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11 November 2004 @ 08:33 pm
Act normal. You can't get stranger than that...  

My life. Cut because it's BORING.

Thank god Mary was in again today. Jess and Sharon are nice enough people, but I couldn't stick with them all the time. One day nearly failed me. I guess people who are pretty and know it tend to expect attention, much as I tend not to expect it and like wearing grey so as to blend into the background. Why they've adopted me is anyone's guess. Perhaps because I'm good at functioning on screensaver mode. The odd 'yes' and 'really?' just fuelled them for the LONGEST time. They don't require conversation so much as an audience. At least with Mary, like with a proper friend, I can bitch and be the not-very-nice person that I am and she still likes me. I prefer to be entertaining than accomodating, but how is it possible that two blonde, skinny, pretty-ish girls have so many esteem issues?!!? And I thought I was bad!

My life at the moment is getting me down. Since my portfolio went, I've had far too much time to think about how crap it and my personal statement are, and I'm feeling far too apathetic to even consider going down the 'oh god what am I gonna do when I don't get in?' route AGAIN. It hits me at the oddest moments - I'll just think of something I've written or drawn and moan and facepalm internally. It's that black cloud descending...it hasn't come since second year, and then it lasted for months. Despite all, I can't seem to find anything lastingly good or meaningful in anything. Usually during the worst times (and this year, with exams and Tony and all, there were some BAD times) I could fall back on fanfic and Harry Potter. But even that's let me down since I've started posting it. Jeez, I mean, I don't expect that everyone in the fandom should read and love my work. But I would have appreciated it if the damn thing had even UPLOADED correctly. I got 190 hits and two reviews, and I reckon the formatting just stopped people reading. Which is upsetting for me, because the one thing I wanted is for people to at least give my writing the time of day, and these forces beyond my technical grasp just bollocksed me yet again. This, plus the whole will I, won't I interview scenario set the scene so that basically nothing comes off as good anymore. My mother asked me if I was all right last night, and I said, 'No, I'm dead. Died five hours ago.'

She said okay.

Erm. Gappy thing so that you can just read the fic...

Draco had almost fallen into the sandpit with shock at his father’s announcement, before remembering what awful things it could hold. His father watched him with a wary expression as he windmilled his arms, trying to regain his balance.

‘Do you want to hear the story or not?’ Lucius asked at last.

‘Yes!’ Draco dropped gracelessly into the swing and clung gingerly onto the metal chains, resting his sharp chin on his hands and opening his eyes wide.

Ignoring his son’s parody of frenetic interest, Lucius spoke, his eyes looking in the middle distance that revealed the landscape of a youth only he could recapture.

‘I’ve always known that I didn’t fancy girls,’ he began. ‘Even when I realised what that meant, it wasn’t important, it didn’t factor into things as a whole. My family – the Malfoys – were the numero uno ganglords of this borough, except for the Blacks of course. There were more pressing things to consider, like evading the Drug Squad and bashing in the kneecaps of rogue traders.

‘Well, I was about twenty when I married your mother. I’d been out of school for almost four years – mind you, the years I was in school I spent most of my time dossing, or dealing. University, of course, was not an option, and anyway it was never something I wanted. My father was getting a bit arsey about me cluttering up the place. Old Octavius – you never knew him, of course. Gunned down by a couple of thugs in masks when you were only tiny. Anyway, at that stage he was onto wife number five, who wasn’t a good deal older than I was, may I add. Usual story, she wasn’t too keen on having me around, and Octo himself was feeling it was time for me to, as he put it, ‘start making a contribution to the family.’ His idea of that was by making an alliance with the Blacks, by marrying the eldest, prettiest daughter – obviously, your Mum, Narcissa.

‘There was no possibility of, to use that naff phrase, ‘coming out’, not in that world, and especially not to my father. He couldn’t stand ‘those ruddy pillow-biters’. And seeing as I’d never actually fancied anyone of either sex, I didn’t really mind being roped into union with your mother, who was something of a catch – to certain people, any Black would have been a wonderful catch.

