Draco didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. He didn't want to have to deal with the angry stares. He didn't want to go to the place he knew he was going to be harshly judged for his father's decisions (do you think he wanted to be a Death Eater *scoffs* he would rather have joined The Order of the Phoenix - and almost did, for that matter). He certainly didn't want to go back to Potter and his friends, who would surely be out to get him now that they didn't have the Dark Lord to worry about. He didn't want to go back there - especially not in his 'state'. But here it was, just as he'd expected - His letter. Draco tore it open and read through. He heard a faint knock at the door.
"Come in" he said, his voice hoarse.
The door opened, revealing a tall, blonde woman. She crossed the room and sat the heaped tray of food down on the bed, sitting on the other side of her son and putting her arm around his shoulder.
"Draco! You look awful! Have you been eating?"
"Yes, mother" he lied.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, mother. I'm eighteen, you don't need to baby me"
"Alright, but make sure you do eat something"
"Yes, mother. I received my letter" He handed her the sheet of parchment.
"When are you going to get your things? Do you need me to go with you?"
"I'll go after I've sent my reply and no, I don't need your help"
"Alright, my little Dragon, eat up!" and with those words she left the room.
As Draco looked at the tray piled high with bacon, eggs, toast, sausages and other breakfast goods, he didn't think he'd ever seen something so unappetizing. He gulped down the cup of water and got up, tray in hand. He walked to the window, cracked it open and dumped the contents of the tray down onto the bushes below. He put the greasy tray down on his desk and sank back down onto his bed.
He picked up the book on his nightstand (Quidditch Through The Ages by Kennilworthy Whisp) and read through it before deciding that he'd put it off long enough.
He picked himself up off the bed and went to face his reflection.
His mother had been right, of course, he did look quite terrible. His cheeks were sunken and hollow, his once immaculate hair hung in limp curtains around his face. Draco turned and locked the door before pulling his shirt off, revealing waxy, yellowing skin stretched tight over prominent ribs. The only thing relatively unchanged were his eyes, piercing and silver, refusing to imitate the hopelessness displayed by the rest of his body. The last time he could remember smiling, laughing or even having fun was back in his fourth year, watching Potter being chased by the Horntail, before Voldemort had returned, he'd been carefree and happy back then, a million years ago.
He took his shower, wishing he could go back to that time, but he knew he never could. Part of him felt that he deserved this fate, to be slowly eaten away by his unhappiness, reduced to something somewhat resembling one who'd been fated to the dementor's kiss.
Draco sighed, pulling on a fresh set of robes. He quickly sent his reply and picked up his wand and Gringotts key. He couldn't apparate on the grounds and he didn't particularly fancy the five mile walk to the gate so he decided he'd take the knight bus.
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Author's Note: What do you think? Please review with any questions, suggestions, praise, constructive critisim or hurtful hate comments you may have and I'll reply in the next chapter I post! Bye!