Where The Sun Drops | drarry post-war

two | the swallows

Draco had been watching the swallows flit out from under the eaves of Potter's house for some time now. It was early evening, and as the sun daubed soft orange light over the side of the house, the place took on a sort of rounded edge that made it feel very welcoming.

Not that he liked it there, of course. There was plenty wrong with the little house: not least the fact that its residents were Potter and (usually) the Weaselette. He couldn't work out which of the two repulsed him more, and decided they deserved each other for exactly that reason.

It was just that, inexplicably, Draco found himself drawn to the place. Especially in the evenings. He'd been coming there every night for the past two weeks since he'd seen his mother, and it seemed to help rebalance the weird energy he was constantly feeling. Since becoming a ghost, Draco had become much more sensitive to such things as energies, so this was important to him - and besides, the place was usually fairly quiet.

Unless Potter and Agent Orange were arguing, of course. In the weeks since the war, they'd seemed to do that increasingly often. Draco supposed that was what trauma would do to you, although he refused to accept that Potter or Weasel had endured any real trauma. They'd won, hadn't they? They were alive. Where's the trauma in that?

Potter wants to try dying, Draco thought to himself. Or being tortured by your own parents. Now there's trauma.

It looked like the pair were gearing up for an argument inside tonight, as well. Draco chuckled with gleeful anticipation. It was only a small win, but he still loved to hear the frustration in Potter's voice as he bickered with the Weasley brat. If Potter was suffering even a little, Draco was happy.

He floated slowly up to the window of the kitchen and strained his ears to listen.

"Gin, I think you're being unreasonable," Potter was saying, in the kind of voice Draco deemed extremely pathetic and whiny. "I've told you before that I'm tired and you shouldn't be trying to make me come with you."

"Aren't you always fucking tired?" Weasel sneered. "We had a commitment! And we never do anything any more-"

"Ginny, in case you've already forgotten, I saved the entire Wizarding World five weeks ago and I think I'm entitled to be fucking tired!" Potter snapped back, more forceful this time.

Ah yes, Potter declaring he single-handedly "saved the entire Wizarding World". Classic arrogant prick.

Draco glared stonily up at the eaves, fury radiating off him like heat. He willed one of the swallows to drop dead, just for something to watch, but it didn't.

"Fine, I'll go on my own again, then!" Weasel was still yelling in that grating high voice of hers. "And you can sit here on your own like you do every night, and feel shit!"

"Yeah, GOOD! Maybe I'd like that!"

"GOOD! I hope you do!"

There was the sound of slamming doors inside the house, and Draco grinned triumphantly. That had escalated more quickly than their usual fare, and he'd enjoyed the firey drama immensely.

"Aren't you always fucking tired?" he mimicked Ginny's voice in a nasty tone, cracking up on every line. "Stay at home and feel shit, Potter. Oh, I'm so lonely without you, Potter! Now stay here and feel shit."

He entertained himself maliciously with the argument's aftermath for several minutes, and then caught sight of the red-headed girl storming out of the house, letting the door bang hard behind her.

Probably heading back to the fucking hovel that produced all the other carrot-tops, Draco thought with a shudder of disgust. "Burrow" was the right word for it, for sure. Weasels by name, but they spawned like bloody rabbits. You'd think they'd have the respect to stop after seeing the first one.

Draco had headed to the Burrow himself at one point since his death, though only for a day. It was part of a routine tour he had taken of places he knew in life or had at least heard of; desperate to find something familiar to ground himself to the earth.

Not that he'd ever had any attachment to the Weasleys: quite the opposite. This revulsion was confirmed after a pretty short experience in the Burrow, watching the poverty-stricken Molly and Arthur grieve for the son they'd lost in the battle.

Fred, was it? Draco wondered. Or George? One of the twins, anyway.

Could've been any of the brothers in Draco's eyes, though. They all looked the bloody same.

Watching Molly and Arthur's misery at the time, Draco had felt absolutely nothing for them other than mild disgust. Certainly no pity. His own mother was somewhere crying her eyes out, too - would they feel sympathy for her? Losing her Death Eater child? Draco doubted it.

He'd often wondered how many people were delighted when he'd died. Potter, almost definitely. He hadn't seen his reaction in person, but he assumed it had been one of relief at the very least.

His mother had screamed, he remembered that.

It was sickening, a scream of real agony. The scream of a mother watching her teenage son die. The kind of pain that wrenches your soul right out of your body.

Potter, on the other hand? Potter had probably laughed, Draco decided with a rush of volcanic rage. Foul, loathsome creature. He'd teach him to laugh.

The second wave of anger spurred him into action, leading him right up to the window.

He knew that people couldn't see him, but Draco had been experimenting recently to find out just what effect he could have on the mortal world as a ghost all the same.

He wanted to properly work on any skills he still had before putting them into action for the first time, so as to disrupt Potter's life most effectively when he chose.

For this reason, Draco timed his little 'experiments' for times when Potter left the house - not that this was often, the loser had no social life whatsoever; barely even saw the Mudblood or any of the more weaselly Weasels during the week.

And he didn't have a job, either. Apparently he was working on his N.E.W.T.s to become an Auror, a laughably pathetic ambition in Draco's opinion when the other boy had enough gold in Gringotts to live a life of luxury and never work a day in his life.

The one thing Potter always did like clockwork was to leave the house with a notebook twice a week (Mondays and Wednesdays, Draco had noticed), from which he always came back looking sad and exhausted. Draco wondered where he went.

He resolved to follow him one night in the future, but till then he used those precious two-hour slots to practice his ghostly magic in Potter's house, and it seemed he was getting rather good at it.

He had discovered that he could have an effect (albeit a small one) on the temperature of rooms and selected items, and was able to snuff lights and knock things around at will, without physical contact.

He was even getting to grips with freezing things. Cold came much more naturally to him than heat, and it was really rather fun.

Maybe he'd be able to spook Potter enough to make him leave this house, Draco thought gleefully. And he'd follow him, and do it again at the next place.

"You'll be running away from me for the rest of your life, Potter, if I play my cards right," Draco whispered venomously, still looking in at the empty kitchen.

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a/n: so yeah i may not have mentioned, but draco is not going to be sweet and fluffy in this fic .... he is going to be a total dick. which i think will be really fun after writing so much fluff in fatherhood, i've been desperate to get some mean, angsty draco in there!

i hope you're enjoying his character in this, i hope i'm getting it right !

~ paradisedraco