AN: After seeing the Half-Blood Prince movie premiere night, and then again the following day, I randomly got inspired to write again. I really like how they portrayed Draco's character in the film, and it made me want to write about how I think he really feels and thinks.
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I love the rain.
I love the rain more than any of weather's other elements, because it is neither too cold, nor too hot.
I love it more than my Father, though if anyone asks, I'll vehemently deny such a thing. Because, while the rain can't give me power or wealth like he can, its beatings I can control.
Its beatings can be gentle. And it does not leave scars.
I cannot say the same for my Father.
Which is why I sneak out every night it rains – which is often, considering Hogwarts is in Scotland – and I run.
The rain is relentless but also calming. It is never sympathetic, and it never expects anything from me.
Usually, I contain my run to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, never venturing too far in, my childhood fears still haunting me even now.
I let go.
My feet propel me, the far-reaching expanse of land never limiting me. My mind goes everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
I can think about every single thing in my life, and I can think about absolutely nothing at all. I don't feel the need for a façade, or to block out any feelings whilst I run.
I bare it all to the rain. I am naked and at the mercy of Nature's wishes.
I like it that way.
Some nights, I enjoy the feeling so much that I seriously consider dropping my act during the school hours. I almost do.
To not be confined by the chains of a future already decided for me, to be able to have choices and freedoms.
To be able to say what I want, and do what I want, and love who I want.
I long for that kind of happiness.
But I have learned long ago that I will never have that kind of life. I was cursed the moment I was born into the Malfoy family. I have accepted this fact.
Thus, I only get this one chance to feel free and alive when I run away from everything, leaving the expectations and the duties and the war far behind me.
These moments are the only thing keeping me sane.
Amidst the constant trickling of rain on the trees' leaves, I hear a quiet sob from inside the forest. I stop and listen, and I hear it again.
I don't know what makes me do it, but I follow the sound into the trees.
I concentrate intently for more sounds, but besides the crunching of leaves beneath my feet, I hear nothing.
Beginning to assume I had imagined it, I go to turn around and start back, but then I see him.
Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the fucking Chosen One, is seated at the base of an ancient oak tree, clutching a picture in his hands.
He's crying. Sobbing. Shudders wracking through his body. I have never seen him so vulnerable.
"Mum, Dad," he murmurs, his voice shaking and cracking, "I don't want to do this anymore."
His voice barely carries through the trees and I cautiously move closer to hear him, "I'm so tired of it all. Please…"
My chest tightens, an unfamiliar feeling overwhelming me.
"I don't want to be anyone's hero anymore…" he whispers darkly, and a sob wracks through him again.
I can't take it anymore. I turn on the spot and I run, faster than I ever had before.
I vaguely hear him call out, "Who's there?"
But my steps never falter.
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The next day, the night sky is clear, but I run anyway.
I am no longer running to escape. I run now for him.
I run because he has more to face than I do.
I run every night, in hopes that he will be there again. Because, while I have no desire to confront him in daylight, the night gives me courage.
I know that, if he were to be there again, I would go to him and comfort him. I would never hurt him again.
But he is never there again. And I never gather the courage to speak with him.
I know our paths in life will lead us in different directions, despite my wanting otherwise.
I accept that.
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I no longer love the rain, it doesn't deserve it.
It manifests itself in my thoughts as a reminder of his tears.
And I could never love that.