culuyetille | (no subject)

Am very much alive =)
Took me a bit long, but I was done with Book V yesterday afternoon. There are things I like and things I don't, and I'll expand on that... later. Actually already did so, but lost my notes and am too lazy to do it again so soon.
Showed up more to upload a fic than anything else... It came to me after I read both Aimee's and Alysun's Father's Day fics. Contains spoiler for Book V.

Title: Father's Day
Rating: PG
Category: Angst, Drama
Summary: Azkaban should be no place for a Father's Day visit
Disclaimer: no matter how badly I want them, I don’t have any illusions about owing the Malfoys. JKR pretends she does, though (they own their marvellous selves!), as do WB, Scholastic Inc and a bunch of great companies that drools so much over Dream Team (HP, RW, HG) that it just isn’t fair that they actually get to own the legal rights over Malfoys and Snape!
A Father's Day
He stood on the meeting room. It was a room like any other in that place, just that it had a metallic table and three chairs. He wasn't sitting just yet. He didn't think he would too soon.
Instead he stood wrapped in his shiny dragonskin travel cloak, even though it was August. The long-lasting presence of Dementors had lent Azkaban a permanent cold weather of its own, aggravated greatly by the dampness of the very air and the square-shaped stone walls.
He reckoned most prisoners would find these settings vaguely homely - the vast majority of them were, after all, Slytherins.
He stood unmoving. He supposed the lack of Soul Suckers was a definite improvement about the establishment, but there was still the pack of people to whisper and point and, as a whole, do very well in taking up the previous Prison Guard's occupation of making others feel miserable.
Previously, he'd have glittered with his cloak and his hair and his skin and his charm, but today he just looked very foreign on this environment.
There was no hiding what he was here for. The recognisable looks and the name they'd invariably bring up to mind made sure no one would dare say a thing to his face, but it was getting increasingly worse at an alarmingly fast rate. He ignored them steadily.
He had been made Prefect again. He hoped Dumbledore was sinking in his chair, drowning in guilt for taking away the fathers of Slytherins. He knew the old man wouldn't be, was probably too busy making tea, but still, it was a nice enough thought. Tortured Dumbledore.
In spite of being in the right mood and disposition, he had not gone to Him. Had not pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord. The man had left his father behind, hadn't he?
Narcissa had broken relations with her cousin Bellatrix.
His face wasn't but stoic as he waited. There wasn't anyone around from whom to hide any occasional feeling, but he found it was easier to keep the mask into place if he never let it slip.
He lifted his chin at the crack of a metal door being open, and subconsciously stretched himself. He had to look well, he had to look perfect.
For the life of him, he couldn't manage even a faint smile of greeting. Actually, it was taking pretty much all of his willpower not to flinch.
Even though Lucius came to the table walking calmly, his son knew better. He had seen the ruthless guards shove him inside. The lack of respect of it was quite the slap in the youth's face, equalled only by the knot of silent indignation upon noticing the cuffs on the wrists his father had been so quick to hide under the table as he took a sit. Draco did as well.
Lucius' overall appearance wasn't anything short of pristine. But Draco's trained eye had noticed the slightest stiffness on what had otherwise been his father's gracious cat-like walking.
Broken ribs, more than likely.
Greyish eyes attracted Draco's own, making his inspection come to an end. He curled his lips slowly.
"Hello, Father."
"Draco." A curt nod.
Awkward silence. There was so much to be said, and yet the Malfoy Heir knew that, should he voice his heart, he'd shatter his father's admirable but nonetheless frail debris of control over himself.
"The whole of the household misses you." He talked at last, but his voice sounded empty even to him.
"Is it so." Lucius' own tone was just as quiet.
Draco longed to talk of how abusive the Ministry had been with their frequent search parties to the Manor of late. Wished he could tell his father about everything he had in store for the incoming school term, his sixth, about how he'd make Potter pay. Pay for the pain and humiliation that were being inflicted on the Malfoy Patriarch and that Draco absorbed and wallowed into as well. He wanted to tell Lucius how much he personally missed his father.
But none of those topics could be discussed. He reached forward somewhat hesitantly to tuck a strand of platinum blond hair behind the older man's ear.
It startled him a bit that his father leaned into the touch, even though it was done in a very subtle manner.
How could he ever think of speaking of his pain when it was so obvious that Lucius was making a gigantic effort to conceal his own? To make of that moment something to be treasured during the time they were to spend apart from each other?
The tip of his forefinger traced the furthest left end of his father's hairline.
"Professor Snape sends word."
His words were a whisper, but it was better that way. There was no showing how shaky his voice was.
"How kind of him."
His fingertips traced circular patterns on Lucius' head, just above his ear. They were just looking at each other. All topics of conversation seemed unimportant right now, and those worthy of being brought up both Malfoys would back away from in favour of making their time together... time for them to be together. Time for themselves, without the rest of the world.
It was Father's Day. Could as well have been an ordinary Sunday, for all Draco knew. All of his Sundays were Father Days. All of his days had been Father Days, he knew it now.
His father had been taken from him. Ripped would be a more accurate expression, since Draco felt more than half-numb without Lucius. Potter complained about it for years, but Potter had never had parents in the first place. Had never grown attached to them before they were disposed of.
Now was not the time to think of Potter.
"Happy Father's Day."
He was rewarded with a luminous grin.
"Every day's been so, for long sixteen years. Day of a very happy Malfoy Father."
Draco had worked hard for that. He had been his father's pride and joy. He had shone in the darkest times of Lucius' life.
He continued to do so, once a week, in the Azkaban prison visitation room. They didn't talk all that much, least of all about the conditions there. Draco knew his father would occasionally mention something to his Mother or Severus Snape, but to him, not a word. Not a single word about any other thing that not how much those visits meant to Lucius, how important it was that his son was well and growing into such an admirable young man.
It would anger him, weren't it for the fact that he felt so deeply for his father. And so Draco let himself slip into the role designed for him, that of being all about the joy. His father's joy.
He smiled, and his digits buried themselves further in the long and majestic silver hair. His cheeks were, conveniently enough, slightly tinged.
"I didn't bring you a present."
Something went positively languid in his chest when Lucius turned his face just so, nuzzling against his palm. There was a feeble smirk in his lips.
"No need."
And Draco knew, as if the words had been projected in his mind, 'You came.' His heart started to pound.
"But I want to give you something."
His father's dazzling eyes were on him, and he fell silent.
'You're my everything already.'
He couldn't tell if the words were whispered, or if he guessed them by gazing deep in the silvery mists. There was this twinkle in his father's eyes...
Draco stood. He saw the guard's silhouette approach the opening in the metal door behind his father. Lucius rose as well, though it was more in response to his son's move than anything else. The younger Malfoy walked up to him, coming to a halt within arm reach.
Wordlessly, he reached for his father's cuffed wrists. Bringing the older man's hands together with is own, slenderer ones, Draco lowered his head to bestow the pale and abused knuckles a reverent kiss.
The door clicked open.
"See you next week." An echo of a whisper, and the saddest smile.
-*-
End. This is odd and doesn't have a beginning or an end or a meaning. It's just... my Draco muse. *sighs* feedback at devil_sdragon@hotmail.com

And a few banners as well =) Made 7 of them this morning, added them to my Storage Room. My favs are:

Am working on the second part of Amrael's story... it shall come soon. Promise! As well as a remotely decent layout for this LJ.