#Crabbe and Goyle

[velvet4510]

For the record, “DON’T KILL HIM!” - Draco’s yell when Harry is being attacked, caps lock and all - is not the kind of thing an ordinary bully screams when someone they despise is in danger, it’s more like the kind of thing that … you know … a person in love screams when the object of their affections is in danger. That’s just a fact.

[seriousbrat]

vincent crabbe and gregory goyle

There are few HP characters I think are badly written, but while rereading I often feel like we could have done without Crabbe and Goyle. Or at least without one of them. They basically have no speaking lines and just "flex their muscles" a lot (I hate this lol it's so silly to me.)

To be fair, Crabbe does get more interesting in HBP/DH, when he emerges from Draco's shadow and becomes a character in his own right. And in a way Harry himself points this out in the narration-- he's surprised at the softness of Crabbe's voice because... he's basically never heard his voice in 7 years. Like alright I'll accept Crabbe's presence in the books because I do actually like the fact that he starts rebelling against Malfoy. The brief final exchange with Crabbe alone gives him a lot more depth, and it's hinted at in HBP with Crabbe starting to question Malfoy's orders. Like I think this is quite good:

All of this makes Crabbe slightly more interesting to me, but I'm pretty sure Goyle's only given character trait over 7 books is being stupid lmao. Arguably some of this lack of depth is just because Harry doesn't pay attention to them, but also it's remarkable how much more interesting Theodore Nott, who doesn't appear until OotP, seems just because of his ability to see Thestrals (also his father is more interesting than Crabbe Sr and Goyle Sr in the graveyard.) And it's weird because jkr is typically quite good at infusing very minor characters with interest and depth, even if they only have one line in the entire series (Nott's father being a good example.)

Goyle I think literally just doesn't add anything as a character. I'm a little torn about Crabbe because in a way I do think it's interesting for him to basically be a non-entity and then take Harry (and us) by surprise during their first conversation in 7 years, right before his death. So I think Crabbe would be a better character overall without Goyle dragging him down by association lol.

But anyway despite Crabbe's last hurrah, most of the time both characters are just kind of extensions of Draco, it's even stated that they "seemed to exist to do Malfoy's bidding." Pansy and even the much more minor Zabini and Nott all feel so much more dynamic. Like I said, characters who only appear for a single line are given more depth than Crabbe and Goyle who are "on screen" all the time but seem to share a non-personality, because until HBP there's almost no distinction between the two (apart from Goyle being a bit stupider.)

Honestly it seems like until HBP they're mostly there to make Malfoy more of a threat to the trio, since otherwise Ron and Harry could just pummel Draco when he got mouthy and win. I think if Malfoy's gang had just been one of them (Crabbe) and then maybe Nott as more of a sycophant type of role rather than just a thug, this would have worked much better.

I mentioned the Crabbe Sr and Goyle Sr, who are also remarkably uninteresting/blank compared to other minor Death Eaters like Nott Sr or Avery. This makes me never want to include them as Death Eaters in anything I write haha. They just "bow clumsily and mutter dully" so it feels like all we can conclude is that Crabbe Sr and Goyle Sr are just.. exactly the same as their sons but as adults, which is doubly boring because them being copies of their sons is boring but also their sons are boring to begin with. Neither family is part of the Sacred Twenty-eight, and the only mildly interesting inference I can draw here is that they were low-ranking Death Eaters, untalented, basic lackeys who deliberately encouraged their sons to suck up to Lucius Malfoy's son, which is why Vincent and Gregory dutifully followed Draco's orders for so long.

I can imagine that after Lord Voldemort's downfall, Lucius was probably the highest-ranking Death Eater to escape Azkaban, and he might have been seen as a sort of rallying point by those who believed Voldemort was gone. Natural followers like Crabbe and Goyle would have gravitated to Lucius as the new alpha lol, and I think it does add a little bit of interest if the reason why Vincent and Gregory allowed themselves to be bossed around and talked down to by Draco for so long is because they were specifically instructed or encouraged to do so as children. This also explains why Crabbe starts to rebel when Lucius loses favour after OotP.

[citruswriter]

Hogwarts Cast + Fancasting + Other Characters - Pt 2

❤ = Original Actor

💙 = Fancast

💘 = OC

Gregory Goyle 💙 Draco Malfoy ❤ Vincent Crabbe 💙

Blaise Zabini 💙 Pansy Parkinson 💙

Tom Riddle ❤ Mattheo Riddle 💘 Theodore Nott 💘💙

Lorenzo Berkshire 💘 Adrian Pucey 💙 Lucian Bole 💙💘

[ejcarpe]

twin flames [part 1]

A lot had changed in the summer before fifth year. 

