"Welcome to the room of people
Who have rooms of people that they loved one day
Docked away"
The night lay as a frigid blanket upon the Malfoy Manor as Draco Lucius Malfoy sat draped on his couch, his posture seeming almost lazy whilst his eyes remained as focused as a python watching its prey. It was only the other day that he had pulled the couch close to the fire. The cold night had tempered its way into the heart of the dark empty manor and found itself nestling in the dragons nest.
It had taken him a long while to drag the couch across to its new position, giving the muggle way of doing it a unhappy shot, convincing himself that it would help the strain he could feel in his arms. The Dark Lord was long gone but the pain that he had left behind was determined not to let Draco forget about everything he had done.
He watched the flames flicker, reaching high up into the chimney as if it itself wanted to escape the cold of the manor. There was always something curious about how the flames leaped about, with an abundance of what seemed to be Gryffindor courage. Draco smirked at the crackling flames, exhaling a puff of air which clustered as a white cloud in front of him. No Gryffindor pride was going to cure the cold.
Eyeing the large oak grandfather clock at the corner of the enormous living room, Draco's thoughts crystallized as he set about his daily task. Grabbing his coat before whispering "Accio wand", Draco strode down the long dark corridor with a sense of purpose and poise in his step only to hesitate in front of the large painting on the wall. It was the only one in the particular corridor that lead to the front door, but it was by far his most savored. Gently pressing his fingers onto the moving image of his mother, Draco watched as she smiled and looked down at the little boy with pale blonde hair next to her, the love in her eyes unmistakable.
"I'll look after her." He whispered into the empty darkness and turned sharply and continued down the corridor and out the front door into the brisk frozen air. He never turned back to see the sorrow he knew he would see in his father's eyes. They were just images after all, just a concoction of spells that some wizard happened to create. They weren't real, but sometimes Draco swore that the love in his mother's eyes were just as real and pure as the failure in his father's ones.
And with that last bittersweet thought in mind, Draco vanished into the virulent cold night.
YOU ARE READING
Heathens
Fanfic"All my friends are heathens, take it slow Wait for them to ask you who you know Please don't make any sudden moves You don't know the half of the abuse" ~Twenty One Pilots It had been months since Lord Voldemort had been defeate...
