Warning: I have rated the story a PG-13 because of an implied Harry/Draco slash pairing. So please avoid this fic if you do not like the idea of a same sex romantic pairing.
Title: The Seasons
Author: Penelope-Z
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just a humble dog not even worthy of dusting her shoes.
A/N: Even though nothing bad happens in this fic, Draco's mind is a strange maze so don't expect anything too fluffy or cheerful.
Thanks to Illuferret for beta-reading this!
The Seasons
Still snoring, sleepy head?
It's morning, early summer morning. I never liked the summer, you know.
The Malfoy Manor was cool and deathly silent in the summer; the ancient stone absorbed the heat and noise, creating the illusion that nothing existed beyond those walls. Days going by so slowly, the old clock at the hallway taking its time, the hands moving lazily from a tick to a tock.
Mother's mascara kept melting, dark stains on her cheeks. But she still held her back straight and her elbows glued to her sides during dinner. Father was irritable, the Deatheater mark was itching him, its faint scent of blood and sweat attracted the summer flies.
It's the house-elves mating season, they grew like bunnies everywhere. The kitchens, the corridors, the whole Manor was flooded with little helping hands and soft pleading voices. I always strangled a couple of them every summer, out of boredom, annoyance, despair. No one ever noticed the difference. Weak, expendable, bug-eyed creatures.
Lethargy. Even the Dark Lord slept. I could sometimes imagine Wormtail, oiling himself clumsily with coconut sun lotion at some distant shore. In the Manor garden the sun beams melted my ice-cream, licking fingers sticky with strawberry syrup. My skin never tans, I'm a snow-man in the summer heat.
The winter is different, when the frost bites through your skin. The days are short and hurried and the darkness rises earlier every time, eating the pale light away. Tufts of snow adorning the skeletal branches of the trees at the Forbidden Forest. Hogwarts. And you.
Did you know I used to come every night outside the Gryffindor Tower? Gryffindor I used to scream at the portrait, Lions, Red, Courage, Pride, Mudbloods, Potter, Harry, Harry, Harry. Never got the right password.
An owl from father every winter morning, and cakes at the weekend, sugar icing and shriveled cherries. But would he still love me if my eyes weren't as grey as his? If my hair was darker?
Your faded jeans were stained with mud around the ankles at winter and you used to wear the silliest pullovers that Weasley's mother knitted for you, green or red or brown. Only your fingertips peeped out, the sleeves were always too long and you often dipped them in your Potions cauldron accidentally.
Potions were nice, slicing open Banshee's eyes, skinning Grindylows properly. The skin comes off the flesh more easily if they are still alive, you just had to muffle their screams with a silencing spell when Snape wasn't watching. I stole a dragon tooth during the first Potions class every year and kept it in my pocket till I got a new one the next. My very own good-luck charm.
Remember the Quaffle? Remember the Bludgers? Remember the Snitch? Remember the time I almost strangled you after Slytherin lost the Quidditch final? There were bits of your skin stuck under my fingernails afterwards. I peeled them off and ate them.
When Professor Binns was mumbling endlessly about Troll Wars to the dazed classroom I used to point my wand at you, hidden under my robes and whisper the Aveda Kedavra. Countless times. I never told you that before and I'm only doing it now cause you can't hear.
It wasn't just about envy you know, it wasn't just about possession.
It wasn't just desire.
Only you were magic Harry, the rest were all cheap tricks.
I never liked the summer you know, cause I couldn't see you. But now you're mine and there are no more seasons.
Wake up you lazy bum, the sun has risen above. Hedwig is rapping on the window. If you get the morning post, I'll make the bed.
Coffee Harry? Tea? Blood?
Wake up.
The end
Title: The Seasons
Author: Penelope-Z
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just a humble dog not even worthy of dusting her shoes.
A/N: Even though nothing bad happens in this fic, Draco's mind is a strange maze so don't expect anything too fluffy or cheerful.
Thanks to Illuferret for beta-reading this!
The Seasons
Still snoring, sleepy head?
It's morning, early summer morning. I never liked the summer, you know.
The Malfoy Manor was cool and deathly silent in the summer; the ancient stone absorbed the heat and noise, creating the illusion that nothing existed beyond those walls. Days going by so slowly, the old clock at the hallway taking its time, the hands moving lazily from a tick to a tock.
Mother's mascara kept melting, dark stains on her cheeks. But she still held her back straight and her elbows glued to her sides during dinner. Father was irritable, the Deatheater mark was itching him, its faint scent of blood and sweat attracted the summer flies.
It's the house-elves mating season, they grew like bunnies everywhere. The kitchens, the corridors, the whole Manor was flooded with little helping hands and soft pleading voices. I always strangled a couple of them every summer, out of boredom, annoyance, despair. No one ever noticed the difference. Weak, expendable, bug-eyed creatures.
Lethargy. Even the Dark Lord slept. I could sometimes imagine Wormtail, oiling himself clumsily with coconut sun lotion at some distant shore. In the Manor garden the sun beams melted my ice-cream, licking fingers sticky with strawberry syrup. My skin never tans, I'm a snow-man in the summer heat.
The winter is different, when the frost bites through your skin. The days are short and hurried and the darkness rises earlier every time, eating the pale light away. Tufts of snow adorning the skeletal branches of the trees at the Forbidden Forest. Hogwarts. And you.
Did you know I used to come every night outside the Gryffindor Tower? Gryffindor I used to scream at the portrait, Lions, Red, Courage, Pride, Mudbloods, Potter, Harry, Harry, Harry. Never got the right password.
An owl from father every winter morning, and cakes at the weekend, sugar icing and shriveled cherries. But would he still love me if my eyes weren't as grey as his? If my hair was darker?
Your faded jeans were stained with mud around the ankles at winter and you used to wear the silliest pullovers that Weasley's mother knitted for you, green or red or brown. Only your fingertips peeped out, the sleeves were always too long and you often dipped them in your Potions cauldron accidentally.
Potions were nice, slicing open Banshee's eyes, skinning Grindylows properly. The skin comes off the flesh more easily if they are still alive, you just had to muffle their screams with a silencing spell when Snape wasn't watching. I stole a dragon tooth during the first Potions class every year and kept it in my pocket till I got a new one the next. My very own good-luck charm.
Remember the Quaffle? Remember the Bludgers? Remember the Snitch? Remember the time I almost strangled you after Slytherin lost the Quidditch final? There were bits of your skin stuck under my fingernails afterwards. I peeled them off and ate them.
When Professor Binns was mumbling endlessly about Troll Wars to the dazed classroom I used to point my wand at you, hidden under my robes and whisper the Aveda Kedavra. Countless times. I never told you that before and I'm only doing it now cause you can't hear.
It wasn't just about envy you know, it wasn't just about possession.
It wasn't just desire.
Only you were magic Harry, the rest were all cheap tricks.
I never liked the summer you know, cause I couldn't see you. But now you're mine and there are no more seasons.
Wake up you lazy bum, the sun has risen above. Hedwig is rapping on the window. If you get the morning post, I'll make the bed.
Coffee Harry? Tea? Blood?
Wake up.
The end