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Nov. 22nd, 2005 12:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wook77Written for the The HP Character Random Facts/Things Meme Compilation and Fic [and Art] Fest!. It was due yesterday, so I'm obviously late. Apologies all around.
Title: Discovery
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall (no pairings)
Warnings: Pre-slash
Wordcount: 1060
Rating: G
Prompt (in lieu of a summary):deliciantasy's 20 Things about Draco Malfoy as Remembered by Harry Potter. My choice was #20. With Dumbledore gone, and Snape most likely off serving Voldemort, I went down to the dungeons. I had to know where you went, what motivated you to join Voldemort’s ranks, and if you really were worth saving. What I found shocked me more than any of the previous things I have mentioned. You wrote in a journal, so many desires and wishes, the least of which was not to be involved with the Dark Lord. You kept photos of your family that looked worn and broken from too much handling. The most shocking to me, however, was the gold and maroon scarf wrapped carefully around clippings from the Daily Profit, Muggle photographs most likely stolen from Creevey, and bits of an old Nimbus 2000. I will find you someday, Malfoy, if it's the last thing I do.
Disclaimer: Not mine, ever.
The train station made Harry melancholy. It made him remember that he would not be taking the train this year to attend his final year. It made him remember last year’s trip with the broken nose and the vindictive sneer. It made him remember his first trip with Ron’s smiling face as they sat together, Hermione’s know-it-all attitude as she repaired his glasses and Malfoy.
Harry quickly cut off that line of thought. He would not remember Malfoy; he would not think of Malfoy, he would not. Keeping this mantra chanting through his head throughout the walk to Hogwarts, Harry was startled when he reached the gates. Pausing to stare at them, he remembered the refusal to take Malfoy’s hand.
“I think I can judge the wrong sort for myself.”
With that one action, Harry had put all the recent activities in place. Dumbledore was dead because he’d refused Malfoy’s friendship. Friendship would have stayed Malfoy’s hand. Friendship would have meant that Ginny might not have been possessed by Riddle’s diary. Friendship would have meant that Malfoy would have had somewhere else to turn to, instead of Voldemort alone. Friendship would have, well, might have meant that Harry would not feel so guilty for hiding a Slytherin House scarf in his rucksack.
Shaking off the morose thoughts, he walked through the gates and underneath the Hogwarts Motto. Seeing the new Headmistress, Harry nodded a greeting as he approached.
“Mister Potter, how have you been?” Harry shook his head.
“I’ve been better, Professor. Thank you for letting me in to see what was left behind. Maybe we can find a clue or two.” Professor McGonagall nodded before leading the way towards the Slytherin Dormitories.
“I’ve left all of Mr. Malfoy and Profess- Mr. Snape’s things as they were when they…left.”
“Thank you, Professor McGonagall. How is everything here?” The pair continued to chat about the possible closure of the school and the state of the grounds until the reached the entrance into the Slytherin Common Room. Professor McGonagall tapped her wand and the stones opened.
Already apparent was an air of disuse. A quill sat on a table while a shirt remained casually tossed over a chair. There was no dust but it was obvious that other than quick cleaning, nothing had been touched since the students left.
“This way, Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was staccato sharp as she moved towards one of the staircases. Feeling like an interloper, Harry followed quickly. He wanted to stop her as she tapped her wand onto the only student trunk in the room.
“I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Potter. Should you require assistance, I shall be in the Common Room.” Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the trunk. Barely hearing her footsteps traversing the room, the door closing or the sudden silence except for his rapid pulse, Harry slowly crossed the room until he stood in front of the trunk.
It looked brand new, as if it hadn’t journeyed on the train, getting bumped and battered along the way. On the very top was a set of perfectly folded socks. Harry didn’t notice his hand shaking as he reached for them. They were ordinary cotton, completely unremarkable except that the ordinariness was so unexpected. Harry assumed that Malfoy wouldn’t dare let cotton touch his skin, silk or some other rich fabric would be much more understandable.
Harry pulled out the robes underneath the socks and took little note of the Slytherin Crest on them. Delving further into the trunk, Harry pulled out textbooks, some that were barely used or perhaps Malfoy was just careful with his belongings. As he put the stack of textbooks on the floor, one caught his eye.
