Forgive typos. I'm lazy this week. Check out my newest D/G art in the fanart section of this website.
Fallen Angel
Chapter 03
Moving out of the apartment was delayed by only a day. The following morning everyone was not talking about the events of the evening before, and Michelangelo wasn't talking at all. He was grounded, and he seemed to feel that giving his father the silent treatment was the best way to go about getting out of it, and Draco was not about to reinforce that belief and was being just as cold. Ginny hated it that Michelangelo and Draco's relationship was so strained, and felt it was her fault, and Draco knowing this was only angrier as a result. He didn't want Ginny feeling she had done anything and wished he could comfort her without basically saying his son was being a bastard.
Clarissa seemed the most upset over everything, so Draco scooped her up and got her to giggle as he smiled, threatening to box her up and put her in the truck, and her screaming and kicking, saying "no" but not really fighting in any way that would stop him. This display of affection seemed to only put Michelangelo in a worse mood and he proceeded to finish packing his stuff, loading it in the truck by himself, and sitting in the front seat, content in riding over with the mover rather than his family.
By noon Draco was less angry, and more sad. Sleeping on everything had helped with his temper, and though seeing Michelangelo first thing in the morning had reminded him precisely why he was so pissed off, the fact that his son had not come around yet, like he had half expected, and they hadn't apologized and hugged, and made up, and weren't best buddies again, really had Draco rather distraught. He wanted his boy back, but Michelangelo didn't show any signs of making amends as he walked with his nose up, and was stubbornly silent.
"He just needs some time to cool down," Ginny assured Draco quietly as Draco watched Michelangelo's back after he had passed without a word, carrying his own box of belongings, Draco having straightened from the box he had been about to lift. Ginny was not doing much lifting, but she was helping where she could, mostly figuring out where each box should go once inside.
"Yeah," Draco said, melancholy, leaning down and scooping up the heavy box and lifting it with a sigh. "Your brothers had offered to help with this, but I would be a fool to expect them to still show up at this point, right?" he asked as he slowly passed Ginny.
"It is only two, they still have time," she attempted but Draco was already walking away and Ginny then sighed herself. She wanted to call her brothers and demand that they get their collective asses over there and help their pregnant sister move like they had promised, but Draco would know immediately that they were there because of her orders and not because they did not seemingly hold him accountable for yesterdays debacle, and Draco wouldn't appreciate that. He would rather do it alone. Draco always had a certain air around him that he was to stand alone against the world, and Ginny was trying to break him of that, but it seemed nothing in life was willing to do anything less than reinforce this belief in him.
Grimmauld Square was still a shabby mess of unkempt grass and dilapidated houses flush up against each other, but Draco had workers all about number twelve, hammering away, the sounds of many hands working echoing about. The shutters on the widows as well as the glass were being replaced; the exterior stripped and repainted a charming deep emerald with black accents that suited the place perfectly and helped it stand out against the monotony of the identical houses crammed up along side it. The steps that lead to the front door had been torn out and replaced, now adorned with rod iron railings that had a decorative leafing intertwinement. The front door had been taken down, cleaned, repainted, and re-hung on new but suitably antique looking hinges. A mail slot was added, a doorbell installed (the silver knocker now more for show) and the neighbors seemed enthralled with their new arrivals. The house was no longer hidden by the Fidelius Charm, and though everyone had long ago come to grips with the amusing mistake of the miss numbering that had left number eleven and number thirteen beside one another, it had not been difficult to come in with a mild Confoundus Charm to lead the neighbors all to believe it wasn't the house that had been missing, but just the number on its front. Just that minor tweak to their memories was all it took to make them content, all too interested in the work that was being done to really think on it. Draco remembered now why he thought Muggles so stupid as a boy, they so easily and uniformly manipulated as they were.
Despite the great efforts already taken, the house was still in dire need of a lot of work, but it was more hospitable than it had been for years, and the electricians had just finished the night before so they now had that `newfangled Muggle electricity' like Draco liked to say in a mockingly-unintelligent drawl. His mother had been faint at the proposal of wiring up the old wizarding home with Muggle technology, like cable, phone lines, electricity, central heating and air, but it was Draco's home, and his money, and she couldn't say anything. She herself had grown accustomed to such conveniences while living in a Muggle apartment building, she just could not see past what the house stood for. She remembered living in that home as a girl, and the gas lamps and fireplaces were part of the ambiance and the soul of that home in her opinion. Draco had left the silver serpent candelabras and assured her he would not be gutting the home, keeping the spirit and pride of the Black Family alive with all he was doing to fix the place up, but she still seemed rather inconsolable about Muggles being allowed in. The portrait of Mrs. Black certainly hadn't much of anything nice to say on the matter either.
Draco had taken care of that, however, and had a trained magical-painting-handler come in and deal with her. She was now gagged, something no one else had been able to manage, and she now resided quietly behind her curtain, until she agreed to be civil.
Draco wasn't holding his breath for that any more than he was for the painting to be removed. The painting expert had weighed his thoughts on the matter, and even he couldn't think of a spell that would remove it.
Ron turned sideways in the front doorway as a mover walked out, and he waited for him to pass before squeezing in to look up and then around the long cramped front hallway, wondering where he would likely find Draco. Luckily Draco came wondering into view and saved him the trouble of the search.
"Hey," he welcomed as Ron approached, offering a very masculine-pound-on-the-back-hug upon seeing him.
"Hey yourself. I heard someone was moving into this dump and thought I would check it out," he joked and Draco rocked his head side to side in a "yeah-yeah" manner and rolled his eyes.
"You are the only one coming then?"
"I'm sorry about all that."
"Not your fault," Draco dismissed with a brush of his hand as he turned and picked up and box that seemed to have been abandoned in the center of the hallway and taking it to be stacked along the wall of the drawing room where other boxes were out of the way.
"No, seriously, it wasn't fair that everyone seemed to jump on you like that when…"
"When they should have jumped on my son instead?" Draco finished for him, showing exactly how much he did not like that idea more.
"No, no, they shouldn't have jumped on anyone," Ron attempted.
"I would have been just as upset if Michael had been the one choked, I can't blame them," he shrugged, oddly bland for such a topic.
"This defeatist attitude is not like you," Ron sighed. He and Draco were like friends now, still bullied the crap out of each other, but not in an ill-willed way. It was a little awkward because Draco and Harry were still at each other's throats, and Harry was Ron's best mate and Draco was quickly becoming a rival to that, but Ron managed to be stuck between them nicely. He was bigger than both of them, which had its uses.
