RP: Northern Lights
Date: February 13th, 1999, 1am-6am
Character(s): Draco Malfoy
Location: Highlands, Scotland
Status: Private
Summary: Draco comes to some conclusions, and a lot more questions.
Completion: Complete
It was freezing cold. Leant against a lifeless old tree, its branches barren in the long struggle through winter, he watched his breath gust in the faint light from the lodge in which he was staying, disappearing into the icy air. He sank deeper into the thick fur of his travelling cloak, the fluffy 'ears' of his ushanka meeting it so that it encompassed his head in warmth.
This barren landscape, cloaked in white, disappeared into blackness; the outline of the mountains barely visible in the moon and starlight, stabbing up into the Scottish sky.
Draco was waiting for the Northern Lights; Aurora Borealis. They only appeared a few times a month but perhaps he would be lucky. He sighed out another puff of breath and sank further back into his cocoon of warmth.
The highland was beautiful - safe and homely, but also incredibly wild. It had been the perfect place to go and think after his outburst. He didn't need this right now; what he needed was to go into his exams clear headed and pass them. He still had Potions and Transfiguration, and if he could get through the first of those with an Outstanding he would be satisfied. In his current state of mind, he did not expect that his Potions making would be up to scratch.
It wasn't like he needed Pansy. He was Draco Malfoy; he didn't need anyone or anything. But he couldn't help that feeling of hopelessness and bitter anger that had crept into him all at once when he had seen her lean over Neville and kiss him - her lips on his skin. Her lips, that had only ever belonged to him for six years; and she, ungrateful wench, clearly unaware of how much Draco had done for her. He had given her up for a whole year to make her safe, even though he had longed for comfort; for someone to hold him as he cried -- and how did she thank him for it? By openly throwing herself at Neville Longbottom in front of him.
For the longest time he had expected to marry her. They'd been born within the same year, and the Parkinsons had brought their baby girl to the Manor very shortly after she had been born. It was the perfect match; two pureblood houses, both similarly aligned... Their daughter would marry Draco Malfoy, unite their families, and never know fear or poverty with a rich and powerful husband to protect her and provide for her. They had made plans; Draco had talked about horses, and huge balls and a new rose garden just for Pansy, with black roses to match her hair. Pansy had doted all over him, and despite his pride, Draco had fallen for it. At some point, he was sure he might have loved her - perhaps still did in some twisted, painful way. All those things had fallen apart when the war had ended, like the bottom falling off an old cauldron and spilling its precious contents.
Now, a lot of what he saw in Pansy he hated. He wasn't sure whether it was the pain of seeing her with another man; no less Neville Longbottom, but watching her from afar, he could see how he had been reeled in like a fish -- hated himself for that weakness and steeled never to allow it to happen again. He hated her vapid smile, and her painted face. He hated the dresses that she wore that demonstrated the curves of her body. He hated the way that she would look at him and contradict everything that he said. He despised the fact that she always thought that she was right. He hated the way her chest would draw his eye as she breathed, and the long column of her throat, with her hair brushing teasingly against it, inviting his touch. He hated knowing that it was not his, was never his, and would never be his again. And he hated, hated, hated feeling so very crushed by her, like a beetle under the heel of her boot.
The feeling of grand melancholy that he had shaken off a few months ago had set in once more, as though it had never left. It left him chill despite the warmth of his robes and the charms weaved into them. He was cold, and Pansy was to blame. The jealousy and the bitterness would eat him up; but more so the deep feeling of helplessness and dis-satisfaction in his lot. He had asked for this. When he had lowered his mother's wand and stepped down as Potter's foil, it had been because he had wanted Potter to win; wanted the war to end; wanted it all to end up this way.
Back then, Draco had thought of it as little more than a gaudy prison. His life was over, and there would be no coming back from that. He had known that he would never have all the things that Potter and the others would have, despite still being in possession of his money, his land and his pride.
This wasn't a prison; he was a free man, as this excursion to the Highlands of Scotland to think had proved. There was nobody here to watch him; nobody to notice if he decided to simply disappear, or began building an army of Inferius to take over the world, or some rubbish like that. He had his freedom. What he didn't have were things that others simply took for granted.
When he was younger, he had always been the rich kid; never realising that he did not develop friendships, he was given them. His birthday parties were ones that people attended to mingle, not because they cared that he had gotten a year older. They came and gave him expensive presents and preened and spoke to his mother and father in dulcet tones. Their children always looked on jealously. Some, who were close, like Greg and Vince and Pansy, had seen more of him than the others. Draco had let them in slightly more, and part of that made him feel exposed - that Pansy might tell another living soul some of the things that he had discussed with her alone... He was not ready for that.
