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Hi, my name is Toni
[HPFF]
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 | One Shot - That Cruel Mistress |
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 5 with 6 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-09-07 19:24:00 |
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A/N: One shot but could possibly become a prologue to a HPFF.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone mentioned. I simply play with them (: I don't own the lyrics either.
Pairing: Eventually Harry/Draco (:
Enjoy.
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0
Destiny: it was such a funny concept. It seemed so solid and yet so fluidly it could change, shift and meld such a different concept. For many a long hour two very different and yet every similar boys had pondered the same thing in the dark of their silent dorms in their stiflingly warm beds, gazing at the identical moons on the very same evenings. Destiny. It sounded so final, so cruel. Destiny. It was a brutal word, creating a reality they couldn’t escape from. They both had their futures set in stone because of this cruel mistress, and they could not escape the chains she had ensnared them with.
Different sides of the same coin; they were chained and trapped, captured within these supposed destinies they were supposed to follow. How cruel the world is to rip away the possibilities and capture them on very different and yet very similar roads, each leading towards destruction and disaster, on pain and blood and death. It was not fair. It was anything but fair to taint these two teens with the definiteness of destiny. With its finality. It’s inevitability.
How cruel. How brutal. How cold.
There was no “destiny is what you make it” nor “you’re life is yours to live as you wish.” Both had ideologies forced upon them until they were choking on ideas that weren’t there own and suffocating in the face of destinies that weren’t theirs to choose, sprouting words that weren’t their creation.
So harsh. So dominating. So crushing.
Some often wonder how the pair made it through to become who they did today, destinies entwined into a perverse battle that shouldn’t have been theirs. But then, nothing is what it seems, and destinies, contrary to their beliefs could always be changed if you make the right decisions.
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The library was surprisingly quiet. It wasn’t the usual hushed hum of the day, with students whispering and giggling in muted tones, gossiping over essays and books, grinning and laughing. There was no murmurs, no whispers of pages, no scratching of quills against parchment or Madam Prince’s harsh baritone barking through the alleys of books for silence. For Harry, for most students should they have been here, it was a pleasant change. He found it a lot easier to focus on his potions essay in this peaceful silence. There where no distractions for him to grasp onto and hold like a lifeline, no means to procrastinate and, perhaps for the better in the long, no Hermione to pester and copy.
He was alone in the library. He had left lunch early, telling both Ron and Hermione that he wanted some time alone before the afternoon lessons. Ron had looked to bewildered to question him, but he felt Hermione’s eyes follow him, narrowed and curious. He didn’t blame her. For the past few weeks he had been acting strange as the finality of what was to come settled about him like an unsettling cloak. What teenager wouldn’t be unsettled with the idea that they had to battle a world-known, deranged and dangerous wand master and evil extraordinaire and win? Especially when they knew they were far from adequate enough to complete such a mission. What did wouldn’t buckle under the expectations of those around him and the pressure that was mounting up higher and higher upon his head, asphyxiating him?
He just couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He wasn’t good enough. Everything he had done in the past with the Philosophers’ stone and the Chamber of Secrets and all the rest he had help. He had Dumbledore or Hermione and even Ron – no offence to him. But in this, in this he had to stand alone. And he just couldn’t do it. He knew he couldn’t no matter what his friends would tell him, no matter what Dumbledore would tell him.
He looked down at his sentence long essay and cursed, flinging his ink covered quill aside and sighed. He pulled his glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t do this. And he didn’t just mean the essay.
He allows his head to fall forwarded onto his folded arms and sighed again.
Fxck destiny. It was all a lie anyway.
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He had demanded to be alone. And they had obeyed like mindless minions. He hadn’t wanted company. In the best of mood he could barely stand Pansy’s irritating shrill voice, let alone when he was confused and full of doubt. Crabbe and Goyle had disappeared as soon as the command was uttered, mindless drones who obeyed his every order. Sometimes, and only sometimes, Draco found himself wishing they had a little more to them then that and food. He found himself missing intelligent conversation when hew as around them. If he was honest with himself, Crabbe and Goyle were little more then cronies. He didn’t consider them friends, but then he considered no one a friend. He found it hard to lower the defenses he had built about himself out of fear of disappointing his father enough to actually make friends properly.
He sighed, moving across the grounds towards the Lake and sat by the edge, staring down at the murky depths. Somewhere below, something stirred. Probably, Draco mused, the Giant Squid. It wouldn’t be the first time the Squid had arisen from below the surface to eye whichever student had gotten close enough to the edge. The Squid didn’t like to be stared at.
It was calm out here. Dusk had fallen and cast a glowing orangey yellow light across the grounds, the sinking sun reflecting the water, giving it a pleasant appearance that would a fool someone more naïve into thinking the glittering pool was actually a good place to swim. Most student were at dinner, chuckling over something oh-so-amusing. But Draco, sickened with the display of Pansy yet again trying to fawn over him and Crabbe and Goyle’s non-existent manners, had excused himself and allowed no questions to be asked as he swept from the room with his usual air of arrogance.
Out here there was no need for his usual mask, no need to pretend to know exactly what he was doing and understand the world around him. Because, in reality, he didn’t. He relied more on his father and his ideas more than he cared to mention, and followed his words blindly, like Crabbe did his. Here he could feel afraid without worrying about the repercussions, here he could defy his fathers’ wishes and ponder the eventuality of his supposed destiny to follow in Lucius’s footsteps.
Death Eater. Draco had always had his doubts, but he learned to quash them and push them to the back of his mind, into some forgotten crevice he never again dared to search. But now his father spoke more and more of the Dark Lord and his awakening – for lack of a better word – and now Draco felt those doubts come back to haunt, creeping and crawling out of the dust and cobwebs. Did he really want to be a part of them? Did he really want to kill and murder and live in a world of tyranny? If he was truthful with himself, the world he lived in now wasn’t all that bad. Sure, the Mudbloods were a sickening sight to behold and Muggles ignorant fools, but did he really want to see them destroyed? Did he want to be the destroyer?
A small part of him that was slowly growing strongly disagreed with the whole idea. The blonde boy sighed, standing and with one last look at the deceptively still, glittering lake he turned away, his mask of Slytherin Prince back in place, but his thoughts wild.
Fxck destiny. Who would want a coward on their side? |
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