Draco had grown like a weed, for one. His limbs stretched outside the bounds of his wardrobe, which he’d then replaced entirely. He’d given up pasting his hair down to his head after Blaise Zabini had commented that it made him resemble a hard boiled egg, and his white-blond locks now fell freely over his forehead. Unlike his newfound height, which had quickly become a point of pride, Draco’s skin had been mangled by the scourge of adolescence. He’d thrown a fit of epic proportions over it before his mother swooped in to fix the issue, leaving him religiously dedicated to his regiment of skin potions – a fact not a single soul at Hogwarts could ever find out, of course.

The dynamic in the Manor had changed too. Lucius Malfoy had always been a rather busy man, but Draco had hardly seen his father at all that summer and was still feeling rather bitter that the man had missed his birthday. Sure, he’d organized a portkey for Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle to attend a Portugal vs Germany Quidditch Match and reserved them box seats as well as a suite stay in Portugal’s most luxurious wizarding hotel and bought him the yet-to-be-released Nimbus 2002 – which was faster than a Firebolt, dammit! – and about a dozen other presents on top of that, but would it have killed him to at least include a card?

Draco, of course, had some notion of what his father was so busy with, but he hadn’t dared mention it by name. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who were usually about as subtle as a rock to the face, had been careful and quiet about their fathers’ business, offering only the occasional sly smirk or wink when the topic of the Dark Lord was hinted at. 

But there was a bubbling excitement beneath everything that summer. Draco spent the early half of July in Paris with his mother and was surprised to find upon his return that Pureblood society had become a coiled spring, ready to bounce back to a golden age Draco had only ever heard about. Draco definitely liked the sound of it. Power and glory and the return of Pureblood aristocracy. 

But there were also things he felt a bit strange about. His father had been dreadfully overworked between his responsibilities at the ministry and his responsibilities in….other matters, and though Draco would never admit it, he found himself looking sideways at his father’s graying hair and rapidly wrinkling face. He’d just always assumed the rise to absolute glory would look a bit more glorious. Nonetheless, Draco did his part, smirking and sneering alongside his fellow Slytherins as they gallivanted through the summer’s events and soirees, bragging endlessly about his father and his fortune and his future. 

There was one such reception in mid-August. The afternoon had given way to a honey-gold haze, pooling across the sun-warmed Wiltshire lawn, manicured and sprawling. Draco was draped across a chaise lounge as he and the other soon-to-be fifth year Slytherins sipped on champagne they’d nicked from a house elf’s silver tray. All day, he and Pansy had been taking great joy waving their brand new prefect badges in their friends’ faces.

“Who do you think made Prefect for the other Houses?” Daphne Greengrass asked Pansy, her eyes squinting against the sun and lips stained strawberry pink.  

“Hmm,” Pansy said, “For Ravenclaw, Patil. With Boot or maybe Goldstein.”

“Abbott for Hufflepuff,” Blaise said confidently, “with, who do you think, Finch-Fletchley?”

“The Mudblood?” Draco opened one eye to ask, shaking his head. “No, it’ll be Macmillan.”

“And we all know for the dreaded lion’s den, it’ll be Granger and Potter,” Pansy sneered. They all performed the obligatory gagging ritual at the mere mention of the Gryffindors.

“Potter would be a horrible prefect,” Daphne said. “He’s always getting in trouble.”

“That hardly matters,” Draco tutted. “Not for Saint Potter. The wanker could blow up the castle, and they’d throw him a parade.”

The others laughed, but Daphne pushed on, seriously, “It’s true though, isn’t it? I mean, he’s gone barmy, and he probably killed Cedric Diggory.”

“How do you figure that?” Pansy asked with an intrigued glint in her eye. 

“Well, he’s peddling that ridiculous story about the Dark Lord returning,” Daphne explained. Draco exchanged subtle glances with Theodore Nott, who had been sitting quietly the whole afternoon, before returning his gaze back to Daphne. Crabbe and Goyle thankfully had the good sense to keep quiet. “The Prophet has only said Diggory’s death was an accident, but never what kind of accident. It makes sense if Potter snapped and killed him. Dumbledore’s probably protecting him.”

