Chapter 2
Draco was having just another day doing the same things he had done basically all the time. Father forbade him from leaving the tower, it was a dangerous world out there. He didn’t blame Father, not really. He wouldn’t have known how to survive without him, Father brought food, art supplies, and even some books.
Though, he still couldn’t help but hope that one day he could be old and brave enough to leave. Painting the walls was fun, reading too. Yet he felt like recently they have just been there for the sole purpose of passing time, and the walls were losing space for new paintings. In those books, there were always adventures to take the time, even if it was dangerous. Draco felt as though he were missing out on something, even if the world was dangerous.
The art was the best part of every day, even if he had to eventually paint over a few of the paintings he had already done. There was always more than enough time to recreate those gold specks floating in the sky that he sees every year. The ones that always appear on his birthday. It was one of his favourite works, the blues and greens with the yellow of the lights calmed something deep inside him.
During earlier years, Draco had always just bunched them together with the stars, though he discovered that they could not be stars. He paid attention to the constellations year-round, ever since he was eleven, the stars would always appear for a few months at a time, only slightly drifting away as the seasons change. These were different, only appearing once every year and always in different paths from the same general area, moving when stars stood still. It seemed closer than the stars, all he had to do was reach closer. It was torture that he couldn’t, so instead of reaching for the tangible objects that floated, he painted them instead.
Painting for Draco was like breathing air, it’s necessary. The brushes spreading the paint made it feel as though fresh air rushed through Draco’s body. Adding colour from nothing to make something, something that could be meaningful and capture emotions. Emotions that Draco could not truly understand. It was everything that he needed and more. The only problem was that Draco found himself always running out of paint though, so he would always pester Father about it.
Draco is forced out of his musings by the call of his name from Father, groaning. He knew he should be more than grateful for this life he has. He was safe, he was protected and yet still, there was an empty pit in his chest that just wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times he repeated the tasks he set for himself.
Approaching the window, Draco used almost all the strength he had and pulled his father up as fast as he could. The constant calls to hurry only made his heart beat faster and beads of sweat started to form. Yes, he had done it many times. Though it never really got easier, especially when the hot sun was practically burning his pale skin. How Father had got to the tower when Draco was younger was beyond his imaginations, it was one of those things he couldn’t ask, like why he had no mother, he would never get the answer.
“Draco, what took you so long?” Father asked eerily, detesting Draco with a sneer.
“Sorry, Father. It won’t happen again.” Draco said quietly, eyes down while wiping his forehead. He hated when Father got like this, and it only ever helped if Draco made himself smaller in front of him.
Father made a small disapproving sound before turning around, eyes scanning over the room to make sure Draco has nothing to hide and that the floor is spotless. Once satisfied, he sat down on the chair in front of the oven expectantly.
“Father, I was thinking…” Draco started before he was cut off by Father, “Not now, Draco. After you sing our song we can discuss whatever it is you want to pester me about.” He nodded, there was no use in talking to him about it now with Fathers red eyes glowing dangerously, so he started rushing through the words that always made his hair glow to heal.
“Hey! Draco, wait,” but before he could finish Draco turned towards him, wringing his hands together to shake off the nerves. It was one thing to be anxious to ask Father for a very big favour, he assumed he would rather get it over with sooner rather than later. All things considered, it was worth the risk of getting punished, with the slight chance to be able to see the lights.
Draco fills his lungs with air then begins, “So… Father. I was thinking, in a couple days it is my eighteenth birthday and I was wondering-”
“You still celebrate it?” Father said as if the words were venom.
“Well yes, I mean,” he brought his hands together, squeezing them whilst taking a deep breath. “I want to see the floating lights.” When the only answer he got was silence, Draco looked up to see Father scowl down at him. “I am eighteen, I am mature enough I will make sure I won’t get seen,” Draco rushed to try to explain his rush of thoughts.
“No.”