"My son will not speak to me," Draco said, looking at Ron and letting him see how much this upset him. Ron listened as Draco recapped the car ride home and Ron looked like he was unsure he could swallow due to his discomfort.
"That's rotten, mate, I'm sorry," he said and Draco just sighed, sitting on one of the boxes, it not even mildly crushing do to his slight weight.
"Those kids, what they did is unacceptable, but how Michelangelo reacted is inexcusable…but I don't know how to handle this without looking like the bad-guy to everyone. I can't defend Michael while angry with the boys without your family turning on me completely, but I can't reprimand my son for doing something I probably would have done in his place, but I can't excuse his behavior, or the way he has spoken to me. I can't comfort Ginny without making Michael feel like I am choosing her over him, but I can't ignore her either. I can't reassure Clarissa by being all playful and lovie with her without seemingly rubbing that in Michael's face, but she needs me to be her dad…and I feel like such an arsehole for getting so angry with my son, but I let my temper get the better of me…again."
"Draco, I would have gone ballistic in your situation, I think you handled it better than a lot of people could."
"I actually thought about hitting my son!" Draco divulged and Ron's shoulders slumped. "What kind of father thinks about hitting their son when so angry?"
"A lot of them, but they also don't actually act on such thoughts, and you didn't."
"This is not the kind of environment I want to bring a baby into," Draco sighed, elbows on his knees, palms on his forehead while his head was down.
"I can talk to my brothers, given a night to sleep on it all, I'm sure they will come around…"
"If that were true they would be here now, helping their pregnant sister move."
Ron didn't know what to say about that, because what Draco said was probably true.
"Uncle Ron!" Clarissa exclaimed as she walked by the room and saw him in there with her father, having thought she had heard his voice carry to her in her chosen bedroom. Their first meeting had been rough (frying pans had been a-flying and curse words thrown about along with fists) but she had gotten a second chance to be introduced to "Uncle Ron" and he had been unable to resist and succumbed to her charms, just like everyone who had ever met her.
"Oh-no, it is a Claire-monster!" Ron laughed as he scooped the girl up. She really was quite small for an eleven-year-old.
"You have come here to help us?" Clarissa asked, Draco having taken a deep breath and whipped his hands over his face and up through his hair to brush it away, no sign of any emotion he had displayed with Ron, all smiles and excitement there for his daughter. Ron was always marveled by Draco's ability to be so convincing. It was a little unnerving actually.
"Right I am," he said, looking at Clarissa who had a smudge of dirt on her pale but freckled cheek, her hair so wild curling that the ponytail could not even fully contain it.
"Then come, I need someone to help me set up the canopy on my bed!" she said, wiggling to get down but grasping Ron's hand firmly in the process and already leading him off before he had the chance to say anything.
"The paint is still wet in there," Draco called after her, trying not to laugh at Ron who was looking back at him in a "why me?" manner, suggesting it was Draco who should be on such duties. "Have fun," he called after them, wiggling his fingers in a playful wave that got Ron to glare at him as he vanished around the doorway, off to the pink room of ruffles and glitter to help hang lace.
There was a crash from downstairs and Draco sighed, heading down the single flight of stairs to see what had happened. In the kitchen he found Ginny grumbling and flicking her wand at the box that was now toppled onto the floor, its contents littered about.
"Are you alright?" he asked, coming up behind her and almost startling her.
"Oh, Draco, yeah."
"What happened?"
Ginny grumbled. "I thought I could just move this myself, but I ended up just knocking it all to the floor."
"I told you, no lifting," he said, encircling his arms around her waist from behind to hold her tummy and press himself up against her back. "I don't want you hurting yourself…"
"I am fine."
"Or my belongings," he teased and she tried to elbow him.
"Prat."
"Ron is here," he said, disregarding that and crouching down to put the last of the cutlery that was still on the floor back into the box.
"Ron is here? I didn't think…"
"Anyone would be coming?" Draco offered to finish and Ginny looked a little abashed. "Ron, even as the knucklehead he often is, was able to see that I am not accountable for what happened. He seems as delusional as you that your family will one day love and adore me…as they rightfully should in my honest opinion," he said, tone light, but his true emotion there far from it.
"Draco, you are too hard on yourself, and others feed off of that. People are drawn to self-confidence, and I know you have that in you."
"No, I have arrogance, and that is not the same thing. People are not drawn to that, they resent it," he argued.
"You just need to be the sweetheart I know you are deep…deep, deep, down and my family will take you back," she kidded, exaggerating how deep down it was that he was a darling.
"Implying that they had `taken me in' in the first place?"
"They were trying," she grumbled.
"I don't want people trying to like me, Ginny. I want them to either like me, or hate me. I hate this kind of forced frivolity, it's insulting."
Ginny just looked sad. Draco looked up at her when she didn't come back at him with some kind of retort and his face fell.
"Oh, Gin, don't look like that," he pleaded, knowing the signs of a bout of tears from a mile away. He stood quickly to hug her, hoping to prevent the waterworks, but knowing he had failed when a familiar warm wetness seeped into his shirt's shoulder. "Don't cry."
"I just, I don't know what to do…"
"We will think of something."
"We shouldn't have to, you are right. We shouldn't have to defend ourselves to my family still, we shouldn't have to try and get them to accept us, and to like you. They have welcomed every other significant other into the family with open arms, except you. It's not right, it's not fair that you can't even get your toe in the door and they hold everything so readily against you."
"I am not helping things, like you said. I need to show them that I'm worth accepting and not walking into the situation like they would be fools to not worship me."
"This is not the environment I want to bring a baby into," she sobbed and Draco held her tighter, knowing exactly how she felt.
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"Hey there, slugger," Ron greeted Michelangelo, walking into his room slowly, hands in his pockets. Michelangelo looked up from his box and then over to Ron but said nothing. "Slugger, because you play as a Beater, right? You know, and…you…slug the thing…" he trailed off, his enthusiasm dying as Michelangelo just went back to digging in his box. Ron took a deep breath and continued on with the same esteem he had first entered with. "So, you picked this room as yours? It was Sirius', right? I like all the pictures all over the walls, can't get them off yet, hugh?" he asked, knowing the answer was no but hoping Michelangelo would answer him. He didn't. Ron pressed on. "I thought you would have taken the other room, with all the Slytherin pride all about it. Doesn't the Gryffindor banner over there, like, burn your eyes or something?" Ron teased, Michelangelo ignoring him. Sirius' room was plastered with Muggle clippings and posters. Plenty of which were of partially dressed women posing with cars and motorbikes and other such masculine things. Permanent sticking charms -as a sort of final insult to his family- had prevented any member of Black from removing the pictures after Sirius had run away. Now, however, they made decorating quite difficult. Draco hadn't known what to do with the room, but Michelangelo had taken to it instantly, and Draco allowed him to have it after painstakingly going through the room and inspecting every last picture. There was a fine-line between pin-up and pornography.
