anger
3 months later.
He had done well to maintain his composure in the months following his life-alterating revelation.
So well, in fact, that Pansy, and later Blaise and Theo, all believed his statement that their matching marks meant nothing, and anyone who thought otherwise could rot in Azkaban.
Everything was fine. Until he walked into work on Monday.
Ginger hair was the first sight that greeted him at he rounded the corner to his office, and Draco swore colourfully under his breath.
”Weasley. To what do I owe the dubious honour?”
Ron, to his credit, simply rolled his eyes. Working in the Ministry together had forced them to reach a frosty truce, one which had only just progressed to amicable in the last year.
So when Weasley awkwardly extended an elegant-looking envelope to him, he bit his tongue to hold back the slew of remarks about taste and wealth that came naturally.
He had to bite even harder when he opened it to find a tastefully done invitation, cordially inviting him to attend the wedding of Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley.
It was only later that same night, that Draco allowed himself to feel something. An ugliness seemed to snake itself around him; hostility and pure, unadultered rage poured itself into his very being like poisonous honey.
In hindsight, it was the moment when he sat amongst the shards of broken glass in his kitchen. It was the blood, standing out violently against near-translucent skin. It was the deafening silence and the gravity of his existence but above all, it was the unfailing clarity with which he could pinpoint his emotions.
All he could see was red.