Draco started, “but-”
“I said no. Not another word of it Draco. I sacrifice myself every single day to keep you in this tower safe. Do you know how many times I get hurt out there? How many thieves are out there that would slice you up into tiny bits and pieces because of your hair upon one glance,” Father was yelling loudly now, and the room felt darker as Draco sank in front of Father. “You wouldn’t last a second out there. I have not sacrificed my whole life to keep you safe just for you to throw it all away on your own selfish needs!”
Draco looked up wide-eyed at the shaking chandelier, Father took this as a means to grab his face and lock it in a position so he had to stare straight at the vile red eyes, “Do you understand, you leech,” he glowered.
Draco could do nothing but stare and swallow, followed by a meek mumble of sorts trying to say sorry. Though Father was gripping too hard on Draco’s jaw when he tried to get out an apology he ended up stabbing his cheek with his teeth. Finally, Father let go. “My apologies, I just wanted to ask for some paint,” he excused.
“That takes too long, you are asking for too much.” Father sighed in resignation as he saw Draco shrunken up with glossy eyes. “But fine. You know I never meant to make you upset, I just want to keep you safe.”
“Of course, Father.”
“It’s a long trip, you will be safe here, right?”
“Yes,” he nodded at the ground, still crouched down in a small posture. Draco stays there still for a while, returns to the same spot when Father leaves, he sinks down to the floor and wants. It runs deep in his veins, want, perhaps it always will and he would always be stuck in this tower, never getting the chance to see the floating lights. He stays on the cold hard floor then, trying to fill his lungs with enough air.
Draco was forced out of his thoughts a while later to loud pecks outside the tower, like stone clashing together. He got up, body still weighing heavily from earlier, and crept to the balconet to peer below.
Someone had found the tower. Someone had found Draco. He rushed behind a pillar waiting for the person to come up, all Draco held for defence was a pan. He was trembling from fear, did he want his hair like Father said? How did he find him?
When the man rose clumsily into the tower, he peered around, curious. Draco couldn’t find himself to move, even twitch his fingers as the man looked around quickly before opening his satchel.
“Phew, for a moment there I thought that would be the end,” he says right before Draco finally found it in himself to move and hit the man on the head with his pan, closing his eyes to brace himself.
He peered at him who now lay unconscious on the floor. Draco really did not know what to do with the man with messy brown hair, so he looked towards Kona, his ferret companion, for answers. When he only got a blank stare he questioned why he would even look to her for help. He continued to observe the man, and using his pan to open his mouth he found white teeth similar to Draco’s instead of sharp monstrous fangs Father used to warn him with. Actually, the man was quite the opposite of everything Father had said - yes he was marked with dirt and extremely messy hair - and actually mesmerizing.
Kona scurried over towards a chair sitting in the corner of the room, taking Draco’s gaze from the man. An idea started to form, it was going to be the riskiest thing Draco could even imagine, but at this point he was desperate to see the floating lights, so Draco turned towards the man on the floor once again and carefully approached him.
It was still nerve-racking even knowing the git was unconscious. And heavy, and… warm? Why the hell was he so warm? Draco’s body cringed while he tried to drag him towards the closet, the man was filthy, wearing worn-down, muddy clothes. He was hoping this whole thing would be worth it in the end.
Luckily tying him to the chair with his hair was easier than getting him in it, and now all Draco had to do was wait for the man to wake up so he could perhaps blackmail him into agreeing to Draco’s bizarre plan. He found a weird, round object in the man’s satchel that glistened in the sunlight. It had jewels on it, he assumed the man was running away from someone because of this.
Draco had tried to think of what it could possibly be used for other than an accessory, the closest thing he could think of was a very enlarged ring that Father had on his fingers. It had to go somewhere, maybe like a hat? It did fit on his head, almost felt perfect there and when he glanced in the mirror it was like that object had belonged there all along, to him.
He had to hide it first, even if just for leverage on the situation. So he had put it in a cupboard high up that blended in with the walls. Then, pulling himself up on the beams to sit and wait, he started back down at the man tied on the chair. It had to work, and Draco gripped the pan handle tight when the man started twitching awake.