Draco always thought the first snow was best. It was the purest, and the whitest. Unlike the frozen slush that would follow in the weeks to come, this was soft falling flakes of simple white crystals. He stuck out his tongue and let them melt against the warmth of his mouth. They even tasted good. Like the promise of something good that was soon to come. They held the innocence of not knowing that after their long float down from the clouds, they would land on the hard cold ground and be trampled on by passing feet, hurrying off to their destination not stopping to enjoy the snow's simple beauty.
Unlike now, the rest of the season would hold harsh, bitter flurries that bit at noses and that chapped lips. It was unforgiving, and relentless, seeping through winter coats and scarves, causing shivers and cold, aching bones.
Sort of like Draco's father; unrelenting, cold and unforgiving.
Lucius caused Draco to shiver every time he walked in the room. He was, in himself, the worst winter days. People half expected him to have frost forming at his lips as he spoke, even in the hot summer months. He was strict and sharp with his son, even in public. Draco had long stopped trying to earn his father's affections.
And Lucius made Draco do things that at first made Draco think he was winning some sort of perverse attention. (If you do this, I will buy you a new broom. That will be nice, won't it?) Lucius would come to him at night, when he was still a very young boy…
Draco shivered and continued his path across the courtyard, face upturned to the snow. The snow knew of Draco's pains, the faded bruises or the things he had done. The things he had done to stay alive.
Suddenly he was angry at the dancing snowflakes. They weren't a part of the world and its horrors. They spun and swirled in the sky, enjoying the frosty air. And they always seemed to be there, as Draco's life spun and swirled with them. It was probably because everything seemed to happen over Christmas holidays, when snow is comes heavily, unrelentingly.
It was there, a constant reminder. When Lucius had to hold him down, spread his legs, and push his face against a pillow, Draco's eyes were on the window, where outside the snow was free and happy. It was there when Lucius took his belt to Draco's bum, tears streaming down the boy's face.
The snowflakes were always there.
And then Draco would return to school, the snow would melt, the bruises would fade, and the welts would cease to burn.
But then why did he love the first snow of the year?
For everyone else it was beautiful, but to him it should mean it was the beginning of the vicious cycle once more. Perhaps it was because he envied the new snow and its innocence. Or perhaps, in a way, this was the beginning of hours spent with his father, no matter how disgusting or demeaning.
No matter the reason, Draco loved the snowflakes, like he loved his father.
...But perhaps the snowflakes weren't as innocent as he thought.