I've decided to update the prologue, when I first wrote it I wasn't sure where this story was going to take me but upon further reflection it does not do justice to the work that I have since created. So without further ado here is the updated beginning of our story!

Drinking had never been a solution for his problems, just as it had not been a solution for his fathers however he couldn't help but enjoy the numbness that came along with finishing an entire bottle of fire whiskey. He was sitting at the far end of the bar, surrounded by people yet feeling completely alone. All around him it seemed as though people were celebrating, whether it was new life, like the family in the booth behind him, who he had just over heard telling their parents they were expecting, or an old life, like the elderly couple that had just been occupying the table by the door with the giant Happy 50th Anniversary banner hanging behind them.

Draco however was not celebrating, he was mourning. It had nothing to do with a death, unless his pride counted. No, tonight he was toasting his freedom away. His trail was tomorrow morning and from what he had read in the papers there was almost no hope for him, or his family. His friend Goyle had already been sentenced to 3 years in Azkaban, while Goyle senior was sentenced to the Dementor's kiss, due in part to his lack of connections, but also because he had been found guilty during the Dark Lords previous demise. His friend Blaise Zabini had of course been spared as there was no proof, other than the fact that he was a Slytherin, that he had actually partaken in any of the incidents that occurred at Hogwarts. Blaise's mother had never been a supporter of the Dark Lord and so Blaise had been under no pressure from home. Not the way Draco had.

No Lucius had been all to quick to set up this life for Draco, pounding in to his head from birth that he was better than everyone else because he was a Pureblood, a Malfoy. His father had always made sure that Draco had the best of everything, except parenting. No any parenting, besides punishment, had been left to his mother, who often left it to his house elf. Of course, she loved him, he was sure his father did to, in his own, weird twisted way, but not as much as Lucius loved power.

Draco tilted his glass back and felt the burn of the whiskey in his throat. He looked at the clock, 9:30, he had already been here for 2 hours and he still felt so he signaled to the bartender that he needed a refill and tough about how tomorrow would go. Would they sentence on the spot? Would he even be allowed to speak in his defense, did he even really want to? Who would be there? He doubted Saint Potter could tear himself away long enough to watch these trial, they had been going on for 4 months now. The Weasel probably wouldn't miss the chance to see Draco go to prison but he would just have to wait until tomorrow.

Draco downed his drink and signaled for another.

It was going to be a long night.