When Harry opened the book, nothing was on the pages. After he cast “Aparecium”, words slowly formed.
I am lost here. I don’t know which way to turn, which way to go. Sometimes, I wish I had been born to another family, even the Weasleys. I wish I had never heard of the Dark Lord. I wish my father had never gotten involved with him. I wish Potter had taken my hand in First Year.
What good are wishes anyway? If you could just wish and have it come true, the Weasleys would have money and Potter’s family would be alive. Wishes are for the weak and I can’t be weak right now. I have to be strong and I have to finish this.
I hate my father for starting this. I hate Potter for interfering. I hate the Dark Lord for ever existing. Bloody hell, I hate myself for agreeing.
Harry traced the entries with a fingertip as he read. It felt intrusive and disturbing to be reading Malfoy’s personal journal. As Harry read on, he felt more and more guilty for not taking that hand in First Year.
Finally, Harry put the journal on a pile to take with him. Digging further into the trunk, he found family photos, cracked and worn from handling. It was mildly shocking to find one picture where Lucius Malfoy smiled at his family as they posed. He’d not thought Malfoy’s father as being capable of any positive interaction.
As he picked up more photos, he felt the brush of fabric that felt like a House scarf against his fingertips. Harry was shocked to see that it was a Gryffindor House scarf. Picking it up, a box fell out as newspaper clippings rained all over the floor and trunk. Scrambling to reassemble them, Harry noticed that they were all about him. Suspicious, he pressed the scarf to his nose and smelled himself.
Harry picked up the box and discovered that it was locked. Casting spell after spell, he was finally rewarded with a snick as the top popped open. Harry’s hands shook and his breathing increased as he stared at photo after photo of himself, all interspersed with shards of an old Nimbus 2000.
“What the bloody hell is going on, Malfoy?” Harry didn’t expect an answer and wasn’t disappointed by the continued silence in the room.
“I will find you someday, Malfoy, if it’s the last thing I do. We need to talk.” Harry pledged as he thought of the Slytherin scarf hidden in his rucksack, a piece of a broken quill and his own collection of Draco Malfoy related newspaper clippings.
As always, commentary and concrit welcomed with open arms.
Title: Discovery
Author:
wook77Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall (no pairings)
Warnings: Pre-slash
Wordcount: 1060
Rating: G
Prompt (in lieu of a summary):
deliciantasy's 20 Things about Draco Malfoy as Remembered by Harry Potter. My choice was #20. With Dumbledore gone, and Snape most likely off serving Voldemort, I went down to the dungeons. I had to know where you went, what motivated you to join Voldemort’s ranks, and if you really were worth saving. What I found shocked me more than any of the previous things I have mentioned. You wrote in a journal, so many desires and wishes, the least of which was not to be involved with the Dark Lord. You kept photos of your family that looked worn and broken from too much handling. The most shocking to me, however, was the gold and maroon scarf wrapped carefully around clippings from the Daily Profit, Muggle photographs most likely stolen from Creevey, and bits of an old Nimbus 2000. I will find you someday, Malfoy, if it's the last thing I do.Disclaimer: Not mine, ever.
The train station made Harry melancholy. It made him remember that he would not be taking the train this year to attend his final year. It made him remember last year’s trip with the broken nose and the vindictive sneer. It made him remember his first trip with Ron’s smiling face as they sat together, Hermione’s know-it-all attitude as she repaired his glasses and Malfoy.
Harry quickly cut off that line of thought. He would not remember Malfoy; he would not think of Malfoy, he would not. Keeping this mantra chanting through his head throughout the walk to Hogwarts, Harry was startled when he reached the gates. Pausing to stare at them, he remembered the refusal to take Malfoy’s hand.
“I think I can judge the wrong sort for myself.”
With that one action, Harry had put all the recent activities in place. Dumbledore was dead because he’d refused Malfoy’s friendship. Friendship would have stayed Malfoy’s hand. Friendship would have meant that Ginny might not have been possessed by Riddle’s diary. Friendship would have meant that Malfoy would have had somewhere else to turn to, instead of Voldemort alone. Friendship would have, well, might have meant that Harry would not feel so guilty for hiding a Slytherin House scarf in his rucksack.
