Fallen Angel
Chapter 10
Walking down the streets of busy Muggle London with a hangover was not pleasant at any time of day, but at five-thirty it was just obscenely early on top of irritating. There were just enough people out on the street -clearly too on their way to work- to annoy Draco and cause him to hate people so early at the start of his day. The refuge Diagon Alley offered was welcomingly received as Draco pulled his new wand, rapped the correct bricks in a well practiced fashion he had never forgotten, and entered through the shifting archway. Draco loved his new wand, even if any magic above the level he just displayed would wind up landing him a fine and eventual possible confiscation of his newly acquired wand. Just the hum of it in his pocket, the familiar weight, the comforting companionship of it, was more than enough for him at the moment. It felt like his arm had been incomplete until now.
"Morning, Draco," Oliver greeted as he stood atop the few stairs leading to the library. He had a large ring of heavy keys, and was clearly just arriving himself as Draco approached.
"Morning," he responded, walking with his cane still but trying to suppress his limp, so it was subtle rather than heavy. He hated when people asked about it, and if it seemed obvious enough that he was trying to hide it, most didn't inquire. "Diagon Alley isn't exactly hopping at this time of day, is it?" he commented, already having passed countless businesses and venders still dark with slumber.
"A majority of shop owners live above their businesses, so they don't have to even get up until minutes before opening if they desire. That also means there isn't a whole lot of foot-traffic until pedestrians start streaming in at some point after six," he explained, using now his fifth key since Draco had joined him, tackling yet another lock and warding spell. Draco was sure all this security was not necessary, but then again, what did he know? The library could have a collection of "dangerous" texts or valuable editions.
Draco looked past Oliver at that point, to see Conner hurrying from the opposite end of Diagon Alley from which Draco had come. Connor clearly hadn't seen Draco yet, him hidden from view by Oliver, so he seemed casual enough and confident as he joined them. When Draco revealed himself, however, Connor suddenly stopped and his discomfort exuded heavily, enough to where Oliver noticed.
"Oh, Connor," he greeted as though surprised. "This is Draco Malfoy, I owled you about him last night but I didn't get a reply. He was just hired and will be working with us," he explained what he had clearly written to the other man, obviously thinking that the lack of reply meant he hadn't gotten it at all.
"Yeah, we actually met last night," Connor said, looking down somewhat.
"Connor stopped by and shared a drink with me last night," Draco said quite conversationally, in no way eluding to any anxiety on his part. Oliver noticed Draco's comfort in contrast to Connors lack-there-of, and questioned it.
Connor just tilted his head to the side, but Draco answered.
"Nothing's the matter, right Connor?" he said oh-so-casually, the man looking over at him and seemingly gaining confidence from Draco's easy savvy.
"Yeah, nothing's wrong, just a little tired," he said, brushing his ringlets out of his eyes in much the same manner Michelangelo did and got Draco to stare for just a minute. Oliver heaved the front door open at that moment, ripping Draco's eyes away, saving him from having to respond while so astonished.
Oliver led the way and Connor and Draco entered shoulder to shoulder, Draco taking the opportunity to speak to Connor in hushed tones.
"You are sort of defeating the purpose of you coming to see me last night if you are just going to act uncomfortable and conspicuous anyways," he said, Connor looking over at him. "Relax, we don't have to say anything to Oliver, so lets just act like new acquaintances -since that is what we are- and go about trying to enjoy our day," he suggested, Connor nodding.
"Nice tie," he remarked, Draco smirking. It was a handsome tie, even if Connor was making fun of him for it.
"Alright," Oliver said upon turning once in the center of the main library hall. "Draco, your job's title is receptionist, meaning you would be the one that receives and sends all owls, checks in and out books, and works the floors while handling the patrons," he explained, falling into full swing very quickly, there only being twenty minutes before they were officially open.
"I believe I can handle that," Draco said quite confidently, though surprised he would be given a job so forefront. He was used to be treated like an embarrassment, an inconvenience, tucked away in dark corners and never acknowledged.
"Well, that is just what your title entails. You will also have the task of maintaining the card catalogs, and keeping the main floor uncluttered as people come through," Oliver explained as he turned to walk, Connor following after and Draco following suit. "With all the disrepair and how far we have fallen behind, however, you will also be expected to help Connor and I in our work of repairing, organizing, and shelving the books since there wont always be patrons in the building for you to occupy yourself with. This will help you, however, learn the layout of the library and where subjects are, so as to be more of a help to the people you will be serving," Oliver said and Draco wrapped his mind around that.
"So basically I will have your guys' job, and then more," he said, not making it a question.
Oliver just laughed and nodded.
"It won't be terrible, I promise," Connor reassured, Draco not exactly complaining but for maybe the fact that he would be carrying two jobs if not more, but only one title, meaning he would only be paid for one job. He felt that kind'a sucked.
"When do I get a pair of snazzy robes? Is there some kind of initiation? I hope drinking games are involved," Draco drawled, noticing Oliver and Connor's floor length purple robes and feeling rather drab in his black slacks, white dress shirt, and new tie.
"We can have you fitted once Madam Malkin's opens," Connor said as he ran his hands down the front of his silky robes. "I think they are rather hideous if you ask me," he said, Oliver laughing.
"Oh, good. Here I thought it was only me," Draco said, eyeing the purple robes with weary eyes now.
"Our library's namesake loved purple, so guess what color we get to wear?" Oliver said with a roll of his eyes.
"What a proofer," Draco scoffed, crossing his arms.
"Right then, first," Oliver said now that they had reached the office in the back, "You punch in back here every morning, and for lunch and breaks. One forty minute lunch, two fifteen minute breaks. Mr. Crudelis watches the cards closely, so don't give him an excuse to fire you, Draco, punch every time and be honest if you are late. He will like you more for your honesty," Oliver warned. Draco saluted him rather mockingly as Oliver keyed in, smiling. "Let's see," he said, looking around the room. "This is Mr. Crudelis' office, don't touch anything, he is highly organized despite the clutter. Punch in over there and leave," he warned, Connor already demonstrating, Oliver heading to Mr. Crudelis' desk, opening a drawer, and grabbing a quill off the top at the same time. "Your punch card…" he said, trailing off, writing on a small piece of manila card. He scratched at it for a moment before handing it to Draco. "Sign it at the bottom, on the back there, and you are officially hired. Once punched you will be on the payroll," he said, Draco smiling despite himself and taking the card and quill, leaning over the front of the desk to sign his name in his elegant script.
"Thank god you have good handwriting, our last receptionist wrote in goblin, I swear," Connor said, looking over Draco's shoulder to see Draco's perfectly calligraphy signature with just the right amount of accents and loops to look very aesthetically appealing and classy.