‘The problem started on our wedding night. Narcissa was only nineteen, but she was no virgin. Even if she had been, I reckon she’s smart enough to have realised something was up. Nobody discerned anything, though, because you were conceived that night and everything in the garden seemed rosy.

‘You were about six when I fell in love for the first time. I don’t know if it was the fact that I cheated on her with a man, or the fact that he was her cousin, but the end result was that she left me. I think seven years in a loveless marriage to someone who didn’t even fancy her gender made her awfully bitter for a while. She made me sign a nasty divorce settlement – I was happy to pay that, though, because I did love you, my son, and even Narcissa a little, by proxy, for giving you to me. She also let it be known that I was gay, and a combination of that revelation and possibly a tip-off from her to the police meant that I, along with another guy, got done for five years. Possession with intent to distribute, something like that.’

‘Mum tipped you off? Because you were gay?’ Draco’s face was a picture.

‘Don’t look so shocked, son,’ Lucius laughed. ‘In a way, it was for you. She phrased it something along the lines of: ‘My husband is gay, you people have ruined my life, the police are coming and if you don’t leave me and my son alone for the rest of your miserable lives, I’ll set Bella on you’.’

‘Bella?’ Draco asked.

‘Your aunt. Bloody terrifying woman, if I say so myself. Since my fall from grace and your mother’s strategic withdrawal, also uncontested matriarch of the entire amalgamated Black-Malfoy empire.’

‘Right.’ Draco settled back comfortably in his swing. This was turning out to be quite a story. Yes, he’d known his father was a drug-dealer. However, he had assumed him to be of the small-businessman type that hung around schoolyards, perhaps from some old, well-moneyed family to account for the comfortable lifestyle he enjoyed with his mother, who boasted of never having held a job in her life. Not the former heir to a huge Mafia-like mob monarchy. He’d been vaguely aware of the notorious Black ring in the next neighbourhood – who wasn’t? But he had thought the parity of names to be a coincidence, or perhaps that his mother was a far-shot relation. Suddenly, he sat up straight as a thought occurred to him.

‘Does this mean,’ he said, trying to stop his chin from trembling, ‘that I have to become a drug-dealer? Because I’ve never done drugs – not even cigarettes.’

‘No, of course not,’ his father said reassuringly. ‘Your mother bought you out of that a long time ago. You could try to get in again, but it would be bloody dangerous.’

‘Oh, good.’ Draco deflated in relief.

‘There is the little matter, though, of your inheritance.’

‘My what?’

‘Draco, Octo was a major man in what is a major business,’ Lucius said patiently. ‘He had connections with international drugs rings, the Mafia – ’ (aha! Draco thought). ‘In short, he amassed a bloody fortune. Those ruinous maintenance cheques your mother draws haven’t even made a dint in it. And as of your eighteenth birthday, it’s all yours.’

‘Why? I mean, how? How – much?’

Lucius gave a knowing chuckle. ‘You might call yourself Black, but you’re still Malfoy to the core. ‘How much?’ was my father’s favourite line.’

Draco was looking at him, dazed and confused.

‘I digress. It’s somewhere in the region of ten million pounds.’

‘Ten,’ Draco managed. ‘Millions? And you’re giving it to me why? Surely it’s your inheritance first?’

‘That’s true.’ Lucius shrugged. ‘But I don’t want it, and I don’t need it either. I took a couple of thousand out, for myself, but I don’t want much. My boyfriend has a fairly lucrative repair business going, and I drive the van.’

‘Hang on.’ A suspicion was beginning to form in Draco’s mind. ‘My mother’s cousin? A machine repair man, by any chance?’

‘You’ve met Sirius?’ Lucius said in delight.

‘Is that his name?’ Draco wrinkled his nose. ‘You’ll make a lovely couple, the two of you and your ridiculous cognomens.’

‘What did you think of him?’ Lucius asked, in the breathy tones of an infatuated schoolgirl. Draco had to keep from smirking.

‘I only saw him for a sec. He was in school fixing the vending machine, flying about with that daft Lupin chap as his sidekick-in-crime. I thought he looked like a pansy.’ Draco considered this for a moment. ‘Clearly because he is one.’

