Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Puppet

Draco looked out the window, gazing at the dreary, gray clouds that blanketed the sky. His silvery eyes had been glazed over by tears. The people that surrounded him, Pansy, Blaise, Goyle, Crabbe, laughed their timeaway, allowing Draco to melt into his shadow ridden corner. Still the tran chugged down the track, sending a pulse through the floor. It seemed as if he were merely amarionette, manipulatedby the pupeteers that surround him.

His father controlledhis mind,controling the string that drove his thought. Voldemort, someone who is nomore than a cold stranger controlled his body. Every time he moved, it wasbecause of him. But that was how it was before she came along.

She, who hehad broken away from his father for, took the ropes, and directed his every move. What he said, what he did, what he ate, and even what he wore was her creation. She had held the strings now.More tightly she pulled, harder and harder she drove him to strive for more, better. But soon she was badgered by her friends. How they found outhe'd never know. But suddenlyshe just... let go.

He was abandoned like the puppet he was, on the pupeteer's lunch brake. And this is how he would stay. Limp, low, and dark.

Draco has no idea what he will doin his future... he had been held and moved by strings for so very long, that he nolonger knowshow to steer his own legs. And allbecause he took a chance. On Hermione Granger.

The End