“Come off it! Potter couldn’t have killed Diggory. Not with the way he was crying over his body,” Blaise laughed, turning to Crabbe with a mischievous smirk. “It was quite sweet how emotional he got, wasn’t it? Sentimental. They must have been lovers.”

Crabbe snorted, collapsing into a guffawing Goyle. Zabini leaned back on his elbows with a devilish smile. Draco let his head fall back, staring up at the sky, where the heat had bleached it bone white. He was getting bored.

That night, Draco had a strange dream.

He was back at the Yule Ball, and it was progressing as it had in his memory. He, Crabbe and Goyle were planning to plant laxative potion in some Hufflepuffs’ punch, but Pansy kept nagging at him to ask her to dance. Eventually, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and the Triwizard Champions and their dates proceeded into the room for their formal dance. In reality, Draco had spent the whole time pointing and laughing at Potter’s awkward waltzing, but now, in the dream, he looked over to see Potter, not with Patil as he should have been, but with Diggory. 

Potter looked ridiculous, bending his neck back to look up into Diggory’s eyes. Their hands gripped each other’s dress robes tightly, and every other dancer vanished into mist. As Draco watched the pair of them twirling under the snowflakes, his stomach clenched uncomfortably, but he couldn’t look away. Suddenly, something slithered up his leg and tied him in place. 

Lightning struck overhead, and when Draco looked up, the enchanted ceiling of the great hall was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the night sky rumbled threateningly, lightning dancing between the dark clouds, packs of dementors roaming in droves. The castle walls turned to dust before the wind whisked them away. Draco watched the rain fall from the sky but couldn’t feel it touch his skin. It passed right through his suddenly translucent hand. A ghost’s hand. 

Potter’s scream pierced the night exactly as it had when Draco heard it from the stands on the last night of the Triwizard Tournament. Still in his dress robes, Potter struggled to hold up the dead weight of Diggory’s body, which stared, pale and unforgiving, at Draco. Potter fell to his knees, cradling Diggory’s head gently in his lap. Rain and tears fell down his dirt-streaked face Draco watched, an ache in his throat as if he’d been screaming, but he was silent.

���Draco.” His father’s voice called from behind him, but when Draco turned, he saw not his father but something else. More man than creature but not quite human. His face shifted impossibly from demonic to beautiful and back again. Draco had no idea what the Dark Lord looked like, but he knew this was him. He smiled, and it was all fangs.

Draco woke with a stuttering heart. He laid his hand on his chest; willed the traitorous thing to calm itself, feeling it slow beneath his fingertips; and he thought about Potter.

That was the other thing that changed that summer. 

Without cause or reason, Draco sometimes found himself thinking vaguely about Potter. Of course, he’d thought about Potter before, in the sense of how much he hated him or how to hurt him or get under his skin. But now he just…thought about him. Just small things. His eyelashes, the way he’d looked in his dress robes. Naturally, Draco spoke of this to absolutely no one.

By morning, the ponderings had been set on fire and the ashes swept away. He sat at the dining table with his mother, and together, they quietly picked at a breakfast far too big for two people. His father’s place at the head of the table remained empty. 

Afterward, Draco spent the remainder of the morning in the library. Not the grand one, which took up most of the east wing, but his father’s – the blackwood shelves filled with his intriguing books and off-limits artefacts. Draco wasn’t technically allowed in it, but Mother spent all day in her gardens, Father wasn’t around to know anyway, and the house-elves had long ago realized that tattling on Draco would not go well for them. 

That morning, though, Draco paused on his way to the library when he saw Theodore Nott sitting politely in the corridor, a book open in his lap. 

“Theo?” Draco approached the other boy like he would a wild deer. “What are you doing here?”

Theo didn’t look up. “My father’s meeting with your father.”

Eyebrows pulled together, Draco let his gaze wander down the corridor, toward his father’s study. “Father is home?”

“It seems,” Theo replied, turning a page.

Draco narrowed his eyes and kicked lightly at Theo’s shoe until the other boy lifted his gaze. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

“Didn’t think to,” Theo replied, lifting his book to reveal the cover of their fifth year Charms textbook. “Reading.”

“Swotty Nott-y,” Draco teased with a roll of his eyes. “You are aware school hasn’t started yet?”

When Theo just shrugged, Draco sighed, lowering himself to sit beside him. The silence stretched on, and with Theo unwilling to provide a proper distraction, Draco’s mind circled his father’s study. “Our fathers. What are they discussing?”

