i m p e r i o
{ small boats of fire are
falling from the sky}

He knew how the Cruciatus Curse felt, and he still preferred it to the Imperius, to the sensation of being controlled.

The grasshopper in front of him twitched, and then jumped to its tiny feet. Draco lowered his wand, his lips pressed together, thin, almost a hard line, cold and blue and almost afraid, and the grasshopper, released from his control, hopped off looking [Draco thought or imagined, call it whatever you like] a little dazed.

"I see you've mastered it."

The voice was Blaise's, sleek and calculated and detached and indifferent, and a dozen other things that symbolized Draco, and made Blaise. He might have been commenting on the day's weather, Blaise. The dark young man sat down next to Draco and, for a moment, both were silent, both understanding each other completely, and both not needing to say it - they never had needed to say it - as the grasshopper disappeared out of sight.

Then Draco rose to his feet. "Let's go get something to eat," he said quietly.

They left, profiles tall against the sunlight, and Draco had no time to contemplate, like he so often did, that life goes on, must go on.


Song credit: Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra. <3