Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is written by Rowling. She gets no witticisms. And, she gets the same comment on each page.
Spoilers: Minor one for Order of the Pheonix
Notes: I still expect great things from this boy. Don't let me down, Rowling.
Warnings: ---
Summary: Draco's not going to let this beat him.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is written by Rowling. She gets no witticisms. And, she gets the same comment on each page.
Spoilers: Minor one for Order of the Pheonix
Notes: I still expect great things from this boy. Don't let me down, Rowling.
Warnings: ---
Summary: Draco's not going to let this beat him.
On Losing a Father
Stand up, Draco.
He kicks his sheets down around his ankles and sits up, hunched and sweating in the dark. The air of the Manor is boiling, as it always is in the middle of summer. Boiling, and choking, and old. In the dark, he breathes the damn air and tries to ignore the sounds of the Manor bending around him.
And the sounds of his stomach growling. He hasn't eaten a proper meal in longer than he can remember, not since the elves last barged in with a tray, anyway, and that had been nearly three days ago. He'd screamed at them, too, so there isn't likely to be another meal anytime soon.
If he wanted to, he could kick the sheets off entirely, stand up, and find something to eat on his own. On his own two feet.
Stand up, Draco.
He could, theoretically, stand in his own kitchen and find his own food in his own house. Because that's what this crypt is now. His house. His. From the old beams to the old walls to the old moulded fireplace and the old, old air. His.
And if he could only trust himself to stand and walk out of his bedroom then maybe he could make something of it. But he can't. He's too young to deal with this, not nearly ready to cope with what he's lost.
Stand up, Draco.
Narcissa is crying somewhere. She tried to talk him out once, with tears in her voice if not on her face, but he'd ignored her and she'd eventually gone away. Now, she's crying somewhere in the bowels of the Manor. If he were really the head of the family, he wouldn't have let her go, and he wouldn't be huddled in here waiting for father to come back either. He'd be out there, ordering the elves around, comforting Narcissa. Taking charge.
But he can't. He's tried, and he can't. He never wanted this, not now, not in the future. Never.
Stand up, Draco.
But it did happen. It did, and even hiding won't undo it. He's lost a father. He can't deny it, for all that he may try. Come better or worse, more likely worse, his family is broken now, and he will not allow this to beat him.
Potter didn't.
Stand up, Draco.
He's 16, and his father has been stolen from him. For this, Draco will never forgive them.
Stand up, Draco.
Draco stands up.
He kicks his sheets down around his ankles and sits up, hunched and sweating in the dark. The air of the Manor is boiling, as it always is in the middle of summer. Boiling, and choking, and old. In the dark, he breathes the damn air and tries to ignore the sounds of the Manor bending around him.
And the sounds of his stomach growling. He hasn't eaten a proper meal in longer than he can remember, not since the elves last barged in with a tray, anyway, and that had been nearly three days ago. He'd screamed at them, too, so there isn't likely to be another meal anytime soon.
If he wanted to, he could kick the sheets off entirely, stand up, and find something to eat on his own. On his own two feet.
Stand up, Draco.
He could, theoretically, stand in his own kitchen and find his own food in his own house. Because that's what this crypt is now. His house. His. From the old beams to the old walls to the old moulded fireplace and the old, old air. His.
And if he could only trust himself to stand and walk out of his bedroom then maybe he could make something of it. But he can't. He's too young to deal with this, not nearly ready to cope with what he's lost.
Stand up, Draco.
Narcissa is crying somewhere. She tried to talk him out once, with tears in her voice if not on her face, but he'd ignored her and she'd eventually gone away. Now, she's crying somewhere in the bowels of the Manor. If he were really the head of the family, he wouldn't have let her go, and he wouldn't be huddled in here waiting for father to come back either. He'd be out there, ordering the elves around, comforting Narcissa. Taking charge.
But he can't. He's tried, and he can't. He never wanted this, not now, not in the future. Never.
Stand up, Draco.
But it did happen. It did, and even hiding won't undo it. He's lost a father. He can't deny it, for all that he may try. Come better or worse, more likely worse, his family is broken now, and he will not allow this to beat him.
Potter didn't.
Stand up, Draco.
He's 16, and his father has been stolen from him. For this, Draco will never forgive them.
Stand up, Draco.
Draco stands up.