“Not sure,” Theo said with a wry smirk. “I’m out here in the hallway, you see.” 

Draco rolled his eyes again. “You’re not funny.”

Theo grinned then cleared his throat. “I expect they’re discussing plans for the creatures.”

“Creatures?” Draco asked. 

“Werewolves, vampires, and the like.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“They’re on our side,” Theo answered, “or most are, I think. Father only told me that Dumbledore’s trying to sway the giants back over. They even sent the half-breed gameskeeper as some sort of ambassador. Good news for you – he won’t be at Hogwarts this term.” 

“Really?” Draco brightened. “Well, good. That overgrown waste of hair has always had it out for me.”

Theo shot him a look. 

“What?” Draco argued, “It was his beast that attacked me. All I did was suggest students be protected from dangerous animals. Quite reasonably, might I add. Would the world truly stop spinning if that oaf followed a curriculum?”

Theo made a noncommittal noise. “Well, he’s likely to be eaten for Giant Supper by Christmas. Father says most of the giants support the Dark Lord.”

Draco leaned in to mutter, “Your father told you that?”

Theo nodded, and Draco couldn’t help looking down and away from him. His father hardly told him anything at all since the Dark Lord’s return. How was he expected to be a part of the revolution when he was kept so utterly in the dark about it?

Abruptly, Draco stood. “Come on.”

Theo watched him with a brow raised. 

Draco tilted his head toward his father’s study. “I’d like to know what they’re talking about.”

“You want to…what?” Theo asked, “Spy on our fathers?”

Draco shrugged lightly. “Just a simple eavesdrop.”

Theo shook his head incredulously.

“Come on, Nott,” Draco urged. “Aren’t you curious?”

“Course,” Theo said, “but I’m patient.”

“You mean boring?” 

“That too, I suppose.” Theo said. When he got to his feet anyway, Draco couldn’t help but grin. Peer pressure was a beautiful thing.

Together, the pair of them crept down the hall, careful to keep their footsteps quiet, and Draco pressed his ear to the door. The conversation inside was low and muffled, but stray words slipped through. They hadn’t cast a silencing charm – Draco smirked at Theo, who leaned in beside him, curious despite himself. Draco only heard a few things, scattered and meaningless: Black. Ministry. Capture. Trelawney. 

Draco pulled his brows together, mouthing to Theo, “The divination professor?”

Theo shrugged, looking just as bewildered as Draco felt. What would Father want with that old bat? He pushed closer, trying to somehow angle himself to hear better.

Instead, the door swung suddenly open, and both he and Theo collapsed onto the dark, veined marble, a group of Death Eaters hovering above them. There were five men in total – Mr. Nott, red-faced and frowning at his son, two of father’s ministry connections, an unfamiliar, roguish man with too many teeth, and of course, Lucius Malfoy, who looked like he might set fire to his son with only a blink. His face hardly changed as he said, “Out.”

Draco and Theo both scrambled to their feet, Theo disappearing like he’d been Vanished. Draco opened his mouth, but before an apology formed, his father barked, “Now!”

Theo and Draco stood silently in the corridor, unwilling to speak of the punishments they both knew awaited them. Mr. Nott appeared soon after to usher Theo through the Floo. The other boy shot Draco a final, sympathetic glance before the green flames whisked him away. Draco lingered by his father’s study, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. 

One by one, the other voices disappeared, and when the rough growl of his father’s final guest finally disappeared, Draco didn’t even have time to flinch before his father sent a stinging hex to his cheek. 

“Ouch!” Draco complained, rubbing at his face, but his father dragged him unsympathetically into the study.

The fire lit Lucius’s pale complexion a warning red as he narrowed his eyes at his son. “You make a pathetic spy.”

“Father, I wasn’t–”

Lucius interrupted, “You will never pull a ridiculous stunt like that again.”

“I only wanted to know what was going on,” Draco complained. “So I can help. I want to help, but you won’t let me.”

“What do you presume you could help with, Draco?” His father replied, his voice cold. “You’re a child.”

“Theo’s father tells him things!” Draco argued. “I can keep secrets. I have done. I’m not like Vince or Greg. I’m smart.”

“You’re right. You’re not like them. They follow their fathers’ orders!” Lucius snapped. He ran a hand over his face, the motion draining his fury like water down a sink, leaving only annoyed exhaustion behind. When he raised his head, his pale eyes were deadly serious. “You run your mouth incessantly. You have an inflated sense of your own importance, and you lack all sense of restraint. Among the men I confer with, if you put your foot in your mouth at the wrong moment, you may end up choking on it.”