"I aim to please," he drawled, picking up his card and waving it to encourage the ink to dry without a smudge. "I punch there?" he asked, already moving over to the old wooden box with the lever on the side and the slot in the top to insert his card.
"Yup."
Draco took a deep breath, inserted his card, and pulled the lever, hearing the gears turn and the clunk of the stamp. Draco felt a flutter of excitement in his chest as he released the lever and let it tilt back into place, then removing his newly punched card.
"Congrats, Draco," Connor praised, Oliver smiling but then looking around.
"Alright, card goes there," he said, pointing to the pocket on the wall where Draco deposited it promptly at the heist in Oliver's voice. He supposed they were dawdling. "Right, well, I suppose a quick tour of the library is in order. Connor can take you to Malkin's then while I hold down the fort here. I owled ahead yesterday so she knows you are coming. A fitting will be all that your visit entails, you should have your robes by lunch," Oliver explained, leading the way back out of the office which he closed and locked behind them. It was obvious that Oliver was the superior among them, and still it made Draco smile a little, and at how serious Oliver took it. The way he explained everything, he wouldn't be surprised if Oliver pulled out a board next with the library floor plans on it and started marking off locations as though it were some kind of Quidditch strategy. Draco had heard Oliver address the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in much the same fashion he was now, and he had to ask.
"So, how was it you became a Librarian?"
Connor stifled a laugh behind his hand and pretended to cough. Draco could pry if he needed to, but he figured the conversation would be part of their bonding. That and he was lazy and had a hangover.
"After Hogwarts I of course tried out and applied to the middle division Quidditch teams, hoping to qualify so as to then be noticed by the pro-circuit. I did, and I was," he said, a smile clearly in place as he spoke even though Draco couldn't see it as he followed behind. "I was picked up by the Puddlemere United at first and was on their reserve team, but was then traded off to Montrose Magpies,"
"You traded up to play for Scotland?" Draco interrupted.
"Scottish pride will-out," Connor, a fellow Scotsman, teased and Oliver pressed on.
"I was an alternate for a season but eventually got pitch-time due to the inevitable injury of their starting Keeper. I played for about a year and in that time I shattered by arm twice. I took off a season with the return of our Keeper, but then was thrown back in the following season to play for three straight, which coincidentally were three consecutive years we wound up at the Quidditch World Cup," he said, his chest starting to swell out.
"Oh, here he goes again," Connor said with an airy sigh, causing Draco to look to him, then back to Oliver who had just turned.
"There I was; the score was tied at eighty. It was our third consecutive visit to the World Cup but we hadn't yet won it. The pressure was on as the game was already in its sixth hour," he detailed, leaning in, hands up as though using them to direct the recollection. "Chaplin Coram of the Heidelberg Harriers, had just successfully executed a reverse pass and was barreling towards me with every intent on making a goal. I had him marked," he said, using his hands to demonstrate, Connor getting Draco's attention my opening and closing his hands in a yapping motion from outside of Oliver's range of sight. Draco stifled a snicker but was snapped back to attention by Oliver pounding his fist into his palm and yelling "BAM!" Draco flinched.
"So down I went, the Bludger streaking away, whistles going off, my coach tossing out penalty flairs left and right. I missed it all having been unconscious and plummeting," he said, a smile still on his face like he had been having the time of his life as he fell helplessly to his most certain death. Draco couldn't exactly share in Oliver's enthusiasm, but nodded encouragingly for the man to continue. "I woke up in St. Mangoes two weeks later and was told it was unwise for me to play again. I didn't listen -my team having captured victory that night thanks to our Seeker- so I went right back to off-season training and conditioning. In a pre-season game, a charity event if I recall correctly, I got hit again in the head by a Bludger bat, and was hospitalized again, even though I had not been hit that heard. I had been badly dazed and it worried my captain and my coach. The Healers told me I would die if I got hit in the head again, no ifs ands buts or possiblys. I had to retire, and that was really hard to do. I got to go out on top, as a World Champion Team, however, top ranked," he said with his chest puffed out so far he was certainly in danger of just toppling over backwards at any moment.
"Wow," Draco said blandly. "You still didn't tell me how you ended up a librarian," he said just as dryly and Connor didn't try to hide his snort of a laugh this time. It was obvious he had dealt with Oliver's nostalgia for some time now and found Draco's dry sarcasm refreshing. Draco was used to this kind of reminiscence because Ginny had played Quidditch for five years with the Holyhead Harpies before retiring, and she could talk on and on about the game for hours if he let her. Draco rarely let her.
"Being the top Keeper in the world, a Cup holder, an internationally recognized player, and quite good looking if I do say so myself," he said, holding his chin in his fingers for a second as though showcasing that point, "It was difficult to find work after that. Quidditch pays well, but not that well, and sitting at home even if I had the comfortable means was maddening when you are used to soaring through the skies at three-hundred miles and hour and so forth."
"So naturally a librarian was the next closest thing you could find to match the excitement of the Quidditch Pitch," Draco retorted sardonically. Connor was liking Draco more and more by the minute as he was practically stuffing his robes in his mouth so as to not laugh openly at Oliver.
"No, but this was the only job I could get where I wasn't swarmed. Businesses were always star-struck so they would hire me, but I quickly found myself with a pink-slip after the businesses lost money due to my distraction of its patrons. It was just a mess. Here, however, I had sanctuary. The people who come in here can't talk, can't bring in cameras. Soon people forgot about me as the new wave of Quidditch Stars took my vacant place, and I could work here in peace. I like it now," he explained, Draco nodding. "It was why I fought so hard for you to be hired," he then admitted and Draco looked at him. "I figured you, of anyone, could use a bit of sanctuary," he said and Draco looked at him, again getting that unmistakable vibe that Oliver was that nice of a person, but now also that he was apparently someone who read the papers. "I hear you are about to be a father…again," Oliver enquired, still standing there in puffy-chest-fashion.
Draco felt his own chest kind'a puff out like Oliver's had at mention of his Quidditch accomplishments, and had to laugh at himself.
"Yeah," he admitted, shoulders now squared.
"Congrats to you on that, sincerely. I heard about it after I talked to you yesterday. I have to admit, I was a little surprised. If anyone back in the days of Hogwarts had told me Ginny Weasley would end up with you, even though I didn't know you by more than just reputation and Quidditch, I would have called them mad."
"Yeah, a lot of people feel that way. Actually, Ginny and I are a little surprised by it sometimes ourselves. We sometimes wake up beside each other and have a startled `what the fuck?' moment, like we had believed it all a dream. We aren't exactly a match made in heaven, but we can't seem to live without each other."
"I think couples that mesh too easily at first have no staying power. A little conflict and eventual compromise bonds two people in a relationship together," Connor said and Draco smiled at him.
