𝐓𝐚𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚 || 𝐃.𝐌

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 || 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Itay - means father
Inay - means mother

~❀~

~❀~

It has already been a few days after that unforgettable night. The night that Draco swooped her away from the man, who almost raped her or worse kidnapped her. She was thankful for him that day even though she couldn't much remember what happened the rest of the evening. Luckily, her mother didn't know about it, for Fatima had taken her home to their aunt's home and made an excuse to Mrs Magindara that they had a sleepover after having dinner together.

Mrs Magindara believed her because after all, she is Y/n's cousin and someone who can be trusted.

On a windy day, although, a sunny day too, Y/n has taken Draco to the place where she would usually go on Saturdays. In their Summer House in Plage De Trouville.

Draco gave her a space whilst she visits her father's grave, for he knew that she needed time alone with her deceased father. But he still watched her from afar, leaning against the doorframe of the door that leads to the wide garden.

He does know how it feels to lose someone very important, who became part of growing up. He has a friend who died in a fire when he was 18 during the war that happened in 1998. He also grieved over Fred Weasley that year because this man made his year colourful even though he never showed to everyone that he was fond of the Weasley Twin's jokes and pranks around the school. He was there before at Fred Weasley's funeral, but he just hid somewhere behind the trees and just visited him after everyone left.

Y/n was already walking back inside, smiling at him, as the sun struck its soft light in the garden and made her hair shine beautifully as he liked it.

"Why do you look like your thoughts have reached miles away?" She chuckled, leaning her back against the doorframe, facing him whilst her arms were crossed upon her chest.

"It's the best feeling, you know, zoning out." He grinned. "But I do not truly know why you made me come here with you."

"Is it not obvious?" She chuckled.

"Obvious what?" Draco felt his heart pounding inside his chest. He doesn't know why but his heart does hope for one thing — For her to confess her feelings to him.

"You're the only person I could bring here today."

His heart hoped wrong.

"What about Fatima?" He asked.

"She's busy with her french class. And I brought you here so you can have time with me for your book. How was the book, by the way?" She questioned. Her eyes were staring softly at his silver-blue ones.

"Oh, I haven't started writing the first page yet." He responded. "I still need to know more information about you."

She only gave him a smile and walked inside the house as Draco followed her from behind.

The House furniture was mostly covered with white cloth because the family, ever since Mr Magindara's death, has stopped staying here on summer days or Christmas. This House has been filled with a lot of memories that link to her father. She could even remember her father's laugh inside her mind every time she comes to visit here alone, without her mother knowing.

Her Memories of this house usually came flooding in. Sometimes she would see her younger self playing chase with her father and mother or spending their time in the garden. She even remembered the time when a luncheon was held in this very house, and her 6-year-old self placed a frog on one of their guests' seats.

Of course, her mother scolded her, for she knew that there was only one person who would do that. Her father, however, only laughed at what his daughter did.

"Who takes care of this house? If you mind me asking." Draco spoke.

"We have caretakers here to clean the house once a week. Every Wednesday or perhaps Tuesday but never at weekends." She replied as they both entered her father's old office.

The office still looked the same ever since her father's death. The only thing changed was that the cloth covering the furniture that still stood in the same place.

She never wanted any of the furniture to be arranged. She wanted to stay how it is because if the house caretaker changed the arrangement, it would devastate her, for she fear that her memories about her father may decay as she grows old.

"Is he your father?" Draco was looking at the family portrait above the hearth. His eyes scanned the man wearing a suit with his wife by his side and his daughter in the middle but on their front. "How old are you here?"

"Yes, he is my Itay, and I was only 10 then. It was the last family portrait we had after he died." She stood next to him whilst her eyes stared sadly at her father, whose hand was on her 10-year-old self's shoulder.

"You really do resemble him." He said.

"I really do," She smiled softly. "He taught me a lot of things here in this house."

"What did he teach you?"

"Golf, swimming, chess, tennis, basketball, and even dice stacking. Dice Stacking was his favourite game. If he's still here, he would invite me to play with him whilst Inay would watch us." A soft and small chuckle left her lips. "I really wished my mother was still the same as before."

Draco gave her questioning eyes.

"She wasn't strict. She simply just lectured me when I do something wrong. But now, it's kind of different."

"How different?"

"She became obsessed with her work. If you know what I mean." She sighed. "She's rarely warm unlike before. She just became different when itay died. It's like her soul just died. But of course, she won't let anyone see her that way. She even stopped visiting places that have memories of my father such as this. She even forbade me to play basketball."

"You play basketball?" Draco asked even though he has already heard it from Marc.

"Yes, I believe that is how we met at the back of the theatre house." She smiled softly. Her eyes were still on the portrait whilst her arms were crossed on her chest. "I really do play, but for now I play in secret."

"Why did she forbade you?"

"She...she remembers my father. I just knew that every time she caught me, her heart would ache because of the memories of him."