‘Lupin?’ Lucius asked sharply. ‘As in the old school friend, first love Lupin?’

‘I don’t know!’ Draco exclaimed. ‘I don’t even take French. But all the circs seem to indicate that they knew each other, at least, and it’s not exactly a common name, is it?’

‘No,’ Lucius forced out. Draco felt sorry for his father, who was wearing, all of sudden, an utterly woebegone expression.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Dad,’ he advised. ‘Everyone knows Lupin is mad for that greasy haired excuse for a Chemistry teacher, Snape-and-a-half.’

‘Right,’ said Lucius, but he sounded unconvinced. He laughed abruptly. ‘Who’d have thought it – my own son, giving me advice about my love life.’

‘Well, you’ve come to an expert,’ Draco said complacently.

‘So are you – do you know whether you are – ‘

‘I’m fairly certain I’m straight, Dad,’ Draco said seriously. ‘I’ve never fancied a boy, unless that one time when I looked at Harry Potter’s arse – but I think I should be forgiven that, seeing as I thought it was Hermione’s.’

‘Hermione – that’s the girlfriend your mother was talking about, is it? Funny, I thought she had a flower name. Daisy, or something.’

‘Hermione isn’t my girlfriend,’ Draco said instantly. ‘My girlfriend’s name is Pansy.’

His father forbore saying anything, although his trembling lip gave him away. Draco let the tension build for a moment, then turned away to snort with laughter.

‘Yeah, I’ll definitely have to break up with her now,’ he said.

Hermione sat on Blaise’s incongruously heart-covered bedspread and submitted to her ministrations with two scaldingly hot plates of metal.

‘Do you think you could afford one of these?’ Blaise asked her, scooping up a lock of hair with a comb and sweeping the straightener down it in a puff of steam.

‘Oh, I already have one,’ Hermione said vaguely.

‘You what? And you never used it?’

‘My aunt gave it to me, but I burnt my ear the first time I tried to use it. It didn’t seem worth the hassle. Or the pain.’

Blaise shook her head in disbelief. ‘I hope you’re watching and learning now. I expect you to start using yours now, at least once a month anyway. If just to get value out of it.’

‘I will,’ Hermione promised. ‘I just had no idea what to do with it. I do now.’ She crossed her fingers where Blaise couldn’t see them. It didn’t actually look like rocket science, as long as she kept it away from her ears, that is.

Blaise stood back, surveying her minutely. Darting forward to flatten a stray lock, she announced. ‘All done!’

Hermione stood up to look in Blaise’s vanity mirror. Her own face stared back, surrounded by long, fluttery wisps of pale brown hair. Her head seemed to have halved in size.

‘I’m amazed,’ she admitted. ‘It looks totally different.’


‘Definitely!’ Hermione laughed. ‘It no longer looks as if I’m growing out dreadlocks, which can only be a good thing. Isn’t it amazing – before, I never used any heat or chemicals on it, and it looked like as dry and frizzy as a woolly sock in a dryer. Now, after loading it with products and applying scandalous amounts of heat to it, it looks shiny and healthy. The world is so twisted.’

Blaise went to unplug the straightener with a satisfied grin. Hermione flopped down onto her desk chair, and propped up her chin on the chair back.

‘You never told me who it is you like,’ she said, her voice oddly distorted by the pressure under her throat.

‘Oh, I was hoping you’d forget that,’ Blaise said, wincing slightly.

‘Why? Don’t you trust me?’ Hermione felt a little hurt. ‘And after all the crap I told you about Black, too!’

‘It’s not that!’ Blaise hastened to say. ‘It’s just that I feel a bit stupid over it.’

‘You’re talking to the girl, who just realised today that she fancies the winner of Prick of the Year Award, three hundred thousandth time running,’ Hermione pointed out, rolling her eyes. ‘I couldn’t bat an eyelash if you announced your total devotion to – to – Alan Rickman.’

‘He has a quite sexy voice,’ Blaise said thoughtfully.