"Well said, Connor," Oliver praised, apparently agreeing.
"Well, Ginny and I certainly do clash, like orange and blue."
"So long as your compromise is just as strong," Oliver teased and Draco did swallow rather guiltily at that, knowing he was being unrelentingly stubborn on some things that were really starting to get Ginny grumpy with him.
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"Thanks for being so cool about everything this morning," Connor said some time later, Draco standing in Madam Malkin's shop, upon a stool with his arms out, his robes extending far beyond his hands and down about halfway on the stool. The shoulders hung past his, and he could wrap them around himself at least twice. Madam Malkin had her work cut out for her today, literally.
"Don't mention it, and I mean that," Draco said dryly, but not harshly.
"You really okay as this with everything?" Connor asked a little insecurely.
"I can't imagine what I could be terribly upset about. I did nothing wrong, you did nothing wrong, there is nothing to get so embarrassed over," he said as the free-floating tape measure wound around his throat to measure the collar for him.
"Embarrassing that your step-son is older than you," Connor moped.
"Barely, and again, it isn't like either of us did anything. You couldn't help when you were conceived any more than I could in regards to myself. You were -through no fault of your own- no part of your mother's life, and I was for a brief time. It has been my understanding for some years now that Christina had a life outside of me, and that I was just one part of it."
"That has to be hard," he said, knowing the pain he himself felt due to his mother's abandonment when he was an infant and unable to even remember her, or experience it. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like to be in Draco's shoes.
"It was…it is. I tried very hard, did the best I could in the situation I was in and my circumstances, and too much was still in the way. I really can't blame her for leaving, not when she and I could barely even reach through my cell bars to simply touch hands, stuck with two children she hadn't planned on having in the first place, dealing with their illnesses and crying. I think it all just overwhelmed her."
"Now I think you are just making excuses for her," Connor said a little accusatory then, Draco blinking at him. "She just lacked a mother-gene. She just didn't have that instinct in her that drives mothers to rear and protect their young. Maybe me saying that is in-of-itself an excuse, but I don't mean to make it out to be anything less than a serious flaw and shortcoming on her part."
"For someone who didn't know her, you certainly seem to hate her a great deal," Draco said sadly.
"I'm sure you saw something in her that I never will get the chance to, and maybe despite her lack of a mothering nature she was an otherwise decent or even redeemable person, but I somehow just can't believe that. I barely know you, I'll admit, but I couldn't imagine discarding you like she did. She left me, she left you, she ditched more than one family…there seems to be a pattern here, with one common denominator, that being her. I think there was something wrong with her, rather than something different wrong with each of us," he argued and Draco frowned his brow but said nothing, Madam Malkin returning to deal with Draco's over-sized robes and neither chap willing to continue on with their conversation with her there.
"Come back for them at about lunch time, I should have them fitted. Honestly, Draco, I thought you promised me you were going to put on some weight last fitting? Your waist is as tiny as ever," she fussed.
"I am working on it," he assured, limping away with Connor, Malkin tossing her tape measure over her head to hang from her neck as she sighed.
"You are rather skinny."
"You are rather pierced about the face," Draco retorted.
"I'm individualistic."
"I'm chic," Draco replied as dry as ever while trying his best not to limp like he had a wooden-leg. He liked this, having Connor and Oliver to talk to, work with. He still wasn't one who had friends (Ron and Remus didn't count, they were simply family, or maybe he made exceptions for people with letter R names or something,) but it was nice to have someone else to talk to other than them, or Ginny, or his therapist. He had been rather close with Mr. Coderdale too, so a nice strong work relationship was something he had been lacking for a while and really missed.
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Ginny lounged on the couch in the sitting room, taking a break from having tackled a bit of the nursery. The floors in there had been finished, but the walls were still bare. To try and encourage Draco into coming to some kind of compromise soon about what to do about the color-scheme, she had started taping off the window frames and borders, and laying down plastic. If the room was primed for painting, with the baby certainly well on its way, Draco would have little choice but to meet some negotiation with her. She wasn't at work, taking the day off to give her office a chance to deal with the idea that she is pregnant and had been for months without them realizing, before going back. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day. Maybe she just would never go back. Sounded like a plan, but not a good one for a brave Gryffindor.
She found herself not alone at this time, however, a rare visitor having appeared unannounced.
"You shouldn't work so hard," Harry warned as Ginny kicked her shoes off with the use of only her toes, leaning back into the arm of the couch with a groan.
"I'm pregnant, not enfeeble. Honestly, I have to remind Draco of that enough, I don't want to have to do the same with you. I can't imagine Hermione putting up with it much either," she scoffed.
"You know I worry."
"You have enough of your own business to worry about," she brushed off, not being mean, but being dismissive. Since Harry and Hermione came out as a couple, Ginny and Harry had actually managed to reconcile considerably. Just this last Christmas they were barking at each other, getting in rows, thinking the worst of one another. Now they were rather comfortable, like they were before they dated in Hogwarts, just hanging out in the Gryffindor common room, chatting by the fire, surrounded then by friends. There was no one else with them now, but the effect was much the same with the level of ease despite Harry's nagging.
"Well, I guess my problems are why I am here," he sighed, sitting down in Draco's chair, Ginny eyeing him and wondering if it were wise. Draco didn't like any buttocks but his own in that chair -his actual words- and the boy-who-lived was most certainly and undoubtedly barred.
"You and `Mione are not having problems, are you?" she asked, not having meant to imply that they had with her first comment, but Harry certainly creating some concern within her by his reaction.
"No, no, I don't mean…" Harry said as he ruffled his shaggy hair. "I don't mean I have `problems' I mean, responsibilities that seem rather problematic in their sheer magnitude."
"You are getting new-daddy jitters. Most men do. A woman is a mother when she conceives, and man is a father when he sees his baby. You will feel so much better in a week or two," she comforted, knowing Draco was feeling much the same nervousness, even if he did not voice it.
"I'm just…scared," he admitted, such an admission something only years of therapy would allow him to do.
"There is nothing to be scared about," Ginny argued, trying to be reassuring in her utter affirmativeness.
"Hermione and I getting married, and having a baby all at once…"
"You didn't have to ask her to marry you."
"I couldn't not marry her," he argued.
"Dre and I are not getting married," she said in an almost challenging way and Harry sighed and stood up, pushing his glasses up with a single finger as he did so.
"Being married again…it is a little daunting given what-"
"What happened last time," Ginny finished for him. "Harry, honestly, things will not go that way, you and Hermione are great together, you both want this, and you are both so mature and ready."
"I keep thinking off all that went wrong between you and me…"
"It was a rough time for everyone in general, Harry. That time has past. You are better adjusted now, and not drinking like you were."
