Just a drabble.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
They heard him talking every day.
Sometimes he wailed and shouted. Sometimes he just whispered.
Draco Malfoy.
Gone crazy after the war, they say.
They heard him talking every day but he was always alone. They heard him talking every day but never heard someone respond back.
One day, they heard him shouting and throwing things around. He was at it again.
After a while, he quieted down and went back to whispering again.
Isolation had made him that way. The rich Malfoy heir, the king of Slytherin, was now just a shadow of his old self. The guy who once had everything he wanted, now is desperate just for a companion.
And so, he talked to the walls.
He talked to the walls because they didn't turn their backs on him. He talked to the walls and admitted his deepest sins and fears to them
They heard him talking every day, and they were used to it.
But that day, it was different. They were met with silence. There wasn't even a faint whisper heard. They barged into the room and saw him lying in a pool of darkness etched into his eyes was proof enough that he gave up.
"I cannot."
These were his last words, merely a whisper. He could no longer stand the silence of the walls.
The walls, which never replied back to his words, were now painted red.
That was when the entirety of his longing dawned upon them. They never opened that room again.
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