‘Eww!’ Hermione made a disgusted face. ‘And stop trying to change the subject. I’m onto you, missus.’

‘Fine!’ Blaise snapped, then, in an almost-whisper: ‘Harry Potter.’

Hermione frowned, trying to place him. ‘Oh – the weedy guy with the specs and clothes that are too big for him?’

‘Yes.’ Blaise held her breath.

‘Better him than his loser mate, anyway,’ Hermione shrugged, and Blaise smiled happily. ‘I suppose he’s not too bad, if you go for the quiet, soulful types, which I don’t. And he’s quite good at History, too.’

‘What higher praise can there be than that?’ Blaise teased. ‘Better than Black?’

‘How would I know?’ Hermione asked, with some asperity. ‘Any work he does is copied straight off of mine. On the basis of that, though, he’s heading for an A, no doubt about it.’

Blaise made a disparaging noise at the back of her throat. ‘You never liked him on the basis of his grades, you know that. More on his – um – icy good looks?’

‘You mean the albino rabbit thing he has going?’ Hermione said innocently. ‘Yeah, stunning......’

‘Come off it, I bet you think he’s gorgeous,’ Blaise baited.

‘Fine, yes, whatever.’

‘He is the stud of the school, you know.’

‘And that is supposed to make me feel better how?’

‘‘S not.’


They sat in silence for some moments, pleasurably contemplating their individual crushes. Finally, Hermione roused herself out of her near-stupor.

‘It’s getting late. I’d better go,’ she said reluctantly.

‘I’ll get Mum to drive you,’ Blaise offered. ‘These streets aren’t safe at night.’

‘Or at any time,’ Hermione added cynically.

‘C’mon then – Mrs Black.’

‘Piss off, Mrs Potter.’


Lupin sat, dull-eyed and tousle-haired, at the small faux-marble table in Sirius’ flat.

‘Won’t your boyfriend mind that I’m here?’ he asked dimly.

Sirius plonked a large blue mug full of tea in front of his friend, slopping it as he did so. Lupin began to mop it up distractedly with his unravelling sleeve.

‘Lucius is out for the day with his son,’ said Sirius grimly. ‘I’ll make him not mind.’

‘Son?’ Lupin asked, trying to figure out, through the wooziness that was his brain, why this sounded so wrong, but failing to do so.

‘Yes.’ Sirius looked at him with a furrowed brow. ‘Drink your tea.’

Automatically, Lupin lifted the mug and sipped, thinking back to that morning, when things had seemed so bright and hopeful.

Minerva McGonagall had approached him, urging him to meet with the prodigally-returned headmaster, whom Lupin had not seen since the first week of September term. Lupin, for his part, found Dumbledore to be drastically changed. No longer a tired, withered old man, he now seemed to crackle with vitality. And he had taken on board nearly all of Lupin’s ideas, even some of the ones that he himself admitted were a little outrageous – a new gym and swimming pool complex, for example.

‘We’ll try and find a way to raise the money,’ Dumbledore had said, in a low voice that didn’t conceal his excitement. ‘It could take years, but we’ll get there in the end.’

And Minerva had offered him her place as vice-principal – ‘In theory only, for now, for the formalities would take too long. But consider yourself deputy head in all but name.’

And he’d been amazed, and excited, and fizzing, and at the back of his mind he remembered Severus, and his fumbling, beautiful smiles and the way words seemed to spill out of his mouth without bothering to check with his brain first.......And the thought was always there, unvoiced but present, that here, here was what he had been looking for, what he had thought he’d found in Sirius and a dozen others, but had been, all along, inside of this man – this man who was straight after all.

His anguished musings were cut short but the turning of a key in the latch. He registered the way Sirius’ face lit up, like a lightbulb had been turned on inside of his head – there was only one person he could have been expecting who had that effect on him. Lupin felt pathetically jealous.

‘You’re home!’ Sirius had half risen out of his chair, and was smiling his wide smile in typical Sirius enthusiasm. ‘How did it go? Did you tell him?’

‘Yes, I did.’ The voice, despite its obvious inner-city accent, was nonetheless mellifluous and smooth, like warm honey. ‘And he was amazingly fine about it.’