"Look, Michael, the reason I am up here is to talk to you about yesterday," Ron sighed, giving up then on all pretenses. Michelangelo looked up at him with his pale eyes, showing that Ron had his undivided attention, but still saying nothing. "I wanted to let you know that I am not going to defend what Derry and Phinn said or how they acted. I am just worried about you," he said and Michelangelo blinked, looking bewildered. "I am worried because, well, I know you lost your friends at Hogwarts, and you were unfairly targeted there and relentlessly bullied those last months you were there, and I know you have been dealing with a lot this past year…"
Michelangelo just blinked at him once more, slowly.
"Right, well, I just wanted to let you know that, you know, if you ever need to talk to someone who isn't your dad, someone you can trust and confide in, you can come to your Uncle Ron, okay?" he asked, backing out of the room some.
Michelangelo watched him retreat for a moment before tilting his head back towards his box and pulling out his small stereo, drawing the cord out with both hands like he was brining in a line.
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"That kid, his eyes just slice into you," Ron said with a cutting motion of his hand to Ginny as they stood in that same-old basement kitchen, making some supper for everyone while the kids settled and Draco dealt with some more specific details with the movers.
"He is a lot like Draco at that age," she admitted.
"Yeah, only worse. Draco had been a little bastard, but in a way that cried out for attention. Michael is just…" he shuddered. "That kid gives me the willies."
"Oh, come on, he's just a twelve-year-old boy!" Ginny laughed.
"You should shave his head; I bet you anything you will find a birthmark that resembles 666 there."
"Ron! That is my boyfriend's son you are talking about!" she gasped, laughing so hard.
"You have undoubtedly been at the receiving end of one of his glairs. You know what I mean."
"He can be rather cold, yes," Ginny admitted.
"Cold, Merlin's arse, that kid looks positively soulless when he stares at you, into you, through you. I was talking to him and it was like no one was home, like he was just a shell. He just blinked at me and I ran from the room like a pixie with its wings torn off."
"He is just upset."
"So is Draco."
"I know he is. Thank you for coming despite everything, it really means a lot to him, even if he would never admit it."
"Yeah, well, I only have one sister," he shrugged, already eating the ingredients for dinner and Ginny slapping his hands away whenever she caught him at it.
"How is Derry?" she finally dared to ask.
"He's fine, just a touch shook up, one spell and he was right as rain."
"What happened after we left?" she asked.
"Well, there was a serious gloom cast over everything after that. Bill left shortly, and quite quickly everyone fallowed suit."
"I feel so bad for Mum and Dad. They had all that food, and everything ended before supper…"
"Don't feel bad, you didn't do anything," Ron comforted.
"Yeah, I know, but I just feel terrible, for Draco, you know?"
"Yeah, I talked with him," he said, having spent a good portion of the day helping Draco move things since it took a lot of physical effort on Draco's part or just a flick of Ron's wand.
"What about his birthday?" she asked, placing her hand on her tummy where the baby had just kicked as though demanding a little attention too.
"Well, no one informed me of any sort of change in the plan."
"You really think they will have a party for Draco now? After all this?"
"It is a party for Neville, Harry, and Draco, and they can't un-invite him now, no matter how upset they might be, it would just be unacceptable, Mum would never allow it. You know she finds Draco bloody adorable."
Things had changed quite a bit in a few months, and Mrs. Weasley had been really taken by Draco's charm. Ginny knew it was that Lockheart syndrome, she could recognize it from a mile away.
"Besides," he added, snatching a slice of carrot and avoiding Ginny's swatting hand, "It is a little less than a month away, but still, that is time, time for things to die down. It isn't like Draco did anything himself either. His kid got in a fight with one of our kids, it's bound to happen. We all fought with each other as younglings, can you really expect our fruits to be any different?"
"I guess not," Ginny sighed. "I just wish this Malfoy-Weasley rift would just end already. You would think this new generation would be the first to see past all that."
"You and Draco are like Romeo and Juliet, only without the suicide. It's kind of romantic if you think about it," he teased and Ginny chucked a carrot at him.
"Like you would know romance if I came up and bit you on the nose," she laughed. Reaching over she grabbed a glass, its contents steaming, and took a hefty gulp before making a repulsed face and setting the glass down to gag and cough a little.
"Is Wolfsbane really that awful?" he asked, eyeing the putrid liquid wearily. He had suffered though Polyjuice before, and honestly, they looked about as disgusting, it could quite very well be a toss up which was more revolting.
"Care to try some?" she offered, making to grab the glass but Ron holding his hands up quickly.
"I'm alright, thanks."
"Yeah, I wish I could pass on it myself," she sighed, holding her stomach while taking another gulp as she had the glass in her hand again.
"You know for a fact that it will be…"
"Yeah," she sighed.
"Are you okay with that?" he asked as delicately as possible.
"What? What do you mean by that? Am I okay with that meaning what?" she barked.
"No, I meant nothing by it."
"Just that you can't see how I can not care that my child is going to be a werewolf. Tell me, Ronald, what is so wrong with being a werewolf?"
"I didn't mean it like that; I meant it in the sense of how hard it is on the individual. It is a disease…I was just wondering how you were handling it…" he said but trailed off as Ginny started to cry. Anger was replaced by tears so quickly; much was the way of pregnant women.
"I am doing all I can, it all just depends on when the date of birth lands. If it is right after the full moon it should be fine. If it falls before the full moon, however, within the two weeks that precede it, the baby won't make it. There just wouldn't be enough time to build up some strength for the first change," she sobbed. Ron discarded his carrot to give his sister a hug, a long, drawn out, rocking hug.
"It will be alright. You have been taking that Wolfsbane everyday, just like Draco and the kids do, so the baby will have it in its system. He or she will be born with plenty of days to spare before the full moon and all will be fine," he assured.
"They are going to induce labor if they have to, but it has all got me so scared. Even if everything goes to plan, it is still an uncertain road for the first few months," she sobbed.
