Who: Draco, a Howler, and ??? What: Dearest Auntie Bella is Very Displeased. Where: An alcove in the third-floor corridor. When: After dinner. Rating: PG-13ish, probably. Status: Open/Incomplete
Draco had skipped dinner. If anyone ever got around to asking him why, he already had several stories in line to explain why: he hadn't felt well, he'd contracted some illness over the Easter holiday and hadn't thought it wise to expose everyone to him until he'd seen Pomfrey and gotten himself healed, he just hadn't been hungry. Except the last, they were all lies, even though it really should have been a lie, given how little Draco had eaten since he'd gone home. Honestly, it was ridiculous. He'd had a lengthy period between his summer and Christmas wherein he'd actually managed to keep food down long enough for it to be significant. He hadn't wanted to eat much, just because everything tasted the same, which was to say "rather death-flavoured," but he'd been able to eat enough to work on physically recovering from his sixth year and his summer under Aunt Bellatrix's special tutelage -- and it had all been downhill since. Honestly, he'd never been anything but thin and toned enough for a Seeker, and he certainly hadn't ever been a Hippopatamic land mass in need of losing a stone or ten, like Crabbe, Goyle, and Slughorn, but he could only imagine now how much Bulstrode, Midgen, and the other girls like them would want to know his so-called secrets.
Yes, of course, because being thin was a marvelous thing -- until one realised that the object of one's envy was only so lithe because the object's psychotic aunt and her equally psychotic, bald boyfriend had poured a good deal of their energies into torturing the object, to the point that, even if he hadn't been excessively depressed and uninterested in eating, he couldn't have kept anything down because his new default bodily reaction to almost any outside influence was to vomit. Women were ridiculous.
As much as Draco rather wanted to talk to someone, he tried not to frequent Moaning Myrtle's loo as a rule, partly because he could be discovered (again) and partly because, really, who could predict when the Boy Who Refused To Die was going to be in one of his moods and just feel like coming in and subjecting anyone he could find to potentially lethal Dark magic that left horribly disfiguring scars? Anywhere in Slytherin was also out of the question, just because it made too much sense. Anyone with half a brain would have gone right to Slytherin to look for him, if anyone particularly wanted to find him, which he seriously hoped that they didn't. He didn't have the patience to deal with anyone right now -- but, unfortunately, his chosen alcove in the third-floor corridor made him an easy target for the owl that flew in and dropped two envelopes in his lap.
Draco blenched at the sight of the bright red one. The other looked normal, but the first... oh, bloody Hell. Just his luck, he would have gotten a Howler. In his rush to get somewhere more private before it exploded, he fumbled the envelope and immediately learned who it was from.
"DRACO ABRAXAS MALFOY," the loud (and, worse, magnified), shrill voice of his favourite aunt roared, echoing off the corridor walls. "I WOULD ASK YOU TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF, BUT I HAVE NO DOUBTS THAT ANYTHING YOU COULD SAY WOULD BE ENTIRELY UNSATISFACTORY! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, YOU SPINELESS WHELP? THE ATTACK THIS MORNING WAS MEANT TO BE A ROUSING SUCCESS! IF YOU HADN'T RUN, LIKE THE COWARDLY FAILURE YOU ARE, WE WOULD HAVE CAPTURED POTTER, HIS MUDBLOOD, AND THE BLOOD TRAITORS, AND OUR LORD'S SECURITY WOULD BE ASSURED. YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BEAR THE MARK OF HIS SERVICE, YOU COULDN'T EVEN COMMIT THE EASIEST OF MURDERS IN HIS NAME! GREATNESS WAS OFFERED YOU AND YOU REFUSED! YOU LET SNAPE CARRY OUT THE DEED FOR YOU! AND TODAY YOU RAN RATHER THAN FIGHT FOR YOUR FAMILY'S CAUSE! I DO HOPE WHATEVER WHORE YOU SAW SERVICED YOU WELL, DRACO, BECAUSE I ASSURE YOU: UNTIL YOU SHAPE UP, YOU WILL HAVE NO OTHER CAUSE FOR HAPPINESS!"
Its message completed, the Howler fell to the ground and combusted, and Draco couldn't help but laugh off-handedly at it. No other cause for happiness... what would he be losing now, exactly? He presumed, given Bellatrix's signature on its envelope, the second letter would make that part of her message clearer, but he had no desire to learn what she meant, at the moment.