Now, as a young man, he was facing a future with very little difference to his past. Hermione would be to him as Snape had been to his father; a close family friend, and then there would be nobody else but sychophants and sympathisers. Draco's parents had been lucky; they'd met in school in brighter times. In Draco's school days, he had come closer and closer to Pansy, but now she was gone there was a void, with nobody to fill her place. It was that void that hurt the most; for who could fill it? There were very few acceptable pureblood girls; and even if there was someone, their parents would warn them away from him, and there would always be a Neville Longbottom, safe and reasonably rich, to fill in that place - to have a friendship wih her, and open up to her as Draco never, ever could.
The crux of the matter was that Draco could not let down his defences. He had learnt to rely on them, been fashioned in steel in the most heated of wars. He needed to defend himself, and now, by Pansy's hand, he knew what damage a woman could do to him. To open up to another; to let her take his beating heart into her hand, where she could easily crush as protect it, was impossible. If he could even find a woman that would be acceptable. She would need to be pure of blood, cold as ice, clever enough to keep up with him: his standards were quite exacting. She would have to be as beautiful as a queen, and a loving mother. She would have to accept that there were parts of him he simply could not share, and yet never conceal anything from him. She would have to be fiery and defensive, proud of herself and her family, protective and accepting of him despite his flaws and his past. She would have to be a good dancer, and love animals, and find bliss in his gentlemanly companionship, even as he aged.
There simply wasn't a woman like that in the world.
Not to mention that if there was, Draco wouldn't be able to attract her in the first place, he was almost sure of it. He already felt ten years older than he was. And then there was the question of his mark. No woman in their right mind would want to raise a family with an ex-death eater, no matter how attractive that prospect was beginning to look to him. Draco was bright enough to know that it wasn't this, but the next generation that would bring peace to their world. He could tell in the way that Andromeda had smiled last week when he had inquired about Teddy Lupin, his cousin. He wanted to smile like that; wanted to know what that peace felt like, somehow, but suspected that he never would -- a bizarre sensation bourne out of only one accidental smile...
Not that there wouldn't be plenty of time for him to try and fail at relationships. It would be years before he took the job at Hogwarts and closed that book of fate permanently. He imagined himself like Snape, working himself to death at the school, and wondered what would happen to the Malfoy name then, grimacing at the thought. Everything that they meant; everything they worked for, would be ruined in one swift movement. Why bring back a name if it was to end with him? No...no, he couldn't do that. It was against the rules. He had a responsibility; for all the things he was given, he was expected to return only one thing.
He and Hermione had discussed this; she had told him to marry for love. But perhaps it wasn't that simpe, as he had suggested before. The Malfoy name must not end with him. But if that was the case, he really, truly wished that it could have been Pansy.
It warred within him as he looked out over the pale grey darkness, feeling the argument rushing back and forth within him like water inside a cauldron as you tipped it from side to side. He must but he mustn't. He could but he couldn't. He wanted but he couldn't have. His mind was a mix of ingredients, and they would either make the sweetest draught, or the deadliest poison.
The Aurora Borealis silenced his tumultuous thoughts. Up above him they shone, gold and purple and green, and Draco felt his fears and doubts drop away like falling sheets of paper, drifting in the breeze. It was pure magic, deep earthly magic, older than life itself. Draco watched the patterns weaving their way across the sky, dancing to music he could not even imagine. He exhaled slowly, feeling warmth seep into his chilled bones for the first time all weekend.
It was simple. Pansy was gone. It was as though she too had perished in that burning room with all that Draco had been before. Now it was time to move on; to let her have whatever pitiful existence she decided to choose for herself, and continue travelling his own road once more, hoping that he did not travel alone forever.
Pansy might be gone, but Draco Malfoy was still here. Changed by her, perhaps, but still standing upright despite the blow he had recieved. The Aurora Borealis decided its own path across the sky, never the same, always adapting and changing, but always beautiful, and so Draco would weave his own path too. Hours later, when the last vestiges of light had vanished, and a grey dawn was tugging at the snowy, peaked horizon, Draco moved, stretching his legs so that he didn't lose them when he apparated; a peace of mind enveloping him like a warm blanket. He had not forgotten his pain; that would not vanish, he thought, for a long time -- but he was ready to move on. He had exams to attend, a future to build for himself, and no silly little girl and her Gryffindor squib were going to ruin that for him.