"Michael and Claire made it."
"But with all that I have already been through…"
"Don't even go there. Don't you even think on that," Ron said firmly, pulling Ginny away to hold her at arm's length and look her resolutely in the eyes. "Don't you blame yourself for that, and don't you worry about it now. You have made it this far, and Draco is here with you, as am I, as is the rest of the family."
"I don't feel like the rest of them are with me on this…"
"They are."
Ron hugged Ginny again, but after a moment chuckled because of how awkward it was with her tummy between them. Ginny was able to sniff back her tears as Ron gazed down at her belly.
"You know, I keep forgetting how big you are getting, since I have been seeing more of Hermione and Harry lately, and she is quite a bit smaller than you."
"Yeah, it doesn't seem fair," Ginny pouted, hand on her tummy, lower back aching, legs tired as she went back to stirring the stew.
"Well, has it occurred to you that maybe you are having, oh, I don't know, twins?" he asked and Ginny's head snapped over at him with wide eyes as she practically gasped.
"Don't say that, don't even joke!" she said as she tossed a handful of salt over her shoulder while standing on one foot and then spinning in place to try and cancel the jinx. Ron just laughed at her. One baby was enough trouble; the idea of two was just insane.
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Movers and workers gone until morning, Ron having headed home, everyone now fed, Ginny was sitting on the edge of the large bed she would now be sharing with Draco, in the master bedroom on the top floor, a room where Buckbeak had once resided. Draco had had the floor ripped out and replaced and the walls stripped and re-plastered to try and get rid of the smell. The floor was not finished yet, it still needed to be stained and waxed and buffed and smoothed, and the molding put along the walls. The wall paper turned out to not be as thrilling up as it had looked in the sample book, which lead to Draco having started on putting dark wood paneling up, but it was only half finished. The paneling would only reach halfway up the wall once finished, and the portion above that the wallpaper still resided, not as terrible when not covering the entirety of the space. Green with narrow black pinstripes…it was the last time he would let his mother pick out any of the decorum.
Ginny was nude and just sitting there, achy and tired and just taking a breather. It was much too warm upstairs for her usual nightgown, but then again, she was often hot regardless of where she was. Draco had admitted it was awfully stuffy up there, however and assured her that the central-air would be up and running soon. Draco crawled up behind her silently, a little more dressed -though barely- and curled up against her, rubbing her shoulders.
"Mmm, hey Dre," she moaned, appreciating his gesture more than she would ever be able to verbalize.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, something he asked often. He ran his hands lower to massage her lower back where he knew she was always aching and she groaned in relief as she closed her eyes.
"Just tired."
"It was a long day."
"The first of many to come," she said, knowing that there wasn't a room in the house finished yet and they hadn't even started the nursery. There was this big rift between them on how to go about decorating it. They wouldn't know what they were having until he or she popped out of Ginny, so they could not go with the traditional blue or pink with cute button animals and pastel colors, but Ginny was fond of the idea of primary colors and a sort of rainbow theme that was not gender biased and very cheery, and Draco was partial towards a more classic and neutral white, calming and clean looking.
It was just one of many things they just could not agree on, both too stubborn to ever compromise.
"We got a lot done today," he said, rubbing his thumbs deep into her muscles and skin in a well-practiced fashion.
"I would love for the water to be working, I want a shower," she griped though in a way that was teasing because she knew how hard Draco was working on getting the piping in the old house working and she was trying to make it seem like she was completely unappreciative just to be irritating.
"I will be working more on that in the morning," he assured, kissing her neck and ending his massaging. He flopped down beside her, face first. "Okay, my turn," he said, it how apparent that he was offering his back to get rubbed and Ginny just laughed at him in a "don't kid yourself" manner and just swatted his exposed back with a feather pillow. "Come on, I worked hard today too, I'm achy. Do I not deserve a bit of rubbing?" he pouted up at her as he wiggled his bum.
Ginny just reached under the pillow and ran her fingertips over the skin of his side, causing him to leap up and eep. She had learned some months ago now that Draco was terribly ticklish, and she had tickle-tortured him many-a-time.
"No, stop, you horrid wench," he begged as she tried to tickle him. They certainly had an interesting relationship. Calling each other "worthless whores" and "prats" and "egotistical bastards" was just their way of saying "I love you, dear". Most couples would just never understand that, but it was just how they were, and they couldn't change one another no matter how they had each respectively tried.
Draco grabbed Ginny's wrist and yanked her off balance, rolling and pinning her down on the bed, arms above her head, and him throwing a leg over her to be sitting on her thighs, his body looming over her, her belly right there between them. He looked more satisfied with this arraignment than she did given what Ginny could see happening beneath his green boxers.
"I have a headache," she said flatly, still teasing, but also honest.
Draco just leaned in to give her a kiss, honestly too exhausted himself but unable to pass up the opportunity to tease her, just a little bit. It was their first night in their new home after all.
Once asleep, however, Draco recalled his first night in a very different place, and it was a vastly less enjoyable experience.
Draco kicked and fought against his captors the entire walk down the long hallway, screaming and shouting in desperation. He was screaming "no" and "please" mostly, periodically crying for his mother, or expressing his frantic desire to go home. The two men that held him were much larger, however, and needn't try hard to control the struggling boy. They marched -or practically carried- him down the hall silently on their parts, this being routine for them and thus their numbness to the hysterical emotions erupting from the distraught boy. They had never dealt with someone as young as him before, but he was classified as a high-risk inmate, and he was not to be granted any leniency, or underestimated, regardless of his size.
"No, please! No, don't take me there! Please, please, please!" he screamed, trying to rip his arms free of the guards but unsuccessful and just exhausting himself more and more the further they got. "Please, I want my mother, please, I want to go home…" he sobbed.
Draco was jerked into the room they had finally reached and the door was slammed shut behind the two men who now drew their wands. They were not to use such tools except as a last resort in self-defense, but they were dealing with a werewolf, so they took whatever precautions they felt necessary.
Draco was on his hands and knees for only a moment before scurrying up onto his feet and turning on the men, backing up into the corner and looking around. His tear-streaked face was a little dirty from the cloud of filth that had wafted up when he had been thrown down. He was shaking all over, looking to try and orient himself but unsure of where he was. He had been taken by Portkey to what he feared to be Azkaban, but he wasn't sure if he was at that final destination yet or not. All he knew was he was in a stone room, with a large mirror set into the opposite wall, and a harsh light hung over him. Two men were in there, and there were two metal doors with barred square windows, one he had just be lead through, and another opposite that that he had no clue where it went.
