Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't really own much. Not even the title I borrowed that from a Willie Nelson song, "Always on my mind".

Author's Note: FYI I wrote this story before the seventh book came out, literally finished writing it the day of the release. So it doesn't really follow that book. It is my own interpretation of what should have happened. Enjoy!

Prologue

Cold steel grey walls surrounded him, the chill of the concrete filling his soul and freezing his blood. He shut his eyes to the cold creeping gloom, as if to shut it out of his body, and imagined a happier time. The same image, the one that always filled his mind came to him and warmth flooded him.

Her hair fell across his arm, as soft and light as the gossamer strands of a spider web. He shivered in delight as the strands tickled over his skin. The light danced across them and her hair came alive like fire; red, gold and orange bursting before his eyes.

His hand closed around her hair, grabbing a hank of it and twining it around his hand. He tugged her against him, her back to his front. Her soft curves pressed against his ever-growing erection.

"God you're trying to undo me, aren't you?" His voice was nearly a growl. She moaned, melting against him and another wave of warmth flooded over him. She ground her hips against his and he bit back the urge to whimper like a dog for more. She laughed huskily, the sound rolling through him like a wave in the ocean.

"Only as much as you are trying to undo me, Ferret." She mocked playfully, pressing the sweet curves of her ass against his erection.

"That's it Weaselette." He groaned, turning her in his arms and crushing her mouth under his in one quick movement. His hands palmed the curves of her ass and pressed her against him, his erection fitting snugly between her thighs. He rocked his hips and resisted the urge to come as her sex became swollen and wet.

He wanted to explore her, to take his time to feel the soft red curls, the hot sweet wetness inside. He wanted to feel her contract around his tongue, his finger and then only when she was desperate and begging for mercy would he finally thrust into her, pounding into her sweet hot—.

"DRACO!" The harsh cold voice cut through his happiness like a knife through skin, hard, quick, and achingly painful. He was pulled back into the present; into the ever-present gloom.

His grey eyes snapped open, locking on the man who had disturbed his erotic fantasy. Though he had no way of knowing what Draco had been thinking about. He wasn't aroused, no erection tented his pants due to his malnourishment and that oh so pleasant reminder made Draco even more pissed.

"Hello. . .Father." He managed, his anger making his low voice as cold as the hell he was living in.

"Now, now Draco, no need for such titles. You are no longer my son, therefore I am no longer your father." His ex-father explained through the bars as he smoothed a hand through his perfectly coifed platinum blond hair. He never entered the cell, he never seemed sorrowful, he was never concerned. Nothing seemed to faze him, except when Draco called him father.

Not only was the fact that he ran a hand through his hair a dead giveaway. But right now his "dad", despite his calm, icy tones was fuming, his hands nearly shaking with anger as he gripped the bars of Draco's cell. And his grey eyes were black with anger, his teeth clenched, grinding together almost audibly.

Draco smirked and his father returned it.

"You think I'm stupid don't you. But you see Draco I am not. I know you were thinking of her. You're precious Weasley—." Draco shot out of his bed, using all of his strength to do so, reached through the bars for his father, grabbed his robes and pulled him against the cold steel. An instant later his wand was at his father's throat.

"You will never speak her name again. She is far better than you. And if you ever say it again in my presence, so help me I will kill you, father or no." His voice was a scratchy angry rasp, it was a sound he didn't recognize, but it felt somehow so familiar and fitting for his mood that he thought nothing of it.

He stared down his father. Grey eyes locked on grey eyes until he was sure his dear old "papa" got the message. Then he released his robes and fell limply to the ground. His strength was gone.

His father tossed his hair over his shoulder and smiled smugly down at him. "Who's going to kill me? . . .You, You can barely stand for two minutes without falling down, let alone kill me. And put that wand away, we both know it's useless here." Draco wanted to protest him but found it impossible through his gasping breaths.

"You've been here for a year, Draco. Do you honestly think she's waited for you? The world believes you're dead. And your whore surely has moved on." A harsh growl split the air around them and Draco tried desperately to stand, the urge to kill growing stronger with each passing second.

Draco tried to talk, tried to sound strong and sure of himself, but when he did it just came out in stunted phrases, each one sapping more of his precious energy. A fact that was only exacerbated by the fact that he was attempting to once again stand up. "Just because. . .you couldn't. . . satisfy mother. . . doesn't mean I. . . am the same. As you. . . always said. . . I am too. . . much like her side. . . of the family. . . anyways."

Lucius' smug smile grew across his face and his eyes glinted suspiciously. "Maybe this will open your eyes." He threw a paper through the bars, letting it fall at Draco's feet before walking away, the heels of his boots clicking the entire way. The sound rang in Draco's ears, as loud as death knell of church bells. It resounded in his head and he fought to keep his strength until the sound disappeared.

When he could no longer hear the clicking of his father's boot heels he collapsed back down onto the floor, his strength and all of his reserves depleted in that one encounter. He lay on the floor of his cell, gasping for breath and staring blindly at the paper his father had thrown at his feet. The back page of the Daily Prophet stared back, filled with the usual gossip and advice column fodder. Nothing there that would "open his eyes".

He sighed wearily and somehow managed to lift his hand and turn the paper over. The instant his eyes latched on the front page his heart nearly stopped, his blood turned to ice and he struggled to tamp down the urge to tear the paper into unrecognizable pieces.

It read:

POTTER TO WED!

"The boy who lived, Harry Potter, is to wed his long time girlfriend, Miss Ginny Weasley in two months time. Said Potter, 'We just had to wait until Voldemort was gone. Otherwise it would have put her in danger.' Now with Voldemort gone an entire year the couple has decided it is safe enough to wed. . ."

Draco read no further. His eyes flitted to the center of the page, where a picture of the happy couple lay. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Her hair fell over her shoulders and past her breasts in soft waves and curls of red and gold. Her face was still a soft oval shape and her skin looked like porcelain. And he bet it was still as soft as silk. The photo moved, Harry's hand lazily stroking Ginny's arm and every now and then he placed a tender kiss on her head.

Jealousy roared to life in his chest but it quickly died. She didn't want him. Not anymore. He felt nothing. He was completely numb. But his urge to leave this hell was more insistent then ever. He had to see her again. He had to make her see everything she was missing. His heart gave a few strong beats before picking up its normal rhythm and his strength returned.

He would escape. And he would show her. Somehow.