#manichaeisms

Viktor Krum, star seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, was riding a piece of garbage – a broom so old that the house elves wouldn’t even sweep a floor with it. It bothered Draco immensely. He was of the opinion that such an esteemed player should use only the best equipment. He found it terrible that the Bulgarian team wouldn’t allow Krum to continue to use the team’s Firebolt brooms outside of the season, especially when it was so clear that Krum was unable to afford one for himself.

“I noticed that your broom isn’t very good,” Draco spoke as a greeting, “a Nimbus 1500? I’m surprised that duster can even make it off the ground,” it truly was a testament to Krum’s dedication to the game that he would risk himself flying on such an old death-trap, “I have a Firebolt. If you want it, you can borrow it – in fact, you can have it. My father will buy me another one.” It was, of course, a genuine offer. He would like to be friends with a famous quidditch star, after all.

                the manor has been infiltrated ;  home to the dark lord and his servants, where every turn draco takes he’s met with someone new, someone familiar, all wearing the same scarred mark upon their arms.  it’s a symbol of their allegiance to the dark lord, and draco’s skin still burns where the mark had been carved. never to be removed, never to be hidden.  it was who he was supposed to become, anyway.  a HEIR TO THE THRONE.  

                  his father is too busy playing servitude to the dark lord, sending draco well on his way to become the machine he is meant to be.  occulmency training with bellatrix, tormenting the death eaters that haven’t proven their work ; and delving into the darkest of magic ... the kind that no one comes back from, the kind that settles in the ash left of their bones and becomes one.  

                    he rounds the corner, follows down a long hallway that leads to the dungeons.  soundproof walls don’t conceal the noises below ; the sicking crack of bones as someone’s neck is snapped.  he doesn’t really know some of these people ; but he’s heard about them all.  about loony, crazy bellatrix.  her brother in law, however ; nervous and almost frail had a sort of aura around him.  something that was far darker than the rest of the people here. it makes him feel uncomfortable, though he won’t ever express that.   

after school, things had been good between them. even though they were both busy, they found time for each other. he would talk about crouch, then fudge, and she in turn would talk about st. mungo’s. the tension really started toward the end of fudge’s reign as minister. HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED had returned, and the world went to hell. 

it’s a slow burn, the fire building in her chest where her heart used to be. she’s not angry. no. she’s hurt. long days turn to sleepless nights, where percy doesn’t even come home. she knew he was overworking himself; it was in his nature. penny just knew she could help, if he let her in. . . but the distance between them grows further by the day, and this is not how it was supposed to go. she and percy were suited for each other. he would be MINISTER; she would run ST. MUNGO’S. that had been their destiny. one of the biggest power couples of the wizarding world. . . it was supposed to be THEM against the world. 

now. . . now, she just feels empty and sad, longing for his touch. longing for him. even in the quiet mornings when they wouldn’t say anything and just drink tea, it was better than this. than nothing. she makes a decision, and she HATES this.

his eyes darken and his eyes narrow as his head lifts. he takes inventory with all his senses, magic and otherwise. but he’s not sure his sense are true because what he smells...