"Some have been thought brave because they didn't have the courage to run."
Draco Malfoy was always running.
He ran away the truth. He ran away from pain. He ran away from his duties. He ran away from curses. He ran away from his parents. He ran away from his pride.
And when he heard her cries of pain in the dungeons of the Malfoy Manor, he ran to her without a second thought. When she lay, stunned by a curse from a Death Eater he vaguely knew, he ran to her side. When he caught a glimpse of her, all dirty blonde hair and radishes, roughly four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, he ran to catch up with her.
At their wedding, he was running late because he went to visit her father's grave in respect. When they had their first fight, he ran after her and kissed her in apology. When they were decorating their first home together, without magic, and he was covered in paint, he ran after her and hugged her, staining her yellow. When their first child was born and he wasn't there, he apparated to St Mungos and ran as quickly as he could to her and their new baby's side.
When he was with his wife, he never stopped running.
Because when Draco Malfoy ran with Luna Lovegood, he felt like he was flying.
Oh Merlin. Pass the sick bucket. When did I start to spew out emotional nonsense like this? :') I don't own Harry Potter, oh woe me. Oh and it's my birthday tomorrow and well, reviews would be nice ;3