I lol'd (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
zarahjoyce) wrote2006-03-26 10:43 am
zarahjoyce) wrote2006-03-26 10:43 am
Entry tags:
D/Hr Drabble
Just a quick D/Hr drabble that has no name yet. Warning: expect foul language.
--
Tomorrow, he’d be seeing her walk the aisle.
And fuck, fuck, it was an insult spat at his face. As a Malfoy, he deserved the best. His name implied it. His family demanded it. His pride craved for it.
Apparently, the best just happened to have hurled herself in front of Weasley’s path.
And tomorrow, he’d be seeing Pansy walk down the fucking aisle.
His father merely looked at him, a disappointed, grim set on his mouth telling Draco all he needed to know. You are a failure, a frustration in the family. His father didn’t have to speak, as his eyes spoke everything. You are not worth our name, boy.
Draco wanted to yell, how? How the fuck was I supposed to know she’s been fucking Weasley whenever I’m not around? How was I supposed to know she’s developed some, some sort of disease that made her choose the fucking pathetic git over me? But of course he didn’t; he was expected to bow down his head, grit his teeth, and die inside.
It was raining. He didn’t mind. He stormed out of the manor, forgetting his wand, forgetting anything but the need to vent. He was fucking tired, he needed to do something. Hit something. Prove something.
Walking, walking, stumbling, he went out, went inside the first shop that had lights. He shivered from cold and fury, his eyes darting around the room. He found that all eyes were looking away from him, ignoring him. Draco found out he liked it that way, this once.
And then he saw her.
She was standing, gathering her things, leaving behind a sensible half-empty cup of tea. She was opening her umbrella, preparing to set out in the rain.
She must be feeling like he did. After all, wasn’t Weasley her boy-toy?
His movements were a blur, even to him. Suddenly he was dragging her out, her umbrella falling open and behind. He dragged her, ignoring her protests, deaf to her shrieks. They were both soaking wet, and fuck her teeth sank in his skin and he threw her to the ground until she was on all fours.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, head whipping around to look at him. There was mud on her face, and it was appropriate, Mudblood.
What was he doing? He didn’t know; he didn’t care.
“Your fault,” he muttered, stalking towards her. “Your fucking fault!” He grabbed her arms, hauled her up, shoved her against a trunk. Twisting, kicking, she tried to flee, but he held her steady. Rain poured on her eyes, and he blinked. Mudblood. “What’s the matter Granger? Can’t keep Weasley chained to the bed long enough that he found someone else to fuck?”
“Bastard,” she spat, her eyes glittering against glistening skin. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!”
“I dare,” he said, tightening his hold until he heard her gasp. “I dare because I’m a Malfoy, and don’t you forget it Mudblood!”
She laughed. “You’re telling me,” she said. “And yet you’re the one who can’t keep that whore of yours satisfied!”
---
Erm, yes.
--
Tomorrow, he’d be seeing her walk the aisle.
And fuck, fuck, it was an insult spat at his face. As a Malfoy, he deserved the best. His name implied it. His family demanded it. His pride craved for it.
Apparently, the best just happened to have hurled herself in front of Weasley’s path.
And tomorrow, he’d be seeing Pansy walk down the fucking aisle.
His father merely looked at him, a disappointed, grim set on his mouth telling Draco all he needed to know. You are a failure, a frustration in the family. His father didn’t have to speak, as his eyes spoke everything. You are not worth our name, boy.
Draco wanted to yell, how? How the fuck was I supposed to know she’s been fucking Weasley whenever I’m not around? How was I supposed to know she’s developed some, some sort of disease that made her choose the fucking pathetic git over me? But of course he didn’t; he was expected to bow down his head, grit his teeth, and die inside.
It was raining. He didn’t mind. He stormed out of the manor, forgetting his wand, forgetting anything but the need to vent. He was fucking tired, he needed to do something. Hit something. Prove something.
Walking, walking, stumbling, he went out, went inside the first shop that had lights. He shivered from cold and fury, his eyes darting around the room. He found that all eyes were looking away from him, ignoring him. Draco found out he liked it that way, this once.
And then he saw her.
She was standing, gathering her things, leaving behind a sensible half-empty cup of tea. She was opening her umbrella, preparing to set out in the rain.
She must be feeling like he did. After all, wasn’t Weasley her boy-toy?
His movements were a blur, even to him. Suddenly he was dragging her out, her umbrella falling open and behind. He dragged her, ignoring her protests, deaf to her shrieks. They were both soaking wet, and fuck her teeth sank in his skin and he threw her to the ground until she was on all fours.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, head whipping around to look at him. There was mud on her face, and it was appropriate, Mudblood.
What was he doing? He didn’t know; he didn’t care.
“Your fault,” he muttered, stalking towards her. “Your fucking fault!” He grabbed her arms, hauled her up, shoved her against a trunk. Twisting, kicking, she tried to flee, but he held her steady. Rain poured on her eyes, and he blinked. Mudblood. “What’s the matter Granger? Can’t keep Weasley chained to the bed long enough that he found someone else to fuck?”
“Bastard,” she spat, her eyes glittering against glistening skin. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that!”
“I dare,” he said, tightening his hold until he heard her gasp. “I dare because I’m a Malfoy, and don’t you forget it Mudblood!”
She laughed. “You’re telling me,” she said. “And yet you’re the one who can’t keep that whore of yours satisfied!”
---
Erm, yes.