Ginny watched Harry pace around, looking clearly distraught. She marked him with her eyes, her concern only intensifying with every pass. She envied Draco at the moment for being able to just know what was wrong and knowing the truth. There was no dancing around an issue with him, which actually was really nice, though a little annoying at times she had to admit.
Harry finally settled on the coffee table near her and let his face fall into his hands. When he spoke his words were mildly muffled by his palms.
"I just can't help but think…would things have been different if we…" he paused as he pulled his hands away to dare a glance at Ginny, "hadn't lost the baby?"
"Oh Harry, don't do this, don't do this right now," she said, placing her face in her own hands at that point, sitting up some. She didn't want this, she didn't need this, not now.
"I know, I know. We never talk about it. It is a terrible thing to think about when I am about to marry someone else, but I just keep thinking about you. Things were rocky, but when you got pregnant everything seemed so wonderful for a short time, wonderful like it is for Hermione and me at the moment. Then…"
"Harry, the miscarriage did not end our marriage, and a baby wouldn't have saved it either. I won't say it was for the best, because that is a terrible thing to say about the loss, but bringing a baby into our lives wouldn't have made everything better, and it wouldn't have been fair to him…"
Harry looked like he was ready to sob.
"Harry, listen to me," Ginny said, pulling herself up off the couch to move over to her once-husband. "Nothing is going to happen to your baby, and nothing is going to get in the way of your marriage with Hermione but for maybe your own fears," she said firmly, holding Harry by the shoulders and giving them a strong shaking.
"I worry about you," Harry admitted, Ginny's stomach flip-flopping then.
"I have made it this far without incident," she said, though his fear was something she herself did share somewhat. She had lost a baby years ago, and it had brought an end to her marriage. The idea of losing another, and what that would quite possibly do to her relationship with Draco was one that weighed on her mind heavily more times than she liked to admit, even to herself. All she could do to reassure herself was that her relationship with Draco -though difficult- was more stable than hers had been with Harry. It hardly compensated for the fact that her "high-risk" pregnancy had about a thirty percent chance of aborting on its own, even without taking into account her past experience.
"You haven't told him about that, have you?" Harry asked, almost accused.
"Draco and I each have painful aspects of our pasts that we do not really share," she said after a long pause, in a very dismissive tone.
"He doesn't pry?"
"No, he has learned not to."
"It's not good that you are keeping this from him, Ginny. I can tell this is something that is very taxing on you, and you should not keep that to yourself."
"Have you talked to Hermione about your worries?" Ginny snapped. Harry looked away. Ginny sighed, knowing she shouldn't make Harry feel bad so she would feel better, that was something Draco did, and it seemed to be rubbing off on her. "It isn't that I haven't told Draco about what happened because I don't want him close, not at all. I just worry about adding to his already lengthy list of concerns. He worries and worries as it is, knowing that I lost a baby in the past won't ease him any."
"But it would ease you."
"I wouldn't do that at the expense of him."
"A loss with you would leave him devastated, but I think it would hurt him more in that end to learn that you knew something more beforehand that you kept from him. Him knowing would ease you at the very least, and help him prepare, and if everything -pray to heaven- works out alright, then all the worries will be gone."
"Harry," Ginny sighed, not wanting to cry at that point and so hugging him as a means of showing comfort, and hiding her face a little. "Don't worry about me."
"I can't help it. You know I love you," he sighed into her shoulder.
"I know," she said, rubbing his back.
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"I didn't realize twelve-year-olds could grow facial hair," Christina teased as Draco rubbed at his cheek in a slightly annoyed fashion.
"You know I am not twelve," he grumbled, willing to give about anything for a nice hot shave at that moment. Two months in Azkaban and all he had been offered to manage his facial hair was a pair of scissors. He had never had a beard before, shaved promptly every morning since it had first started to appear when he was younger, so it was an odd sensation, allowing it to grow out. His stubble was fair, and trimmed as short as he could manage, but it was still obvious that he could use a shave. It certainly helped him look a little bit older, and it somehow managed to hide his thinness some, but still, he hated scruff. He felt so disheveled, so sloppy, so low-class.
"That you certainly are not," Christina agreed at that point, her eyes always on him.
"When does it start to get warmer?" he asked, hugging his knees and holding is toes.
"We are on an island in the middle of the north sea, babe. It doesn't get warm here."
"Surely there is a season other than winter."
"It gets less stormy come summer, but hardly nice enough to claim that it is a different season."
"I don't think I will be going out to the pit," he then sighed, shivering quite fiercely at that point.
"What? No, you can't stay in," she whined, placing her hands on her bars and standing there, giving him her most disappointed face.
"It's just so cold, I feel like death, and going out there with the wind like it is today…it won't do me a bit of good. I can imagine how lovely it is to get sick here."
"The wind is not bad out there, not in the pit. They cast wards to keep the elements out. It is chilly, but I'll be there to keep you warm, come on," she pleaded, arguing her case and batting her eyelashes. Draco blushed a little at her last remark, remembering the last time they had gone out into the pit together. It had been their first time to the pit together too, but she had snogged the crap out of him. Draco felt he needed to return the favor should they find themselves out there together, again.
"Well, a little sunlight would probably do me some good," he said, ruffling at his hair that was now several inches long, and still rather unkempt, but surprisingly white. Draco wanted to see it out in the sun, to see if it could still be considered blond at this point. He hoped so. He didn't want to have white hair.
Christina looked satisfied, and it was only hours later, once noon fell high over the pit, that Draco and Christina were removed from their cells, and marched. Draco had had the pleasure of shifting once already, his next shift was only days away, and he dreaded that, but Christina was a great comfort. She knew so much about werewolves, and she certainly seemed to care a certain amount about him and his well-being that he was confident his next shift would go smoothly.
"You have one hour," the guard announced, Draco and Christina's chains evaporating away in a cloud of purplish-grey smoke. Draco barely had a moment to appreciate the lack of restraints before Christina had him by the wrist and was practically running off with him. The guard looked after them for a moment before sighing in his glare and shaking his head. He needed to talk to his superior about keeping the two apart. He didn't trust Christina, or the boy's dependence on her.
"Where the bloody-hell are you leading me in such a hurry?" Draco asked, Christina's long legs helping her make quick pace and Draco struggling not to trip on his overly long pants as he tried to keep up.
"I don't want to be bothered by the other inmates, not today," she explained, Draco knowing exactly where she was taking him, right back to their corner. The tree stood bare, the mud, earth, and snow mound piled higher than last time. It must have been built up from the guards clearing a space in the pit for the inmates.
Draco appreciated how secluded they found themselves at the moment, but then also realized they were totally secluded, and Christina's eyes were on him again. He wasn't sure if he was blushing, or if his cheeks were that pink because of the cold, but he was looking very intently at Christina' s knees as she came up right beside him.
