𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡| 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢

Chapter One- A Snowy Tuesday Afternoon

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and it was snowing.

Billions of cotton-like material swirled delicately around in the air and letting everyone enjoy their dance, choosing when to hit the ground and dissipate. When that snowflake turns into water, it no longer gathers everyone's attention. It's quite the opposite. The people that once watched the beauty snowflake turn away after they see it melted and destroyed. They turn away from what the snowflake truly is; water. You could say the same for Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Draco was a well-mannered 17 year old (unlike most), with an impeccable appearance that hid his faulted personality. His hair was a galaxy of platinum blond, with his eyes a strong steel-grey consisting of resolve. And his body, well... that was another thing.

His position in public was to always seem superior than those around him, which he took pride in doing a very good job at. The only time his back was ever bent was in his room. As he would come home from another hard day at school and enter his room by walking proudly up the steps of his 3-story house, it was then he'd slouch. His posture would seem cowardly to those who saw him, and fortunately, no one ever did. No one ever bothered to check-up on the Draco who sat on his windowsill, taking time to look over the world (which he could barely see due to all the marble decor his father had built in the garden-

oh yes.

His father.

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, The City of Godric's most famous drug dealer. How else do you think this family got its fortune? Some well-paying job? Not likely . These days, the most well-payed jobs are illegal. It's not like Draco, or his m other Narcissa, missed him. He wasn't abusive.
He was just very... harsh
when it came to the smallest of things.

Draco looked out the window and grimaced. He hated what he was currently doing. Remembering.

"What are you doing, dear."

"I'm going out for a visit to Bella's."

"Did I say you could, Love?"

"No, Lucius, but-"

"DID I say you could?"

"No."

"Well then. You know what happens when you disobey my rules. I own this house, and everyone in it. You know the drill. Hands on the wall."

Draco was 9 when he remembered hearing the crack of a whip and his mother's scream.

He remembered waiting for-

"Bloody Fuck!!"

Draco snapped out of his trance by the sound of a distant voice.
"What the hell," he mumbled under his breath and stealthily braced his body to the side of the wall, before deeming it safe to peek through the window. Outside, he saw the most worst and best thing he's ever saw.

Neighbors.

Draco likes to think that neighbors are a good thing because he thought the neighborhood really needed brightening up, and the best way to that was with people. On the other hand, Draco has never really liked people. They're annoying, needy, selfish, greedy, condescending, and all the other stuff that only god knows of.

"Shit!!''

Draco noticed that all the particular foul language he was hearing was also coming from the neighbors. There was a man, he perceived, fetching 2 boxes balanced on top the other. Draco furrowed his brows at the man's appearance. He seemed old-timey, as his friend Blaise would call it, m m mbut not so old-timey that he wouldn't fit in the modern era. He also had weird, circular glasses. Funny enough, they made him look even more young, Draco mused to himself.

Then there was a lady. Quite a beautiful one, might he add, with her vibrant, wine-colored hair that contrasted beautifully against her pale complexion.

"Damn it!"

And last but not least, Draco found the source of all these terrible words. He was a boy, that's for sure, if the deep voice was anything to go by. He was holding a small package in the crook of his elbow, and had his phone out in his free hand. It must be their son, he thought, since the boy looked of a teen and had the woman's fragile-looking skin and the man's messy brown locks and scrawny frame. He also had the same glasses as his father.

"Bird's nest is what I'd call it," Draco grumbled, flattening his own hair.
They were just moving in, by the looks of it.

"Well," Draco sighed, "that's there problem."

And with that, he threw himself off the windowsill, sailed across the room, and gracefully missed his bed by landing painfully on his tiled-floor.

"Ouch."

Still a fucking icon.

****

"Sign here, ma'am."

"Thank you."

Lily Potter printed her signature on the paper the asking her to confirm her identity for all the boxes the moving company delivered.

"Have fun now. This is a good place, Godric's. It may look dull, but it can be very interesting on the inside," the delivery man said fondly, almost as if he were reminiscing. "Just remember, you can find happiness in the most unexpected places. Even when it doesn't seem like it."

Lily gave one of her sweet smiles and bid the man a goodbye. He was a strange one, she thought.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter was sitting on the steps of his new home, listening to the whole conversation the man just had with his mother. He was very cryptic, thought Harry, to say the least. Am I really the one to talk, though?
Harry blushed, remembering what he just did only 15 minutes ago.

He was fetching a package when he noticed the neighbor's house. It wasn't different, per-say, but it was quite something. There were elegant spiked gates that stood as security around the house, as if they were expecting an attack at any moment. The house was drowned in a mauve color, making it look sickly in the shimmer of the snow. But it wasn't a bad sick, Harry noticed. It wasn't ugly, but it wasn't pretty either. The house stood out across the empty block as if it were made to be an eye-catcher across the regulars. It looked regal and majestic, yet poor and lonely. Like it hasn't seen the sunlight in a long time. No matter how impressive, it was still tedious.

Back to the point, as Harry was staring- no, observing, he saw the top window move with a blur of white. Of course it's white dummy. It's fucking snowing.
But it wasn't the white of the snow. This white has a golden center, a halo of sorts. Like there was a sun embedded in the white that was incandescing between all the milky swirls that surrounded it.

Almost as if it were a hidden light.

So, Harry did what any other logical person would do.

He took a picture of the window.

It's not that there was anything wrong- well something was wrong but that's not really the point. The point was that Harry wanted to make sure that he was living in a safe neighborhood.

Yeah.

That was it.

Nothing else.

Harry scowled at how defensive he was being over his own thoughts. There was no need to be defensive when everything he says is right.

Yeah.

Of course.

Good lord. He was doing it again.

It was a snowy Tuesday afternoon when Harry Potter stomped into his new home trying to rid his head of unwanted thoughts.