[Once again, Draco is out in the snow - something that seems to be a newly discovered habit of his, despite how often he'll complain about the cold. At the moment, however, the cold seems to be the farthest thing from his mind, judging by the almost tortured expression on his visage: fury, indignation, misery, and a strange flicker of longing for
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Comments 39
[After a shakey moment, he yells into the communicator.]
Draco! Come home.
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I thought I told you to sod off.
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[He huffs, and then in a softer tone.]
Please just tell me what's wrong. I want to help you.
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[The words are scathing, his anger unbidden. Or perhaps he's simply displacing it.]
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We need to talk. Where are you?
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I'm on my way back to the apartment. What's it matter to you, Weasley?
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[Because hell if he'll ever agree to something Weasley suggests.]
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[Despite the "warm" reception he's gotten from the boy in the past, there's some genuine concern in his voice.]
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I don't believe it's any of your business.
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