Lucius reached for a glass decanter, pouring the amber drink into a glass for himself. Draco watched, an enraptured audience, as his father lifted the glass to his lips, the firelight turning it to liquid sunlight. Lucius exhaled softly, and when he spoke again, it was pensive. “Did you see my new…acquaintance? Mr. Greyback?” 

Draco swallowed. “The one with the teeth?”

“That’s the one.” Lucius nodded, turning to the fire. “You are never to be alone with him. Understand?”

“Yes, father,” Draco answered, not wanting to know the reason. 

When Lucius dismissed him with a flippant hand, Draco rushed to his bedroom and spent the rest of the day behind his locked door. He found himself uniquely relieved when his father, once again, was not at breakfast the following morning. 

September 1st crept up quietly then pounced.

As they climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, Pansy clung to Draco’s side, holding his hand in her constricting, manicured grasp. She’d gotten clingier over the summer, but Draco really didn’t have the energy to care much. It was easier to let her cling and purr and fuss with his tie than to deal with the drama that would follow if he put a stop to it. He didn’t mind too much. She laughed too loudly in his ear and her perfume gave him a headache, but he supposed they looked good together. Appropriate.

After they’d completed their prefect duties, Pansy went off to find Daphne and Blaise. Draco found Crabbe and Goyle right where he expected to – at the candy trolley. They planned to meet Nott after, but on the way back, Draco heard Potter’s voice, growly and frustrated, coming from a nearby compartment. Draco lit up again at the reminder that Potter hadn’t been made a prefect after all. Amazing, Draco thought. Time to ruin the prat’s day. 

A group of rowdy second-years blocking the corridor withered beneath the shine of Draco’s prefect badge, and he, Crabbe, and Goyle quickly pounced on Potter’s compartment. 

At the sight of Potter glaring at him, irritated and unsurprised, Draco felt something in him lurch. A missed step on a staircase. 

“What?” Potter barked at him impatiently. His voice was deeper, his skin tanner, and hair longer. Fuse shorter. 

Draco’s mouth curled into a smirk before he could stop it. “Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention.”

On either of his sides, Crabbe and Goyle laughed, and annoyance flickered across Potter’s face. It felt good, familiar.

“You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect,” Draco continued, “which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.”

“Yeah,” Potter replied, “but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.”

The other Gryffindor nonentities laughed like they’d heard something particularly clever, and the little blonde thing in the corner behaved like she’d been hit with a nasty tickling charm. Draco wrinkled his nose at them. “Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Granger interrupted. Draco spared her a glance before his eyes settled back on Potter, who was glowering back with pure loathing. Like he might curse Draco with  nothing but his look. Draco felt it like a hand around his throat. His smirk widened.

“I seem to have touched a nerve,” he drawled. “Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I’ll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.”

Granger yelled at them to leave again, pushing forward to slam the door on them. Draco allowed himself a final look before he turned away, the heat draining from his cheeks the further down the train he went.

Three weeks into the term, Draco was sitting in the library, concocting elaborate schemes to fake his own death. His prefect duties had already gone dull. There was a lot of patrolling the halls and line leading younger students, and the novelty of doling out punishments had worn off after McGonagall told him off for “abusing his authority.” Apparently levitating a third year’s bag into the lake wasn’t a fit punishment for tardiness. Additionally, classes were a headache and a half. The professors had all conspired to torture the fifth years, it seemed, with a ludicrous amount of work and persistent reminders that if they didn’t take their O.W.L.s seriously, their lives would be essentially ruined forever. His mother’s letters only reinforced the sentiment. Still, somewhere between the foot he’d written on moonstones and the third chapter he’d read on the goblin wars, Draco found himself face-down on the table, dreaming about fleeing the country. Perhaps to Portugal. The beaches were nice. 

The only joy Draco truly gleaned in those first weeks was from Quidditch practice or, more aptly, from crashing the Gryffindor Quidditch practice. Weasley flew with all the grace of an airbound octopus, and he only got redder and clumsier the more Draco and his cohorts laughed. It had to be the best entertainment in all of Scotland. The opportunity to watch Potter also couldn’t be discounted. The git somehow got even faster on a broom after last year’s break from the sport, and his moves in the air were anything but clumsy. He was hypnotizing – and infuriating. Draco had gotten rusty, having only flown casually in the last year, but now, his concerns narrowed in on a foreseeable tragedy: Potter beating him to the snitch yet again. With an envious fire burning in his stomach, Draco heckled throughout the practice, but unlike Weasley, Potter hardly seemed to hear his taunts at all. The tosser. 

