FAILSAFE

Chapter Nineteen

Draco Malfoy stood at the edge of the lake, the ripples in the water a faint echo of the chaos that had just unfolded. His father lay still in the shallows, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. But as Draco looked down at the man who had been both a tyrant and a father, he felt no surge of grief. There was no wellspring of sorrow, no tears to blur the image before him. Instead, there was a hollow emptiness, a vacuum where emotions should have been.

Rage, yes.

Fuelled by anger, he had forcefully pushed his father off the dock, plunging him into the icy embrace of the lake's depths. Rage at his father's cruelty, his manipulations, his unyielding demands for perfection. Rage at the years of fear and abuse that had shaped Draco into a twisted reflection of the man now lying at his feet.

But grief? Draco didn't know if he could truly mourn a man who he had lost long before this moment. Draco remembered the coldness in Lucius' eyes, the disdainful words that had cut him to the core, the sense of never being good enough. How does one grieve a father who had never really been one?

As he knelt by the water's edge, fingers barely touching the still form of his father, Draco couldn't summon the expected waves of remorse. Instead, there was a bewildering mix of emotions swirling within him: a maelstrom of anger, regret, and, yes, perhaps even relief.

He recalled the countless nights spent in fear, tiptoeing around the man who was supposed to protect him. Lucius Malfoy, a figure of authority and terror, had cast a shadow over all aspects of Draco's life.

There were the days when Lucius would lecture him endlessly, pointing out every flaw, every misstep with a cruel precision that left scars deeper than any physical wound. He had tried so hard to please him, to live up to the impossible standards set by the Malfoy name, only to find himself falling short time and time again.

But as he stared down at the man who had once held so much power over him, Draco couldn't deny the sense of liberation that washed over him. The burden of expectation, the weight of his father's ambitions, they all seemed to dissipate like fog under the cover of night.

Draco had come to the realisation that grief was not a barren void, but a sacred sanctuary that only those who had embraced love and forged heartfelt bonds could truly grasp. It was for those who had laughed together, who had found solace in each other's presence. It was for the friend who had tucked him in during the darkness, whispering words of comfort as he gripped his branded arm. For the brother who had shared secrets under moonlit skies and stepped between him and harm's way. Grief extended even to the man who had handed him a lifeline, who had seen potential in him when all others turned away, who had rescued him when he believed himself beyond salvation.

Grief belonged to the lovers who had woven their lives together, whose hearts had pulsated in unison. It was for those who had murmured dreams of eternity, only to be left with the pang of a shattered promise.

Grief was a testament to the love that had once filled the spaces, now empty and echoing.

But for Draco Malfoy, there were no such memories to cling to, no moments of tenderness to soften the edges. What he felt in the present was something different, something raw and unfiltered. It was the reckoning of years of abuse and neglect, the confrontation with a reality he had long tried to ignore.

Draco closed his eyes, willing himself to feel anything for the man who lay before him. But all he found was a strange emptiness, a void where there should have been tears.

Maybe this was his own form of mourning. Not the weeping and wailing of a son who had lost his father, but the silent acknowledgement of a life lived in the shadow of a man who had never truly been there.