Disclaimer and Such:

I do not own anything. Not the characters, not the places, not the names, and NO MONEY!!! I'm a poor student and this just passes time that I could be using to study.

This is also my first HP story. Not only is it that, it will (eventually, I think) be HG/DM or at least have that element to it. I have also (GASP!) not read any of the HP books. I don't have the time. I did kind of like the movies and found the world to be an interesting one to write in. I'm more than likely to bring in D&D elements, as that is my bread and butter. Just to warn you all.

Oh, and the song bits that I used is a song called Creep by Radiohead. I don't own that either and am making NO PROFIT off of this, I SWEAR.

It had been a summer full of finality. Tiny things were ending, marking the eternal flow of time towards adulthood. It was the last summer vacation he would ever have. This was to be his seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, never again would he enjoy the heady rush of summer break, no school and complete freedom. The adult world had tiny vacations, portioned out in precious two-week increments. He shook his head; he was getting maudlin at the ripe old age of seventeen.  It was no surprise, really. The summer had been full of endings much more grand than the end of his final summer. He had to be old now, the adult. He was, after all, the sole survivor of what had once been the grand pureblooded Malfoy family. He was rich, powerful, lost and confused in a world he had been sheltered from, for the most part.

The battle, he had come to understand, was an epic one with much death and pain on both sides. His father, the great and powerful and evil Lucius Malfoy had died in the first days of the war, as the Dark Lord publicly rose to claim the throne of the Wizarding world. Funny enough, Lucius had not even died in pursuit of the power he held dearer to his heart than anything. It was his wife, Narcissa whom had taken the life of one of the most powerful Death Eaters in the Wizarding World. Narcissa, whom, Draco reflected, had ultimately saved his life, sacrificing most of her sanity in the process. Draco stared at his arm, knowing that underneath the fine black robe he war, his arm was clean and free of any mark. He had realized years ago that although he was a true Slytherin with powerful ambitions, he did not want to prostrate himself to a greater power to gain a sliver of that ambition. Draco didn't even want world domination; it was a useless pursuit as far as he was concerned. How could one enjoy their power when fools such as the Boy-Who-Lived, idiot Harry Potter were always willing to jump up and fight for their cause of good? Better to have power over ones own life and enjoy it privately. No one would bother you then. With a shudder, Draco remembered his father dragging him down the cold marble hallways of Malfoy Manor, intent upon sacrificing his only child to the Dark Lord, thus improving greatly the chance of the Dark Side winning the war. In a flash of green, his father was no more and his mother was a hysterical puddle of Witch, sobbing uncontrollably about her love for her son. She had never truly recovered. Draco hoped the House Elves would take good care of his mother, as he had to finish his schooling if he had any hope of properly controlling the Malfoy fortune in the years to come. Draco was shaken from his reverie when a shadow cast over him. He looked up from his seat into the vacant eyes of a waitress.

"'Nother coffee, love?" She robotically asked, her mind not on her job.

"Please." Draco almost laughed at himself, as the waitress strolled away. Pure blood Draco Malfoy, being kind to Muggles and sitting in a Muggle café a few blocks from Diagon Alley. His father was, hopefully, rolling in his grave. So too were many other Death Eaters, the Dark Lord himself and, regrettably, many children. Many had been in Slytherin house with him. Many had been his friends or associates.

He was surprised that he didn't feel like he had betrayed any of them. He had grown up with them; he had gone to school with them and had been the lord of their tiny childish world. This summer, when he had suitably recovered from Lucius' attack and had safely tucked his mother away, he had calmly betrayed them all. Letters to the Ministry of Magic and Headmaster Dumbledore had kept the Good Guys informed as to Death Eater whereabouts and plans. Having just come into the public eye, the Death Eaters were still organized so as if one were caught, he could not betray the rest. Many minor Death Eaters relied on a lynch pin of the group to keep them in contact with the upper echelons. This pyramid continued up to Lucius himself, who was only a step below the Dark Lord. No one knew that Lucius had died. Draco had taken great pains to hide his father's death for as long as he could and in doing so was privy to many Death Eater correspondences. Voldemort preferred to let his cronies do most of the work. This would, he rightly felt, gain him more power at little personal expense. It would also keep him relatively free of such meddlers as Potter and his coterie of friends, hopefully allowing him to nearly win the war before he was once more to face The Boy Who Lived.

Draco laughed quietly and sipped at his fresh cup of coffee. Between Lucius' unfortunate demise and the spying efforts of Professor Serverus Snape, two Slytherins had, essentially, won the war. Who would ever have thought such a thing?

But now he was to return to Hogwarts, a drastically reduced house that would most likely not even have a team this year and a student body that still didn't really trust him. He sighed, not knowing what else to do, and directed his attention to the other patrons of the café. He should be in Diagon Alley, buying his school supplies and preparing for his seventh year of school. There was only one week left of summer vacation. However, the war had only come to an official end a week ago. Voldemort had finally died at the hands of the Golden Trio, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermoine Granger. Voldemort's location secretly leaked to them by Draco himself, he had been owling Hermoine since the early days of the war. Draco, as much as he hated to admit it, had known the importance Harry Potter would play in the war and knew as well that the adults would strive to keep their young charges ignorant of what was really going on. Giving Hermoine information was the only safe way to reach Potter, as the ever-trusting Scarface would never believe any letters baring the name Draco Malfoy. Hermoine could be more open minded, and luckily was. It more than likely saved their lives.

The sound of familiar laughter broke his reverie once again. He sipped his coffee and allowed his eyes to float over the patrons of the tiny café. Someone he knew was here, and that might not be a good thing. There were still small groups of Death Eaters at large and the fact of Lucius' death had finally become public knowledge three weeks ago. He was no longer in the confidence of the remaining Death Eaters and did not know where in the world they could be. Finally, his eyes lit upon a familiar head of flaming red hair. Yes, the Golden Trio were in this very café, Weasley looking much like a fish out of water trying to enjoy himself with Granger and Potter. Draco roled his eyes at the happy picture they presented. He had saved their lives, he had handed the battle to them and only Hermione knew. She had a very good point when she let Draco know that she was keeping the source of her information secret. The boys would never believe her if they knew Draco was mailing her. She had a hard enough time coming to grips with it as it was and there was a battle to be fought and won. No time could be given to issues of trust anymore. And so Harry Potter was hailed as a hero and the Slytherin spies, Draco and Serverus were awarded, in a small secret ceremony, medals of honour from Headmaster Dumbledore. The truth would come out soon enough, Draco knew, but for now he contented himself with secretly watching his co-conspirator and her friends. He listened to the Muggle music being piped in through tiny circles in the ceiling.

When you were here before,
couldn't look you in the eye.
You're just like an angel;
your skin makes me cry.
You float like a feather;
in a beautiful world
I wish I was special,
you're so fucking special.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here….