"Someone is suddenly uncomfortable," she teased, rounding behind Draco to press her body up against his and circle her arms around him. Draco's shoulders hunched. "I promised to keep you warm, didn't I?" she said, hooking her chin over his shoulders then so the side of her face was flush with his. Draco didn't like how much his body seemed to like this.
"It is rather chilly," he said, as though conversationally.
"But at least it isn't cold," she retorted, Draco nodding but at a loss of what to say at that point. The last time they had been in this corner they had kissed. A lot. Now Christina was wrapping herself around him, hands on his stomach, breath on his neck. He fought a shiver and tried to play it off as him being cold, but Christina was not fooled.
"You know I like you," she said, not making that a question, more like an offer, and Draco shifted uncomfortably, almost as though he wanted her to release him. She held tighter. "I like you a lot, and I know you like me," she said, accusatory, like she dared him to disagree. When her hand slid down his stomach and her fingertips slipped down the front of his trousers, Draco jumped and pulled away, leaving Christina to roll her eyes before he was fully spun around.
"No, no," he said, struggling to swallow.
"You really plan on staying here as a virgin, Draco?"
"You said there was nothing wrong with being a virgin," he refuted though couldn't look at her and didn't sound like he held much conviction in that idea either.
"I was just trying to imply how much the fact allured me. The men here will see to it that you are not a virgin for long, and I'm only here for another six months. I'm offering you the chance to have a choice in how you might lose it," she said, trying to make it sound like some kind of bargain deal. Draco looked at her in horror. He didn't want to lose his virginity to a man, especially none of the men here with their rotten teeth and terrible smell, not by rape. "Come on, we like each other, there is no shame in that," she said, moving so slowly towards him that Draco had barely registered that she was coming closer until she had reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. She leaned in to whisper in his ear, Draco's back up against the snow-mound. "I will be gentle. You will like it, I promise," she said, Draco shaking. He tried to play that off again as being cold -and that was most certainly true- but Christina could tell he was nervous. She kissed at his neck tenderly and reached down the front of his trousers at the same time, Draco not fighting her, a sharp intake of breath the only sound he made when she firmly grabbed him in her hand. She purred into his ear.
"Mmm, big boy," she said before her tongue darted out and flicked his earlobe, hand gently squeezing. Draco was shaking now, not even bothering to hide it anymore, and Christina just moved her hand over him, trying to entice some usability out of him. It being cold, and him being so nervous certainly hindered this some, but her hand was warming up considerably, and she could tell he liked her kissing around his neck. Draco's breath quivered some as his body finally responded to her stimulations. Christina was excited too.
"I have wanted this for a while now," she said into his ear, Draco just swallowing hard at first, her jerking her hand causing him to hiccup slightly and finally respond. It was only one word.
"Please."
Christina kissed him then, holding onto his shirt as firmly as she was onto him, and turned him around and pushed him down. Draco was a little surprised by this given how tender and gentle she had been up until that point, and he was completely off guard as she straddled him, rubbing herself against him through their clothing and leaning down to kiss him more fiercely. It was a little abrupt. She had been suggesting it, then pumping her hand over him, now she had him under her with his trousers straining over his erection in a most obscene way, and he felt the point of changing his mind was long past now that his body was so clearly eager and ready.
Christina pulled down only the front of Draco's trousers, it cold enough that any more nudity was a very bad idea, and Draco barley had a chance too look down at what she was doing to him before he felt himself entering. If he hadn't been surprised enough already, he certainly was now. With her trousers just pulled down enough to allow access she was already well underway in taking his virginity. Draco bit his bottom lip as he leaned up on his elbows, Christina still coming down to settle on him, eventually just sitting there, straddling his lap, her body having taken him in. Her eyes were closed, like she couldn't be enjoying herself more, and he was left feeling a bit awkward. Was he not a virgin anymore? What did it exactly take, or what point of no return did he have to cross before he couldn't be considered virginal? Christina finally looked down at him and smiled, pleased with herself, pleased with Draco's cooperation, pleased with their situation. Knowing they couldn't be missing for long, however, she knew she couldn't draw this out like she would have preferred.
"You're circumcised," she commented.
"My father was Jewish," Draco explained, blushing again.
"I like it," she admitted, leaning into him so that it was just a whisper near his ear. She grabbed his wrist and listed his arm, positioning his hand up her shirt to hold her breast, as though letting him know it was okay to touch and not just lie there. She knew he wanted to, he had grabbed at her and held her breasts before when they had simply snogged last month. Now she would let him up under her shirt, longing for this for so long.
Christina being on top left her in control, and her to set the rhythm and amount of friction. Draco was very much so a passenger on this trip, and was panting very quickly as she took charge. Christina whispered into his ear now and then, encouraging him to help her by thrusting, telling him to slow down so that he wouldn't come too fast. Draco found that difficult, however, now experiencing this with a woman and wanting to just dive in, wanting to take control and just have at it.
Despite the beautiful woman before him, and all he felt for her, he couldn't help but think of Ginny. He was outdoors, in the cold, like he had been with Ginny that night. He could have made love to her then on the freezing ground but had refrained and lost the opportunity. Now he was in much the same situation, but with Christina. He wanted to be with her…but when he closed his eyes he saw Ginny above him, moaning his name, gripping the front of his shirt tight, having sex with him.
"Oh god," Christina groaned as Draco thrust upward hard once after she had basically pinned him down so that he couldn't take as much charge. She knew, with his inexperience, that if she allowed him too much control and too quick of movement, he wouldn't last long enough for her to get full satisfaction, and she hadn't gone this long without sex to finally have it and not get all she needed from it. As it was she was concerned about their timeframe. She could tell by the unmistakable look on his face as she moved that Draco was losing it. Knowing she was stripping him of this last innocence, however, was enough to cause her body to clench around his, in time for Draco to tilt his head back and moan, releasing because he couldn't hold it, couldn't stop himself. Christina started moving as quickly as she could, as that final encouragement, her body milking him as she leaned down and bit at his throat and stroked herself, Draco's hands on her breasts causing her to moan further.
Christina finally fell still above him and panted a little as she rested atop of him. He could hardly notice the cold of his back as he lay on the frozen ground, a warm throbbing spreading from his center. Was that it? Had he done it? It certainly had felt great, Christina wasn't laughing at him or anything, but still, a part of him was unsettled. That hadn't taken long. She wasn't complaining at the moment, as she lay there with his hands still holding her breasts, but somehow he felt he had failed in impressing her. She had called him a "big boy" though, that was enough to get Draco a little stoked.
