Chapter Text
He couldn't believe it.
He couldn’t fucking believe it.
He stood in the entrance of the destroyed room and witnessed the disaster before him.
The sofa that he had spent many sleepless nights on was ripped open, stuffing spilling out of the gash. The simple chairs where Draco had sat, drawing the world around him, were knocked over, one missing a limb entirely.
The table, where Draco had learned to play a silly Muggle card game to pass the hours, was cracked down the centre, the jagged scar ugly and deep.
Dust swirled in the light that was streaming in through shattered windows, like an apparition of whatever misfortune had taken place.
In the centre of the destruction, nestled between wooden debris and tattered pillows, was a single piece of parchment and an object that seemed to knock the air out of his lungs.
It took a moment for his body to follow his commands to move, but suddenly he was bending down, trembling fingers picking up the small leather bound book. The leather was cool against his skin but Draco’s fingers burned at its touch. He tightened his grip around the diary and reached for the parchment.
The yellowed paper was somehow intact even surrounded by the wreckage.
Draco’s eyes scanned the vellum, and as he did he felt the rage begin to burn in his gut. It was thick and syrupy as it trickled into his bloodstream, his rapidly pounding heart pushing the emotion to every part of his body.
He couldn’t control the guttural, furious scream that ripped from his throat.
Before he knew it, the table was no longer standing and pieces of splintered wood were flying around the room. He stalked to the small bedroom that had somehow been left untouched, and cast another Bombarda, now aimed at the bed that stood in the centre of the room. Feathers whipped about him and caught fire with his silent Incendio.
He didn’t stop until the small structure burned down to the damp forest floor. Draco watched as the fire ate away at the place that he had once considered a prison, and then a refuge.
The weight of the book hung heavy in the pocket of his robes and the parchment was tightly fisted in his hand. He couldn’t bring himself to toss it into the blaze, even though he knew it was ridiculous.
The blank parchment was one of the worst messages he had ever received.