Chapter 2 - So-Called Narratives

Chapter 2 - So-Called Narratives

Title: Potions Magic - 2/?

Author: Kyna

Summary: The narratives Draco and Sarah exchange. Read what each thinks of them. What do you make of them?

Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and everything present in the books belong to Ms. JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing but the characters of the Flint sisters (who, by the way are related to Marcus Flint, whom I do not own).

II.

So-Called Narratives

After the always boring Sorting Ceremony and the Beginning of the Year Feast, both Draco and Sarah retired to their rooms. Each, a writer in their own right, stayed late into the night, realizing once school "officially" started, with homework assignments aplenty, there would be no time at all to write a narrative recalling their summers.

They met the next day. Exchanging papers quickly, they never bothered to ascertain the other's narrative was not blank, and had relevant writing upon it. Each Slytherin knew in their hearts that the other would not pull anything funny with something this important.

Draco opened Sarah's narrative, which seemed to be much more substantial than his own, and began to read.

My vacation could be summed up in one word: hell. But I won't leave you to guess the shocking and intimate details! It's your cue to say: Thank you, 'Val.' To which I would reply: Your welcome, Draco. If it were a perfect world… but, it's not. I'm sure that's a reality check for you and me both.

She always did this to him! Always avoiding the subject, hoping to disinterest Draco within the first few sentences and prevent him from the rest of her narrative. I'm not giving in! Draco thought angrily, knowing he couldn't hold out much longer. He was tempted to skim her narrative, but whenever he did that, he always missed some important hint she gave him. Hint, that was all Sarah ever did.

I haven't yet quenched your thirst for the knowledge of my vacation with my murmuring, I see. You'll be pleased to learn, no doubt, I tire of writing such nonsense and will tell you of the my "vacation."

Draco sighed. Finally!

At the Hogwarts Express, no one would ever guess our family was less than perfect with my parents' joyous calls, "Sarah! Sarah," my sister's hugs, and my running (as if I had looked forward to our reunion all school year) toward them. I have perfected my acting skills, from so much practice. The only person I was genuinely happy to see was my sister, Emma. I suppose you remember her, though probably not favorably. She was a Gryffindor and fell in love with Fred Weasley. I love Emma to death, but her taste in men is deplorable.

Mother and Father had numerous talks, most of them about me. They believe Emma a hopeless cause, having already planned to be engaged to a Weasley, pureblood as they may be, a disgrace to the wizarding world. According to my parents.

According to her parents? What does she mean? Draco cringed, I wish she weren't so cryptic!

Marcus, they believe will do very well in You-Know-Who's ranks. They don't see that Marcus has something about him though his grades were never more than average and his Quidditch skills only slightly above mediocre.

Marcus has something about him? "What about him?" Draco muttered to himself. Curse the girl!

Mother called me into her office more often than Father, sometimes to discuss a trivial matter such as what I was to wear to the Social, which I'm sure you remember, or sometimes to discuss my future. "You were always our perfect angel since you were little. Now you have the opportunity of a lifetime, Sarah! Just think of how powerful you will be!" How ironic.

Ironic? Draco wished he could understand what she was trying to say.

And Father came in to tell me, "You must think of marrying soon. A man of high monetary value and of equal or higher social stature will be expected of you, Sarah, no less." I believe I shall marry a Weasley to spite my father. How funny it would be! "The Social approaches. I expect you to be looking, my dear. You have never failed us before."

"I hope she's kidding," Draco said softly when he read "I believe I shall marry a Weasley."

I wish you could see my face as I think of the Social. What a disaster! "Sarah, with your charms, you should have been able to secure a suitable Death Eater," my mother said. Honestly, the only part of the Social I liked was the dress. I didn't see you there, but maybe you saw me. I will assume so and thus spare you from a description of my outfit.

Draco had seen her. She was radiant, but there was something not right about her expression. It puzzled him still: on the surface she seemed to be having fun, but underneath, it was almost like she was mocking everyone, like she was better than everyone there, like she knew something that no one else knew. He hadn't approached her for that specific reason, besides the fact he could hardly have made it through the crowd that had surrounded her, hoping to win the favor of the Flints.

Summer - it's all the same, every year. Hellish, never the fun and games I imagine the Gryffindors make out their summer out to be. This is all I can recall, the whole thing was a blur of meetings with Father and Mother. The only couple things that stood out was the cataclysmic Social and my outings with Emma (which were the breaks in the clouds).

I will spare you from every happy detail, knowing you will bore easily, only to say that she and I would take walks together, ride, swim, anything that suited our fancy. Freedom. I will never give it up.

Draco reread the last sentence: I will never give it up. He wished he had that kind of self-assurance. He wanted to find Sarah at that moment and ask her what she would do if she were forced to give it up. Her story was so ambiguous and paradoxical that two people could easily come up with two interpretations of what she had written. He supposed she had meant it to be like that. Draco had always had the acute impression that she had never fully trusted him.

