A/N:
I think it ends too fast, but I had to do it. I like the ending anyway,
so whatever… This
song was perfect
to start from where I left off and wrap it up… I just got it, and
realized how
great it was
for this. ^_^ Might put it in Runaway too.
This chapter’s
less funny than the other ones, it actually has more plot than angst (!).
My
Sundown
by
Jiwwy
Chapter
3
Disarm
“Draco?”
I
roll over on the cool cement wall to face the voice. It’s March, but it’s
still so, so cold.
I
always asked her why we had to meet outside, but the answer was obvious.
Muggle-born
know-it-all
Gryffindor… Pureblood elitist Slytherin. Hmm!
It’s
her. She looks like a goddess, her winter-pale face broken by dark tendrils
of
mahogany
and blood red lips, parted gently to let out the visible wisps of air she
breathed.
She
smiled and came closer to me.
I
tried to wrap my arms around her, to warm her over her trench coat, but
my arms won’t
work.
They just… won’t… work. She puts a scarlet-gloved hand to my stiff arms
and stares
up
at me, trying to read my proven unreadable expression. “Draco, are you
alright?” she
whispered,
her face full of genuine concern.
I
smiled, a very fragile smile, and I know she can tell I’m faking, but wouldn’t
she have
known
by now every action-- and lack thereof-- of the last week was forced?
Disarm you
with a smile
And cut
you like you want me to
Cut that
little child
Inside
of me and such a part of you
Ooh, the
years burn
Ooh, the
years burn
She
gulps. Yes… yes, she’s noticed. “Draco, something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
I
finally wrap my right arm around her back and touch her face with my left,
studying her in
return.
How could she understand how it is?
“It’s
Dad.”
Hermione’s
eyebrow twitches downwards. “Draco… he hasn’t found out about us… has he?”
“No…
it’s just…” My hand involuntarily clenches the waist of her robes, and
I can’t look in
her
face. “The Death Eaters, Hermione. It’s a given that I’ll be one of them.
I didn’t know it
would
be so soon.”
An
audible gasp. “No…” her voice is shaky, and I think I feel her shiver
in my arms.
“Mione,
there isn’t shit I can do. My opinion here means nothing. It’s… my
future.”
“No.”
She says again, more firmly. “No, no, no. I’m not having that happen to
you.”
She’s
so sure of herself. I don’t know whether to smile down at her will, or
slap her to see if
she’ll
get some sense knocked into her. She just stands there, chin jutted defiantly
as if I was
my
father and she was reprimanding him on this at this moment. “I’m not having
this shit, Draco,
we’re
going to Dumbledore.”
She
cussed. Wow. Hermione never cusses. I’ve taught her well.
“Hermione,
you have even less say in this than I ever will. If we go to Dumbledore,
they’ll kill
my
father and then the Death Eaters will kill me, probably you too, come to
think of it.” I tried
to
say this in a conversational tone. She shouldn’t know how much this hurts
me; it will only
make
it harder on her and that’s the thing in the world I want least.
“And
if you go with the Death Eaters, Aurors will kill you. If I don’t first.”
She also states this
quite
simply. I glare down at her for stealing my techniques. She glares back
up. “I will, don’t
even
think I won’t.”
~~~
I used to
be a little boy
So old
in my shoes
And what
I choose is my choice
What's
a boy supposed to do?
The killer
in me is the killer in you
My love
I send
this smile over to you
Two
months.
In
two months we’d be out of school, and then I’d be in the Dark Lord’s inner
circle.
Why,
god, why couldn’t my father just have been a freaking broomstick vendor?
I remember…
Don’t
ask how I can remember this, I was only one, but I can, and the memory
is crisply imprinted
on
me… back when I was micro-Draco, my first memory was father crying as he
read the Daily
Prophet.
I swear, Lucius Malfoy was actually crying. The article was “The Boy Who
Lived…” He
got
over his sadness quickly.
…I
just remember him seeing me watching him in the doorway of his library
and running to me.
He
picked me up by the scruff of my little neck and lifted me six feet in
the air. Don’t be mistaken;
this
wasn’t any muggle father, playing ‘aeroplane’ or whatever with his son.
“Draco.
You must avenge your master. At any cost, when you grow up, boy, you will
avenge…
your...
master.”
I
started to cry, and he was about to put me down, but at three feet in the
air he decided it was too
far
to stoop the rest of the way so he just dropped me. He stepped right over
his crying child and
went
to talk to MacNair. A house elf scampered to me and helped me after a few
minutes.
That
was the longest conversation my father and I had for a year or so…
Now,
however, I was fifteen, sixteen this summer. Maybe… was Hermione right?
Could she
possibly
be? I look up at the staff table. There’s Dumbledore, in his usual breakfast
spot. His
eyes
are turned to the Gryffindor table. He smiles wide and holds his glass
out. I follow the
direction
of it and see Harry Potter in that direction. Harry has his cup out and
seems to be
making
a toast with Dumbledore.
Hermione
is sitting next to Harry, she’s laughing. The light from the stained glass
windows lights
up
her face, and she looks gorgeous.