Now that the…act…was over, Draco wasn't sure what to do, but coldness was starting to come back to him, and quickly. The ground was freezing. The first words out of his mouth were a complaint, and somehow that seemed rather childish given what he had just done.
"I'm cold," he said, Christina chuckling at him. She rolled off just enough for his body to leave hers and she pulled up her trousers and then his quickly enough. She didn't seem bothered by his complaint or even tone, and kissed him, on the cold ground herself at that point. Draco kissed her, kissed her back, kissed her the best he knew how because he wanted to be sure his childish complaint hadn't somehow skewed her perception of him. He was feeling rather vulnerable after the fact, and very exposed.
That was it, he had done it, and it was over. Rather quickly he had gone from "untouched" to "sexually active" and he wasn't sure if the difference he felt was all that good at the moment. Something in the pit of his stomach made him uneasy, and he compensated for that by holding Christina's face and kissing her fiercely.
He didn't regret it, he just wished things could have been different.
"Earth to Draco. Hello."
Draco blinked a few times.
"I asked you a question and you just dazed out on me. You alright?" Connor asked as they sat in the front of Madam Malkin's robe shop once again, waiting for his robes to be finished. It was lunch time, and Connor and Draco had decided to take it together, to have a chance to talk again without Oliver hovering.
"Sorry, that happens to me sometimes," Draco said bashfully.
"I shouldn't be concerned, should I?"
Draco just shook his head, not wanting to explain to Connor the symptoms of schizophrenia he seemed to experience.
"So, right, you knew my mother from Azkaban then?" he pressed on, the topic being what had triggered Draco's particular flashback.
"Yes. She was a real…comfort for me, while she was there those eight months."
"I had wondered for a while, about this. Michelangelo was born outside of Azkaban, how was that kept quiet? My parents knew, so I assumed either my mother or someone from the prison had contacted them, but it is still not known by the public who the mother of your two children is," Connor said, sipping the straw that stuck out of his large cup.
"Your mother might have contacted them, I don't know, however, she certainly didn't say anything to me about it, so I don't know how they knew. The Ministry knew of course since the conception had taken place in Azkaban. I found myself in a whole lot of trouble when her pregnancy was realized, but they were very concerned with public opinion, and didn't want it being exposed what had happened while under their watchful eye. They are the ones that did the covering up really. I paid a heavy price though."
"What?" Connor dared to ask. Draco was quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry, that was a terribly personal and likely painful thing to ask. The question slipped out before I even thought on it, I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me," he said, suddenly feeling terrible and the look on Draco's face compounding that.
"It's awright. Not a time I enjoy having to relive in memory or thought," he said, shaking his head. "I was put in the hole for two months."
"The hole?"
"Solitary confinement of complete sound and light deprivation. If there was ever a time I went complete barmy, it was probably then. Nearly died because I had stopped eating after a while. You can't sense the passing of time in there, you don't realize that skipping your meal means you haven't eaten in days, a week, weeks. I lost all connection with my physical self, lost all connection with time, space, and reality. There was nothing down there from what I understand, but it sure didn't feel like that. If you have ever stared into complete -and I mean complete- darkness for a long time, you start to see things. I could see the universe, the stars swirling and colliding, whispering their secrets to one another. I could hear all the voices of the worlds, feel the movement of the earth as it spun on its axes…I couldn't tell what was up, what was down, or if I was touching anything at all or just floating…" Draco explained softly, Connor just looking at him. "Or that was how it seemed. In reality I was dehydrated, delirious from isolation and starvation, and suffering from a blood infection due to the dampness and filth."
"Are you serious?"
"Well, I got better, obviously. But I don't think I have been quite…right…since. I have to sleep with a nightlight on, and for a man of thirty-one, that is a really sad state to be in," he said rather blandly, though the weight of his words there.
"You were there for two months? They didn't check on you or anything?"
Draco shrugged.
"I was finally pulled when I went into cardiac arrest." Draco was disturbingly apathetic in his telling.
"My god."
"They, as a means of not taking responsibility for throwing an already sick and already emaciated eighteen-year-old into such a place, chalked it up as a suicide attempt on my part, never left me alone after that again."
"The guards sound like real bastards."
"Well, you would be in a bad mood too if you had never done anything wrong yet had to spend every day in Azkaban, wouldn't you think? They were miserable, and they made us inmates miserable in retaliation. I think I bore the brunt of it. Something about me made me so hateable. I think me finding a romance in such a place, a little bit of happiness despite everything, angered them, like I couldn't possibly be suffering enough, and they had to intensify their reprimand and harshness towards me, to compensate."
"That's terrible."
"That's life." Draco shrugged again. "I got to see Michael about three months after he was born, because he was too weak to be removed from the hospital up until then. Christina had visited me prior, however, gave me a photograph of him and the opportunity to impregnate her with Clarissa," he said, his leg crossed so his ankle was resting on his knee and he was picking at the bottom of his shoe.
"But I thought you hadn't been left alone?"
"I was still allowed visitation, though my privilege of going to the pit was suspended indefinitely. Once it became obvious that Christina was pregnant again, however, I lost the right of visitation. That was devastating. I wasn't allowed to see her, or my baby son. Tried to kill myself, or so they say…I can't remember, and they reinstated my visitation, but with new rules in place, those being that no visitation for any prisoner could be conducted in an open cell. I can say, that didn't make me very popular with the other inmates. I never got a chance to hold Clarissa because I had to remain locked up in my cell during visitations, bars and barriers always between."
"That is…terrible, just terrible."
"Azkaban is terrible," Draco said rather dismissively, picking a pebble out of the bottom of his tread and flicking it.
Connor seemed so put off by Draco's admissions that he almost wanted to end the whole conversation, but couldn't. he never wanted to bring this topic up again, so that meant he needed to ask whatever questions he still had now, while he had this opportunity. He wouldn't put Draco through this sort of interrogation again, it was obvious now why Draco wouldn't like talking about any of this.
"When, when did you marry my mother then?" Connor asked, interested -trying not to sound desperate- in learning about his mother.
"Shit…um, we married in September, before Clarissa was born. Clarissa was born on the 13th of October."
"And that happened, while you were in your cell?"
"Yeah, it was just a civil ceremony, legally binding but in no way romantic."
"And she never told you about me?" Connor asked, though knowing the answer.
"No," Draco sighed, wondering if things would have been different if she had told him. He certainly would have found Connor at some point before now, contacted him.
"You don't regret it, do you?"
"Marrying her?"
"Well, just getting involved in general I guess. You were considerably younger than her."
"I was…am…but I do not regret it, no. I love my children, they are my everything. It nearly cost me everything to even have them, and despite how much trouble I found myself in, and despite how hard it is for me still, I wouldn't take any of it back."
"You…you think she would have?"
