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remix_reduxTitle: Brewing the River Styx (From Styx to Lethe Remix)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quietliban
Summary: Draco's short-lived career as a potions maker.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title, Author and URL of original story: Draco gen drabble bylilian_cho
Author's Notes: Thank you toempressvesica for the beta and for calming frazzled nerves, and lilain_cho for letting me mess around with her original.
VI.
The empty scotch glass shines in the candle light. Draco stares at it, and he wonders if has ever found glass to be so beautiful before.
The walls of his tiny flat are splattered with the remains of failed potions and his once immaculate hair has grown long and ratty. Draco Malfoy is not what he once was, and all his hopes and dreams have shattered, much like his last bronze cauldron.
It is the night of his twenty-first birthday and Draco Malfoy is a disgrace to his family, and a disgrace to himself. Snape would be disappointed after all his hard work to instil in Draco the discipline required to be a Potions Master.
Draco laughs and the sound reverberates off the walls back to where he sits with an empty bottle of Firewhiskey and jar of lacewings flies for company.
V.
He thinks that he can do this. If anybody can, he can. He was born for glory, or at least that's what his mother always told him. The crocodile hearts are old though, despite being the best that his money can buy and the potion calls for fresh hearts; ones that are preferably still beating.
Draco stirs the brownish sludge clockwise. The steam rising smells noxious and he tries not to cough. It won't work on him if he breathes in its vapours while it is still being made.
It bubbles once, twice, each time the bubbles pop and the sludge splatters over the table and walls. Draco smiles as he adds the crocodile hearts one by one.
Nothing happens. The potion continues to be brown sludge and Draco slows his stirring, reaching over to grab his Potions book. It was the last present he received; a gift from Snape before Potter murdered him.
He turns the waterlogged and crinkled pages, ignoring that the most words are obscured with fingerprints and water-ruined ink.
Draco finds the Potion he's been making. He stares at the page and he can't believe what he sees. The handwritten recipe is gone, and the page is blank.
He pushes the cauldron away. The brown sludge pours over its sides. Smoke and sizzling arises from where the sludge touches the wood of the table. Draco coughs with tears in his eyes.
It is three hours until his birthday and the third night he hasn't slept.
IV.
There are photographs of Potter in The Prophet every day and Draco uses the newspaper to line his table.
The blood from the newts he is removing eyes from stain his fingers but Draco doesn't care. Auror Harry Potter waves and smiles and so does his pretty red-haired bride. Draco scowls at them before throwing a limp newt body on top of their cheerful faces.
The war is ended, but Draco and what he did to help end it is forgotten. He sits here in his dank flat, removing eyes for potion ingredients to pay his rent, while Potter lives on with his fame gaining him immortality.
III.
His money is running low, and yesterday Draco's lights flicked off, but didn't flick back on. He sits in the darkness with a Lumos glowing gently and a glass of Firewhiskey to warm him.
He doesn't know what he will do. This life was not supposed to be so hard, he thinks and he drains another glass of Firewhiskey. It burns down his throat, and Draco tries not to splutter. He leans back and closes his eyes as he feels the alcohol mix with his stomach juices.
His head feels light and heavy at the same time and Draco smiles. He pulls his potion book towards him. The weight of it beside him is comforting and all the worry in his mind has floated away.
II.
The window is open in an attempt to remove the stench from Draco's latest failure. The wind blows through it, harsh and cold, and Draco shivers. His skin has broken out in goose pimples.
His potion book lies open on the table next to his third destroyed cauldron. Its pages blow in the wind and Draco stares at it as if he is mesmerised by its movement. Finally the wind stops and the book lies open as before.
Draco gets up from where he is huddled on his floor. He goes over to the book and looks down. It is open to a page he hasn't seen before. The potion recipe of this page is written by hand, not printed. Draco stares at it.
The handwriting of the page is clearly distinguishable as belonging to three separate people. One is elegant and spidery, as though the writer had learnt to write long ago. The second is spidery and in the words are written in lurid green ink. Draco recognises it from school, although he could not say which teacher it belonged to. The third handwriting he knows as well as his own and the words are written sparsely in thick black letters.
Draco reads the potion recipe carefully. The ingredients are obtained easily enough but he doesn't understand what the purpose of the potion is until he reads the words '…is needed to replicate the River Styx' written in elegant spidery handwriting.
It is only then that he realises what the potion is and he stares at it in wonder. It is the potion the Dark Lord most desired.
I.
The flat is clean and dry and Draco supposes it is better than Azkaban, but it is nothing compared to the glory of Malfoy Manor.
Draco opens his suitcase and takes out a book, before pulling out a full sized table. Draco places the table in the centre of the room, and places his book on top of it. One by one, he takes out his cauldrons, and orders them by size. His ingredients are next. Draco unpacks his suitcase, and orders his things. Knives, chopping boards, little jars, a mortar and pestle…Draco unpacks his suitcase and orders his things until at last he is satisfied.
He stands back, and admires his work. At last, he thinks, I can begin to be a Potions Master.