~***~

Sarah propped her manicured (on her mother's request) feet on an ottoman as she flipped open Draco's "narrative." He had written one sentence last year when she'd asked him about his summer. Blowing her off during the conversation, he sent her an owl the next day with one sentence upon it: It was hell, as usual. She had mocked him in the narrative she had just given him. Sarah wondered if he had caught it.

Draco Malfoy.

Trust him to use his custom-made stationery.

Dante's Inferno, each year deeper in Hell,

Not like his vision, for I'm never to return.

My soul, it seems to be his to sell,

And I'm forever destined to burn.

"Indeed?" Sarah murmured to herself. She had never known Draco was one for poetry.

Every year deeper in Hell,

The place I'm destined to dwell.

Yes, that's Draco Malfoy for you. Short, definitely not sweet, and to the point. Sarah laughed quietly (the girls in her dorm were already asleep as she read his "narrative"). She looked carefully at each line. Dante's Inferno - what Draco meant by that was pretty obvious, the long poem written by Dante Aligheri recounted his tale through Hell and back, where Virgil was his guide. "Never to return" - Draco must believe there's no way out. "My soul, it seems to be his to sell," no question about who "his" refers to. Lucius, Draco's father. So Draco feels like he's losing his soul. What an appropriate analogy. "Destined to burn," it was interesting that Draco chose the word "destined," like he was meant to be put in Hell. He's given himself the perfect excuse for not fighting back. It's Fate fault - the easiest excuse that exists. And the last two lines are just an emphatic repetition of his belief that he's in Hell and not likely to come back.

Draco most likely did not recognize he had gotten less out of Sarah's writing than she had out of his. Intentionally, Sarah had written a longer, but more vague narrative. Draco did not have to write much for her to guess what had happened during his summer time. Sarah mused, Our summers are probably more alike than he realizes. In fact, there was a much harsher tone to her musings now, I'm probably more similar to Draco than anyone else I know, and much too similar to ever admit aloud.

~***~

Author note(s): I'm telling you right now, I was never one for poetry. Never. I loathe my poetry, but because this poem is attributed to Draco Malfoy, I'm okay with exposing it to the world. Let me know if you guys think I should post a separate sort of "review" of the narratives that excludes the interrupting thoughts of Draco and Sarah.

As always, feedback is appreciated.

Email me!