As he spoke, a tall, willowy man with a long, handsome face and straight blonde hair falling into his eyes was hanging up a long leather trench coat in the hall cupboard. As he turned to face them, Lupin let out a mirthless giggle.

‘Black!’ he exclaimed, for the resemblance was startling, uncanny. He looked at Sirius. ‘And Black!’ He dissolved into snorting giggles that were half-sobs, and gently, his head fell forward into his cradled arms.

‘Who’s this?’ Lucius said distrustfully.

‘Oh, just an old mate, Lupin,’ Sirius said hurriedly. His explanation made Lucius narrow his eyes angrily.

‘And what is he doing here?’ he asked in a dangerous hiss.

‘Come into the kitchen,’ Sirius said in an undertone, giving the shaking, head buried Lupin a scandalised look. Lucius shoved his way in first, and when Sirius, bemused and hurt, closed the door behind him, Lucius was pressed up against the cabinets, arms tightly folded so that he was almost hugging himself, his face shuttered. It reminded Sirius so evocatively of the first time they’d met – and kissed. Lucius had given him looks of hungry longing all during one of his mother’s outrageously lavish dinner parties. When Sirius had finally confronted him, in a kitchen that was quite a bit larger than this one – although Sirius hadn’t paid attention to the furnishings then, and wasn’t now – he had adopted the self-same, defensive stance. Then, as now, Sirius had wanted to simply take him in a rough embrace and kiss away the troubled, scared expression. But now was now, and certainly more complicated, with the history of a relationship to defend and uphold.

‘What’s up, Lucius?’ he asked, putting his head to one side.

‘You have to ask that?’ Lucius responded tightly. ‘When your old lover is sitting at the kitchen table, and you’ve been doing god knows what while I’ve been breaking the news of our relationship to my son, like I promised you years ago I would?’

‘And I knew you’d do that for me,’ Sirius said, battling to keep his voice even. ‘And I can understand if you’re jealous. But Lupin’s an old mate, and when the man he’s fallen in love with accepts the offer of a date from a young, nubile girl, I feel a bit obligated to him to cheer him up as best I can.’

‘So you’re not – you didn’t – ‘ Lucius asked, unwilling to betray the extent of his lack of confidence.

‘Lord knows, its a good thing I’m not a rabidly jealous person,’ Sirius sighed. ‘One of those is quite enough in a relationship.’

Lucius allowed himself a small smile, quivery and uncertain though it was.

‘Come here, you daft loo,’ Sirius said, shaking his head. ‘After that, I’m not coming to you!’

Lucius crossed the small room with giant strides and buried himself in Sirius’ arms, despite being a good deal taller than him.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered into Sirius’ tee-shirted shoulder.

‘Shut up and kiss me,’ Sirius demanded, and Lucius happily obliged.

After several pleasurable moments, Sirius reluctantly broke away. ‘Lupin,’ he reminded him gently.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Lucius said, absent-mindedly rubbing his mouth with one hand. He always did it after they kissed, and after all this time Sirius found it endearing as opposed to irritating. ‘Would this betrayer be a teacher by the name of Snape?’

‘Yes, how did you know?’ Sirius asked in amazement.

‘My son goes to school there,’ Lucius said.

‘Your son...’ Sirius mused. ‘Tall, good looking fella with an eyebrow piercing? Lupin said he was a Black. Thought he had to be either one of Andy’s or Cissy’s – Bella, thank God, has never reproduced.’

‘Well, yes. He mentioned he saw you there.’

‘Now I come to think of it, he reminded me terribly of someone.’

‘It couldn’t have been me, could it?’ Lucius asked dryly.

‘Oops,’ said Sirius, abashed. ‘Yes.’

‘Come on, lover.’ Lucius threaded his arm through Sirius’. ‘If you and I – together with the help of my son, the self-proclaimed ‘expert in these things’, can’t get them together, nobody can.’

‘You’re being very helpful all of a sudden,’ Sirius accused.

