warnings: light angst, anxiety, post-second wizarding war. this is an attempt at redemption. draco wants a home.
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He hadn't returned home; hadn't wanted to. All that remained of Malfoy Manor were the ghosts that haunted the halls. It had never been a home; it had never been loving or warm. It had always been cold, cold, cold.
Draco hadn't returned home. He couldn't. The war had ravaged the wizarding community; tore it apart so wholly it was a miracle that it was beginning to rebuild. Draco couldn't return to a community that he helped tear apart; couldn't claim a stake or a home within when he would be cast out without a second glance.
He didn't return home. He ran, instead. He ran to far flung places, hiding from his past, refusing to confront the horrors that sat so close. He runs and he runs; travelling Europe and the Mediterranean, Africa and America. He moves when the weight on his chest begins to crush him; when his breathing becomes harsh and his mind flies through thoughts a thousand miles a minute; when his hands shake to the point he is unable to hold anything.
When that happens, he moves on. He finds a new place to leave a bit of his soul in.
Draco lands in England years later. The war ended when he was eighteen; three years later, he returns to English soil.
It's then, as he breathes in the acrid London air, that he realises he has no home to return to. Malfoy Manor lies in darkness; closed up and abandoned. Draco doesn't know anyone in London.
He doesn't have anywhere to go.
Until.
Draco takes a breath, takes a step, and apparates.
It is darker in the countryside. Warm light shines from the lampposts, illuminating the gravel road. Another deep breath and Draco lets the sweet scent of wildflowers wash over him, letting the florals calm the brisk beating of his heart.
From his spot under the lamppost, he can see your cottage. The windows are illuminated in a soft light - candlelight, Draco thinks as he recalls your love of them through your school years. He hasn't seen you since the war; hasn't let himself think of you since he left the country. If he had, he wouldn't have left. If he had, he would have looked for you, crawling on his knees to beg for your forgiveness. You meant the world to him, but the world had different plans for Draco.
What he wants now is a fresh start; he's had his time to grieve, he's had his time to run and run away from the nightmares of his past. He's done now. He's finished. He wants a new start.
The deep brown of your front door is upon him before Draco truly realises. His hand shakes as he curls it into a fist, raising it to knock three times on your door.
He hears the sharp bark of a dog; the pitter patter of its paws on your floor as it rushes to the front door, desperate to see who waits behind the wood. Draco can only hope that he would be welcome.
The door opens.
"Oh," is all that leaves your lips as you take in the sight of the man on your doorstep.
"Hi," is all Draco manages; the one syllable word breaking on his lips as he drinks in the sight of you after years apart.
"It's been so long."
"I know."
"You look so tired, Draco." You murmur, lips pulled into a frown, taking in the sight of the dark circles under his eyes and the defeated slump of his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," He whispers, taking a step back, readying himself to find a bed for the night. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Don't go," You call out into the night; words powerful enough to stop Draco in his steps. "Stay. You're welcome to stay here, Draco," You whisper, stepping away from the door, letting the man enter your home.
"I am?" He asks, shock running through his voice.
"Come in, Draco."
Stepping into your home, bathing in the scent of sandalwood, Draco feels the weight on his chest start to lift. It feels lighter for the first time in years; he feels as if he can rest, feels as if he can have a fresh start.
YOU ARE READING
Draco Malfoy Imagines
FanfictionA collection of imagines about Draco Malfoy! These were originally posted on my tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
