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Reasons to be sad:
1) I didn't make it into JET. No Japan for me. *mope*
Reasons to be HAPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
1) I GOT A JOB! Job fair people hired me on the spot! And the pay is twice as much as my highest paying job yet. ^__^
2) Finished FAKE manga! *leaps about* I love Dee I love Diana I love Leo Grant I love Bikky/Carol-as-older-kids blah blah blah SQUEEE.
3) Choreographing a dance for my sis, to Aqua's Barbie Girl. How much better can it get?
2) DM Chapter 7 is my FAVORITE! PLUS, I totally got an idea for the Fourth Unforgivable ch. 8. *dirty smirk*
5) Totally into my book of choice right now. Took awhile, but now I love it.
ANNNNNND... I HAVE FIC! *is in a good mood, therefore fic is happy* As you can see, the scales are tipped quite well to one side.
I now present the companion piece to Ways to Say No. *ahem*
Title: What Malfoys Do
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rated: PG
638 words
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I am well aware they ain't mine...
Part 2:
What Malfoys Do
Draco knew something was up when Harry presented him with a plate full of chicken parmigiana garnished with a lemon slice and a crisp sprig of parsley. He knew something a bit out of the ordinary for the Malfoy-Potter lifestyle was in the works when Harry nearly shattered a crystal wine glass pouring Draco’s absolute favorite merlot.
Swirl. Let it coat. Raise your hand and smell the vineyard bouquet.
But it didn’t quite register that it could be bad, this out-of-the-ordinary thing, until Harry hurried from the table looking just a touch green around the gills. And then the thought was there and Draco blinked.
Was Harry trying to break up with him?
Because, now that he thought about it – and oh, he didn’t want to think about it, it made his stomach hurt – that would be exactly how Harry would go about it.
Apologizing in advance for the coming injury with Draco’s favorite meal ever.
Making himself sick over what he felt it was his duty to do, to make a noble break before it became a matter of pretending to love instead of loving. Draco was pretty sure Harry loved him. Or had.
Crying into a pillow at night.
Well. That one was just a little vague. After all, Draco Malfoy dreamt from time to time too, just like anyone else. And Harry had laughed and shaken his head the next morning when Draco’d asked about it, so obviously it had just been some weird sleep-induced silliness on his part.
But this… this was not right, not at all. Waiting for Harry to come back from wherever he’d gone, Draco swirled his wine, smelled the vineyard bouquet, and realized he was in pain. And that was Not Right.
Malfoys didn’t hurt. Or regret. Or pine. Apparently they got attached, apparently theydidlovesometimes, but they didn’t feel this way about it, like their stomach was being tied into little chicken parmigiana knots, and they certainly didn’t show it.
Draco waited for Harry to come back and begin smashing his heart to pieces, and realized that for being such an enlightened content-with-life Malfoy, he’d missed all those little warning signs. Sleeplessness. Nervousness. Tears. He’d tried to ease them and in so doing only made them worse.
Harry returned and grabbed his hand and Draco had just decided, by Salazar, that he no longer cared. If Harry didn’t care, then Draco didn’t care. Simple. Fewer people got hurt that way.
So it was a bit of a surprise when Harry dropped to one knee in front of him. For a second Draco thought he’d tripped. And then his eyes got very wide.
Draco Malfoy, I love you so much I can’t
(breathe because I was so sure you were going to call it off and I nearly lost my way in one horrible instant)
imagine what the rest of my life would be without you in it.
Will you marry me?
And then Draco realized there were quite a few things Malfoys did that he hadn’t known about before.
Sometimes Malfoys made inarticulate sounds when trying to say such a simple word as “Yes.”
Sometimes Malfoys knocked over expensive crystal wineglasses filled with their favorite merlot while trying to get out of their chairs and into their lover’s arms.
Sometimes Malfoys made slow sweet love to their beautiful and entirely too jittery fiancés on the floor of their candle-lit dining rooms. Malfoys even stayed up all night testing the love-making qualities of every room in the house.
Sometimes they admitted they didn’t mind that blasted Gryffindor bravery.
Sometimes Malfoys fell asleep on plush couches tangling their fingers in thick ebony hair, liking the way that new silver ring glowed in the lamplight.
Draco thought these things should be made more “always” and less “sometimes”. Love wasn’t a “sometimes” sort of thing, after all.
...
Part 3: The Fact of the Matter
...
...
...
