The first time anyone had seen the Malfoy heir in years, was to drop off the body of the Boy Who Lived. Draco saw the Weasley's tremors as he walked through the low-cut grass , that was as green as the Chosen One's eyes and only went slightly under halfway up the side of Draco's shoe.

The house seemed untouched, as if it had been frozen in place throughout the war, but some of the people he'd known from being here last time, were gone. Two redheads had vanished, the beautiful blonde was nowhere to be seen and there was no trace that his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had ever been there, from the outside at least. There was an entire lineup, though, a stampede of redheads entered the area just outside the house, the moment he'd arrived.

One large difference, that took a surprising amount of time to notice, were the chairs and flower decorations set up on one side of the house. Draco only glanced, but he could still see the beauty of it within the short look. Then he went back to peering at the family's grimaces and frightful faces. The mother even had her calloced hands covering her mouth and Weaselette looked as if she might hex him, but not in a sisterly way. He'd heard rumors, that didn't concern him, but interested him slightly, that the two were a couple. The family clearly thought Harry wasn't living and Draco could've corrected them, considering his throats was no longer agonizingly dry, but he didn't. It almost amused him, that they were making such a big deal of the whole ordeal.

"Bloody hell! What'd you do, you little—" Ron's questioned, anger boiling over, but Hermione stopped him and Draco noticed they were holding hands. Everyone was living their happily ever after, even only a few days after the war, but him. Draco continued at a slow, but steady pace and pushed past Mrs. Weasley and noticed that no one removed their eyes from him or Harry.

Draco entered a small room with a fireplace, a jukebox, an armchair and a couch, which was perfect for placing Harry on. He was surprisingly gentle, so much so that when Harry was placed, his glasses didn't shift an inch. He stepped back, allowing every Weasley to crowd around him and check if he was alright. Years ago, Draco would've said something, anything, but now he stood in silence. Solitude had changed him. It'd softened, yet hardened him, all at once.

After a few moments, they must've noticed he was alright and backed away, now simply staring at Draco. They acted as if they hadn't recognized him, but it was obvious that anyone would from the platinum blonde hair and pale skin tone. "I-I'm sorry." Draco muttered, but only worsened their confusion and sent pain throughout his chapped lips.

No one responded and that was all Draco needed to signal him, that he was unwanted. But who would want the son of a death eater? Then again, the real question was, why was Harry aimlessly searching the house that was owned by a death eater? True, his father was now in Azkaban, but it still belonged to him, once, and his mother had the mark, so why?

Draco took his leave, the only sound the creaking of the floorboard under his shoes. Once in range he apparated to the gates in front of his house and peere at the large, rusting, spear-like, poles. They'd intrigued him, once, he'd loved the fright they caused witches and wizards alike, once, but now they just seemed like time wasted. He pushed through, the gate opened without applying barely any pressure. Once, they'd been obstacles.

Draco had always been one to dwell on the past and it helped with maintaining grudges, but now it just made him run the regrets he had in his mind, over and over again. He couldn't work, considering he hadn't finished school, he didn't have anyone to care for his being, but his mother.

"My Draco, how'd—" Narcissa happily spoke, but Draco walked straight past her, past the sofa, the paintings that added to the aesthetic, the fireplace and straight to the stairs.

He didn't wish to speak. He had shown himself and rumors would start, but maybe then someone'd care enough to see him. Pansy and Blaise tried to owl him, but he refused to open the letters which now piled on top of the beautifully carved, wooden desk, that resided within his room. Draco had never given them a second thought, but now they received his attention. They were calling out his name the moment he twisted the knob and opened the door to see them.

The letters were all more heartfelt than his friends had ever been in person, that he couldn't help but shed a tear. At the bottom of the pile, a fairly new looking envelope was left. The name inscribed was none other than "Harry Potter", when he ripped the envelope open and removed the parchment, he saw that the date indicated it was only written a month ago, when he was missing. Temptation was painful, but fear made him crumple up the page and throw it onto the dark wood floor, where it would patiently wait for days.