	Chapter 2 - So-Called Narratives Title: Potions Magic - 2/? Author: Kyna Summary: The narratives Draco and Sarah exchange. Read what each thinks of them. What do you make of them? Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and everything present in the books belong to Ms. JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing but the characters of the Flint sisters (who, by the way are related to Marcus Flint, whom I do not own). II. So-Called Narratives After the always boring Sorting Ceremony and the Beginning of the Year Feast, both Draco and Sarah retired to their rooms. Each, a writer in their own right, stayed late into the night, realizing once school "officially" started, with homework assignments aplenty, there would be no time at all to write a narrative recalling their summers. They met the next day. Exchanging papers quickly, they never bothered to ascertain the other's narrative was not blank, and had relevant writing upon it. Each Slytherin knew in their hearts that the other would not pull anything funny with something this important. Draco opened Sarah's narrative, which seemed to be much more substantial than his own, and began to read. My vacation could be summed up in one word: hell. But I won't leave you to guess the shocking and intimate details! It's your cue to say: Thank you, 'Val.' To which I would reply: Your welcome, Draco. If it were a perfect world… but, it's not. I'm sure that's a reality check for you and me both. She always did this to him! Always avoiding the subject, hoping to disinterest Draco within the first few sentences and prevent him from the rest of her narrative. I'm not giving in! Draco thought angrily, knowing he couldn't hold out much longer. He was tempted to skim her narrative, but whenever he did that, he always missed some important hint she gave him. Hint, that was all Sarah ever did. I haven't yet quenched your thirst for the knowledge of my vacation with my murmuring, I see. You'll be pleased to learn, no doubt, I tire of writing such nonsense and will tell you of the my "vacation." Draco sighed. Finally! At the Hogwarts Express, no one would ever guess our family was less than perfect with my parents' joyous calls, "Sarah! Sarah," my sister's hugs, and my running (as if I had looked forward to our reunion all school year) toward them. I have perfected my acting skills, from so much practice. The only person I was genuinely happy to see was my sister, Emma. I suppose you remember her, though probably not favorably. She was a Gryffindor and fell in love with Fred Weasley. I love Emma to death, but her taste in men is deplorable. Mother and Father had numerous talks, most of them about me. They believe Emma a hopeless cause, having already planned to be engaged to a Weasley, pureblood as they may be, a disgrace to the wizarding world. According to my parents. According to her parents? What does she mean? Draco cringed, I wish she weren't so cryptic! Marcus, they believe will do very well in You-Know-Who's ranks. They don't see that Marcus has something about him though his grades were never more than average and his Quidditch skills only slightly above mediocre. Marcus has something about him? "What about him?" Draco muttered to himself. Curse the girl! Mother called me into her office more often than Father, sometimes to discuss a trivial matter such as what I was to wear to the Social, which I'm sure you remember, or sometimes to discuss my future. "You were always our perfect angel since you were little. Now you have the opportunity of a lifetime, Sarah! Just think of how powerful you will be!" How ironic. Ironic? Draco wished he could understand what she was trying to say. And Father came in to tell me, "You must think of marrying soon. A man of high monetary value and of equal or higher social stature will be expected of you, Sarah, no less." I believe I shall marry a Weasley to spite my father. How funny it would be! "The Social approaches. I expect you to be looking, my dear. You have never failed us before." "I hope she's kidding," Draco said softly when he read "I believe I shall marry a Weasley." I wish you could see my face as I think of the Social. What a disaster! "Sarah, with your charms, you should have been able to secure a suitable Death Eater," my mother said. Honestly, the only part of the Social I liked was the dress. I didn't see you there, but maybe you saw me. I will assume so and thus spare you from a description of my outfit. Draco had seen her. She was radiant, but there was something not right about her expression. It puzzled him still: on the surface she seemed to be having fun, but underneath, it was almost like she was mocking everyone, like she was better than everyone there, like she knew something that no one else knew. He hadn't approached her for that specific reason, besides the fact he could hardly have made it through the crowd that had surrounded her, hoping to win the favor of the Flints. Summer - it's all the same, every year. Hellish, never the fun and games I imagine the Gryffindors make out their summer out to be. This is all I can recall, the whole thing was a blur of meetings with Father and Mother. The only couple things that stood out was the cataclysmic Social and my outings with Emma (which were the breaks in the clouds). I will spare you from every happy detail, knowing you will bore easily, only to say that she and I would take walks together, ride, swim, anything that suited our fancy. Freedom. I will never give it up. Draco reread the last sentence: I will never give it up. He wished he had that kind of self-assurance. He wanted to find Sarah at that moment and ask her what she would do if she were forced to give it up. Her story was so ambiguous and paradoxical that two people could easily come up with two interpretations of what she had written. He supposed she had meant it to be like that. Draco had always had the acute impression that she had never fully trusted him. ~**~ Sarah propped her manicured (on her mother's request) feet on an ottoman as she flipped open Draco's "narrative." He had written one sentence last year when she'd asked him about his summer. Blowing her off during the conversation, he sent her an owl the next day with one sentence upon it: It was hell, as usual. She had mocked him in the narrative she had just given him. Sarah wondered if he had caught it. Draco Malfoy.* Trust him to use his custom-made stationery. Dante's Inferno, each year deeper in Hell, Not like his vision, for I'm never to return. My soul, it seems to be his to sell, And I'm forever destined to burn. "Indeed?" Sarah murmured to herself. She had never known Draco was one for poetry. Every year deeper in Hell, The place I'm destined to dwell. Yes, that's Draco Malfoy for you. Short, definitely not sweet, and to the point. Sarah laughed quietly (the girls in her dorm were already asleep as she read his "narrative"). She looked carefully at each line. Dante's Inferno - what Draco meant by that was pretty obvious, the long poem written by Dante Aligheri recounted his tale through Hell and back, where Virgil was his guide. "Never to return" - Draco must believe there's no way out. "My soul, it seems to be his to sell," no question about who "his" refers to. Lucius, Draco's father. So Draco feels like he's losing his soul. What an appropriate analogy. "Destined to burn," it was interesting that Draco chose the word "destined," like he was meant to be put in Hell. He's given himself the perfect excuse for not fighting back. It's Fate fault - the easiest excuse that exists. And the last two lines are just an emphatic repetition of his belief that he's in Hell and not likely to come back. Draco most likely did not recognize he had gotten less out of Sarah's writing than she had out of his. Intentionally, Sarah had written a longer, but more vague narrative. Draco did not have to write much for her to guess what had happened during his summer time. Sarah mused, Our summers are probably more alike than he realizes. In fact, there was a much harsher tone to her musings now, I'm probably more similar to Draco than anyone else I know, and much too similar to ever admit aloud. ~**~ Author note(s): I'm telling you right now, I was never one for poetry. Never. I loathe my poetry, but because this poem is attributed to Draco Malfoy, I'm okay with exposing it to the world. Let me know if you guys think I should post a separate sort of "review" of the narratives that excludes the interrupting thoughts of Draco and Sarah. As always, feedback is appreciated.* Email me!