RP: The Bitter Chill
RP: Bitter Chill
Date: May 20th, 1998
Characters: Draco Malfoy, …
Location: Hogwarts, the Grounds, re. between Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest (North-west)
Status: Closed
Summary: Draco leaves his mother’s side for the purpose of contemplation. He doesn’t think that he can sleep yet, and the chill of the grounds just before dawn wake him up.
Completion: Complete
Ignored. Those who had beds had gone to them when they had finally run out of steam. Draco did not know where to go, nor where they would be welcome, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t tired; or rather, if he were, he could not sleep. He did not think it would be safe to leave the Great Hall, nor disappear without telling anyone where they were going
It was somewhat humbling to watch the heroes working through the night. To see those still going about making things safe, and those families who had finally reached Hogwarts after hearing the news later in the day, coming into the Great Hall and making their way between the rows of the dead to find their beloved children, husbands, wives, parents. Draco felt a fierce and cruel pleasure that he had his parents; that not even a war could take them away from him. But it had come so close so often.
Outside the Great Hall, Draco found his passage clear, the stones polished clean of blood, the rubble tidied away. He dropped down the stone steps, feeling as though his every step was leaden and heavy. Everything was dawn grey and cold, although the sky was clear, threatening a day of blazing sunshine as wonderful as the previous days, and far opposite to Draco’s mood at the moment. Looking out over the dark, lifeless lake, Draco considered stepping forwards, throwing himself over the cliff and into it, but knew all too clearly that the wards would not let him fall. Instead, bitterly, he stepped away, beginning his progress down the outside of the castle.
The most damage was to the North; the weakest point of the castle where the courtyard presented easy access to the inner enclave. The northern battlements which had once stood across this side of the castle had fallen, battered by the giants, and this damage was still blazing clear, even in the dim light and rising mist.
Draco stopped for a moment to consider the wreckage of a once beautiful castle, as a bird nesting in between the stones began to sing, feebly. It was uplifting in a strange, haunting way; that Hogwarts was still alive. Draco squashed down the feeling of hope cruelly; there was no hope. Not yet. If things would go wrong, he knew that they would, regardless of things like hope.
Yet Potter had done wonderful things with only that word guiding him. Hadn’t Albus Dumbledore died for it?
Not that name. Never that name. Draco turned his mind urgently to other, less morbid things.
The North Tower, Draco observed, was no less damaged than anything else, and the owlery, sitting on the edge of the battlements, was near enough destroyed. Draco wondered where the owls were, and supposed that they must have taken flight and settled in the forest. He persisted along the north wall, avoiding the fallen lumps of masonry, particularly the ones which were whiter in the dawn glow than the other stones.
After skirting the North Tower, Draco found himself looking out over the grounds for only a moment, before the rising sun burst over the horizon and burnt fire across the back of his eyes, lighting up the sea of mist that hid a million mistakes beneath it. The Forbidden Forest was shattered; huge swathes of it had been destroyed by the passage of giants. Draco remembered the giants. They were gone now, and there wasn’t a greater relief; except perhaps that there were no acromantulae in sight either.
Draco pulled his singed and filthy robes closer around himself to keep out the chill, moving towards the steps back into the school but not returning inside. He settled down on the top step, just out of the way and shivered, lost in thought now that his brain was beginning to awaken once more.
The truth was he felt like such an outsider; so set apart from the others in the school. They were working so hard rebuilding, but it would feel like an insult for him to offer his help. He considered how they would look at him if he were doing something noticeable, and then decided that fading into the woodwork, for once, would be far better. It might come back to haunt him some day, that he sat back and did nothing whilst his ‘betters’ won back their freedom…but then, there was no way his reputation would survive this peace at the best of times.
Birdsong was prevalent now, twittering harmony that sang out over the grounds as the sun rose over Hogsmeade, the grounds of Hogwarts basking in the sunshine, the mist warming and rising higher as it did so. The warmth did not infect Draco as it did everything else. The May chill was deep within his bones, his heart frosted.
So many people dead… He had not yet mourned for those he had lost, for Vincent Crabbe, for instance, who had been so close to him. He had considered crying, but the tears would not come. For hours, Draco had wondered whether there was something wrong with him. Did the scar burned into his arm stop him from feeling?
Draco looked up as the sound of wings echoed over the empty grounds. A murder of crows had leapt into the sky, and were wheeling around, chasing away some of the school owls that had come too close. He watched the owls escape, deftly, then fly back towards the school, settling on the broken battlements like living gargoyles.
If only he had wings. Draco wondered what it would be like to take off into the air and vanish, never to be seen again. Would anyone miss him? Did they care? Or would his absence go unnoticed as it had been all day? Faintly, Draco wondered whether he could transfigure himself without a wand, his head dropping back onto the icy stone wall behind him, his eyes sightlessly looking on, watching the morning change.
