By comparison, that had not gone as badly as it could have. Barely anything was said, that was a relief, but what was said made him wonder if he could stop himself from releasing emotions he knew would only hurt him in the end. It was just till tomorrow, he kept telling himself again and again, and although those words helped him, they hadn't changed the fact that he was still here till tomorrow.
After Draco walked out of the dining hall and away from his father, he went to his favourite spot in the mansion – the attic. The attic was where he went almost every day to escape the rest of the house and its burdens; it was a sort of sanctuary he was convinced kept him sane during the summer months. He climbed up a huge winding staircase that branched off into two directions, one continuing up into a darkened abyss and another that went to the Malfoy owlery. Not even pausing to consider the different routes, he headed up the stairs and was engulfed into the darkness. He came to a ceiling of wood and pushed on two of the boards. With a small grunt, they were lifted and pushed aside on the floor of a spacious attic that overlooked the grand yards of the Malfoy estate. Draco lifted himself into the room and carefully pushed the floorboards back into place. He pushed a large box of books over them so no one could come in after him. Then, after grabbing a book from the said box, he went to the large window that was on the opposite side of the empty room and sat in front of it. Just staring out at the vast landscape he wondered what it would be like to be free and living on his own out in that world. Sure he had been to many parties with his friends and adult parties with his father, but he felt like there was more to life. Draco knew there were people who weren't stressed half as much as he was, who didn't feel the need to impress like he did, and most of all, there were people who actually cared for each other. If only Draco could find someone, anyone, who he could care for and they could care for him. If only he could experience something worthwhile about life that wasn't at the expense of other people. If only…. These people and this life he imagined for himself he knew would never be possible unless he changed, unless he wasn't so vain and insecure. His inadequacies were what made him thrash out at people who he was jealous of, like Potter. He had everything Draco didn't: Friends who cared about him, attention and fame, and it seemed like everyone liked him that knew him personally.
Draco ripped his gaze from the vast grounds and the woods beyond and opened the random book he had grabbed from the box on the other side of the room. He found an escape in this book and began to read with more and more fervor.
The afternoon wore on as he continuously turned the pages. He heard his mother's voice that was magically magnified to boom throughout the entire manse telling him it was time for dinner, but Draco ignored it, opting for the seclusion the attic gave him, and the escape that his book allowed him to enjoy.
Finally, after nightfall, and after he had turned the last page of his book, Draco stood up and made his way across the room and pushed the box of books out of the way. He then lifted the floorboards and climbed down the spiral staircase. When he got to the bottom floor, Draco navigated himself toward the kitchens, but before he got there, a hand came out of a doorway and grabbed him. He was pushed against the wall and soon saw his father's face, close to his and clearly irate. Well that was all Draco needed the final day before he left. Lucius pressed him against the wall and stepped up so close to him that Draco could feel his breath on his face.
"Boy, where were you tonight?"
"I was upstairs, father, I was reading," Draco tried to sound as composed and steely as possible, but he heard himself falter slightly.
"Upstairs. Didn't you hear your mother calling you? She was dead worried, thought you'd gone and killed yourself." Lucius gave a little sneer and continued, "What's your problem lately, it's as if you don't even want to be in the same room as me."
"What are you talking about? I was reading and wasn't hungry. As for not being in the same room as you, I can honestly say your right."
Draco was still pressed up against the wall and his chest where his father was pressing with his fist was starting to hurt. He moved slightly to his right towards the kitchen, but his father, with his other hand, grabbed his arm – lightly this time – and looked him in the eyes and said harshly, "I'm your father; there is no need for you to be afraid of me!"
"I'm not afraid of you, father, I simply abhor you." And with that, Draco stepped around his now livid father who was red in the face and looked as if he could have caused extreme pain to someone if they crossed his path, and walked swiftly into the large kitchen. Draco didn't feel good about what happened. He just felt numb. He was surprised, though, that his father had just stood there staring at him after his last words.
Now standing in this room that was bustling with house elves, he discreetly crept over to a corner of the room that a relatively large, swiveling chair occupied, and sank into the comfy cushions that readily engulfed him. It was only a matter of minutes before he fell into quiet dreams about a garden where he sat in perfect felicity with the wind rustling through his shaggy hair.