Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own any of the characters created and affiliated by J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.
Enjoy!
The exterior of the old, shabby shack held a prosaic feel. One would not have gave it a second glance if one were to stroll along by; if one were walking in the desolate forest, that is. The shack looked as though it belonged in the scenery in which it was located. The bearings would creak slightly, should the wind pick up in an unfavoring speed. There was one small window, and a door at the front of the little structure. On occasion, a few thin rings of smoke furled up from the makeshift chimney, showing that it was inhabited.
It had been occupied for some time, but the creatures of the forest rumored it to be a dwarf or some other sort of humanoid woodland creature. Who else would venture so deeply into a dense forest, and take up residence in such an homely shack? Their assumptions were incorrect. There was someone living there, though not a dwarflike creature, but a man; a lonely man who ran away from the most important battle of his life. If one were to peer inside the small window, one would see the slumped body of Draco Malfoy.
And then, perhaps, one would wonder if the crumpled form were alive. The door, if one tried to open it, would be locked in a secure fashion. The white-blonde hair was grown to a length that fell over his eyes and hid most of his face. There would be no rise nor sinking of the chest that could be visible. Now, perhaps, one is pondering how the young, blonde haired man came to such an uneventful turn of fate?