Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Challenges listed at the bottom.
Word Count - 416
Warning - mentions of suicide, sort of, and alcohol abuse.
Praying For Spring To Come
The winter had come in fierce, fiercer than usual in fact.
Wind howled through the trees, blowing harshly at buildings barely able to withstand the abuse. Rain and sleet and snow and hail fell intermittently, soaking through layers of clothing, turning once green fields into muddy marshes. Ice coated the roads and froze the lakes, cars sliding as they tried to make their way home to their families.
Draco loved the winter usually. He ice-skated on the lake that took up half of the Manor grounds, enjoyed hot chocolate delivered to him by the house-elves that controlled the kitchen, wrapped up warm and flew through the flurries of snow that swirled and twirled through the sky.
While most people he knew loved to frolic in the summer instead, Draco had always preferred the ice and cold of winter.
And yet…
This year, he prayed for spring. He prayed for sunshine lighting the rooms of the baron Manor he'd once loved to call home. He prayed for the pastel shades of blue and green and yellow and orange to coat the gardens in blooming flowers. He prayed for birdsong, if only to pierce through the endless silence that surrounded his home.
He was alone now, and it had taken that to make him realise that the best thing about winter had always been the company.
His mother joining him for hot chocolate, sitting by the beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the parlour, conversations low and intimate.
His father, on the occasions he could get away from his work, flying in the snow with him, smiling freely in a way he never did at other times of the year.
His friends visiting over the holidays, ice-skating on the lake with him, each of them trying to out-do the others with tricks and turns and twirls and jumps.
None of it mattered now that he was alone.
Now, he sat at the window in the darkness, a worn scarf around his neck, and gloves that had seen better days covering his hands. His now ever present flask was either in his lap or on the windowsill, depending on the time of day and how drunk he was.
Now, he stayed alone, his parents imprisoned and his friends gone, either joining his parents in Azkaban or abandoning him in order to save their own reputations, what little any of them had left.
Now, he stayed alone, and prayed for spring, all the while wondering if he'd even make it there.
Written for:
Space - 5. Flask
Hogwarts Olympics - Ice Hockey / Gold - Contains no dialogue / 2. Season: Winter
Galleon Club - 19. Fierce
365. 159. Frolic