Not even the common room offered relief. Pansy’s clinging was a nightly ordeal. He could be playing chess with Blaise, studying with Theo, or threatening first years with Crabbe and Goyle – and always, there she was. Clinging. Always touching him with cold hands and laughing just a little too loudly at his jokes. The other boys smirked and made their implications. He should be pleased; Pansy was a pretty girl, objectively. Her nose was a bit upturned, but she had big brown eyes, plump lips, and… other assets, if Blaise’s comments were to be believed. Draco should ask her to Hogsmeade; he should want to, but it felt like a chore.

He needed a distraction – or a target. Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors was an excellent archery range. Theo had been right about Hagrid’s departure, thank Merlin, so the class had become much more bearable. Especially because it was such a prime opportunity to piss off Potter. Draco’s Granger impression had become a genuine artform. Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle were in stitches when he gave himself buck-teeth, and he had all three members of the Golden Trio turning red in record time. 

When Professor Grubbly-Plank instructed one person from each group to grab a bowtruckle, Draco sprang up to follow Potter to the pile. He leaned across him, stealing the bigger bowtruckle right from under Potter’s hand. For a second, he imagined it was a snitch. 

Draco lingered, pausing beside Potter where it suddenly struck him how close their faces were. He felt the insane urge to lean closer. Instead, he reached for the closest cruel thing to justify the closeness. His intel on Hagrid’s whereabouts. “Maybe your stupid great oaf’s got himself badly injured.”

Potter’s brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. “Maybe you will if you don’t shut up.” 

“Maybe…” Draco leaned closer, his body moving without his permission. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “He’s been messing with stuff that’s too big for him, if you get my drift.”

Potter’s ears turned pink, and he looked close to punching Draco in the face. But he didn’t move. And Draco–

Draco felt a strange fluttering in his chest. 

Why was he whispering in Harry Potter’s ear? 

Why was Potter letting him? 

Still, witnessing that slow-burn fury up close was a beautiful thing, especially knowing he was the one who put it there. Draco smirked, the slow, smarmy one he knew drove Potter mad, before pulling away. 

Later that night, Draco dreamt he was on his broom, flying through a mighty thunderstorm, but when the wind whipped past his ears, it was warm. When he woke, he couldn’t decide if it had been a nightmare. He was still pondering at breakfast when Artemis, his orange-eyed eagle owl, swooped down to deliver the post – a letter and package of sweets from his mother, which Draco immediately handed off to Crabbe and Goyle. He tore open the letter instead. 

My darling Draco,

I trust that the beginning of your term has gone well and that you are focused on your studies. I ran into Dolores Umbridge at a Ministry event this past weekend, and she had many complimentary words for you, which I was very pleased to hear. Do continue to stay in her good graces. She will be a very useful connection to us in the coming months. 

 In regards to your last letter, I have nothing to report regarding your father, but he does wish to remind you to always exercise caution, in both your life and your letters. At this time, your priority is your education. We expect nine O.W.L.s from you, so you do not have time to be fretting over your father’s business.

Finally, I am very pleased to hear that you and Pansy have been getting closer. As such, I have invited the Parkinsons to join us for Yule this year. It will be lovely for our families to spend the holiday together. Remember, you must always be a gentleman.

All my love,

Your mother

Draco read the letter twice – once quickly, then again slowly, hunting for anything to grab onto – before folding it with clean corners and sliding it into his pocket. He looked down at his breakfast, suddenly without an appetite.

 He felt, at once, like a ghost possessing the body of Draco Malfoy. He could just as easily be swapped out with some other ghost boy, and his mother wouldn’t know the difference – so long as he continued merrily down the path toward pureblood marriage and schmoozed with enough annoying toads in pink lipstick. 

He couldn’t even pinpoint what exactly upset him about the letter; there was nothing really, and maybe that was the issue. A tangible sense of lack. It lodged in the back of his head and festered all day long, so by the time he was back in the common room that evening, he was twitchy and agitated. Blaise managed to beat him at chess. The introduction he wrote for his Charms essay looked like something Goyle could have written. He balled up the parchment and dropped his head back against the leather couch. When Pansy came over to talk, he pretended to be asleep.

