A/N: I do not own anything Harry Potter. I am merely playing within the world J.K. Rowling has created. However, the following story and ideas are mine so please don't steal them. Also, this is the only time I am going to ask this...Please Review. It really helps and makes me post more often. If you have any questions about the story feel free to email me. Well, that's it. Now for the story...
MENTAL
/PROLOGUE/ A Nervous Tick
The room was tiny, almost too tiny. And white, almost too white. Walls, ceiling, floor… white, white, white. He was dressed in black from head to toe. Black shoes, black slacks, black shirt. His appearance was expensive. Being a black blemish in the room of white made him uncomfortable, yet his features remained emotionless.
The only other individual in the room, besides himself, was wearing a white coat and had a long white beard. This did not relieve his discomfort. The man in the white coat sat in a white chair behind a white desk staring across the room at him. He sat adjacent in…surprise…a white chair. He surveyed the room. Why aren't there any windows?
Out of habit he brushed pale blond hairfrom his eyes, revealing a gold watch that clung to his wrist ticking loudly in the silent room.
Tick.
His cold, gray eyes focused on the man in his stupid white coat.
"Malfoy, Draco." Apparently the man in the white coat could talk after all. About bloody time.
Draco didn't respond to his name choosing instead to yawn unceremoniously.
"Mr. Malfoy." The old man tried again. Draco simply shifted his weight from left to right trying to make his mind up about the situation. Half moon specs…what a wanker.
Tick.
"That's fine I didn't expect you to answer. However, I expect you know why you're here." The words I don't like you flashed through Draco's mind.
"Your past behavior has placed you in my care." No, that would be my father. The old man opened a white file folder and began to read aloud. He must have a white fetish.
"Lack of moral sense, inability to control impulses, no sense of responsibility, emotional immaturity…"
Tick.
"…chronically antisocial in behavior, manipulative to the point of recklessness, may lie for personal pleasure or profit…"
Tick. Draco's eyes darted toward the exit.
"…not learning from experience, no change in behavior after punishment…"
Tick.
"…self-centeredness, lack of guilt…"
Tick.
"…and an inability to form meaningful relationships."
Tick. Draco blinked.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" challenged the old man.
A proud smirk flashed across the blonde's face. "That sounds about right."
With that Draco carefully began removing his wristwatch. The old man studied his movements trying to decide on a course of action. "Candy?" he offered.
What the hell.
"Lemon drop?" This bastard is fuckin' crazy.
"Licorice snap?" And I'm the one being put in a mental institution?
"No?" The old man shook his head and breathed heavily then gazed significantly at the silent teenager before him. "Well then, welcome to Hogwarts."
Feeling dismissed, Draco rose slowly from his seat and walked toward the exit. He paused at the door, and stared at the gold timepiece now in his hand. He placed it in his pocket…it had been broken for years. Tick. He laughed. The room was just too damn white.