As someone who has raised goats most of my life, I love Nicholas (Nicolas).

I am imagine him just being a little gray old pygmy goat, so the kids are like yeah full sized obviously. And everyone else is like that is a whole mini goat.

( demi man , he/they , 25 , froy gutierrez )  ‣  merlin’s beard , i can’t believe it’s actually ( draco malfoy ) . they went to ( hogwarts school of witchcraft & wizardry ) where they were a ( slytherin ) , which makes sense because when i think of them i hear ( you should see me in a crown ) by ( billie eilish)  . they have been working as a ( herbalist at mr. mulpeppers apothecary ) and i heard that they are feeling ( apprehensive ) about  kingsley’s death . i hope that they can keep their wits about them since they’re ( resourceful , shrewd , & ambitious  ) but they’re also ( shallow , haughty , & judgmental ) so i guess we’ll have to wait until we see their obituary !

𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚. 𝟐𝟓. 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲. 𝐞𝐬𝐭.

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 : dossier / isms / interactions / main.

draco lucius malfoy. born june 5, son of lucius malfoy & narcissa black, first heir to the malfoy fortune. a boy with locks of wispy blonde, whiter than snow and softer than the downy fur of a pygmy-puff & eyes the shade of a stormy sea -- oh, how he was destined for damnation. the boy who lived was a myth, a legend, a scoundrel who had tainted draco’s world before he even formally entered it. he was, after all, pure of blood. he was a part of a dying culture, the living testament to the timeless saying -- magic is might. the malfoys swore they’d be on the winning side of a war waged against their kind, against their luxuries and their fortune. but oh, how tragically misguided they were.

the war was cruel, bitter. it left him with scars he had yet to acknowledge. he started as a child, nose held high and indignant sniffs closely following. he wished to befriend the boy who lived, wanted to bring him to the right side. to show him a life of luxury, of fortune, of power beyond their wildest imaginations -- but the dream died young, and with it, draco brewed in hatred. a child as young as him acted like a sponge, brainwashed by a toxic world; his mother was kind and his father noble -- but the malfoys were desperate; they pledged their allegiances to the archaic world of a century long forgotten. and with that, draco found himself allied with those who hated change. mudblood -- it’s an ugly word, but it became a jeer he spat out mercilessly. he spewed hate and vitriol and disgust -- for it was all he knew. and the dark lord knew that a boy as stupid, as childish, as desperate to please as draco would be the most perfect weapon.

he was only 17 when he was tasked to kill; his hands began to shake and his gray hues became blurred with tears. he didn’t want to kill -- and yet he stood, wand drawn, heart pounding, blood roaring -- for fear bit at his heels and clawed at his insides. he would die like this. he would die a murderer, an instrument to the dark lord’s whim. by then, it was too late. he was far gone, beyond redemption, and he trudged through the battlegrounds with his head hanging and his shoulders squared.

they told him that if he turned him in, he’d be forgiven for his father’s sins. he looks into his eyes, swollen features disfigured and ugly -- but he knew. draco would always know. how could he forget the boy who lived after all those years of torment and hate? but as he stood there, dark gray meeting muddled green, draco felt something within him ache. he had seen death, had heard his professor beg him softly with broken pleas before the last bits of life left her. he heard her whimpers before they died on her lips. but most of all -- he remembered heranguish. it was crushing, suffocating the breath from his lungs until he felt like he was going under the deep black currents time and time again. 

his skin crawled each time he recalled the sound of his aunt’s wild laughter as it echoed through the lonesome halls of malfoy manor each time she drew her wand to torture the innocents brought to her disposable. he always knew what his peers, his supposed comrades were capable of. it was the most unspeakable of evils, darker than any curse, any hex, any spell he could find. the cruelty sizzled through his veins and singed his skin and as the dark mark etched itself into his flesh, draco had to swallow back a sob. his mark was exactly why he knew the sins of his father were necessary to be forgiven -- less he or his family suffered the same untimely fate as the others.

and yet, he hesitated. for once in his life, the boy who made all the wrong choices, the boy who had no choice at all, decided that it was time to carve his own future. he couldn’t be sure, he said -- a lie -- and brushed the chosen one aside. perhaps he saved the wizarding world in that moment by sparing the life of the boy who had already lived. but the sins of his father remained -- for they would always linger.

when the war finally came to its tragic end, the malfoys had lost everything. their fortune, their name, their dignity, their power. lost, forgotten, thrown away. the impending trials at the merciless hands of the wizengamot had left them stripped to their bare bones, shameful and hollow. his one saving grace had been his mother; narcissa had saved the world with her unwavering love for her family -- and for that reason, she was spared. the scars of war, however, did not mend so easily. the malfoy name, once so full of power, elegance, and sway, became a laughingstock. they were shamed, ridiculed, smeared without remorse in the prophet. draco knew that it was inevitable -- and with his father’s mugshot plastered every which way & his (short) sentence amongst the dementors, it became painfully obvious that the once-powerful malfoy bloodline was now tainted by the bitter stench of defeat. 

quietly, draco returned for his eighth year -- and it was painfully obvious to those around him that the former bully, brat, and loudmouth had died amongst the fallen. a casualty to the war’s angry clutches. his head hung low and pale blonde locks hid stormy gray eyes; he didn’t expect forgiveness. a malfoy never waited on anyone -- but even then, a small part of him ached for redemption. ached to find his place in a world changing minute by minute, second by second. he had already lost it all. what more was left for them to take? perhaps he was not the boy who lived, but he was still just a boy. a misguided, troubled, easily brainwashed boy. how exceptionally lonely it was to be draco malfoy, the boy who never had a choice.