Shaking, cold, and frightened, Draco looked at the two armed men and kept them in front of him, but that put the second door to his back, and it was then that it latched loudly and opened. He was instantly panting as he spun around, now facing the mirror so that the men were on his right and the people coming in through the door where on his left, the empty wall to his back.
"Please…"
"Welcome to Azkaban, Mr. Malfoy," the tallest of the new arrivals announced. The woman was stern and harsh looking, her uniform crisp, cheekbones high and mouth small. Her hair was short and slicked back like she wanted to be viewed no differently than the men, her hands folded behind her in a confident sort of stance. On either side of her were two more men, tall in their own right but non comparable to the looming woman.
Draco looked at her, his breath caught in his throat as the welcome registered in his mind. He was there. This couldn't be, he couldn't be there. He had been promised…no, this was not right, he had nearly died helping in the overthrow of the Dark Lord, he couldn't be here in Azkaban now, no. His trial was not over. Surely he had appeals; surely this was just a misunderstanding.
"Please allow us to carry out the standard strip search and examination with little fuss, it will make the whole experience so much less stressful on all of us, particularly you," she said, the men at her back moving forward as thought that was their cue to begin. Draco backed up, looking ready to flee, there being no where to go not stopping him from trying to run. He was grabbed by the arm which caused him to kick out instantly and ball up a first, ready to punch the man who had a hold on him, but that arm too was then grabbed.
The men said nothing, their faces blank. Draco screamed as he was picked up and tossed down onto the floor in the center of the room again, his shirt pulled off over his head and ripped from his arms. Draco shouted, and kicked, and struggled despite the civil request to remain calm though this and the woman did nothing to hush him. She stood unaffected by this display as Draco was disrobed friskily and left to curl up over himself on the floor, his skin and hair so fair making him stand out with the florescent light shining down on him that he looked like a small white rabbit, shaking and fretful.
It was so cold, and Draco didn't want to look up at anyone in the room as he crouched there, naked, but screamed as he was grabbed by the hair and pushed down so he was kneeling rather than balancing on the balls of his feet. He didn't know what was happening then until he saw a chunk of his shoulder-length hair fall to the stone floor before him. He looked at it for a long moment before then struggling again. One man held his face, another held his shoulders, and a third used a Severing Charm as he ran his wand tip along Draco's scalp like a pair of shears, shaving away his hair one long stroke at a time.
Draco felt his hair drifting down his back and collecting on his shoulders, and saw hunks of it landing on the hands that held his face, and there it remained for him to stare at. He started to sob again, and the men seemed deaf to him. When they released him he just sat there, sobbing, not making to move until he was suddenly doused in cold water. He screamed and tried to scurry out of the wash, but the jets of water followed him from the wand tips, and washed away his sheared hair, and freed the dirt that had clung to his body. The hair rushed with the water towards the drain that it then clogged, and Draco was left naked, bald, and soaking wet. He was grabbed, and a sort of tape measure appeared in the air beside him, taking down his detentions, such and height, and he was then lifted for a brief moment by some kind of spell that levitated him, and his weight was then recorded too. His body was roughly checked over for marks such as moles and distinctive freckles or birthmarks, his scars were all numbered and recorded, his tattoo documented and residual Dark Mark probed, and all was photographed.
Still disoriented, and shivering, as well as feeling shamed and violated, an armful of clothing was thrust at him and without being given a chance to dress Draco was marched from the room. He was instructed to dress himself as they walked, and he did so quite readily, not out of modesty at that point but out of pure desire to get warm. The outfit was a sort of rough burlap, grey and black striped. The pants were overly long so his bare feet were still inside the pant leg as he walked (which served to actually help keep them warm since he had gotten no shoes or socks) and the shirt was long sleeved, the sleeves reaching past his fingertips, and had a hood attached which he pulled up over his baldness to try and fight off the cold.
"You will be placed in the non-human cells of block C, where everything from Goblins to Vampires are kept. You will have only thirty minutes out of your cell a day and that time will include any showering you do. You will receive two meals a day, one warm, one cold. Breakfast is typically cold, and dinner will be something warm. If you do not care for the food then you will go hungry, we are not running a catering service here. Once a month you will be allowed outside your cell block and taken to a courtyard in the center of the prison where, under strict supervision, you will be allowed to intermingle with other prisoners. This will be the first privilege you will lose should you misbehave, and it will not be extended back too readily," she explained her tone harsh and mechanical, like she was reading off a well rehearsed mental list. Draco trotted along to keep up with her long strides and quick pace, shivering still, two guards before him, two behind them, the woman leading the way.
"You will be allowed visitation once every two weeks, for an hour at a time, no more, no acceptations. You will not be allowed any personal affects in your cell for the first six months you are here. You will be under twenty-four hour surveillance in that time, and once it is deemed safe, you are allowed certain approved objects, no books, nothing that can be unraveled, nothing that can be sharpened, nothing that is reflective, nothing that contains metal, glass, or undermined materials, and under no circumstances anything magical. Understood?"
"Please…I…"
"Furthermore," the woman pressed on, not allowing Draco to say anything, "You will be provided with all the necessities, blankets and such. Do not ask for additional blankets, cushions, or clothing, it will only result in what you do have being removed from your position. Things like tooth brushes, combs, and tools for trimming hair and nails will be kept by the guards and you can only use said objects while under supervision. This implies that you will not be showering alone, we have community showers here with posted guards, five inmates at a time, no talking allowed," she said and Draco's head was down, tears running down his cheeks.
"Things are different here now that there are no Dementors. We run a strict regiment and it is expected to be followed without dispute. Days start at seven and go until nine. Cell checks are random but frequent. Since you have tried to kill yourself in the past you are on suicide watch, and you will be subject to random body searches to be sure that you are not harming yourself. I will be by personally to check on you once a week and to record your progress. You are a special needs inmate, and given your condition, you will be provided with Wolfsbane by a certified Healer. For your transformation, however, you will be lead to a specially equipped holding cell, and you will be run through the procedure of transportation for that event in the morning. Now," she said, stopping and turning to look at Draco, Draco refusing to look at her. "The first night is rough, but do try and get some sleep because we will be running you through the paces in the morning."
Draco had a rough and flimsy blanket thrust into his arms along with a cushion that was barely and inch and a half thick. He was grabbed by the shoulders and shoved forward into a cell and the doors were immediately slammed shut on their track behind him with a defining and dreadful clang.