“I’m calling it,” Blaise announced later, rising from the chessboard he and Theo had been tied to for the last two hours. He stretched with a yawn.

Theo stood too. “Coming, Draco?”

Draco hummed, turning just his eyes. “In a bit.”

Theo looked like he might say something but then thought better of it. With an uncertain nod, he followed Blaise to the boys dormitories.

Too warm by the fire, Draco moved from the leather couches he and his friends usually crowded around and settled, instead, into his favorite green armchair. The corner was tucked behind a bookshelf and lit only by a single candle – tall, carved wax in a silver holder, enchanted to burn ice-cold. It produced no smoke yet managed to make the air around it smell of mint. Draco curled up in the armchair and picked up his quill again. But when he placed it upon the parchment, he found himself writing, not an essay about counterjinxes, but something else entirely.

His quill bled, words spilling, unbidden – straight from his skull to the page without first passing through his sense of self-preservation. His cursive growing loopier, messier. When he finished, he inhaled sharply, like he’d just landed his broom. He read what he’d written – once, twice. A letter to no one in particular; a purging of all his sharp, stained thoughts. 

It was cathartic. And embarrassing. 

Draco held the corner of the parchment to the candle and watched as the evidence burned, smokeless. Not a single ash left behind. 

[dr3amgrlll]

#magick

chapter two- snow

📍Whispering Wands Camp

98 likes

yn: botony >> divination

nevlong: damn right

user: you’re so prettyyy

yn: tyy!!

draculam: i’m going to tell snape you’ve got that bottle at camp ..

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draculam: my view all summer🏕️⛵️

user: i wish YOU were my view all summer

ggoyle: oh boy..

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@baocean

[basiatlu]

Draco working so incredibly hard at sewing the dementor costume and making crabbe and goyle practice with him before the match (because flying while sitting on someone’s shoulders would have to be challenging, right??). And everyone in Slytherin being totally exasperated (“it’s cute, really, leave the kid alone).

Feel free to take this wherever you want!

Ohmigosh yes!!! Hahaha or like when he made all of the “Potter Stinks!” badges?? He’s so ridiculous I adore him. Snape and the older classmates would probably watch on with confusion and amusement. The hi-jinx!

[hp-confessions]

People rehabilitating Pansy but not Millicent, or Theo and not Crabbe or Goyle, is fat phobia.

An extra layer for Blaise who gets ignored for racist reasons.

~

[mineashthetrash]

(Sorry i have not posted art in a while, illness) Some more HP kitty sketches!!!!!! mostly based on the guy whos ship art keeps appearing on my feed despite me not following any of the tags (im not angry btw im thrilled. keep it up 👍)

[starcrossedkayla]

I'm currently on HBP on my reread through, and I thought it a bit crazy that their results on their 5th year exams were the deciding factor in their careers, especially because Harry was attacked by Voldemort during one of his exams. Luckily for Harry, it was an exam he didn't care about, but I was wondering if the attack had happened during DADA or another class that did matter for being an Auror, if he just would've been out of luck.

Then I came across this from when Harry eavesdrops on Draco arguing with Snape

‘I would’ve had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn’t put them in detention!’ ‘Keep your voice down!’ spat Snape, for Malfoy’s voice had risen excitedly. ‘If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres—’

Which was really fascinating to me as it implies a mechanism by which you can retake exams you've failed. Do you think it's an independent study or do they just retake the 5th year class?

[the-colourful-witch]

* Crabbe and Goyle *

These two were such a struggle to draw. Mostly because they have as much personality as a bowl of porridge. They are the perfect cronies just for that reason. They are followers, led by Malfoy, that's their element. Normally, I'm all for everyone having their own way of doing things and being their own person, but with these two I don't believe it. When I had to dress them, I imagined they would just pick something out every morning with this being their only thought: 'It needs to be clothing.' ... That's it! Nothing more than that. And so, this came out of it. I am happy to now move on to different characters :)

[mushroomheadgirl]

Draco's friends' reactions to her coming out. (all part of the same au that now lives in my head)

Pansy: I talked about this briefly before, but Pansy was the first friend Draco came out to. At first, Pansy didn't get it. But to be fair, even Draco struggled with understanding all she was feeling. She didn't even have a word yet for her desire to be a woman. So Pansy thought Draco just liked wearing women's clothes. It took a while to explain to Pansy that no, it wasn't just the clothes, she wanted to be a woman fully. Pansy ended up being very supportive, but she's the one who kind of got it into Draco's head that she had to somehow biologically transform to fully actualize her womanhood. Now, Draco already had plenty of hangups of her own, but Pansy definitely helped by obsessing over ways to turn Draco into a "real girl."