‘But of course. I have an ulterior motive.’ He dropped a kiss on Sirius’ mouth as they opened the door together. ‘I want him to be blissfully, utterly happy, so that he will never think of looking in your direction ever again.’

‘Even if he did,’ Sirius assured him. ‘I wouldn’t look back. Well, not for long, anyway. Hey, ow, what was that for?’


Lucius had taken his son for large, fat-dripping chips at a greasy caf before seeing him home. Most of the time was spent reassuring Draco that first of all, it was true, on February eighteenth he would become a millionaire several times over, and no, there was no catch and Lucius was perfectly willing to sign it all to him. Lucius tactfully didn’t mention Sirius’ initial reaction to his lover’s plan to hand over the entire fortune to his son, which had been one of nasty shock and disbelief. Sirius had eventually come round, especially when he realised that it was Lucius’ way of severing all ties to the past, but Lucius was pretty certain that his son’s suspicious mind wouldn’t see it that way.

They parted at the front gate of Narcissa’s luxurious semi-d, Lucius still too wary of his ex-wife to venture inside, at least not yet. Draco made him promise that he would, though, someday soon.

By the time Draco turned his key in the lock, Lucius had disappeared into the lengthening shadows.

‘Mum, I’m home,’ he called.

There was silence for a moment, then Narcissa stormed into the hall, tinted blonde hair flying. Draco quailed at the look on her face.

‘And just where do you think you’ve been all day?’ she shrieked. ‘I got a call at eleven o’clock from the school, saying you were missing and no one knew if you were sick, or dead, and if you’ve been doing drugs – ‘ she broke off suddenly and burst into loud, racketing sobs.

Draco stared at her in amazement and a little guilt. His surprise was not occasioned by her overkill reaction – Narcissa had always been overly given to dramatics, something he’d inherited it from her – but at the school’s concern.

‘Did you say the school rang you?’ he asked, frowning. ‘Jesus, and here I was thinking they didn’t even know my name.’

A small, dry cough announced the presence of another person in the room. Draco whirled around to find Binns, the history teacher, of all people, standing behind his mother and clearly having followed her out of the kitchen.

‘In that you are, in fact, correct,’ he said mildly in his paper-rustling voice. ‘We don’t know your given name, that is. But D. Black has a phone number in our files.’

‘What?’ Draco stared at him, mouth hanging open. ‘Why are you here – in my house? With my mother? Oh, God, my poor innocent mind!’

‘Oh, get out of the gutter, Draco,’ his mother snapped, ceasing the flow of water from her eyes as quickly as she’d started it.

Draco gasped, even more affronted. ‘You – you used my name! In front of someone from school! Omigod, mother, what are you trying to do, ruin my life?’

‘Of course,’ Narcissa said, sneering. ‘Mother’s prerogative.’

‘As a matter of fact, she already told me your name,’ Binns interjected.

‘Oh, she has, has she?’ Draco snarled. ‘Been having a nice cosy little chat with her, have you? Trying to weasel your way in because she’s divorced and lonely!’

‘Draco!’ his mother exclaimed, in her I’m-taking-control voice, a little marred by the snicker she could not suppress at his words. ‘That’s quite enough. I want you to come into the kitchen, sit down and we’ll sort this out. And I am not lonely!’ she added in a hiss as Binns ambled away.

‘Snh.’ Draco felt he could have said a lot more, but if she’d revealed his real name to Binns just for skiving, Lord knows what she’d do if he refused to obey her now and kept making naughty allusions about her love life (or lack thereof).

Draco slumped into a chair with bad grace and stuffed a chocolate biscuit into his mouth. Staring at Binns defiantly, he began chewing loudly, spewing crumbs everywhere. Binns just raised a hairy eyebrow and gave him an enigmatic half-smile, which only served to infuriate him further. Where was he going without a bell on his bike, making that awful rictus at Draco?

‘What happened, Draco, is that you were missing from your history class,’ his mother was saying in reasonable tones, while flitting around making tea and generally acting the perfect housewife (the perfect mother cover had been blown, obviously, by her son’s delinquent activities). ‘Joe – I mean Mr Binns – informed the headmaster, and also told him that he’d never known you to miss a day of school.’

