Draco Malfoy —
The Boy Who Carved His Own Path
“It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”
Primarily post-war. | AU & headcanon driven | 21+ for dark themes
Focuses on breathing until whatever concoction he’s imbibed kicks in - in and out. Just like normal.
Eyes drifting closed to try and chase the buzzing lightheadedness floating just out of reach.]
A few /months/?!
[Ridiculous amount of time to get used to something but…maybe not. How long did it take him to learn to ride a broom naturally or brew a potion? More than a couple months that’s for sure. -
How often do you have to sit here and inhale this grass mixture until you get used to it?
[Thin edge of a whine to his question that he would stalwart my deny under question. Sucks in a breath as the joint touches his lips again, focusing on not coughing up a lung.]
{ can't help the amused little smirk. }
you get used to it. and it's nice after a while. feels good.
{ he lifts a hand to press draco's hand lightly, back toward his mouth. }
go on.
[Holding the joint a good six inches away from his face as he coughs, trying not to accidentally inhale any of the substance again.]
Burns going down. Why — has no one mentioned that?
Right, of course, how could I have forgotten.
[Drawls airily, a small eye roll to accompany his words. Picks the joint from between Dante's fingers, holding it as carefully as a temperamental, bubbling potion.
Pinches it between his lips, drawing in a stiff inhale.]
{ watches in silence as he sits, then turns his gaze away with a soft huff. }
and smoke, { he corrects, though with only a little vitriol.
another drag is taken, then, after a brief pause, he tilts it toward him in silent offering. }
[Instinctively freezes, tongue glued to the bottom of his mouth even as he can't help but taste gritty earth and smoke on Dante's hand.
Should bite. Means to, he really does, but in a fight or flight he's always leaned toward staying in place.]
[Without speaking a word, Draco sinks to the ground next to him. Idly brushing dirt off his pants as he does - not that it will make a difference in the long run after sitting here even a moment.]
So you just sit back here.
{ narrowed gaze slants toward him as soon as the pointed blonde appears, exhaling a huffed cloud of smoke. what, is he /stalking/ him or something .ᐣ }
No. What, a man can’t partially apologize these days without scrutiny?
[Clemches his jaw, darting gaze slipping to the side so he doesn’t have to look at Ron directly. Easier.]
never expected one to begin with.
{ still doesn't believe him, really, gazing at him with a squinted sort of look. just . . . weird. }
you dying or something .ᐣ