As a Malfoy, you learn one thing right away. Power and influence are what get you far in this world, but the trick isn’t getting it – it’s maintaining it. After finding your place on that top shelf you just have to keep it and try not to fall off that shelf, because when you’re on top, it’s a long way down. Though, certain things are inevitable. Sometimes a bull rides into your china shop and you don’t just find yourself falling. You find you, and everything around you in a broken mess.

And a mess is what Draco Malfoy was. He never claimed to be brave, but he never wanted to become a coward. Which, unavoidably he had grow to be. The dark mark on his arm proved just that. There was no loyalty in the bond between Voldemort and himself... only fear, fear and an unspoken hatred. He supposed he should hate his father too, for allowing his family to become a pawn for the Dark Lord... But he couldn’t bring himself to hate him, but he did blame him, and he showed this by stubbornly refusing to speak to his father unless absolutely necessary. This could easily be confused for hatred, it was a thin line...but he didn’t hate his father, because his hate was directed at one person. Harry Potter.

If it weren’t for the very existence of Harry Potter, his family wouldn’t be reduced to living in the run down shack his ancestors used to call home. Even the chair he was sitting in would be on its last leg if it weren’t magically reinforced. He had no doubts that the place used to be civil, but now it reflected their situation. Dark, dreary...Seemingly hopeless. And he absolutely hated the curse placed on the door...seeing Albus Dumbledore every time he entered the building did not put it on his 10 favourite places in the world list.

His hands squeezed the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning an even paler white in protest. Bloody Harry Potter... If his filthy mudblood mother kept her legs closed than he wouldn’t be here.... The Dark Lord would have than killed Neville Longbottom, because the daft idiot was practically a squib(1), and he wouldn’t be here... Letting go of the arm chair he gave a jump when he heard his mother calling to him. He frowned. There was no use imagining a different outcome... It would have ended the same anyway. Once the Dark Lord was done with his family they’d lose everything.

For a moment he thought that perhaps he hated Harry for not finishing him off sooner. But he pulled himself away from such thoughts and stood up, the magical fire dying out as soon as he left the room. Carrying himself down the stairs, he saw his mother and nodded. ”Yes, mother.” His voice warmer than he felt. ”I was just.” brooding? Moping? ”Going through some of the rooms. Some of the doors won’t open though.” He lied convincingly. But he would bet his mother could see through it. Walking past her into the kitchen, he frowned.
”Is Professor Snape back yet?” He asked. He still called the man professor, old habits. But he had gone off to try and find somewhere else to stay. He feared this location would be compromised soon. Draco often considered he left because he was more haunted by the ‘ghost’ than he was.

(1)Here I’m just going to assume his father knew about the original prophecy, and that he had told his son.

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The staff table was quite that morning. The food barley touched as the teachers looked over that mornings post. It came as a shock, and Minevra could feel it in her chest as she read over the article in that mornings Daily Prophet. Her glasses slid off her nose, and her mouth hung open. She stayed like that for a moment before regaining herself. It wasn’t often her composure slipped. She felt the flood of emotion, Severus Snape was not dead. Happiness. Relief. Remembering Severus killed Dumbledore. Anger. Betrayal. Severus was going to get the dementors kiss. Fear... She quickly folded the paper up and looked across the great hall as the students ate breakfast. A general unease creating a weight in her stomach.

It was hard enough to grasp the fact that Severus was dead the first time she heard it. But the anger and adrenalin from the battle were fresh in her veins, and she was old enough to know loss. But the fact that Severus was alive... She’d have to see him one last time. Because betrayal or not, Severus Snape had been a colleague, a trusted friend even.

Jumping as the table shook, her old, but still quick eyes searched for the disruption, and she found it in Rubeus Hagrid as his giant fist pounded on the table. “THAT NO GOOD DIRTY! HE AUGHTA BE GETTIN THAT KISS RIGHT NOW.” His voice boomed over the great hall and Minerva stood up, ignoring the stares from students.
”My office, Rubeus...” She said, her hand gently touching the half-giants arm reassuringly. She could see the tears forming in his eyes. And a sad smile played across her lips.


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He sat, broken, wandless, and awaiting his death. No doubt the moment the jury heard –though they probably already knew- that he killed Albus Dumbledore [And, he doubted that he would even try to correct them on that fact] they would send the dementors in to kiss him. This was what he had been working hard to avoid. He had been staying with the Malfoys’, but their intoxicating family problems weren’t helping his situation much and he had to get away from them. It started out as just scouting missions, to find a more suitable area... But Snape soon found himself with a whole new muggle life. He got himself a job – learned that he despised the muggle invention of the hairnet – and was quite successful, because every now and again he would slip potions into the recipes which made the muggles fall in love with the food.

That was as least one joy he had. But now even that was gone. A cold feeling crept up his leg, and he knew the guards were coming to check on him. After the mass break out, the dementors were now keeping a keen watch on all prisoners. Of course, only now because it was best with them to side with the ministry again. The hooded figure walked by, and as much as he tried to put his Occulumentry into effect, he could still hear Lily Evans voice “What, it just Slipped out?” playing over and over in his head. His trial would be in a week... than perhaps he would be able to enjoy the remainder of his life as a mindless imbecile. With no memory of Lily Evans, and how she destroyed him.

||OhOhCee|| Can you tell I got lazy near the end? xD ||/OhOhCee||

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