Disclaimer: I own nothing even remotely pertaining to Harry Potter. But you knew that, didn't you?
Prologue
I don't know where to begin. There's so much I could say … so much I want to say … Draco paused, quill poised above a roll of parchment, and wearily ran his fingers through his silvery blonde hair. He still could not believe what happened, nor did he want to. He had never meant for it to end this way …
His distant gray eyes looked despairingly around the dark room. The cheery fire that danced in the fireplace did nothing to warm the icy cold within him. Outside the window, the moon hung low in the sky, eerily casting blue light and shadows upon his desk.
He moved from his chair to the fire and added another log. The fire crackled and sparks flew into the air before him like fireworks before falling back to the stone floor and diminishing. Just like me, he thought sadly, poking the fire on last time and them returning to his desk.
He stared at the words on the almost blank parchment. It was uncanny really; he truly did have no idea where to begin. Words could not begin to describe what he wanted to say, and even then he did not know how to put it down on paper. He never dreamed he would write a book, but then of course, there were many things in his life these days that he had never dreamed of happening.
He pressed his fingers against his temple in an attempt to ease the headache that was setting in. He had never imagined that this would be so hard. He sat back down on the chair and dipped his quill in the ink. He raised it and began to write; the words came slowly, and when he looked down to read what he had written for the last thirty minutes, he realized that he liked none of it.
He got up again and this time walked to the window. It was a full moon tonight, he realized. A wolf howled and another answered, a sad and mournful tune. For a brief second, he himself wished to run outside and join them. He mentally slapped himself and shook his head. Get a hold of yourself, Malfoy, a voice inside his head commanded.
Another wolf gave a reply quite close to the window, making him turn back to the table. He knew what he could write now, he realized, returning to the chair and once again picking up his quill…
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