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amfiguree[Gen] [Harry Potter] [Draco Malfoy] [NC-17 for dark themes]
Iniquity
Draco found good people amusing. He really did.
The way they loved assuming the best of people.
The way they were so forgiving.
The way they were just so *gullible*.
He stifled a laugh at the thought of Potter's grief-stricken face, Dumbledore's one of fury, and the pity of Weasley's. 'How ironic,' he thought, 'that I should receive the pity of a Weasley!'
Then he could hear Madam Pomfrey's voice in his head, cooing, "Poor boy! The poor, darling boy!"
He recalled the many handshakes and comforting words he had received from everyone - teachers and students alike. 'His father's death must be hitting him hard,' Draco sneered to himself, shaking his head.
The funeral had gone well. Even Dumbledore had offered him a foster home, but Draco, brave, darling Draco, he would not accept the kind offer.
Poor Draco. So brave, and so lost. Bruised and beaten, half-bleeding to death, presumably a subject of abuse by his father, but still crying by the man's side, as Lucius lay motionless on the ground.
Killed by a deadly, forbidden curse. The Avada Kedavra curse.
Everyone was convinced that the dark lord, Voldemort, had returned.
How lucky that Draco had escaped alive at all! Badly hurt, yes, but breathing nonetheless.
Draco could hear Madam Pomfrey in his head again, tut-tutting away in the hospital wing, and grinned sadistically when he replayed her gasp at the sight of his hideous wounds.
And from then on, he was a hero! People were convinced he had escaped Voldemort's clutches!
Draco chuckled and settled back comfortably on his chair. "Harry who?"
He allowed himself a moment of silence, before sighing, "Ah, yes. Poor, dear Draco. Survived an attack by Voldemort, when his own father was killed. Abused brutally, but still so sweet and strong."
His smile grew malicious.
Who would suspect the bruises were self-inflicted, and all the scratches were results of the struggles Lucius had put up as he tried to scramble away from his son? Who would suspect that Draco had perfected the forbidden curses two years into his stay at Hogwarts? Who would suspect a son of murdering his own father? Who would suspect a *hero*?
Draco laughed.
Good people really amused him.
-fin-
Iniquity
Draco found good people amusing. He really did.
The way they loved assuming the best of people.
The way they were so forgiving.
The way they were just so *gullible*.
He stifled a laugh at the thought of Potter's grief-stricken face, Dumbledore's one of fury, and the pity of Weasley's. 'How ironic,' he thought, 'that I should receive the pity of a Weasley!'
Then he could hear Madam Pomfrey's voice in his head, cooing, "Poor boy! The poor, darling boy!"
He recalled the many handshakes and comforting words he had received from everyone - teachers and students alike. 'His father's death must be hitting him hard,' Draco sneered to himself, shaking his head.
The funeral had gone well. Even Dumbledore had offered him a foster home, but Draco, brave, darling Draco, he would not accept the kind offer.
Poor Draco. So brave, and so lost. Bruised and beaten, half-bleeding to death, presumably a subject of abuse by his father, but still crying by the man's side, as Lucius lay motionless on the ground.
Killed by a deadly, forbidden curse. The Avada Kedavra curse.
Everyone was convinced that the dark lord, Voldemort, had returned.
How lucky that Draco had escaped alive at all! Badly hurt, yes, but breathing nonetheless.
Draco could hear Madam Pomfrey in his head again, tut-tutting away in the hospital wing, and grinned sadistically when he replayed her gasp at the sight of his hideous wounds.
And from then on, he was a hero! People were convinced he had escaped Voldemort's clutches!
Draco chuckled and settled back comfortably on his chair. "Harry who?"
He allowed himself a moment of silence, before sighing, "Ah, yes. Poor, dear Draco. Survived an attack by Voldemort, when his own father was killed. Abused brutally, but still so sweet and strong."
His smile grew malicious.
Who would suspect the bruises were self-inflicted, and all the scratches were results of the struggles Lucius had put up as he tried to scramble away from his son? Who would suspect that Draco had perfected the forbidden curses two years into his stay at Hogwarts? Who would suspect a son of murdering his own father? Who would suspect a *hero*?
Draco laughed.
Good people really amused him.
-fin-
