Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Draco hated crying.
Well, maybe that wasn't true. He was afraid of the action because his father had taught him that crying was a sign of weakness. Even when he was a toddler if a single tear slipped down his cheeks he would be seriously punished. Not with a spanking or any type of physical abuse many people speculated that his father had put him through as a child, but with his words. Lucius Malfoy had been a very powerful speaker. The words he threw at his son were more torturous to Draco's young mind than he could bear and it affected his development.
Where was his mother during all of this? Draco honestly didn't know, but she seemed to always be there after his father had finished 'reprimanding' his actions. She always held him and told him his father only said those things because he loved him. She wouldn't scold him for crying on her shoulder. Draco always held a grudge against his mother for doing that. He never understood why she didn't save him while his father was yelling or at least be consistent on his father's no crying rule. It confused him greatly as a child, but he soon learned to keep his emotions in, which in retrospect, probably didn't help. He redirected the feelings with anger and violence which lead to more verbal abuse from his father.
Thinking of the past only seemed to irritate Draco further. Though his fingers were cold he lifted his hands out of his pockets producing a cigarette and a lighter. The constant wind made it hard for him to light the nicotine stick adding to his annoyance. Once he succeeded he inhaled the cancer stick in, body shivering in pleasure. He loved the feeling of calmness that overtook him when he smoked, he simply overlooked that he couldn't stand the taste. Draco knew it was bad for him to smoke and hated his dependence on the wonderful drug.
The constant chill in the air kept his legs moving to his location. The grass under his feet was only half alive, making noise with every step he took. The sky was gray and sour looking, completely matching his mood. When he reached his location the large marble headstone was just as intimidating as his father had intended it to be. It wasn't the first time he had come to see his father's final resting place. He had been visiting the grave once a week for the pass year since Lucius's death. His mother had insisted that he needed to 'talk' to his father for closure. Draco could never say a word. Instead salty drops of water always ran down his cheeks.
Draco hated cigarettes.
Draco hated his father.
Draco hated crying.
A/N: Well here it is, just a small drabble. Like I said I might add others, but I have an extensive research project I'm doing at the moment that is occupying my time at the moment. It was honestly suppose to be a Dron drabble for my story 1000 Words or less (still taking requests), but I felt it stood better alone so I left it. I know there probably a hundred other stories like this, but pop a review to let me know what you think. And those of you wondering about Unexpected Miracle, don't worry, there will be a double update in two weeks.
Non-beta'd Sorry for any mistakes.
This is the end for now, but I might add on with other characters.
Please Review