It was a handsome manor, enclosed by wrought-iron gates which allowed select visitors to pass through it as if it was smoke. The manor was surrounded by elaborate gardens; there were neatly trimmed bushes and a domineering fountain, placed for the sole purpose of intimidating visitors that sat in the middle of the gardens. It was as if a scene coming from a fantasy book. To the sides of the cobblestone pathway were Oleander and Nightshade trees. Yes, they were poisonous, but magnificent to look at. Just like the impression he wanted the manor to give: deadly, but perfect. It was as if enticing people to continue their journey towards the manor, but with the promise of danger.
The large entrance hallway had portraits lining the walls and a stone floor, majority of it covered by a magnificent carpet. The whole manor was sumptuously decorated, with ornate furniture, marble fireplaces, and gilt mirrors. The drawing room with purple walls was graced by a chandelier of intricate design, so delicate that the slightest gust of wind would prompt it to sway. It was, like him, easily angered, but so perfect to look at.
But he was no more. Left behind, was his heir to all his extensive fortunes. His heir was none other than a 22 year old, Draco Malfoy.
Draco walked through the corridors of the manor, with his footsteps echoing through its cold, hard walls. He was the only inhabitant of the manor. It was such a huge manor, but there was only an adult, occupying it. Of course, there were many servants employed by his late father to look after the manor, his pride and joy, not Draco. He was bitter. His father cared more about his family heirlooms than his only son. He never made time for him, since his wife passed. When Draco got in the way, he would shove him aside, and hit him in the evening, and whipping him even harder if he yelled out. The only thing important to him was the family name and reputation.
However, when he was a toddler, he looked up to his father. He was his role model. As a submissive child, he would obey without second thought, but as he grew, the stubborn side of him, acquired also from his father, refused to follow is orders. He rebelled against him, and that was when he started abusing him.
Draco was confined to the four walls of the manor, thus deprived of company. Now, since his father left the world to join his mother, he thought he could be free, once again, but seeing the pristine manor look just like it was a few years back, brought back those awful memories.
He fell. He fell into the deep, dark hole of depression.
Every day, he went through his usual routine. Eating and sleeping. The sounds of laughter and mirth were no more. Draco went for so long without hearing them that he almost forgot how it sounded.
He became a hermit, never venturing out of the manor. His memory of human beings was tainted by him. Him. A surge of resentment washed through him. It was a new feeling. He had never felt anything other than pain, numbness and bitterness in years. He didn't know this, but there was a soft, but slowly getting louder part of him that craved company. His pride, exactly like his father's, wouldn't allow him to admit it.
On a beautiful summer day, his doorbell, never rung in years, rang. He started; his perfectly arched eyebrows rose, and slowly stepped towards the door. Despite his current condition, he was still handsome. His cheekbones were more pronounced, his jaw more pointed than before. He had sleek platinum blond hair, and stone grey eyes. And his walk still carried somewhat grace. On any other male, his walk would look effeminate, but on him, he just looked enclosed. His purposeful walk made him look intimidating; it served as a warning to never cross-swords with him. As he walked into the garden, to the wrought iron-gates, he didn't notice the breath-taking shrubbery, which the servants put so much time and effort into. He never noticed them. To him, it was just another ornament his father installed to give him prestige.
He saw, through the gates, was a young lady. Her hair was flowing and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were a deep hazel, and there was a flush in her cheeks. She was the epitome of happiness. She grinned at him, flashing her pearly white teeth, and said, "Hello, I'm Hermione, your new neighbour. I just moved in with my parents. And you are?" She carried herself with confidence, and extended a hand through the iron gates. Her brown orbs were hypnotic. He had never seen such captivating eyes before. Her hand bypassed all the walls that he built around herself over the years easily, and it was almost as if she was pulling him out of the hole of depression. He seemed to trust him implicitly, although he just met her. Mayhap it was her sincere smile, mayhap it was that she stirred his early memories of friends, he didn't know. Friends. The word sounded odd on his tongue. It was foreign, but there was a certain kind of warmth in the word.
But he felt a stab of jealousy. She had a whole complete family, unlike him. Her parents probably loved her, unlike his father. He had a doting mother, but she was taken away by his father. She had everything he wanted, although he didn't realize what he wanted. Until now. Draco pushed his thoughts of jealousy out of her mind, telling himself that it wasn't her fault he had such a poor excuse of a father. He stared in wonder at his hand, before returning the smile, and shook it, replying "Pleased to meet you too, I'm Draco." Seeing her standing there opened his eyes. Suddenly, his monotonous world wasn't coloured black and white, not anymore. She brought colour to his dull existence. She brought him life. Finally, there seemed to be hope for him. All was not lost.
He fell. But this time, he fell in love.