"No," Draco said, looking over at Connor then. "She might not have been a motherly type, but I think she saw the potential in those she brought into this world. Sometimes I think she left to give them a chance, a better life."
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Connor asked, sounding a little bitter.
"Sure is," Draco said simply, ending the conversation there because of his robes resurfacing.
"Here you are, Draco," Madam Malkin announced as she presented them to Draco, who was standing as she approached.
"Thank you, ma'm," he said, accepting the purple robes and letting them fall open, looking for the access so as to put it on.
"I would like to start tailoring your clothing out rather than in, my dear," she said quite heavily, seeing how seriously bunched Draco's shirt was while trying to be stuffed into the narrow waist of his slender trousers. She had fitted those trousers herself, they were a 28 waist with a little room to spare, but the shirt he had obviously gotten elsewhere and it only served to make it painfully obvious how thin he was.
"I am working on it, you have my word," Draco said but Connor just looked at him. They were on lunch and Draco had had little more than a scone with his coffee.
Well, you look handsome in those," she said, sweeping at Draco's shoulders to make the robes fall properly, lie flatly, and chase away stray threads. Draco allowed her fussing, and paid her plus a gracious tip for the work she had obviously had to invest in such a short time.
Leaving the shop, Draco knew -being a mind reader- that Connor wanted to delve deeper into details about his mother, and though Draco knew the man was just earnestly curious to know the mother he had never even met, the topic was very wearing on him. Conner was astutely aware of that fact, however, thus why he refrained. That was something Réamann had never excelled at. Both men were incurably curious (as was Draco in all honesty) but Connor at least seemed to understand there was a boundary that shouldn't be crossed when asking personal questions, even if he was, in a legal sense, Draco's son.
Bonding with Connor was precious and all, but Draco was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed. Ten years living a solitary existence had given him a mild case of anxiety when it came to the interactions with others. He enjoyed company, but he could only handle so much, for so long, so often. This was the major contributor as to why he didn't exactly have friends.
What had started off as warm and refreshing in the morning, was already wearing on him by noon. Draco looked forward to getting back to the Library where it was cool, dim, and quiet, where he could be a lone for a while.
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"Malfoy," a stern baritone voice called out, it pounding through the vast hall. Draco came quickly in answer to the call, despite his limp appearing near immediately from the depths of one of the farther corridors. Mr. Crudelis was there in the main vestibule, waiting for him and not looking pleased, not looking friendly, standing in a posture that firmly establish his dominance as fruity Dumbledore looked down from above.
"Yes sir," Draco answered, ducking his head in something that would be similar to a bow but much more subtle, demonstrating his accepted submission to the man.
"So you are here. I trust you were run through procedure," Mr. Crudelis barked, looking down his nose at the other much paler man.
"Yes sir, I was-"
"Then it is a mystery to me why you are not at your desk, tending to your duties."
Draco looked uncertain in how to defend himself against his new employer. He wanted to make a good first impression, and spewing out a string of excuses as to why he was apparently not doing his job didn't seem to be the best way to go about doing that. Draco hadn't had to report to anyone while working at the Ministry when concerning his job, so the idea of having a `boss' was also unfamiliar and a little intimidating. He had worked with Coderdale, and anything short of showing respect and appreciation for the man, Draco had been his own taskmaster.
"Well?" Mr. Crudelis prompted in a very curt tone, expecting some kind of answer and seemingly unimpressed by Draco's opening and closing mouth and uncertain shift.
"That was my doing, sir," Oliver called, leaping in-between (though not literally) and daring to take the blame as he entered the hall from where Draco had just come, joining them with Connor at his back. "With no one here I asked Draco to help Connor and I in the back. I thought it would be a productive means of familiarizing him with the layout of the library," he explained so smoothly Draco was impressed.
"He needs to familiarize himself with his job, not be slacking off with you Scotsmen in the back," the man bellowed, clearly a man who spoke on a level close to shouting at all times. That seemed odd for someone who worked in a library. Maybe he was hard of hearing. People who couldn't hear often times spoke louder.
"He was not slacking," Oliver said quite coolly. "We were just repairing some texts and discussing preferred means. He has been fixing up an old home, and worked in the Hall of Records, so he has a bit of an expertise in the matter of handling aged material."
"He cannot do magic," Mr. Crudelis said quite harshly, Draco just standing quietly amongst them as they spoke as though he weren't there. He was quite used to this treatment and didn't let his loathing show on his face, letting others speak on his behalf and others about him with no protest on his part.
"Actually, he has a wand, and is permitted to do basic magic, like simple charms and minor tasks. Nothing brandishing about it, but-"
"A wand, has the Ministry gone mad?" Mr. Crudelis drawled, his nose pointed so high he would have drowned if it were raining.
"He is a pardoned prisoner, sir. No one can legally prevent his ownership of a wand, and you had declined hiring him initially because you believed him incapable of using magic. Now you seem more displeased than ever to learn that he actually can," Oliver argued, still so cool, Draco was taking notes. He would have already been implementing insults by now. Then again, Oliver didn't seem to have a temper like he, Draco, did.
"A werewolf allowed a wand, is that where the Ministry is heading these days?" Mr. Crudelis said, finally looking at Draco but Draco looking down. He was familiar with this kind of prejudice, and though a part of him wanted to glare at the man, a majority wanted him to shield his eyes by looking away, so as to not make them a target for some kind of thrown substance or a fist. "Magical creatures of near-human intelligence, and I have hired one. Sometimes I can't explain my charitable nature," he said, turning slowly while still glaring at Draco, and walked away. "I expect the desk to be manned at all times, gentlemen," he called back, his voice carrying to them. Connor was glaring in the man's direction and Oliver was preoccupied with Draco, who was staring at his feet.
"That was nasty. I told you, he still has something up his butt sideways over his son-"
"His opinion is rather ubiquitous really," Draco said with a shrug, not fooling anyone that he wasn't bothered by how Mr. Crudelis had acted. Draco's tone was bland, and his face quite indifferent, but his eyes showed just how affected he was by the man's harshness, how bitter Draco was.
"It's not right," Connor attempted, speaking now for the first time, it clear he too was rather intimidated their boss. Draco just shook his head and walked away, heading towards his desk that was elbow high in paperwork, odd books, broken quills, and tipped inkwells. He supposed cleaning his area, familiarizing himself with his station, and figuring out what supplies he needed, would be just as productive as working with Oliver and Connor.
"Thank you," Draco finally said softly, barely looking over his shoulder after Oliver and Connor started to leave. They paused to look back but said nothing. They couldn't really say anything because they weren't sure exactly what he was thanking them for in specific. Maybe it was for treating him like a person. They kind'a had the feeling that Draco didn't get that a lot.