Shaking off the morose thoughts, he walked through the gates and underneath the Hogwarts Motto. Seeing the new Headmistress, Harry nodded a greeting as he approached.
“Mister Potter, how have you been?” Harry shook his head.
“I’ve been better, Professor. Thank you for letting me in to see what was left behind. Maybe we can find a clue or two.” Professor McGonagall nodded before leading the way towards the Slytherin Dormitories.
“I’ve left all of Mr. Malfoy and Profess- Mr. Snape’s things as they were when they…left.”
“Thank you, Professor McGonagall. How is everything here?” The pair continued to chat about the possible closure of the school and the state of the grounds until the reached the entrance into the Slytherin Common Room. Professor McGonagall tapped her wand and the stones opened.
Already apparent was an air of disuse. A quill sat on a table while a shirt remained casually tossed over a chair. There was no dust but it was obvious that other than quick cleaning, nothing had been touched since the students left.
“This way, Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall’s voice was staccato sharp as she moved towards one of the staircases. Feeling like an interloper, Harry followed quickly. He wanted to stop her as she tapped her wand onto the only student trunk in the room.
“I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Potter. Should you require assistance, I shall be in the Common Room.” Harry nodded, not taking his eyes off the trunk. Barely hearing her footsteps traversing the room, the door closing or the sudden silence except for his rapid pulse, Harry slowly crossed the room until he stood in front of the trunk.
It looked brand new, as if it hadn’t journeyed on the train, getting bumped and battered along the way. On the very top was a set of perfectly folded socks. Harry didn’t notice his hand shaking as he reached for them. They were ordinary cotton, completely unremarkable except that the ordinariness was so unexpected. Harry assumed that Malfoy wouldn’t dare let cotton touch his skin, silk or some other rich fabric would be much more understandable.
Harry pulled out the robes underneath the socks and took little note of the Slytherin Crest on them. Delving further into the trunk, Harry pulled out textbooks, some that were barely used or perhaps Malfoy was just careful with his belongings. As he put the stack of textbooks on the floor, one caught his eye.
When Harry opened the book, nothing was on the pages. After he cast “Aparecium”, words slowly formed.
I am lost here. I don’t know which way to turn, which way to go. Sometimes, I wish I had been born to another family, even the Weasleys. I wish I had never heard of the Dark Lord. I wish my father had never gotten involved with him. I wish Potter had taken my hand in First Year.
What good are wishes anyway? If you could just wish and have it come true, the Weasleys would have money and Potter’s family would be alive. Wishes are for the weak and I can’t be weak right now. I have to be strong and I have to finish this.
I hate my father for starting this. I hate Potter for interfering. I hate the Dark Lord for ever existing. Bloody hell, I hate myself for agreeing.
Harry traced the entries with a fingertip as he read. It felt intrusive and disturbing to be reading Malfoy’s personal journal. As Harry read on, he felt more and more guilty for not taking that hand in First Year.
Finally, Harry put the journal on a pile to take with him. Digging further into the trunk, he found family photos, cracked and worn from handling. It was mildly shocking to find one picture where Lucius Malfoy smiled at his family as they posed. He’d not thought Malfoy’s father as being capable of any positive interaction.
As he picked up more photos, he felt the brush of fabric that felt like a House scarf against his fingertips. Harry was shocked to see that it was a Gryffindor House scarf. Picking it up, a box fell out as newspaper clippings rained all over the floor and trunk. Scrambling to reassemble them, Harry noticed that they were all about him. Suspicious, he pressed the scarf to his nose and smelled himself.
Harry picked up the box and discovered that it was locked. Casting spell after spell, he was finally rewarded with a snick as the top popped open. Harry’s hands shook and his breathing increased as he stared at photo after photo of himself, all interspersed with shards of an old Nimbus 2000.
“What the bloody hell is going on, Malfoy?” Harry didn’t expect an answer and wasn’t disappointed by the continued silence in the room.
“I will find you someday, Malfoy, if it’s the last thing I do. We need to talk.” Harry pledged as he thought of the Slytherin scarf hidden in his rucksack, a piece of a broken quill and his own collection of Draco Malfoy related newspaper clippings.
As always, commentary and concrit welcomed with open arms.
