gets my wood strong

10

Happy 33rd Birthday Aaron Tveit

A Happy Happy Birthday to this talented, generous, humble dude.  The past year has held many “Tventures” - MisCast, Disaster Relief (where he was kind enough to take a picture with me), Live with Kelly, his Irving Plaza concert, and his Bethel Woods concert.  So much fun and an excuse to meet and hang out with lots of great friends and can’t wait for more this next year!

Wilderness || Vincent Corvidae

Draco moved through his room without seeing, waving his wand here and there to direct whatever happened to be in front of him at the time into his trunk, not caring what he packed or left behind. It didn’t matter. Nothing was his anymore; anything that held value had been carted off to the Ministry as evidence, and that was what had made it through two years of living with the Dark Lord and, perhaps most destructively, Aunt Bella.

He threw a furious glare at the scorch mark on his dresser where his owl’s cage had once sat. Gone now, cage and bird alike. The scorch mark still festered quietly, occasionally sending up a tendril of smoke or glowing the dark red of burning wood despite both his parents’ efforts at putting it out.

There was a quiet knock on the door and before he could respond, his mother came in. She no longer swept regally about the Manor but entered silently, robes still and shoes enchanted against the stone floors.

“Are you ready?”

Draco glanced at his trunk. There was an empty picture frame–he’d set fire to everything with Goyle’s face on it and forced himself to watch it burn–and a pair of dragonhide gloves peppered with holes on top of a pile of unfolded clothes.

“Sure.”

Narcissa sighed quietly, took out the trinkets, and began folding. “Draco–”

“Don’t talk to me,” he snapped, which wasn’t what he wanted to say at all. “You’re sending me away like I’m a child. I know how to take care of myself. As the only one not on Trial in this house, I’d think that obvious.”

Her jaw clenched, and Draco wished he could take it back, but he couldn’t, and she kept folding.

“It’s for your own safety.”

“I’m safe enough,” he spat. “I don’t even know whoever this is you’re sending me to live with. Not even a proper witch, is she? You won’t say a word on her blood status or family name, she’s not from here, nobody’s heard of her, not even Father, and she’s buggering some bird? I hardly see how any of that’s better than the house I grew up in.”

“You are a fool,” Narcissa said. Her voice was quiet and ice, and goosebumps broke out along Draco’s arms. He waited for her to elaborate and when she didn’t, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as well.

She finished with the clothes, closed the trunk, and pulled a silver spoon out of her pocket. One of the good ones, from the wedding silver. Draco suddenly found himself blinking back tears.

“That’s it, then?” he asked coolly.

Narcissa nodded. “I’ll send word as often as I can.”

“Right.”

She held out the spoon. Draco took a deep breath, grabbed his trunk in one hand, patted his cloak to make absolutely certain his wand was there, and met his mother’s eyes. “Good luck,” he said, and grasped the spoon. The familiar, horrid feeling of being yanked by his bellybutton, and then the world spun away into darkness.