𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐋 | drarry

3 | souls that have sinned

The sunlight poured into his room, it was dim, but nonetheless highly annoying. Draco's wings ruffled in the sheets, the honey-like ombré at the tips of his wings glistened in the lighting, giving it an endearing highlight. His pale arm was draped over his eyes dramatically, trying to avoid the sun, although he needed to get up soon for lessons.

And then it abruptly dawned on him. The angel shot up in his bed, lips slightly parted that slowly etched into a cute grin, anxiousness immediately flowing up in his abdomen, resting there. He remembered about what he had read last night in library before parting ways, as he silently traveled back to his home, he thoroughly thought out a plan.

Draco shuffled off the duvet covering his lower half, balling his hand into a fist, rubbing his tired eyes. A yawn slipped through his lips as he stood on his feet, stretching out his back momentarily before trotting towards his wardrobe. Gathering fresh robes to wear, he bunched up the article of clothing, sliding his head through the hole and letting the rest of it drop down his lanky frame.

All of his attire was white. That's all the angels wore despite heaven being filled with numerous of colors. White meant pure, and Draco was undoubtedly purest of them all.

"Draco, darling!" A voice rang from outside his room, followed by a sharp knock on his door. "Are you awake?"

Draco's body jolted, exhaling leisurely. The suddenness of his mothering appearing was unexpected and gave him a bit of a small shock. "Yes, I'm awake." He called back out to her.

Right afterwards, the knob twisted and stepped in Narcissa, without giving any warning of her entry. Long, silky blonde hair fell drifted down her exquisite shoulders, bright blue eyes shined down at her angelic son, and her mouth twisted upwards into a smile. Narcissa's hands clasped together gently, her presence unwelcomed by Draco.

"Now, I'm sure you're still upset about last night's conversation, but just know that your father and I are just looking out for you," she calmly stated, thinning her eyes until they became slits, judging Draco's appearance. Stopping her speech, she unnecessarily began combing her fingers through the younger boy's hair, fixing it neatly. "As I was saying, I encourage you to set your intelligence on something else instead of this barbaric idea you've got going on."

Groaning in annoyance, Draco backed away from his mother, scowling. "Yes, I understand," he drawled, not in the mood to listen to his mother nonsensical lectures, thus he just agreed, hopefully making this upsetting talk come to an end.

"If you mind, I have to get to lessons."

"Oh!" She chirped as if she had forgotten, drawing her hands inwardly to her chest, intertwining her own fingers together, admiring her son. Narcissa stepped aside, allowing a space for Draco to walk past. "Of course you do, that's my boy."

Ignoring the rest, Draco skipped past her, heading out of his room and down the stairs in a dashed haze, the plan still sitting in the back of his mind. Swallowing thickly, he actually formulated to not go to lessons. If the Purgatory was somewhere near the middle of heaven, it would take quite a decent while to discover it on foot. If he decided to go there after lessons, it would be nightfall when he arrived, and that would cause his parents to gain worry.

Draco wrapped his arms around himself when he stepped outside, squinting as the sunlight directly hit him in the eyes. Kicking his foot, he turned his head where he should be heading, to the library. He stood in the same spot for quite awhile, watching the other angels walk past him and engage in typical conversation. Would anyone witness him going the other way?

He stared at the golden pathway, marked with torched that fueled fire when the sun dropped down and the moon took its place, they were currently dying out, the beams of natural light brightening everyone's way. Draco should be routinely walking down there already, but his feet were glued against the ground, refusing for his brain to take control of his limbs. He was nervous, extremely nervous.