Author:
quietlibanSummary: Draco's short-lived career as a potions maker.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Harry Potter
Title, Author and URL of original story: Draco gen drabble by
lilian_choAuthor's Notes: Thank you to
empressvesica for the beta and for calming frazzled nerves, and lilain_cho for letting me mess around with her original.VI.
The empty scotch glass shines in the candle light. Draco stares at it, and he wonders if has ever found glass to be so beautiful before.
The walls of his tiny flat are splattered with the remains of failed potions and his once immaculate hair has grown long and ratty. Draco Malfoy is not what he once was, and all his hopes and dreams have shattered, much like his last bronze cauldron.
It is the night of his twenty-first birthday and Draco Malfoy is a disgrace to his family, and a disgrace to himself. Snape would be disappointed after all his hard work to instil in Draco the discipline required to be a Potions Master.
Draco laughs and the sound reverberates off the walls back to where he sits with an empty bottle of Firewhiskey and jar of lacewings flies for company.
V.
He thinks that he can do this. If anybody can, he can. He was born for glory, or at least that's what his mother always told him. The crocodile hearts are old though, despite being the best that his money can buy and the potion calls for fresh hearts; ones that are preferably still beating.
Draco stirs the brownish sludge clockwise. The steam rising smells noxious and he tries not to cough. It won't work on him if he breathes in its vapours while it is still being made.
It bubbles once, twice, each time the bubbles pop and the sludge splatters over the table and walls. Draco smiles as he adds the crocodile hearts one by one.
Nothing happens. The potion continues to be brown sludge and Draco slows his stirring, reaching over to grab his Potions book. It was the last present he received; a gift from Snape before Potter murdered him.
He turns the waterlogged and crinkled pages, ignoring that the most words are obscured with fingerprints and water-ruined ink.
Draco finds the Potion he's been making. He stares at the page and he can't believe what he sees. The handwritten recipe is gone, and the page is blank.
He pushes the cauldron away. The brown sludge pours over its sides. Smoke and sizzling arises from where the sludge touches the wood of the table. Draco coughs with tears in his eyes.
It is three hours until his birthday and the third night he hasn't slept.
IV.
There are photographs of Potter in The Prophet every day and Draco uses the newspaper to line his table.
The blood from the newts he is removing eyes from stain his fingers but Draco doesn't care. Auror Harry Potter waves and smiles and so does his pretty red-haired bride. Draco scowls at them before throwing a limp newt body on top of their cheerful faces.
The war is ended, but Draco and what he did to help end it is forgotten. He sits here in his dank flat, removing eyes for potion ingredients to pay his rent, while Potter lives on with his fame gaining him immortality.
III.
His money is running low, and yesterday Draco's lights flicked off, but didn't flick back on. He sits in the darkness with a Lumos glowing gently and a glass of Firewhiskey to warm him.
He doesn't know what he will do. This life was not supposed to be so hard, he thinks and he drains another glass of Firewhiskey. It burns down his throat, and Draco tries not to splutter. He leans back and closes his eyes as he feels the alcohol mix with his stomach juices.
His head feels light and heavy at the same time and Draco smiles. He pulls his potion book towards him. The weight of it beside him is comforting and all the worry in his mind has floated away.
II.
The window is open in an attempt to remove the stench from Draco's latest failure. The wind blows through it, harsh and cold, and Draco shivers. His skin has broken out in goose pimples.
His potion book lies open on the table next to his third destroyed cauldron. Its pages blow in the wind and Draco stares at it as if he is mesmerised by its movement. Finally the wind stops and the book lies open as before.
Draco gets up from where he is huddled on his floor. He goes over to the book and looks down. It is open to a page he hasn't seen before. The potion recipe of this page is written by hand, not printed. Draco stares at it.
The handwriting of the page is clearly distinguishable as belonging to three separate people. One is elegant and spidery, as though the writer had learnt to write long ago. The second is spidery and in the words are written in lurid green ink. Draco recognises it from school, although he could not say which teacher it belonged to. The third handwriting he knows as well as his own and the words are written sparsely in thick black letters.
Draco reads the potion recipe carefully. The ingredients are obtained easily enough but he doesn't understand what the purpose of the potion is until he reads the words '…is needed to replicate the River Styx' written in elegant spidery handwriting.
It is only then that he realises what the potion is and he stares at it in wonder. It is the potion the Dark Lord most desired.
I.
The flat is clean and dry and Draco supposes it is better than Azkaban, but it is nothing compared to the glory of Malfoy Manor.
Draco opens his suitcase and takes out a book, before pulling out a full sized table. Draco places the table in the centre of the room, and places his book on top of it. One by one, he takes out his cauldrons, and orders them by size. His ingredients are next. Draco unpacks his suitcase, and orders his things. Knives, chopping boards, little jars, a mortar and pestle…Draco unpacks his suitcase and orders his things until at last he is satisfied.
He stands back, and admires his work. At last, he thinks, I can begin to be a Potions Master.
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Date: 2007-04-30 12:33 am (UTC)