Disclaimer: I own nothing that is in any way related to the works of our dear J.K. Rowling.
A/N: So yeah, this is my first fanfic in here and just like what I said in my profile, I'm not really a good writer so for now, I'm just going to go for a one shot (R/R if you like but it's alright if you don't). Hope you like it. c:
A silhouette of an unusually large house lay gloomy in the midst of a dark, cold, stormy night. Rain started to pour more heavily and water started to go through inside an open window from the ominous looking house. A boy with sleek blonde hair sitting in a chair got up and closed the open window as he noticed rain coming inside his very messy room.
"Dobby." The boy suddenly said in a soft but deadly voice.
Instantly, there was a loud crack. An elf no taller than about three feet suddenly appeared out of thin air inside the boy's room. For a moment, the elf's big eyes goggled at the messy room but promptly returned to looking at the boy.
"Young Master Draco." Dobby the house-elf said in a high, squeaky voice as he bowed down in front of his master.
"I want you to dry the window and the carpet over there. The stupid bloody rain got them wet just a minute ago." Draco Malfoy commanded the Malfoy family house-elf in a somewhat drawling voice before proceeding to sit down at an arm chair.
"Yes young master," said Dobby as he bowed down again and proceeded to do the task he was just assigned. "Would master like Dobby to clean his room, too?" Dobby asked when he saw pillows, clothes, blankets, and other things scattered around his young master's room.
"No!" Draco said firmly, startling the elf as he was about to wipe the window. "Just dry the window and the rug. Then you can go." He said in a now cooler yet very bored tone before getting up from the arm chair and proceeding to lie down on his bed—hands behind his head—while staring at the dark, high ceiling of his gloomy looking room.
"And tomorrow, Dobby, kindly finish packing all my Hogwarts things for me; I'm going to do something by then so I ca—", Draco stopped mid-sentence as he turned to see Dobby clutching something between the long fingers in his tiny hand.
Draco suddenly got up as his eyes widened at the thing in Dobby's hand.
"What's that you're holding?" Draco asked in a peculiar sort of tone.
"It looks like a ripped, still photo, young master. Dobby just found it under young master's drawer by the soaked rug." Dobby said as he walked towards Draco so he can give him the unusual lifeless photograph; but before he could even take another step, his master already snatched the photo away from his hands.
Dobby seemed taken aback on how Draco quickly glided across the room just to see the ripped photo that he was holding because he accidentally tripped on one of the pillows that was lying around the floor—causing him to bump into a drawer and break a mug that was half-filled with butterbeer.
"Y-young m-master," stuttered the elf, "Dobby is greatly sorry! Dobby is not meaning to break it, sir. Dobby tripped and there was a pillow and—oh young master! Please don't tell master Lucius, Dobby is very sorry, sir, Dobby is not meaning to—"
Dobby started to apologise again and again but Draco didn't even look angry or express his usual assertiveness at the elf whenever he did something disappointing. Instead, he, Draco, was beaming at the photo he had just grabbed from Dobby. He didn't even seem to hear the high, squeaky voice that was coming from the endless sobs and apologies of the now nervous house-elf.
"You can go now, Dobby." Draco suddenly said as he was struggling to keep a serious face.
"—Dobby is really sor—young master?" Dobby looked surprised. The tiny elf looked as though he had just braced himself for any kick or punch that he might receive from his master but it was obvious that he didn't expect this unusual kind of response.
"I said you can go now, Dobby." Draco repeated, the corners of his mouth starting to twitch.
"But young master, the broken mug—"
"You can clean that mess and my whole room tomorrow. I'm really tired and I'm going to sleep; and oh, don't bother packing my school stuff for me. I'll be able to do it myself after all." Draco said calmly, trying hard not to grin so much; and with a last bow from the elf (still looking very taken aback), there was another loud crack and Dobby the house-elf was gone.
Draco proceeded to lie back down on his rather large bed; he can't help smiling so widely. Still clutching the photo in his hand, he lied down on his side and held out an arm so he could stare at the photo. He didn't care that it was not the typical moving photograph that wizards, like him, are used to seeing. He didn't care that it was ripped from either sides (considering he was the one who ripped it). But nonetheless, he didn't care. All he cared about was the person in the photo—though nobody but him knows this unexpected fact—and probably, he thought unwillingly, no one would ever will.
The smile on Draco's face faded. He knew he was fooling himself. There was no use in keeping this photo just to be able to gaze at the person whom everyone thinks he detested. But then, he realised, that none of all it matters. Just as long as he had this photograph, he would be able to secretly satisfy the deep longing he felt.
Before he could fully close his eyes and fall into sleep, Draco stared at the photo for one last time—catching a glimpse of soft brown eyes and bushy brown hair that belonged to a young witch.