending to be more specific. It was a task and a motion that she was well accustomed to and quite skilled at; something she had learned at her mother’s knee with ancient rhymes along with the most basic and oldest of spells-those of hearth and home. Usually, she could lose herself in the mindless rhythm of the work, her mind quieted and calmed by the familiarity of it all, like a moving pulse beneath her fingers or a cantering horse.
One, two, one, two
Today, though, there was no comfort in the cloth slowly coming together under her nimble fingers, no thoughtlessness to make it easier. No, today she was slowly mending every shirt she had ripped or torn that belonged to Draco Malfoy. Well, those that she could find, anyway. This was her last one, a simple thing, white cotton, so similar to the shirts he had worn in Hogwarts.
Set the button, make sure it’s perfect…
He was out again, which was just as well, he’d not know what to think if he saw her doing this, and if he knew why he’d just try to stop her. As it was, he was off getting pleasure, being happy and that’s just how she wanted it. She couldn't even recall what the excuse had been this time, the lies were meaningless. All her anger had left her before she had even begun her menial task and now all that she was feeling was a sort of receding numbness that disappeared with every movement of cold steel through cloth.
Stitch, sti…ow…
When she had first realised he was cheating, she had waved it off, sure it was a reflection of her own insecurities, but that preconception had quickly disappeared. Draco had always been shite about hiding things from her. They were both so untrustworthy and deceptive, which is why they had worked for so long-why they could trust each other. She understood how his brain worked and he understood hers.
Great, now I’ve gotten blood on it…ha, appropriate.
Her first reaction had been anger, at him somewhat, but mostly at herself, for letting herself fall in too deep, for not keeping her emotions out of it like they had always promised, and most of all, for not being enough. She had been unable to fight her instincts, to use every shady skill and seedy contact she had to find out who it was-if only to know. Perhaps it was the Ravenclaw in her or maybe it was her masochistic side, but it was never with the intent to kill or harm, surprisingly. And when she had found out, well, all of the fight had been drained out of her. There was no way she could compete with that.
A tiny tear in the collar, that would have been the nails.
She hadn’t been surprised that it was a man. She knew better than almost anyone what buttons to push and how hard, but who, that had flabbergasted her. She had acted as if nothing was the matter, as if she didn’t know-because after all, she was just as evil as he was, just as sadistic, could rival him for dryness and sarcasm. She had prided herself after a year on being an almost perfect counterpart, or she had tried, but in the end he had always been holding out for that hero.
Finished…you’d never know it was torn at all if you didn’t know better-except for that drop of blood.
She folded the shirt carefully and piled it on the rest, taking the shirts up and setting them on their--his--bed, before carefully packing her things with a few spells and writing a quick note, leaving it on top of the clothes. She left it unsigned and she didn’t even know if he would understand, but the second note-the one with the galleons on the bed table, for rent, would make it obvious. Two years, all boiled down to a pile of meticulously mended shirts two pieces of parchment and a bag of gold, something she had stopped expecting so long ago.
I’ve fixed them all. I’m sure the hero won’t rip any more of them so you can rid yourself of the fear for your wardrobe.
With that, and a small, tired, pop of Apparition, she disappeared from Malfoy Manor, reappearing in her own home, in her own room, resetting and strengthening the wards before quickly wrapping herself up in a dozen blankets because she was cold and shivering despite the heat. It wasn't hard to will herself to sleep, she had to sleep. She wouldn’t let herself cry. She couldn’t, because as much as Draco had been holding out for his hero, he never quite realised that he had always been hers.