‘That’s not true,’ Draco objected, pouting like a spoiled baby. The ring of crumbs surrounding his mouth only enhanced the effect. Binns tightened his lips to keep from smiling again. ‘I missed one day last year, for the dentist.’

‘Exactly,’ said Binns, taking his cue. ‘And you brought a note that time. So for you to miss a day, without your mother ringing up, as she usually does, to say that you were ill or something, was out of character and was, despite what you may think, a cause for concern. Your record in that sense is impeccable.’

‘It is?’ Draco curled his lip in disgust. ‘God, I’ll have to do something about that. Knowledge like that could utterly destroy my rep.’


‘So I rang your mother to confirm,’ Binns continued, unperturbed. ‘And she thought you were in school.’

‘Fair enough,’ Draco said. ‘And you ended up here how exactly? A frantic fear for my safety drove you on, perhaps?’

‘Your mother’s frantic fear for your safety, actually,’ Binns said, his face blank.

‘I was with Dad,’ Draco sighed. ‘He was at the kitchen table when I came down for breakfast, and he sort of convinced me to skip school to talk with him.’

‘Well, he does have a key,’ Narcissa conceded. ‘Well, I’d like to say I’m relieved, but this is Lucius, after all. What did he want to speak with you about?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ Draco said carelessly, while inside he was revelling. Now was his chance to break Binns’ damnably calm facade. ‘He wanted to recount his childhood for me, as the son of the head of this huge drugs ring. Then he told me a few other little things, like, he’s gay, and going out with Sirius, you know Binns, the guy who repaired the vending machine?’ Binns raised his eyebrows again, but said nothing. Frustrated, Draco added, in a drawl, ‘He also happens to be Mum’s cousin. Still, nothing like keeping it in the family, hey?’

‘That is truly fascinating,’ Binns said, without a hint of sarcasm. Draco growled at him and turned to look at his mother.

‘So he didn’t try to get you to – take anything, then? Drugs?’ she said fearfully.

‘Not at all. I got the impression that he’s turned his back on all that, for lurve,’ Draco scoffed. After all, to the very young the idea of such very old people doing something as interesting as falling in love is totally farcical. ‘But he did insist I take the family fortune on my eighteenth, which is pretty bloody decent, whaddyasay?’

‘Don’t swear, Draco,’ his mother frowned.

‘I really think you didn’t show up too well in the whole thing, though,’ Draco added, reaching for another biscuit.

‘Oh, I know,’ Narcissa sighed guiltily. ‘I really shouldn’t have blabbed the secret to everyone, but I was just so hurt – ‘

‘Not that.’ Draco cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hands, sending chocolate-coated crumbs flying in every direction. ‘It was scandalous that you let him get away with naming me Draco, even if he is gay!’


Well, I'm going to try and get some other stuff up while I wait for this to upload on other sites...so yes, there will be slash...henbock can pretend to beta it. coralia13, if I promised there was hardly any slashy references in the first two parts of Snakes and Ladders, would you read it. Lyke, totally no pressure.


Current Mood: depresseddepressed
Current Music: 'Hallelujah', Leonard Cohen
Caitcoralia13 on November 11th, 2004 06:54 pm (UTC)
This is really good! Even if I did have to sit with my fists clenched on either side of my head, rocking back and forth, while Sirius and Malfoy were (shudder) kissing . Ullgthh. Keep up the good work! Can't wait to read more!
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 12th, 2004 11:33 am (UTC)
Hehehehee! Good image! I have to say, I don't feel any regret - getting over things that repulse you is all to the good, it makes you stronger. (And one day I swear I will be okay with boys who have longer fingernails than I do. One day.)

Caitcoralia13 on November 11th, 2004 06:55 pm (UTC)
P.S. Sorry you're having such a bad day(s). That is never any fun. Hugs from America!
every Starbucks should have a polar bearscoradh on November 12th, 2004 11:34 am (UTC)
Ah, things is lookin' up. You go up, you go down, and shit happens. Thanks, though! :)