Blaise: Blaise got a weird about it. Out of all of her friends, he's the one with the most connections to the Muggle world. He's the one who helps her find the doctor that gives her hormone therapy, but also, the majority of his knowledge on transgender people comes from fetish magazines and movie houses. He views her transition through a sexual lens. When she starts looking more outwardly feminine, his crude jokes start sounding a lot more like sexual passes. Draco snaps back at him for being a pervert, but mostly puts up with it despite her discomfort. When she and Harry start dating, Harry gets angry the first time he hears Blaise make one of his "jokes" and demands he apologize. This turns into a fight that ends with Draco and Blaise not speaking for months. Eventually, Blaise apologizes and promises to lay off. Draco accepts him back into her life easily, though Harry always remains wary of him.

Theo: This was a hard one for Draco. Theo was her first love. They had a short but intense relationship during seventh year, when they were wrapped up in a war and terrified and clung to each other. They remained friends after, but it was never the same. He was always the quiet type, and just kept nodding while Draco filled in the silence until she ran out of steam. After a while he said, "I suppose we could technically get married now like we used to talk about." Draco starts tearing up and almost suggests running to the courthouse right there. Instead she says, "It would never work. You don't like women." Theo shrugs and says, "You're not really though, right? You'll still have all the parts." Draco almost cries then, for a much different reason. Ever since that conversation, she wonders if Theo sees her as faking it. She never gains the courage to ask.

Greg: He's the most publicly supportive of her. When they're out together after she reenters society, he starts acting like her attack dog again, glaring at anyone who looks at Draco funny and sometimes starting fights like they're back on the schoolyard. He sometimes slips up with Draco's pronouns, but he gets better at it as time goes on. He's always overly apologetic about it when he catches himself and that grates on Draco more than the slip-up in the first place. One day Draco blows up on him to "Correct yourself and move on without the theatrics. You're a big boy, I know you can do it." When she cools down, she feels a bit guilty, but her barbed words have never bothered Greg, and he's moved on before she can get an apology out.

Vince: Draco visits his empty grave every year on the anniversary of the Battle. She doesn't usually talk—there's nothing there but a headstone—but this time she feels the need to. She's already started hormones by the time she visits him, and her mood swings have her all over the place so she's already sobbing before she gets any words out. She eventually does, but she hardly spends any time on her transition. Mostly she tells him how much she misses him and how she wishes he were with her through this. She, Greg, and Vince had been friends since they were babies. It always felt wrong after his death, so much so that she pulled away from Greg for a while too, but now going through such a major life change without him when they shared every other change together feels indescribably wrong.

More trans femme Draco headcanons

[velvet4510]

Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy have many differences yet they have the same mindset toward their love interests which is “nobody’s allowed to hate on this person but me!” Ron makes fun of Hermione constantly and Draco makes fun of Harry constantly. But Ron talks back to Snape whenever Snape insults Hermione and Draco shoots down the entire school’s theory that Harry is the Heir of Slytherin. And when things get deadly in the last book, Ron screams “HERMIONE!” at the top of his lungs as she’s being tortured and Draco screams “DON’T KILL HIM!” at the top of his lungs as Crabbe and Goyle are attacking Harry.

[leaelakey]

My favourite hp characters are definitely Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore.

Least favourite is Crabbe, Goyle, Umbridge, Bellatrix and Lucius.

Sirius and Voldemort are both kind of in the middle. These two guys annoy me a lot but I can appreciate them at the same time.

[slytherinwhydontyou]

Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit

•Gregory Goyle II (b. November 2, 1979; Scorpio)

Gregory Goyle Sr. & Ianthe Goyle (née Abbott)

Pureblood

Slytherin 🐍 (1991-1998)

Beater (formerly)

Archivist (for the British Ministry of Magic Records Room)

ESFJ (The Consul) - Dutiful, Loyal, Inflexible, Overly Worried About Social Status

[magnificentandstrange]

[goga-je-pieroga]

“Honestly, if you were any slower, you’d be going backward.” ~ Draco Malfoy

"Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets", 1998, J.K. Rowling