Date: May 20th, 1998
Characters: Draco Malfoy, …
Location: Hogwarts, the Grounds, re. between Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest (North-west)
Status: Closed
Summary: Draco leaves his mother’s side for the purpose of contemplation. He doesn’t think that he can sleep yet, and the chill of the grounds just before dawn wake him up.
Completion: Complete
Ignored. Those who had beds had gone to them when they had finally run out of steam. Draco did not know where to go, nor where they would be welcome, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t tired; or rather, if he were, he could not sleep. He did not think it would be safe to leave the Great Hall, nor disappear without telling anyone where they were going
It was somewhat humbling to watch the heroes working through the night. To see those still going about making things safe, and those families who had finally reached Hogwarts after hearing the news later in the day, coming into the Great Hall and making their way between the rows of the dead to find their beloved children, husbands, wives, parents. Draco felt a fierce and cruel pleasure that he had his parents; that not even a war could take them away from him. But it had come so close so often.
Outside the Great Hall, Draco found his passage clear, the stones polished clean of blood, the rubble tidied away. He dropped down the stone steps, feeling as though his every step was leaden and heavy. Everything was dawn grey and cold, although the sky was clear, threatening a day of blazing sunshine as wonderful as the previous days, and far opposite to Draco’s mood at the moment. Looking out over the dark, lifeless lake, Draco considered stepping forwards, throwing himself over the cliff and into it, but knew all too clearly that the wards would not let him fall. Instead, bitterly, he stepped away, beginning his progress down the outside of the castle.
The most damage was to the North; the weakest point of the castle where the courtyard presented easy access to the inner enclave. The northern battlements which had once stood across this side of the castle had fallen, battered by the giants, and this damage was still blazing clear, even in the dim light and rising mist.
Draco stopped for a moment to consider the wreckage of a once beautiful castle, as a bird nesting in between the stones began to sing, feebly. It was uplifting in a strange, haunting way; that Hogwarts was still alive. Draco squashed down the feeling of hope cruelly; there was no hope. Not yet. If things would go wrong, he knew that they would, regardless of things like hope.
Yet Potter had done wonderful things with only that word guiding him. Hadn’t Albus Dumbledore died for it?
Not that name. Never that name. Draco turned his mind urgently to other, less morbid things.
The North Tower, Draco observed, was no less damaged than anything else, and the owlery, sitting on the edge of the battlements, was near enough destroyed. Draco wondered where the owls were, and supposed that they must have taken flight and settled in the forest. He persisted along the north wall, avoiding the fallen lumps of masonry, particularly the ones which were whiter in the dawn glow than the other stones.
After skirting the North Tower, Draco found himself looking out over the grounds for only a moment, before the rising sun burst over the horizon and burnt fire across the back of his eyes, lighting up the sea of mist that hid a million mistakes beneath it. The Forbidden Forest was shattered; huge swathes of it had been destroyed by the passage of giants. Draco remembered the giants. They were gone now, and there wasn’t a greater relief; except perhaps that there were no acromantulae in sight either.
Draco pulled his singed and filthy robes closer around himself to keep out the chill, moving towards the steps back into the school but not returning inside. He settled down on the top step, just out of the way and shivered, lost in thought now that his brain was beginning to awaken once more.
The truth was he felt like such an outsider; so set apart from the others in the school. They were working so hard rebuilding, but it would feel like an insult for him to offer his help. He considered how they would look at him if he were doing something noticeable, and then decided that fading into the woodwork, for once, would be far better. It might come back to haunt him some day, that he sat back and did nothing whilst his ‘betters’ won back their freedom…but then, there was no way his reputation would survive this peace at the best of times.
Birdsong was prevalent now, twittering harmony that sang out over the grounds as the sun rose over Hogsmeade, the grounds of Hogwarts basking in the sunshine, the mist warming and rising higher as it did so. The warmth did not infect Draco as it did everything else. The May chill was deep within his bones, his heart frosted.
So many people dead… He had not yet mourned for those he had lost, for Vincent Crabbe, for instance, who had been so close to him. He had considered crying, but the tears would not come. For hours, Draco had wondered whether there was something wrong with him. Did the scar burned into his arm stop him from feeling?
Draco looked up as the sound of wings echoed over the empty grounds. A murder of crows had leapt into the sky, and were wheeling around, chasing away some of the school owls that had come too close. He watched the owls escape, deftly, then fly back towards the school, settling on the broken battlements like living gargoyles.
If only he had wings. Draco wondered what it would be like to take off into the air and vanish, never to be seen again. Would anyone miss him? Did they care? Or would his absence go unnoticed as it had been all day? Faintly, Draco wondered whether he could transfigure himself without a wand, his head dropping back onto the icy stone wall behind him, his eyes sightlessly looking on, watching the morning change.