Chapter 2

I leave the office cursing the bumbling old fool. Yes you heard me. I haven't changed so much as you might think. I might have ended the war on the side of light, but that doesn't mean that I decided to completely change my personality to suit them. Go ahead then, call me names, protest. I bet you that you can't come up with anything I haven't heard before. But I'm not about to change, not even for you. I'm the one who's living this life, and no one is forcing you to read about it! Quite frankly, you could go and shove your opinions where the sun doesn't shine, and it won't affect me in the slightest. But once again, I digress.

Albus Dumbledore. He took me in, gave me a job when no one else would, a place to stay when I had nowhere else to turn, why shouldn't I like him, you might ask yourself. Well let's just say, I have my reasons. I'd hate for you to lose your beloved opinion of our resident headmaster by listing out exactly why I believe that he is nearly as bad as Voldemort himself. Add to that the fact that we are talking about the man who effectively caused the saviour of our world to spend the lastfour years in Azkaban. No. I doubt that I will ever think of him with any degree of sentimentality.

The halls are deserted as I walk back towards my rooms. I'm glad of it. I don't think that I could deal with any students passing by at the moment. Not after what I've just seen. I don't think I'll ever be able to wash the smell from me. It's clung to me since we left, filling my nostrils with the acrid smell of decay and faeces. Unbidden, the thought of Potter, sitting in his own filth, his dull green eyes staring up at me, springs into my mind. Those dead green eyes. I shudder again. No, Albus Dumbledore is not, and never will be a good man in my eyes.

I can see my door now. Just a few steps further. I imagine the room waiting for me. The fire merrily crackling, the bottle of firewhiskey beside my favourite chair, and the most welcome thought of the evening, the bathroom just off to the left, with a private bath. I almost smile as I reach the door. I whisper the password low so that no one who might be lurking in the corridor will hear it. The wall swings open and I take a step inside. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Draco!"

Oh for heaven's sake!

I turn to the unwelcome voice, and find myself being stared down by none other than the bookworm herself.

"Twice in one day Granger. Be careful, I may start to think that you fancy me." I drawl, enjoying the look of indignation which spreads across her face at the accusation.

"I most certainly do not!" she mutters angrily, putting a hand on her hip.

"Well I can't say that I'm upset by your denial. It makes things a little easier for me after all. I mean you really aren't my type. I only date beautiful women." I say, assuming a regretful expression.

She snorts with laughter. How… inelegant.

"Get off your high horse Malfoy. I came about Harry." She says, looking concerned now.

"He's not here." I reply, getting annoyed. My warm bath seems to be calling me.

"Well obviously," She says looking exasperated. "What happened? What did Dumbledore say? Is he going to be alright?"

"I'm not Dumbledore. If you want to know what he thinks then maybe you should be at his door annoying him rather than at mine. Now if you'll excuse me." I say purposefully, meaning to retreat back into my quarters.

"Oh no you don't!" She exclaims, grabbing my arm and pulling me out.

"Hey! Watch it! That's a very expensive robe! I don't want you getting your mud…"

"Finish that sentence and I'll kill you." She hisses, her wand pointed directly at my throat.

I raise my hand in mock defeat.

"I was about to say muddy hands." I say, pointing to her hands. She looks down at her hands, and notices that they are covered with dirt. Most likely from the wall she's been leaning against.

"You should really learn to loosen up. I've just had to rescue one of the golden trio from Azkaban. I'd hate to have to go back there again for you." I say conversationally, brushing my sleeve for effect.

She drops her wand, looking extremely tired. I feel a twinge of pity. It is, after all, one of her best friends we are talking about. I suppress the urge to say something comforting. Yes I can feel pity, I'm only human. That doesn't mean that I have to act on it. It just wouldn't be me really would it? Well, she does look really horrible…

"For God's sakes Granger, you look terrible! Go and annoy Dumbledore for a while then go and get some sleep! You're going to need your rest if you're to join ranks with the other weasel baby factories." I say, retreating into my chambers before she can grab me again.

The last thing I see as the wall closes is her furious expression. Didn't I tell you I wasn't nice?

I reflect upon the conversation for a moment. "Weasel baby factories"…I guess I'm more tired than I thought.