in which a lonely boy keeps meeting a quiet girl on the fire escape of his new apartment
♡
draco malfoy x astoria greengrass
plot credit goes to @platopotato
~ discontinued ~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Draco Malfoy simply refused to look back as he boarded the plane, head high with the determination of a stubborn child. In accordance with his ruthless childhood's teachings, he believed that any form of physical or mental weakness, whether it be tears rolling down one's face or a slight sag in the shoulders, portrayed vulnerability. And vulnerability was not in his comfort zone. At all.
A look back would equate to a look at the past, therefore once again ensnaring him in the suffocating web of reliving his history of hatred and violence. This in turn would leave him in a distressed state, ready for all of his counterparts –known and unknown- to jeer at him mockingly, thus penetrating his seemingly fragile wall of defence against the rest of humanity, which he had spent so much time and effort to intricately sew together.
He had to admit- it hurt. It hurt to see his mother in hysterics, her usually silky hair a forest, with streams of black running down her pallid cheeks: begging him "please don't go". It hurt to see his father look on with a vacant aura, his serene grey eyes perusing Draco coolly, almost daring him to go, to leave. It hurt that nobody offered to see him off (his mother's cries soon turned into cutting words). It hurt that no single person wanted to share one last hug with the only son and prize of the Malfoys.
It hurt.
But all that didn't matter- at least that was what he chanted steadily to himself in a timid attempt to tame his roaring conscience; his mind was taunting him, provoking him: was this the right decision? He didn't know. And to be honest, he didn't care. All he wanted was to get away as far as possible from his looming past: from his suffocating family, from his questionable affiliations, from his past self.
And that was why Draco Malfoy found himself passively staring out of the fingerprint-ridden window right next to his azure seat, on some cramped airplane that he had momentarily forgotten the name of. He was flying away, away, away from the magnificent mansions and rolling plains of his life in England to the abyss of the unknown, alone and clueless.