"Nighty-night, princess," a singular guard finally said to him, speaking for the first time, heading off in the direction the rest had gone, leaving Draco to stand there in his eight by eight cell. Draco looked around and saw something that resembled a bucket in the corner but with a sort of toilet seat fashioned to it, and a harsh wooden shelf projecting from the wall at about the level that would suggest that it was the bed. There was a window high up on the wall, high enough that he had no hope of reaching it even if he were to stand on the bed-shelf, meaning he wouldn't be able to see outside, but he could see some moonlight pouring in, along with some drifts of snow.
Draco shivered, and took a deep quivering breath like he was trying to come to grips with everything, trying to take this like a man, to deal with this, but a soft sob escaped him, followed quickly by another. There he stood, his cushion and blanket still folded and hugged to his chest as he slowly lifted one foot and then the other off the cold stone floor, weeping.
Why had this happened? What had gone so terribly wrong? Where was Potter? Where was McGonagall? Where was Ginny? Surely Ginny knew the truth, she had saved his life, she had been there, she had kissed him. Where was she? Why hadn't Harry been at his trial, why had McGonagall testified against him after she had promised to aid in pardoning him? Why hadn't Granger been told the truth of what had happened by Harry, or Ginny?
Where was his mother?
Draco was crying now. Not sobbing, not weeping, he was crying. He couldn't do anything else with himself. He felt sick, but he hadn't eaten in so long that he had nothing to throw up, he was cold, but he couldn't do anything about it. He was alone, and it seemed like it was going to be that way for the next ten to twenty years.
Draco cried.
"Are you crying?" a woman with a heavy Scottish accent asked, causing Draco to gasp at her sudden words, him having thought he was alone. He spun around in place to be facing the wall of his cell that consisted of open iron bars and saw that the wall opposite him in that long corridor that made up his cell block was also lined with cells, so he could see directly into them. It didn't look like there was going to be much privacy. What shocked him secondly was that it had been a woman that had spoken to him. They did not segregate the women from the men here? Would he have a woman seeing into his cell and him into hers?
The cells were staggered, so each one was across from two halves. The cell across from him and on the left was empty, but the cell on the right was apparently occupied. It was shadowy, and Draco backed up into the shadow of his own as the woman came into the light of hers.
"Hey, I asked you a question. It's rude not to answer, one might question your upbringing," she scolded, or possibly mocked, Draco could not tell as he hid further in the corner of his cell that she would be unable to see him from. "Oh, come on now," she said and Draco just hugged his knees as he perched on his shelf.
Who was she? She didn't sound like a Goblin, maybe she was a Vampire. What if she was a werewolf like him? He didn't care to find out one way or another. Murderers, liars, criminals were in this prison. She was here, clearly she had done something bad, and he wasn't about to make acquaintance with someone here already.
"Talk to me, please? You are the only other person on the block at the moment, and I have been here for months alone with no one but the charming guards to talk to," she pleaded, still sounding rather bossy. Draco sniffed a little, his nose now running from the cold rather than just his tears. "Why are you crying?" she asked.
"I am not crying," Draco barked stubbornly, his voice carrying the very obvious and unmistakable sign that he actually had been.
"There, I got you talking," she beamed. "Come on, come out, let's have a look at you," she demanded, snapping her fingers at him. Draco looked towards the edge of his cell as though considering it, but then hugged his knees tighter.
"I will see you now or later, your crapper is in my line of sight," she said and Draco looked over at the bucket, then back at his bars and was suddenly very grumpy. "Come on, come out, first impressions are important and yours is weak."
Draco sighed. He had a feeling that this woman, whoever she was, would be unrelenting in this until he made an appearance, and she was right, she would see him eventually.
"You can't hide in that corner forever…oh, there you are," she said as Draco had scooted his butt across his shelf-bed so he was up against the bars now and able to peek out them and be seen by the woman as well as take her in.
She was standing there in an outfit identical to his but a little better fitting, with her hands on her hips and chest out. She seemed exceedingly tall, and her posture was confident, her hair was wild. Her head looked like it was on fire with the crazed froth of vibrant red curls that crowned her head and cascaded down her back. It was obvious that it was unkempt but would have been positively lovely should she have been allowed to manage it. Her eyes were greener than a cat's, her skin milky-fair, and lips full. She was very striking, despite her thinness, though Draco could see that her chest was quite full and free of anything that would contain it, the fact that she was chilled under that shirt of hers quite obvious and causing Draco to blush slightly and look away.
"Merlin, what are you, twelve?" she asked, clearly exaggerating but conveying quite plainly her shock in how young Draco clearly was. "I can hardly see you sitting there all curled up, come on, let's have a look," she said, snapping her fingers at him again, but Draco unmoving. She placed her hands back on her hips and looked at him for a long moment before sighing. "Speak, I know you can. Come on, speak, speak," she demanded, snapping at him each time. He didn't. "My name is Christina," she offered, in a much kinder tone than one she had yet used. She was clearly trying to entice Draco into some kind of conversation, but he seemed a little less than keen. "This is the part where you give me your name," she explained, a guard's call suddenly carrying down the corridor.
"Lights out in five minutes, there will be no talking from that point on," he said and Christina turned back to Draco, time now a factor.
"Come on…"
"Draco," he answered, cutting her off. She looked at him, and Draco unfolded himself slightly so he could be seen a little better, and he repeated his name. "My name is Draco."
She nodded, looking at him and taking in his name.
"Hello Draco, it is very nice to meet you," Christina said in a way that was far too perky for the setting. "What are you in for?" she asked, plopping down on her own bed-shelf then and wrapping up in her blankets (she seemed to have more than him) clearly preparing for bed while they still had light. When Draco didn't answer she looked at him and only saw him looking down and a tear sliding down his cheek. "How long you in for?" she asked, deciding to try for that instead.
"Ten to twenty," he said very softly but still easily heard in the otherwise silent block, the distant sound of the crashing sea below them all that drifted in.
"Damn, you did find yourself in some trouble," she said with much conviction and sympathy. "I'm here for attempted murder and kidnapping. Been here for nearly ten years," she said, throwing a blanket over her feet, clearly taking the extra time to make sure those in specific stayed warm.
"How old…" Draco attempted to ask but then stopped himself and just plopped down on his bed-shelf, hugging his knees again and pressing his lips to them. It wasn't polite to ask a lady how old she was.