A
Death Eater doesn’t deserve her.
I
don’t deserve her…
A
red head high above the others at the table is bobbing up and down, apparently
laughing. Ron
Weasley
takes Hermione’s hand, and she lets her hand stay under his for a while.
I glare, willing
him
Patented Draco Malfoy Psychic Venom, and he actually senses me and turns,
and I can see
his
knuckles go white from holding Hermione’s hand too hard. He turns and glares
at me angrily.
I
might cry, if it were possible for me to.
Hermione
stops laughing as she watches him turn, and then she snaps her hand away
from his.
Across
two tables I can hear her yell at him. She turns to me and gives me a pleading
look, and
I
feel so sad, but I force a smile, despite all my fond memories of
my past. She then beams,
taking
my look totally the wrong way, and I want to melt, half from the force
of her love and
half
from the force of my contradictions.
Disarm you
with a smile
And leave
you like they left me here
To wither
in denial
The bitterness
of one who's left alone
Ooh, the
years burn
Ooh, the
years burn, burn, burn
Clack,
clack, clack, clack. My footsteps seem unearthly, like soft background
music in the
tirade
of burning thoughts in my head.
Go
back Draco, just go back and be whom you’re supposed to.
Go
on Draco, go and be who she wants you to be… who you want to be.
Who
I want to be…
I
looked around to make sure this was the right place, and once I was sure,
I sat down in front
of
the gargoyle, and I wait for Dumbledore.
I
think I fell asleep, after about forty-five minutes… of just sitting there.
My bum was so sore
and
my back felt like if I ever moved it again it would snap into two tidy
pieces. The whole time
I
waited I was troubled by my father’s words, his letters from home describing
my future, telling
me
what I would be, how I’d be it, and all the other things I would never
let him control.
Most
precisely… what Hermione wouldn’t let him control.
Dumbledore
finally appeared. He let me in his office and we talked. I think we had
only been
talking
for a short time, but it must have been at least two weeks we sat
in there. He was
respectful,
and listened to everything I had to say, and never interrupted, and when
I was finished,
he
told me what could be done. I could go into hiding, or I could be a spy,
like Severus had.
I’ll
be going home on the train at the end of the term. After the initiation
ceremony, Severus and
I
will pass the information of the next Death Eater raid to Dumbledore…
I
will die at the raid.
…After
I “die,” I shall be spending the next two summers with Albus, being schooled
in private
in
Hogsmeade until I graduate, unless something better can be worked out.
He will let me visit
Hermione
when I want, under disguise of course.
I
couldn’t think of a happier way to spend the next two years, of course.
And at the end of school,
who
knows what will become of me. Dumbledore says whatever I choose to do,
lay low.
I
suppose being a muggle movie star with Hermione at my side wouldn’t be
the worst job ever…
It
isn’t like I don’t have my experience in acting, of course…
I used to
be a little boy
So old
in my shoes
And what
I choose is my voice
What's
a boy supposed to do?
The killer
in me is the killer in you
My love
I send
this smile over to you
~~~
Later, that
July
~~~
“Hermione.”
She’s
sitting in Dumbledore’s living room as I enter it for the first time. He
has a castle too, but
it’s
so unlike the Malfoy Mansion. It actually feels… warm. I can tell already
he’s the type that
goes
for quality rather than quantity.
It
hasn’t really been long since I’ve last seen her, not at all… My sense
of time is messed up, but
I
can’t imagine it’s been more than a month since she ran past me in the
train station with only the
briefest
pause, when she clasped my hand and gave me… a bouquet. Acacia, azalea,
lavender
and
white heather, and oleander. All surrounded by palm leaves and ferns. All
miniature. She’d
used
a shrinking charm to get them to me discreetly.
They
still haven’t wilted, and they’re in my suitcase at this moment.
She
looks up from a photo album, and smiles broadly.
I
smile back. This is what my life has led up to.
Then
I remember. I got her a flower, too, on my way from the Ministry.
I
hold out the bouquet of roses, and out of the top of them peeks a spider
flower. She stares at
the
spider flower for a while, then laughs and smiles up at me. It’s a give-me-a-break
smile, but
she
takes the spider flower and holds it tightly in her hand while we talk.
The killer
in me is the killer in you
Send this
smile over to you
The killer
in me is the killer in you
Send this
smile over to you
The killer
in me is the killer in you
Send this
smile over to you
Fin
Disarm’s by
the Smashing Pumpkins. Awesome song, really powerful, really cool… not
much
else to say,
except DOWNLOAD IT NOW! *grins sweetly*
Oh yeah, and
Hermione’s flowers mean:
Acacia- Concealed
love
Azalea- Take
care of yourself for me
Lavendar Heather-
Admiration and solitude
White heather-
Protection, fulfillment of wishes
Oleander-
caution
Palm leaves-
victory
Fern- Magic,
shelter, confidence
Draco’s bouquet
of roses means gratitude. *grin* I’m leaving it to you to find out what
the
spider flower
means.
Back
to Chapter 2
Back
to Index
Back
to Fanfiction by Title
Back
to Fanfiction by Author