Post by Draco Malfoy on Nov 19, 2012 17:27:25 GMT -5
ooc. hope this is okay, hanna! i know we agreed that it would start off as a draco/ella, but i put it as malfoys so that if riss and becca had the time and wanted to they could join as dao and scorpius at some point!
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Draco Malfoy was stood at the edge of the writhing crowd before him, jaw clenched tightly. He was standing bolt upright, gaze fixed directly overhead the group of students, parents and Professors alike and looked very much as though he was wishing that he could be anywhere else in the world right then. It was true that he was a blatant contrast to many of the other proud parents, who were grinning widely and embracing their children as though they'd not set eyes on them in years. He was a very lonely, noticeable figure, blonde and terrifically pale and dressed in the trim, formal suit he often wore to work. He was standing perfectly still except for the index finger on his left hand, which was tapping an impatient rhythm on his thigh. Draco was never one hundred percent certain whether or not people honestly noticed him at every turn and recognised him as Draco Malfoy, the man who had been on Voldemort's side, the man whose parents and their parents before them were said to be rotten to the core, or whether he simply imagined it, but it often caused social situations to be sheer torture for him. He'd been a rather attention-seeking child, of course, but the utter contempt he'd recieved since the Second Wizarding World War had cured that almost entirely; he no longer wanted attention, and now he seemed to have to pay by being cursed with it quite a lot.
He spied his nephew, Sebastian, but, as usual, Draco looked very firmly into the distance, ignoring the boy entirely (Draco liked to pretend that he wasn't in any way related to that ridiculous child). Although outwardly Draco appeared tight-lipped and rather sullen, he was fervently, desperately hoping that one of his children would appear soon, knowing that he stuck out like a sore thumb dressed in such formal attire and stranded at the edge of such a happy crowd. He'd informed Ella that he was coming to the Parents' Day, of course, but he hadn't been entirely sure that she'd believed him - nor had he truly believed himself until he had gotten up that morning and realised that he couldn't waste another twenty-four hours when he could be doing something even vaguely important. And so he'd washed and dressed how he had believed was accordingly, and had been slightly shell-shocked when he arrived at Hogwarts and saw that barely any of the other fathers or mothers were dressed in suits and realised uncomfortably that he probably looked ridiculous.
Draco determinedly continued to exude an unapproachable air about him, wanting nothing less than for a Professor to stalk up to him and taking charge of the situation. He supposed that he would have to talk to them at some stage during the day, but he fully intended to hold it off as long as possible, feeling sure that he would have criticism directed towards him by some busybody Professor taking it upon themselves that muscling in on his childrens' personal lives was a good deed and feeling that he would probably lose his temper if that did happen. No, he wanted to see his children first, he wanted to get used to being with them in a different enviroment, he wanted to relax, even slightly. Admittedly, though, Hogwarts was one of the last places that Draco ever felt he could relax in - memories that had haunted him for years took place in Hogwarts, after all, and he felt a sort of burning shame as soon as he had set foot into the Entrance Hall. He had also been gripped by a sudden fear, as he jerkily tapped his finger against his thigh, that he would not be greeted very cheerfully by his children. The thought of embracing them tightly and exchanging jolly good news with them made him feel deeply uncomfortable, but the thought of them not wanting him there proved to be even worse. His eyebrows knitted together, an expression of great strain rolling onto his face.
Just as he had been weighing out each horrific possibility in his head, though, Draco caught sight of a thin, blonde girl across the room, and the finger-tapping abruptly stopped. Finding his mouth oddly dry, he clenched his fists for half-a-second (the skin on his knuckles strained and turned ghostly white) before awkwardly raising one arm and hesitantly waving at the girl who was undoubtedly his daughter, even from all the way across the room. The wave had appeared almost robotic, every movement looking wooden and almost rusty, as though he'd forgotten how to move.
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Draco Malfoy was stood at the edge of the writhing crowd before him, jaw clenched tightly. He was standing bolt upright, gaze fixed directly overhead the group of students, parents and Professors alike and looked very much as though he was wishing that he could be anywhere else in the world right then. It was true that he was a blatant contrast to many of the other proud parents, who were grinning widely and embracing their children as though they'd not set eyes on them in years. He was a very lonely, noticeable figure, blonde and terrifically pale and dressed in the trim, formal suit he often wore to work. He was standing perfectly still except for the index finger on his left hand, which was tapping an impatient rhythm on his thigh. Draco was never one hundred percent certain whether or not people honestly noticed him at every turn and recognised him as Draco Malfoy, the man who had been on Voldemort's side, the man whose parents and their parents before them were said to be rotten to the core, or whether he simply imagined it, but it often caused social situations to be sheer torture for him. He'd been a rather attention-seeking child, of course, but the utter contempt he'd recieved since the Second Wizarding World War had cured that almost entirely; he no longer wanted attention, and now he seemed to have to pay by being cursed with it quite a lot.
He spied his nephew, Sebastian, but, as usual, Draco looked very firmly into the distance, ignoring the boy entirely (Draco liked to pretend that he wasn't in any way related to that ridiculous child). Although outwardly Draco appeared tight-lipped and rather sullen, he was fervently, desperately hoping that one of his children would appear soon, knowing that he stuck out like a sore thumb dressed in such formal attire and stranded at the edge of such a happy crowd. He'd informed Ella that he was coming to the Parents' Day, of course, but he hadn't been entirely sure that she'd believed him - nor had he truly believed himself until he had gotten up that morning and realised that he couldn't waste another twenty-four hours when he could be doing something even vaguely important. And so he'd washed and dressed how he had believed was accordingly, and had been slightly shell-shocked when he arrived at Hogwarts and saw that barely any of the other fathers or mothers were dressed in suits and realised uncomfortably that he probably looked ridiculous.
Draco determinedly continued to exude an unapproachable air about him, wanting nothing less than for a Professor to stalk up to him and taking charge of the situation. He supposed that he would have to talk to them at some stage during the day, but he fully intended to hold it off as long as possible, feeling sure that he would have criticism directed towards him by some busybody Professor taking it upon themselves that muscling in on his childrens' personal lives was a good deed and feeling that he would probably lose his temper if that did happen. No, he wanted to see his children first, he wanted to get used to being with them in a different enviroment, he wanted to relax, even slightly. Admittedly, though, Hogwarts was one of the last places that Draco ever felt he could relax in - memories that had haunted him for years took place in Hogwarts, after all, and he felt a sort of burning shame as soon as he had set foot into the Entrance Hall. He had also been gripped by a sudden fear, as he jerkily tapped his finger against his thigh, that he would not be greeted very cheerfully by his children. The thought of embracing them tightly and exchanging jolly good news with them made him feel deeply uncomfortable, but the thought of them not wanting him there proved to be even worse. His eyebrows knitted together, an expression of great strain rolling onto his face.
Just as he had been weighing out each horrific possibility in his head, though, Draco caught sight of a thin, blonde girl across the room, and the finger-tapping abruptly stopped. Finding his mouth oddly dry, he clenched his fists for half-a-second (the skin on his knuckles strained and turned ghostly white) before awkwardly raising one arm and hesitantly waving at the girl who was undoubtedly his daughter, even from all the way across the room. The wave had appeared almost robotic, every movement looking wooden and almost rusty, as though he'd forgotten how to move.