"How old am I?" she asked for him. "I am thirty-three," she said, smiling down at herself as though knowing the discomfort Draco had caused himself in almost asking. "You?" she asked, glad that he had set himself to have to answer this question for her now given how readily she had given it up to him.
"Nearly eighteen," he said, though that was not true, he would not be eighteen until June and it was only January at the moment. Still, it sounded better than saying seventeen.
"Wait, you are seventeen?" she asked and Draco's head drooped so that his hood blocked the side of his face from her. "Well, fuck," she said, lying down then but still talking. "You will be twenty seven when you get out of here then, if you are lucky, huh?" she asked, as though she was somehow being optimistic. She was answered with only a soft sob from Draco's cell as the guard announced it was lights out and all became dark.
------------------------
Ginny and Hermione sat on the couch together, large pregnant bellies bouncing in their laughter and giggles as they watched a scene play out before them on the telly, recorded a little over a week ago now. It was an odd view of the world for it was through the lens of a camera and therefore eliminated all peripheral vision so that everything seemed tight and focused within the frame.
Draco was working in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, the sunlight bright for the first time in probably the history of the home because he had taken down the curtains for a brutal laundering and most probable replacing. Things had nested in that house in the years it had stood unoccupied. The window glass was new, but styled much like the originals had appeared in their prime, with black iron molding and bits of angular green glass pieced in here or there. The floors were freshly sanded, and large sheets of clear plastic were placed all over, the contractors not coming in to finish the floors with a dark stain for another few nights still and then the waxing team not coming in until next week. There was still a ton needing to be done before the floors were finished, however, like the walls. Draco didn't want to still be painting and plastering by the time the wood was finished and polished, but the rate of everything else was not up to speed with the floors.
It was a serious headache.
Draco was engrossed in his task at hand and did not notice that in zoomed someone from behind him.
The picture shook every once in a while, and the sound was muffled by hands shifting on the camera itself, the cinematographer a novice to say the least.
"Hey there, you," Ginny, her voice disembodied from behind the lens, said causing Draco to turn and then smile with narrowed eyes upon seeing what Ginny obviously had in her hands and pointed at him.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"What?" Ginny asked innocently, zooming in on Draco to the point where it was nearly unflattering, clearly trying out buttons she had no clue as to their function.
"The camera," he said, trying to lean out of frame right and left slightly but Ginny marking him.
"It was in a box of your things Tonks knocked over. I didn't know you had a camera," she laughed, Draco giving up on trying to dodge the lens and just turning his back as though to ignore its presence, going back to work cleaning the dusty heating grate that was floor level on the wall. "Where did you get it?" she then posed the question right back at him, recording him as he worked.
"It was a Christmas gift a few years ago, from my Uncle Ted," he said simply, back to her, hair pulled into a thick ponytail that would swing if he were walking but just rested against his back and fanned out a bit as he leaned over.
"You, with a Muggle camera, it's too hilarious."
"I do not see why, I lived in a Muggle apartment for three years, I had a telephone, I watched the telly, I drove a car," he said, a little indignant as he pulled cobwebs and dead pixies out of the duct and tossed them in the pail beside him.
"I guess it is only funny from my perspective," she said, her perspective being from the camera still as she moved around him, panning slowly.
"Stop," he laughed, looking over his shoulder to notice Ginny still recording him, some shorter pieces of his pale hair escaping his hair-tie to hang in his face, not a curl, kink, or wave to it as he used the back of his hand to wipe the hairs and some sweat away.
"I'm not filming, stop being a baby."
"Yes you are, I can see the little red light blinking." He glared.
"Oh."
"Stop," he said, reaching up to try and push the lens down but Ginny backing up, the camera's picture shaking quite a bit.
"Do something cute," she demeaned, walking backwards and zooming back out to get a full view of him, a safe distance now across the room as he stood to stretch his back some while looking sore, which he always was but probably stiff now too from cleaning vents and ducts all morning.
"No," he said flatly.
"Come on," Ginny teased, zooming in so the picture was blurry for a moment before coming to focus on Draco from about the shoulders up.
Draco blew Ginny a little kiss with his lips, no hands, to appease her and Ginny laughed in her gratitude.
The picture went black for a second as Ginny and Hermione giggled from their seats, and came back to reveal another room, or what one would assume be another room, the picture just zoomed in on Draco's bum so the rest was hard to tell and was merely assumed. Ginny, from on camera unable to contain her giggles, caused the picture to shake as her once again disembodied voice carried across the picture.
"What? Will you stop playing with that already? Haven't we enough work to do without you goofing off?" Draco protested, his voice too drifting from off camera since all that was on camera was that hinny of his and contrary to popular belief; he did not talk out of his arse.
"My back hurts so I am taking a break. You would work your pregnant girlfriend into the grave, wouldn't you," she accused, zooming out a little but Draco's bum still very focal in the shot as he squatted in the kitchen, arms up under the sink as he torked a wrench to fix the leaking pipe. Draco was not the best handyman in the world, but for a wizard working by Muggle means with awkward Muggle tools he was quite good. He was reliable because of his stubborn determination to get something right and make sure it worked properly no matter how long it took. The knees of his blue denims were wet, as were the fronts of his thighs, like he had knelt in water but had also been sprayed more than a few times. The wet splatter on his blue shirt was more evidence to the fact. Draco looked delicious in blue; it made his eyes look shockingly blue rather than grey or silver. She approved.
"Well, if you are just going to stand there, could you hand me that?" Draco asked, what he was pointing to off camera but Ginny shifting to reach it and hand it to him, her hand coming around into frame for a brief moment to offer it to Draco. "Thank you," he said, such etiquette second nature to him.
"If you are a plumber, shouldn't your trousers be drooping a bit more?" she asked, reaching down to pull at the seat of his pants in hopes of causing them to fall a bit. Draco reached back quickly to catch his waistband before the full moon could even begin to break the horizon of his denims.
"Stop that, leave my trousers alone," he grumbled, Ginny still tugging at them until she was satisfied with the tiniest peek of crack she managed to expose before Draco was able to yank them up and swat her away, threatening her with the wrench held aloft. She liked him better in his tight (and she meant tight) black denims, but the baggier blue ones he wore while doing projects around the house were fun too because his knickers tended to peak out due to the larger denims riding so low around his narrow hips. His boxers were red. She approved.