Character(s): Draco Malfoy
Location: Highlands, Scotland
Status: Private
Summary: Draco comes to some conclusions, and a lot more questions.
Completion: Complete
It was freezing cold. Leant against a lifeless old tree, its branches barren in the long struggle through winter, he watched his breath gust in the faint light from the lodge in which he was staying, disappearing into the icy air. He sank deeper into the thick fur of his travelling cloak, the fluffy 'ears' of his ushanka meeting it so that it encompassed his head in warmth.
This barren landscape, cloaked in white, disappeared into blackness; the outline of the mountains barely visible in the moon and starlight, stabbing up into the Scottish sky.
Draco was waiting for the Northern Lights; Aurora Borealis. They only appeared a few times a month but perhaps he would be lucky. He sighed out another puff of breath and sank further back into his cocoon of warmth.
The highland was beautiful - safe and homely, but also incredibly wild. It had been the perfect place to go and think after his outburst. He didn't need this right now; what he needed was to go into his exams clear headed and pass them. He still had Potions and Transfiguration, and if he could get through the first of those with an Outstanding he would be satisfied. In his current state of mind, he did not expect that his Potions making would be up to scratch.
It wasn't like he needed Pansy. He was Draco Malfoy; he didn't need anyone or anything. But he couldn't help that feeling of hopelessness and bitter anger that had crept into him all at once when he had seen her lean over Neville and kiss him - her lips on his skin. Her lips, that had only ever belonged to him for six years; and she, ungrateful wench, clearly unaware of how much Draco had done for her. He had given her up for a whole year to make her safe, even though he had longed for comfort; for someone to hold him as he cried -- and how did she thank him for it? By openly throwing herself at Neville Longbottom in front of him.
For the longest time he had expected to marry her. They'd been born within the same year, and the Parkinsons had brought their baby girl to the Manor very shortly after she had been born. It was the perfect match; two pureblood houses, both similarly aligned... Their daughter would marry Draco Malfoy, unite their families, and never know fear or poverty with a rich and powerful husband to protect her and provide for her. They had made plans; Draco had talked about horses, and huge balls and a new rose garden just for Pansy, with black roses to match her hair. Pansy had doted all over him, and despite his pride, Draco had fallen for it. At some point, he was sure he might have loved her - perhaps still did in some twisted, painful way. All those things had fallen apart when the war had ended, like the bottom falling off an old cauldron and spilling its precious contents.
Now, a lot of what he saw in Pansy he hated. He wasn't sure whether it was the pain of seeing her with another man; no less Neville Longbottom, but watching her from afar, he could see how he had been reeled in like a fish -- hated himself for that weakness and steeled never to allow it to happen again. He hated her vapid smile, and her painted face. He hated the dresses that she wore that demonstrated the curves of her body. He hated the way that she would look at him and contradict everything that he said. He despised the fact that she always thought that she was right. He hated the way her chest would draw his eye as she breathed, and the long column of her throat, with her hair brushing teasingly against it, inviting his touch. He hated knowing that it was not his, was never his, and would never be his again. And he hated, hated, hated feeling so very crushed by her, like a beetle under the heel of her boot.
The feeling of grand melancholy that he had shaken off a few months ago had set in once more, as though it had never left. It left him chill despite the warmth of his robes and the charms weaved into them. He was cold, and Pansy was to blame. The jealousy and the bitterness would eat him up; but more so the deep feeling of helplessness and dis-satisfaction in his lot. He had asked for this. When he had lowered his mother's wand and stepped down as Potter's foil, it had been because he had wanted Potter to win; wanted the war to end; wanted it all to end up this way.
Back then, Draco had thought of it as little more than a gaudy prison. His life was over, and there would be no coming back from that. He had known that he would never have all the things that Potter and the others would have, despite still being in possession of his money, his land and his pride.
This wasn't a prison; he was a free man, as this excursion to the Highlands of Scotland to think had proved. There was nobody here to watch him; nobody to notice if he decided to simply disappear, or began building an army of Inferius to take over the world, or some rubbish like that. He had his freedom. What he didn't have were things that others simply took for granted.
When he was younger, he had always been the rich kid; never realising that he did not develop friendships, he was given them. His birthday parties were ones that people attended to mingle, not because they cared that he had gotten a year older. They came and gave him expensive presents and preened and spoke to his mother and father in dulcet tones. Their children always looked on jealously. Some, who were close, like Greg and Vince and Pansy, had seen more of him than the others. Draco had let them in slightly more, and part of that made him feel exposed - that Pansy might tell another living soul some of the things that he had discussed with her alone... He was not ready for that.