^__________^
1) I didn't make it into JET. No Japan for me. *mope*
Reasons to be HAPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
1) I GOT A JOB! Job fair people hired me on the spot! And the pay is twice as much as my highest paying job yet. ^__^
2) Finished FAKE manga! *leaps about* I love Dee I love Diana I love Leo Grant I love Bikky/Carol-as-older-kids blah blah blah SQUEEE.
3) Choreographing a dance for my sis, to Aqua's Barbie Girl. How much better can it get?
2) DM Chapter 7 is my FAVORITE! PLUS, I totally got an idea for the Fourth Unforgivable ch. 8. *dirty smirk*
5) Totally into my book of choice right now. Took awhile, but now I love it.
ANNNNNND... I HAVE FIC! *is in a good mood, therefore fic is happy* As you can see, the scales are tipped quite well to one side.
I now present the companion piece to Ways to Say No. *ahem*
Title: What Malfoys Do
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rated: PG
638 words
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I am well aware they ain't mine...
Part 2:
What Malfoys Do
Draco knew something was up when Harry presented him with a plate full of chicken parmigiana garnished with a lemon slice and a crisp sprig of parsley. He knew something a bit out of the ordinary for the Malfoy-Potter lifestyle was in the works when Harry nearly shattered a crystal wine glass pouring Draco’s absolute favorite merlot.
Swirl. Let it coat. Raise your hand and smell the vineyard bouquet.
But it didn’t quite register that it could be bad, this out-of-the-ordinary thing, until Harry hurried from the table looking just a touch green around the gills. And then the thought was there and Draco blinked.
Was Harry trying to break up with him?
Because, now that he thought about it – and oh, he didn’t want to think about it, it made his stomach hurt – that would be exactly how Harry would go about it.
Apologizing in advance for the coming injury with Draco’s favorite meal ever.
Making himself sick over what he felt it was his duty to do, to make a noble break before it became a matter of pretending to love instead of loving. Draco was pretty sure Harry loved him. Or had.
Crying into a pillow at night.
Well. That one was just a little vague. After all, Draco Malfoy dreamt from time to time too, just like anyone else. And Harry had laughed and shaken his head the next morning when Draco’d asked about it, so obviously it had just been some weird sleep-induced silliness on his part.
But this… this was not right, not at all. Waiting for Harry to come back from wherever he’d gone, Draco swirled his wine, smelled the vineyard bouquet, and realized he was in pain. And that was Not Right.
Malfoys didn’t hurt. Or regret. Or pine. Apparently they got attached, apparently theydidlovesometimes, but they didn’t feel this way about it, like their stomach was being tied into little chicken parmigiana knots, and they certainly didn’t show it.
Draco waited for Harry to come back and begin smashing his heart to pieces, and realized that for being such an enlightened content-with-life Malfoy, he’d missed all those little warning signs. Sleeplessness. Nervousness. Tears. He’d tried to ease them and in so doing only made them worse.
Harry returned and grabbed his hand and Draco had just decided, by Salazar, that he no longer cared. If Harry didn’t care, then Draco didn’t care. Simple. Fewer people got hurt that way.
So it was a bit of a surprise when Harry dropped to one knee in front of him. For a second Draco thought he’d tripped. And then his eyes got very wide.
Draco Malfoy, I love you so much I can’t
(breathe because I was so sure you were going to call it off and I nearly lost my way in one horrible instant)
imagine what the rest of my life would be without you in it.
Will you marry me?
And then Draco realized there were quite a few things Malfoys did that he hadn’t known about before.
Sometimes Malfoys made inarticulate sounds when trying to say such a simple word as “Yes.”
Sometimes Malfoys knocked over expensive crystal wineglasses filled with their favorite merlot while trying to get out of their chairs and into their lover’s arms.
Sometimes Malfoys made slow sweet love to their beautiful and entirely too jittery fiancés on the floor of their candle-lit dining rooms. Malfoys even stayed up all night testing the love-making qualities of every room in the house.
Sometimes they admitted they didn’t mind that blasted Gryffindor bravery.
Sometimes Malfoys fell asleep on plush couches tangling their fingers in thick ebony hair, liking the way that new silver ring glowed in the lamplight.
Draco thought these things should be made more “always” and less “sometimes”. Love wasn’t a “sometimes” sort of thing, after all.
...
Part 3: The Fact of the Matter
...
...
...
^__________^