Draco was still only a hundred and twenty-five at best, and she was trying to get him to gain more weight, but he seemed to have gained as much weight as he wanted. He had seemed horrified when he got -in his words- "tubby around the tummy" and had been going to the gym every other day on top of work and fixing up the house, to try and get a firmer physic. He was threatening to work himself into exhaustion since Lycanthropy sucked a lot of life out of him to begin with, but Draco would not hear Ginny's concerns. He tried to pretend he wasn't vain, but he was, he really was. But how could she complain, he had put on a little weight like she had wanted, and now he seemed to be on his way to chiseled abs. She approved.
The picture was shaky, and Hermione -who was watching this all on the television still- laughed at that point, having gotten to see just the barest glimpse of Draco's little naked hinny and unable to deny that she enjoyed the sight. Draco pouted at the camera.
"I have to admit, he is rather sweet when he doesn't think anyone is around to catch him at it," Hermione said, still watching the film that Ginny had made of the move and remodel, which was turning out to basically be a montage of glimpses of Draco about the house, cleaning, fixing things, cracking his knuckles, pulling back his hair while his shirt was off making focal his newly developing muscular (though still very thin) torso and arms, all the while oblivious to the fact that he had an audience. With his shirt off, his scars from Greyback were plain to see as they raked over the flesh on his left side, dimpling the muscles in his arm somewhat. He had a scar above his navel which he called his "second bellybutton", where he had been run through, but his maturing pecks (despite his protruding sternum) were distraction enough from those flaws, as was his snow white skin that dazzled in the sunlight coming in from the nearby window, the slight shine due to sweat. It was quite warm out, as was evidence of Draco's half dressed state. He had to be damn hot to shed not only his clothing but his propriety. The problem was that the house was stuffy, particularly when he was doing manual labor. Ginny liked watching Draco do manual labor and saw no "problem" in him wearing less clothing. She approved.
"Oh, he is a cutie when he lets himself be," Ginny said, just as she herself appeared on the screen. She moaned, Hermione interested and watching as she leaned forward some to see what was happening now. She had the remote so Ginny could not turn it off.
"Ah-ha," Draco proclaimed from the television, his voice disembodied this time as Ginny was the one in front of the lens this time around. "Now the tables have turned, how does it feel?" he asked as Ginny tried to hide from view and cover her face. She wasn't in make-up, her hair was a mess, and she was fat. How could Draco do this to her!
"Stop, stop! Don't film me, don't you know the camera adds ten pounds!?" she cried while Draco laughed.
"I now know why you were filming me then. Come on, do something cute," he demanded, mocking her then. Ginny looked up at him, right into the lens, and flipped him off. "Oh, now that is not nice, or cute. What will you say, one day, when I show this to our grandchildren?"
"You won't live long enough to show them if you don't turn that thing of," she warned, swatting at it and Draco pointing it down at the floor while backing up, his shuffling feet all that was in frame at the moment, that and the dusty hardwood.
"This is evidence, court evidence. Your domestic abuse is documented," he laughed as Ginny slapped at him more.
"Prat, prat, prat," she repeated as he laughed, his hand coming in and out of view as she slapped at him and mostly the camera and he blocked them.
Hermione was laughing quite hard while watching this, Ginny too as well but she was hiding her face while doing so.
"Come on," Draco laughed.
"Turn that off," she demanded, smiling despite herself.
"Alright, alright," he said but the picture did not cut.
"I said turn it off…"
"It is."
"No, it isn't, I can see that damn little red light thing," she accused and Draco laughed as he really did turn it off that time.
"Like I was saying," Hermione said as the picture on the television remained black, "quite cute."
"Jealous?" Ginny teased.
"Nope," Hermione said smugly, and very readily.
"Liar," Ginny accused.
"I have Harry and I am more than happy," she said, honest about her happiness as she placed her hand on her pregnant belly, but unable to deny that Draco, despite himself and the fact that he always looked like he was just recovering from the flu, he was quite handsome and, well, a delight to gaze at.
"Harry is a nice bloke, but I must admit, Draco is more fun."
"In what way?" Hermione asked.
"Harry is up tight. Draco is too, but in a manners and propriety sort of way. Despite all he has been through, he is still willing to dance around the living room and make a fool of himself to get a laugh out of his children."
Hermione laughed, "I would like to see that,"
"I have it on tape somewhere, but I think he would kill me, with child or not, if I showed it to you of all people. It is something meant for his children's eyes only me thinks," she said, shaking her head slowly but laughing softly too.
"Speaking of children…" Hermione said, sobering considerable, Ginny sighing.
"Michael is still not talking…to any of us."
"Not even Draco? It's been a week."
"I know, Draco is really torn up over it. He thinks he was too harsh."
"Hardly. He had every right to be mad at Michael. Michael now making Draco feel bad is probably some ploy to try and get Draco to retract his threat to ground him for the summer," Hermione theorized.
"Yeah, I told Draco that too, thus why Draco has been unrelenting in his sentence, but it's really tearing him up. He is getting a lot of work done around the house as, I think, a means of distracting himself, but I'm worried that he is just going to exhaust himself. All he needs it so be depressed and then stuck in bed where no work would be getting done," she sighed.
"He's at the gym at the moment?"
"Yeah, with Ron," Ginny sighed.
"I wouldn't worry too much, really."
"It's just hard not to."
"Have you talked to your mum?"
"Yeah…"
"And?"
"She isn't mad, well, not at Draco at least. Ron was right, everyone is seriously calming down given some time, but it is still walking on eggshells until I talk to George. He seems really upset still."
"He will come around. He and Fred are two that Draco really did seem to grow on," Hermione reassured, Ginny just taking a deep breath and sighing.
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Author's Note/Summery:
We got to see my new-take of Number Twelve…hope you liked. Ron showed up to help (I can't help it, I <3 him just a little) and he interacted with Michael in a classic (and soon to be standard) way. Claire-monster loves her Uncle Ron. <33 We see some of Draco's concerns, and for the first time realize that they coincide with Ginny's rather closely. Yay for Ginny/Ron bonding. Yes, Draco deserves a bit of rubbing. :]
This chapter would totally be named "Draco's Worst Memory" if I in fact named my chapters. Ode to Snape there me thinks? Poor Dre. Draco's memory was one of the first scenes I ever wrote having to do with this series, so it means a certain something special to me. I put a lot of thought into how a prisoner would be treated, how a werewolf would be treated.
We met Christina, what did we think? More of her to come.
The scene with the video camera is another very old scene, something that had been cooking for a while, and it was fluff, so be proud of me. Draco is a cutie, we all knew it, now I have the proof on camera.
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