![“Granger.” It came out strangled.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then they widened at comprehension and she voiced her explanation to why he was acting so strangely, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “Standing at the door of a Mudblood got your tongue?” she hissed. Long ago, the word had held much meaning – much painful meaning. But it was much like any other curse word, something that oughtn’t be taught or learned but eventually was reached to the younger generation just as it had so many times since it originated. And even though it was a sensitive issue because it was racist, much like the words “shit” which evolved in years to “fuck” that became common, redundant from being uttered out of casualness or playfulness, it lost its sting. And she could say it, yes. She could say it with a straight face.
Something squeezed his heart tight enough for him to feel as if it was going to pop. Anger and disappointment and indignation and regret – it was another bout of these bothersome emotions. He could do without them. Fucking Weaslette and her boyfriend – him and Granger – preposterous – just because they were all loved up – he wasn’t lonely at all! – there were plenty of women out there – he had been attracted to many, had had many – nothing could possibly – no. His nose wrinkled in the beginnings of a snarl, a lash-back on the tip of his tongue, in the back of his head so horrible he knew that if he spat it out the way he was about to, the way he had always done, there would be no going back. And he was just about to – sod it all –
His fists tightened and there was a rustle of plastic and both their eyes dropped to what he was holding. His eyes flashed up and caught the look of surprise on Hermione’s face which flitted, replaced by a careful wariness. He grimaced. Try again, Draco, try.
“I believe,” he spoke in a low voice, “that the expression is ‘cat got your tongue’.” On cue, a giant fur ball of orange appeared meowing, popping its head out from behind Hermione’s legs. On the way up from looking at the cat, he let his eyes glide up over her legs until he met her eyes again.
Careful now, Draco. [x]
Drabble by my bby | choric](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lx28l7zsRV1qb71uqo1_500.png)
—before the worst—
i hereby would like to apologize
for my boring ass blog because
i am on a hiatus: pre-university
ironicallydissatisfied is now my personal blog
lookie! i got a blog award!
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CURRENTLY READING
[ too many fanfics at once i refuse to list them ]
“Granger.” It came out strangled.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then they widened at comprehension and she voiced her explanation to why he was acting so strangely, her mouth set in a stubborn line. “Standing at the door of a Mudblood got your tongue?” she hissed. Long ago, the word had held much meaning – much painful meaning. But it was much like any other curse word, something that oughtn’t be taught or learned but eventually was reached to the younger generation just as it had so many times since it originated. And even though it was a sensitive issue because it was racist, much like the words “shit” which evolved in years to “fuck” that became common, redundant from being uttered out of casualness or playfulness, it lost its sting. And she could say it, yes. She could say it with a straight face.
Something squeezed his heart tight enough for him to feel as if it was going to pop. Anger and disappointment and indignation and regret – it was another bout of these bothersome emotions. He could do without them. Fucking Weaslette and her boyfriend – him and Granger – preposterous – just because they were all loved up – he wasn’t lonely at all! – there were plenty of women out there – he had been attracted to many, had had many – nothing could possibly – no. His nose wrinkled in the beginnings of a snarl, a lash-back on the tip of his tongue, in the back of his head so horrible he knew that if he spat it out the way he was about to, the way he had always done, there would be no going back. And he was just about to – sod it all –
His fists tightened and there was a rustle of plastic and both their eyes dropped to what he was holding. His eyes flashed up and caught the look of surprise on Hermione’s face which flitted, replaced by a careful wariness. He grimaced. Try again, Draco, try.
“I believe,” he spoke in a low voice, “that the expression is ‘cat got your tongue’.” On cue, a giant fur ball of orange appeared meowing, popping its head out from behind Hermione’s legs. On the way up from looking at the cat, he let his eyes glide up over her legs until he met her eyes again.
Careful now, Draco. [x]