Now, as a young man, he was facing a future with very little difference to his past. Hermione would be to him as Snape had been to his father; a close family friend, and then there would be nobody else but sychophants and sympathisers. Draco's parents had been lucky; they'd met in school in brighter times. In Draco's school days, he had come closer and closer to Pansy, but now she was gone there was a void, with nobody to fill her place. It was that void that hurt the most; for who could fill it? There were very few acceptable pureblood girls; and even if there was someone, their parents would warn them away from him, and there would always be a Neville Longbottom, safe and reasonably rich, to fill in that place - to have a friendship wih her, and open up to her as Draco never, ever could.
The crux of the matter was that Draco could not let down his defences. He had learnt to rely on them, been fashioned in steel in the most heated of wars. He needed to defend himself, and now, by Pansy's hand, he knew what damage a woman could do to him. To open up to another; to let her take his beating heart into her hand, where she could easily crush as protect it, was impossible. If he could even find a woman that would be acceptable. She would need to be pure of blood, cold as ice, clever enough to keep up with him: his standards were quite exacting. She would have to be as beautiful as a queen, and a loving mother. She would have to accept that there were parts of him he simply could not share, and yet never conceal anything from him. She would have to be fiery and defensive, proud of herself and her family, protective and accepting of him despite his flaws and his past. She would have to be a good dancer, and love animals, and find bliss in his gentlemanly companionship, even as he aged.
There simply wasn't a woman like that in the world.
Not to mention that if there was, Draco wouldn't be able to attract her in the first place, he was almost sure of it. He already felt ten years older than he was. And then there was the question of his mark. No woman in their right mind would want to raise a family with an ex-death eater, no matter how attractive that prospect was beginning to look to him. Draco was bright enough to know that it wasn't this, but the next generation that would bring peace to their world. He could tell in the way that Andromeda had smiled last week when he had inquired about Teddy Lupin, his cousin. He wanted to smile like that; wanted to know what that peace felt like, somehow, but suspected that he never would -- a bizarre sensation bourne out of only one accidental smile...
Not that there wouldn't be plenty of time for him to try and fail at relationships. It would be years before he took the job at Hogwarts and closed that book of fate permanently. He imagined himself like Snape, working himself to death at the school, and wondered what would happen to the Malfoy name then, grimacing at the thought. Everything that they meant; everything they worked for, would be ruined in one swift movement. Why bring back a name if it was to end with him? No...no, he couldn't do that. It was against the rules. He had a responsibility; for all the things he was given, he was expected to return only one thing.
He and Hermione had discussed this; she had told him to marry for love. But perhaps it wasn't that simpe, as he had suggested before. The Malfoy name must not end with him. But if that was the case, he really, truly wished that it could have been Pansy.
It warred within him as he looked out over the pale grey darkness, feeling the argument rushing back and forth within him like water inside a cauldron as you tipped it from side to side. He must but he mustn't. He could but he couldn't. He wanted but he couldn't have. His mind was a mix of ingredients, and they would either make the sweetest draught, or the deadliest poison.
The Aurora Borealis silenced his tumultuous thoughts. Up above him they shone, gold and purple and green, and Draco felt his fears and doubts drop away like falling sheets of paper, drifting in the breeze. It was pure magic, deep earthly magic, older than life itself. Draco watched the patterns weaving their way across the sky, dancing to music he could not even imagine. He exhaled slowly, feeling warmth seep into his chilled bones for the first time all weekend.
It was simple. Pansy was gone. It was as though she too had perished in that burning room with all that Draco had been before. Now it was time to move on; to let her have whatever pitiful existence she decided to choose for herself, and continue travelling his own road once more, hoping that he did not travel alone forever.
Pansy might be gone, but Draco Malfoy was still here. Changed by her, perhaps, but still standing upright despite the blow he had recieved. The Aurora Borealis decided its own path across the sky, never the same, always adapting and changing, but always beautiful, and so Draco would weave his own path too. Hours later, when the last vestiges of light had vanished, and a grey dawn was tugging at the snowy, peaked horizon, Draco moved, stretching his legs so that he didn't lose them when he apparated; a peace of mind enveloping him like a warm blanket. He had not forgotten his pain; that would not vanish, he thought, for a long time -- but he was ready to move on. He had exams to attend, a future to build for himself, and no silly little girl and her Gryffindor squib were going to ruin that for him.