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Secret knots [Sep. 24th, 2004|02:13 am]
[mood |awakeclarified!]

I feel as though I have been living in a fog. I'm not sure for how long, now - can it possibly have been years? Since school, at least. My mind has been befuddled, bound, perhaps by ridiculous notions and foolishness. And now, at last, I am free. Or should I say free again? For once I knew where things stood. Perhaps it was only my own fear that put me on such a dismal, mundane path. I believe that must be the explanation. I have acted wrongly; fear should never bind a Malfoy.

Mother, my deepest apologies. I only hope I can make up to you what has been lost. You have been and always will be the symbol of everything a Malfoy strives for. Father, I can only thank you, for having patience with me, and helping me again see the way things should be.
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(no subject) [May. 13th, 2004|02:43 am]
[mood |apatheticapathetic]
[music |Dark Star, Umbra Mortalis]

This journal is shortly (after this entry) to become friends only. I find myself unwilling to express any real emotion in the possible presence of those I neither know, nor trust. I suppose I might utilize this journal otherwise, and only make announcements of banal ordinary thoughts and emotions, but I do not have the patience. Thank you.

((The list of Draco's friends is sadly very, very small. Hermione, Peter (if he had been given Peter's journal name), Snape, and Harry.))
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Poetry [Apr. 30th, 2004|02:36 am]
The Price of Time

There is a price
For each ecstatic instant
Each quivering breath in which I can
Taste him at the back of my throat

There is a price
For each maddening moment
Each glorious brush of whispered lips
Against my trembling skin

There is a price
For each zealous second
Each impassioned press of fingers
Against desire dizzied flesh and fevered blood

A price of days of keen uncertainty
A price of hours of sharp-toothed longing
A price of bitter contested minutes
Filled to over flowing in the coffers of want

I gladly pay
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Poetry ((Not friends only)) [Mar. 29th, 2004|10:53 pm]
[mood |pensivepensive]


I saw him sleeping in the sun
One day
A great somber serpent
Coiled in the summer of an open window

When he spoke next
His resonance was no longer mythic
Deep and dark but not
a gorge between us, now a ravine

Terrifying mystery to a child
Only shadows to a man
His tongue not barbed cruelly or edged
But merely fork'd tasting the air, mortal

His poison fevered my mind
Not fatal, but infectious, wreaking change
In the silver channels
Of my blood

When does the Leviathan become the adder?
The creature of dread and awe and dream
Become the cool sibilance
That can be touched?

I want to be a serpent, too.
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Valentine's Day [Feb. 15th, 2004|11:42 pm]
On Valentine's Day, a large bouquet of lilies will be delivered to Narcissa. The card says, in a graceful silver script, "To the most beautiful woman in the world. Your loving son."

The delivery for Peter will be made on Friday to the stationary shop, and also include a small card. "Peter - These are supposed to bring good luck, but I thought they might appeal to your aesthetic sense as well. -Draco"
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After a meeting with a friend, if I can call him that [Feb. 8th, 2004|08:40 am]

Tell me one perfect thing.
One single
to soothe my slumber.

There are no perfect things.
But moment to moment
we live
in search of.
Until the nightbird's song
and reminds me
that faults
are where beauty sleeps.
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A vain attempt [Feb. 4th, 2004|08:33 am]
((This post with be a specific friends group only. As Draco has very few friends defined for this journal, only Hermione, Harry, and Snape will be able to see this. Any poetry of his own he posts will remain this specific group only, unless otherwise stated.))


brought up
expecting my own
royalty, raised
on platinum, diamonds
things as cold as
distant stars
nurturnace through wealth
and other's whispers
the smell of strangers
in a child's bed linens

never did
i know my own
mother's milk
not her breast
not her hand
not her song
deprived of warmth
a somnolent snake
to wake
in the noontime sun
of adolescent awareness
but waken to what?
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New developments [Feb. 3rd, 2004|02:32 am]
[mood |curiouscurious]
[music |Fire's Fall, Chosen]

Since my return to England, I felt a faint touch of despair that all should remain the same as it ever were. The reason I traveled to France in the first place was to gain a new perspective, and refresh my soul for whatever may lie ahead, and returning home felt like a step backward. However, this week's events have been proving me wrong, in several intriguing ways.

I have made a new acquaintance, a somewhat secretive gentleman. We spoke over lunch, and had a nearly unfathomable exchange that has, nevertheless, inspired me to re-examine certain givens. Not something that happens every day, so I'm inclined to savor it.

I have also recently found employment with Obscurus Books, a publishing firm located in Diagon Alley. I am to be started in the editing department, I understand. I shall have more to tell tomorrow, when I have started.

All in all, I find myself eagerly awaiting the rest of the week. How unusual.
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Rain, rain [Jan. 27th, 2004|07:11 pm]
[mood |annoyedannoyed]
[music |Dance of the Marionettes, The Mourners]

((This entry will be blocked from view from everyone but Hermione.))

I'm afraid I have some bad news. Mother and Father have heard from someone that we have become friends. I still don't know who could have mentioned, since none of the people at your birthday party are the type that would associate with my parents. Whoever the culprit, I'm afraid our meetings from now on will have to be more discreet, as they were when we first came to know each other.

Of course, I still want to talk to you. You haven't told me about Graham, yet, and I may have news for you after tomorrow, I'm not sure. Could we get together sometime soon?
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The ultimatum [Jan. 27th, 2004|05:05 pm]
[mood |discontentdiscontent]
[music |Love In Blood, Sisters Of Death]

I knew this day was coming. The day that Mother and Father decided I should Get Married to someone of appropriate wealth, gender, and social status. I was hoping they'd give me a little more time, but what else could I expect after moving in again? It's one of the reasons I escaped to Paris in the first place, after all. No one knows how awful it can be, to have so much expected of you, when all you want to do is live your life the way you see fit. I'm an adult now, aren't I? I should be making my own decisions about my life.

I just know this is all Father's doing. The utter prat has put it into Mother's head that I'm betraying the family somehow, when he's the one that picked the losing side, and wasted all of our money trying to stay out of prison. If he really cared about us, he would have gone to prison and allowed Mother and I to get on with our lives, but he has to stay, lurking around like some sort of disgusting old dog, his stench infecting everything.

It's so hard, having to live a lie like this, but this is the way things have to be for now. When I have a place of my own, maybe then I can tell Mother who I really am. But for now I must play this game of deceit, and hope that no one catches on.

Peter intrigues me. I'm finding myself eagerly awaiting tomorrow's lunch. Perhaps associating with the Parkinson's won't be as difficult as I first imagined.

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