Sometimes there just aren't words to describe the loss of a loved one. Sometimes there is just a pit, a dark, festering pit, in the middle of your chest when you think about them. Sometimes the memory of their love tugs at the tapestry of your mind, unravelling it until you can't tell their voice from yours. Sometimes pain blossoms but you can't feel it because you're absolutely numb outside. Sometimes death is worse than having that person alive.
Draco Malfoy had never thought that he would miss his father. It wasn't until Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban in a cell, until his festering corpse was pulled out of the barred room, until his beautiful skin had begun to rot and house insects that Draco Malfoy missed Lucius. It wasn't until he heard the thick dirt clods hitting his father's casket that he missed Lucius.
Draco wasn't sure why he missed his father.
He shouldn't have missed his father. Once Lucius was in Azkaban Draco had felt as though a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, as though he had suddenly been freed from a body bind. But when Lucius died, that freedom was too much for him.
Draco walked down the halls of an empty house with an empty heart.
His feet carried him to Lucius's study.
And then back out, through the long hallways. Everything was colorless. He was suddenly in the garden, the threads in his mind constricting his head until he could only look at the grave where a shadowy figure with long pale hair was sitting, head bowed.
Draco looked over the shoulder of the figure to see the name written on the tombstone in beautiful script.
Draco Malfoy -
Lost to War.
Lucius Malfoy rose from his seat and went back to his room to sire another heir, an heir who would live.