A Muggle poet by the name of Lang Leav once said that it would happen like this:

One day, we will meet someone. And for some inexplicable reason, we feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else - more than our closest family. 

She reckons this person carries within them an angel - one sent to us for a higher purpose; to reach us an important lesson or to keep us safe during a perilous time. What we must do is trust them - even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering - the reason for their presence will be clear in due time.

And then she warns us:

We may grow to love this person. But we have to remember they are not ours to keep. Their presence isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself.

And once this is fulfilled; the halo lifts and the angel leaves their body as the person exits your life. They will be a stranger to you once more.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Growing up, I was told that some people were born better than others, and that some names were heavier than most.

It was because of this very lie that I sold my soul to the devil. And in the height of the war he waged, I was tasked with an impossible mission, one I did not have the courage or heart to carry out.

It was then that I met my angel.

She did not save me, but I was saved through her. And perhaps it was dictated by some higher power, or by a method of the stars too profound for me to understand; but I was lucky enough to keep her.

Over the years, I have been called many things: Malfoy. Pure-blood. Prince of Slytherin. Bully. Death eater. Murderer.

Some of them were true, and some were not. Either way, she took them all and rewrote them in her own way: Draco. Ophiuchus. Dawson-Malfoy.

But none of that matters, because names are merely letters, strung together in a make-believe word. The only name I want to know is hers.

There have been times I was cast away, thrown to the wind like a caution. I have felt anger, fear, loneliness, inadequacy. Oftentimes, I still do.

But none of that matters, because when I look at her, she still smiles at me like all the galaxies have been shrunken down and put within my chest.

And as much as I wish her to be, I think maybe she was never truly mine to keep at all.

She belongs to the earth her eyes reflect; and to the sky, in which she still shines brighter than any other star.

I think this, because when I look at her, she smiles at me, and I no longer need Polaris to find my way home.