| background rp --- early january, 2001 |
[13 Jan 2008|03:27pm] |
WHO: Draco Malfoy
WHAT: narrative
WHERE: The Ministry, then his flat.
RATING: PG
STATUS: Completed
"Yes, sir." Shoulders hunched, Draco slunk out of the office. He gripped the mug so tightly his knuckles turned white, but Draco didn't mind. He welcomed pain, a nice release from the numbness that gripped his body more often than not. Most days, Draco acted a zombie - his eyes glazed over, his skin pale and cracked, his weight dangerously low. His trademark strut had been lost years ago, replaced by a meek shuffle. He couldn't bear to look most in the eyes, and subsequently, spent most of his time staring at floors.
His time in the Reactionary Member's office proved no different. He had stood, listening to the other bloke ridicule his torn robes. He had said nothing when the man called Lucius a stupid git or that Draco was good for nothing other than tea runs. "Oh, can you bear to watch the water boil, wee Malfoy? Hm? Or are you going to cry because it is in pain?" Somewhere deep inside, Draco felt the urge to lunge forward, but time had taught him to control those emotions. He held no cards; committing foolish acts would only earn both himself and his family punishment. He would have rather liked death, but since torture seemed more fun to the Lord, Draco kept his mouth shut.
( this is how the world ends; not with a bang, but with a whimper )
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| draco & bellatrix |
[13 Jan 2008|09:04pm] |
WHO: Draco Malfoy & Bellatrix Lestrange
WHERE: Running errands in Diagon Alley
WHAT: Getting ridiculed
WHEN: Sunday afternoon, Jan. 13th, 2001
RATING: PG [some language]
STATUS: Completed
Draco never truly had a day off. Voldemort had given his followers full reign to treat the Malfoy boy terribly and they did not disappoint. Other than causing him death, the Death Eaters and Reactionary members were permitted to use Draco for any task they so desired. As such, Draco had not been surprised when one particularly surly Death Eater arrived at his flat at exactly five in the morning. Naturally, Draco hadn't slept much anyway, but the disrespect toward him was evident.
The task? Bring piping hot cups of tea and coffee to a secret headquarters. The catch? Draco had no wand and was not permitted to use wandless magic. He'd have to make the beverages the muggle way or purchase them somewhere. Though he had little money, the latter option seemed safer. Salazar knew what sort of result he'd produce if he attempted the order himself.
Draco could not even take solace in the idea that Potter was every bit as miserable as he. Or at least, that was what Draco had summarized from the Gryffindor's entry. At least Draco had the dignity to hex his own sob stories. Then again, that had always been Potter's way --- seeking fame and attention. Well, as far as Draco was concerned, Potter could spend less time writing and more time finding and killing the Lord. Draco would rather spend his life in Azkaban than go through another day like his current one.
What? Was he really counting on Potty now? Draco hurried through the streets, attempting to block out those thoughts. A Malfoy's life had not come to this, had it?
The answer was clear as a Reactionary member stuck his foot out, tripping Draco. "Aw, look, the Golden heir is down." The member snickered though his choice of words was not lost on Draco. Golden. Damn Potter. He was the fecking Golden Boy; the one everyone loved and lauded.
Knowing he could not strike back or even reply, Draco pushed himself to his feet and kept walking, the insults continuing to ring as he scurried away.
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