----------------------------
Pulling a double-shift was in no way enjoyable, but Draco felt satisfied in having a job, having a purpose, so it actually only seemed to add to his sense of accomplishment. Working from six in the morning to ten in the evening was vicious, but it wasn't going to be standard, so he could take comfort from that.
First day was a long day, and Draco was sore, exhausted, and limping as he left the library. His purple robes were hung up in the back of the library since he would be traveling through Muggle London to get to and from work. He had his own little cubby, with his own name on it, where he could keep his robes, his cane, his lunch pail. It was that small thing that made him most happy. Sometimes having things that normal people took for granted was the best of all. To not be denied something like a cubby. It was a victorious day.
Leaving Diagon Alley, Draco walked with a clank and a shuffle with each step as his cane led the way, the street unusually quiet, even for it being so late. Draco enjoyed it, but could see the peculiar nature of the situation. He had enough time to dwell on it to be distracted sufficiently and get caught off guard.
Being hit from behind caused him to fall forward, but Draco let go of his cane to catch himself before his face would make contact. Gimpy or not, he had decent reflexes. His back burned, his braid was hanging down into the damp pavement before him, and Draco felt dazed, dazed to an extreme that he could not rationalized but for one scenario: he had been hit by a stunning spell. Being a werewolf, however, it was rather ineffectual, and did little but knock him down, make his limbs tingle as though they had fallen asleep and were now awakening, and left his mind to reel for a second. That second was all it took, however, for the caster to come up on him and kick him in the ribs hard enough to lift him from the ground a bit and roll him over.
Draco hugged his side and wheezed as he rolled, trying to get onto his hands and knees but another kick preventing that as he gasped in pain. Limbs working, however, Draco knew he needed to use them. He understood now why the street was so deserted; he understood now why it had felt so ominous. Some kind of spell, a ward maybe, or a discouraging charm, had obviously been set in place; it was the only explanation why there were no Muggles, no traffic.
The streetlights shone high above the otherwise dark street, and their bubbles of yellow light seemed dim -dimmer than usual- to Draco. That spell had been a powerful one if it had dazed him that much, and though he was recovered, his ribs were screaming at him, preventing him from escaping now that his body was otherwise unhindered.
A boot came swinging into his vision and Draco bared his teeth. Fast reflexes put to good use; Draco grabbed the ankle and gave it a twist, sending his aggressor spinning towards the pavement. Despite the pain he was in, Draco scurried to his feet and took off running, cane in hand but not in use, his desire to get away, and the pain in his sides, overriding the siring agony that was his right hip. Somehow though, his left shoulder was aching, like the running was somehow inflaming that old injury too.
Draco didn't look back when he heard the heavy boots in fast pursuit. He was a fast runner, but he lacked stamina. His lungs were too clouded by years of smoking, his body was too weak and lacking reserve from being so thin, his bones were too weak and sore to take him far. A gated courtyard was within sight, and Draco was desperate to reach it. If he could just get that tall fence between him and his assailant, he was sure he would manage -despite his disabilities- to get away, out of the zone where Muggles were so absent and unaware.
Putting all he had left into getting to the slightly ajar gate, Draco pulled ahead, his pursuer slower, sounding heavier and not in the best shape himself by his breathing and heavy steps. Surely he had realized that another curse or spell would do little good, and surely running compromised too much of his aim, but Draco still feared another curse to the back. If he fell now, let alone was hit again, he knew he wouldn't be getting back up. As it was, he was going to be feeling those boots to the ribs in the morning.
Reaching the gate Draco grabbed onto it and swung himself around to now be behind it and facing the way he had come. The man behind him was hooded, of course, and cloaked. Draco had a mental flash of a Death Eater, and that was enough to still his heart and prevent him from reacting. The man -who hadn't been but feet behind Draco- reached the gate and slammed into it, knocking Draco backwards as he pushed it open. Draco hit the ground hard, landing on his wrist and letting out a cry of pain. In spite of that, however, he had a strong drive to live -it was something that had served him well in the war- and while still on the ground and on his back, Draco lifted his legs to kick the man square in the gut. The man doubled over to hold his stomach as he took a step back, and that was enough for Draco to reach with his foot and push the gate closed. It hit the man, knocking him in the head and backwards, but Draco knew the man would recover quickly enough and burst through again. He needed to latch the gate. He needed to get up to reach the latch. He needed to get up.
Pain an almost overbearing hindrance, Draco rolled up onto his knees, and with his wrist screaming in agony and protest, he leaned up, pushed the gate closed one last time and latched the handle. Taking a deep breath, Draco turned around to sit a few inches from the bars, to catch a breath and try and orient himself. He found that difficult with his long braided ponytail being grabbed and his head being yanked backwards and slammed into the iron bars at that moment.
The man had gotten up, come to the gate, and reached through the black-iron bars to grab Draco as a desperate means of preventing his escape. Draco was pulled backwards again and again, his head being pummeled into the unforgiving bars.
Draco's eyes were streaming with tears from pain and effort as his one wrist gave out on him, and the other struggled to reach his lower back. A second hand reached through the bars and grabbed Draco's chin, so he was held by the face as well as the hair now, and Draco closed his eyes. His right hand finding its mark, he pulled his knife and sliced at the arm that was reached around to hold his face. The man screamed and released him, but yanked Draco's hair hard, causing the newly developed soft spot on his head to press into the bars harder than ever. Draco tried to blindly stab backwards, but the bars and angle prevented any sort of accuracy, and the man was clearly standing well out of rage now that he had been cut once already.
Draco had no choice. Eyesight fading in and out of focus with every swelling throb of his head, he reached backwards and did all he could do to free himself, he cut his hair off. Pulling forward as hard he could he created enough tension to make the cut clean and quick. He fell forward and the man stumbled backwards, both thrown off balance with the loss of their link. Draco was on his face for only a moment, remnants of his once long hair now falling in his face, and he didn't dawdle. He scrambled onto his feet as he reached for his cane, and he ran for it. As much pain as he was in, as many times as he fell from his head spinning, he ran.
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Author's Note/Summery:
*Important: Clarissa's birthday has gone from November 13th to October 13th. Why you ask? Because I don't know how to frickin' count apparently. Counting to nine is hard okay! I don't think any of you actually remembered that her birthday was in November, or only vaguely at best I'm sure…but just so there isn't any confusion, I'm letting you know that it has changed. EPIC FAIL!
**More Importanter: The Author's Note and Summery is now located in my LiveJournal.
http://draconisangelus.livejournal.com/
the link to the actual entry is here:
http://draconisangelus.livejournal.com/8845.html
Go there to simply read it, even if you don't have a LJ, or want to be my friend, or leave a comment on it. I probably answer some of your questions.
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