The sun was still warm. It never ceases in the countryside, does it? Draco wondered, bouncing precariously along in a little tin bus. It was just the three of them and a little old lady reading an outdated newspaper. He sighed. What a life.
Its not that he didn't like the countryside. Quite the contrary. It's beautiful, he observed, watching the scenery skip by. There were long stalks of grass spotted with dandelions. A thick grove of trees beyond whispered in the wind. And the blue sky seemed to sing without a noise, only one lost cloud floating around, lonely. An outcast cloud, he thought. Strangely and highly symbolic.
Yet, it seemed to be such an embodiment of happiness, even alone. You know what, that's my problem. I can't be happy alone. I can't be happy. Draco frowned. On second thought, I don't think I've ever been happy. Yes, I've had funny, but happiness? He heard his father's voice echo in his mind.
"A Malfoy is stern, and bears his dignity. He must never show weakness. Not one slip of emotion. Do that again, Draco, cry again, and you shall be cast out of the house. If you cry, you are not a Malfoy."
And he shuddered and clutched his bag to his chest. If his father knew how much crying he did in secret…well, that didn't matter anymore. Draco didn't have parents. Couldn't he do as he pleased? Then his mother's gentle voice floated out of nowhere.
"Treasure joy, Draco. It comes not oft, and when it does come, it nay comes when one is prepared. Indeed, it comes when one is most unprepared."
Was he ready for happiness? If he was ready, it wouldn't come. What did happiness feel like? Did blaise or antares know? Did Dumbledore know, when he was alive?
Did Harry Potter know?