𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟗𝟔 ; 𝐝. 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 ✓

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞

TW: SU!C!DAL THOUGHTS

9:23 am
May 7, 1998
Draco's POV

The golden sun beamed through my window, like it always used to.

Maybe it was a dream? Perhaps this was another one of those heavenly daybreaks where I'd wake up to her delightful dewy face burrowed into my bare chest, sound asleep. We'd be drinking tea and eating breakfast tarts in about an hour, because I would lie there and run my fingers delicately through her thick hair before she woke up. I was hungry, and yearned for food, but I couldn't wake up the sleeping beauty that I held in my arms before me.

I would've given anything for it just to be just a nightmare, and to wake up to one of those mornings again.

My glassy, silvery eyes darted around the room, every minor object had brought her to mind. Like the leather chair sitting in the corner close to my mirror, for she'd sit there and concentrate on whatever book her freckled nose had been buried into. Or my armoire, when she'd lean against it softly and brush through her wavy, jet black hair. Even my desk, for she'd sit there on my typewriter and compose tiny notes in which she would leave underneath my pillow in the lonely nights that she wasn't snuggled up next to me. I wish wouldn't have misplaced those notes, for now, I would likely skim them over and over again and act as if she were still typing away.

My mother had left a white wooden tray of those savory strawberry tarts that always made my mouth water on my desk with a pink rose lying delicately next to it—for those were Estelle's favorite. While she slept, I would climb up to her windowsill and place the blush-colored roses neatly in a row.

However, I wasn't hungry. My appetite had disappeared.

The only thing I yearned for was not those tarts, not a fresh swig of alcohol, but Estelle, my beautiful Estelle. I wanted to be up there with her, her rosy cheeks lifting as a smile had creeped across her coral lips. My hands would be against her cheeks, and we would be in the woods again. No hurt, no tears, just her and I.

These dreamy thoughts filled my desires, as I creeped onto the roof from my window. The shingles crunched beneath my bare feet, shaking as I received head rush from standing too quickly. I climbed past the place where her and I would gaze up at the stars, and conversate about them, and what they meant to us. A dormer with a triangular roof seemed to call me.

You'll see her again.

A voice in my head told me.

It'll just be you and her up there.

It said once again.

I balanced on the small sliver of roof connecting to the dormer. A meager smile grew across my tear-stained face, as I was going to see her again! I felt at peace.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

But my mother, she needed me, and I needed her.

My bottom lip jittered lots, and I collapsed into my mothers secure arms. She rocked me slowly, like she would when I was a child, back and forth, back and forth. My mother was the only woman that wouldn't criticize me for being fragile under my mask of toughness that I'd only allow others to see. She ran her frail, shaky fingers through my icy blond hair, sobbing along with me.

"Draco—" Her comforting hands raised my chin, the same peppery grey eyes that stared back at me in the mirror, glancing down at me. "Why?"

The lump in my throat swallowed every lethargic word that attempted to utter its way out.

"I'm sorry."

"Draco, no. There's no need to be sorry. Let's talk about it, I haven't seen you in days."

I wasn't ready to talk about it, I couldn't. For every time I did, I would break down, my shaky words crumbling apart.

"I can't." I whispered back, "Words can't fathom it."

"Write it down. If the words won't come, they may form out of your quill."

She hoisted me to a shaky stance, and embraced me softly, me towering over her. We trudged down the steep roof, right back into my vacant room.

I sat at my desk, my glassy, stormy eyes glancing right back at my mothers. She nodded to me, motioning to the stationary she had placed before me, so I had the opportunity to write every unspoken word that I wished I would've told her sooner, because life's too unexpected. My shaky hands dipped my feathered quill into the cartilage of ink sitting in the top left corner of my desk. I couldn't write either, I folded my arms and buried my face into them and began sobbing.

"I can't do it, mother!" I wailed, smashing my fist into the wooden table.

Her jittery hands rubbed my back delicately. "Yes you can, Draco."

I lifted my face back up, and stared into the blank paper before me.

I trusted my quill.

And I wrote.