"Guilty."

These words kept ringing through my mind.

"Take him away."

I was proven guilty.

"You Draco Malfoy."

I curl up in the cell. It's been six months. Six bloody months.

"Are accused of cold blooded murder."

The cell was dark and cold. I hate being cold.

"Did you perform Avada Kedavra on those people?"

The Veritaserum test. I knew what was coming. I had no doubt about it.

"Yes."

And yet, I was surprised. For minutes later I found myself being dragged away. Six months ago. It was surprising I was still sane. If you can call what I am sane. I deserve it, or so they say…

"I always knew you'd turn out like this Malfoy. There was no doubt about it. I hope you rot in Prison."

Weasley approached me right before I was taken away. He insulted me, laughed at me. All through red, puffy eyes and shaking hands. I wasn't surprised. I killed his mother. I killed Dumbledore. Or so they say…

"You d, deserve this. You're a m, monster."

It was Granger who said that. Her crinkled blouse was tear-stained. She didn't dare to look at me. Was she afraid? Yes, yes she was. She as afraid I'd leap at her and strangle her with my bare hands.

"Don't you regret it? Don't you have a conscience?"

Finally, the Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die. He was angry. I was silent by then. I stopped screaming that I was innocent. I stopped struggling. No one believed me now. I looked up at him. I remember his eyes. They were almost black. Black with loathing. I screamed again…and again, until they finally took me away. I was ignored. It was as if they didn't hear me. They refused to believe. Instead they left the room, towards the light. Yes, that was the last time I saw light.

I shiver. The cell is so cold. I blink. The cell is so dark. The only light is emitting from the lamps the Dementors are carrying around, searching for a happy soul. A newbie who is yet to go insane. I pity them. I blink again. My cell is empty. There is nothing. No bed, no sink, not even a toilet. It is empty. All I have is coldness.

I cough. Water trickles out of my mouth. I wipe it off to look at it. I can't see, it is too dark. But I do not need to. It is blood. I cough again, not even bothering to wipe it off. A Dementor passes. I follow it with my blood shot eyes. It doesn't stop, for it senses that there is no happiness radiating from my cell. I shiver again. My side aches, blood trickling from it onto the cold floor. I curl up, waiting for the blackness. Waiting for death. I almost smile. Death would be so good right now. I never thought that I, Draco Malfoy, would hope for death. Another Dementor passes. I feel the happy thought leave me. The trace of a smile vanished.

I blink again as anger enters my mind. It was his entire fault. I shake. From anger or pain, I do not know. I'm too weak to think. I would be here for the rest of my life. The Dementors won't let me die. Yet, I'm still sane. I know I'm innocent. I know who's guilty. My own father. My own father framed me for murder. Why he did it, I do not know. Then it hits me. I almost pass out. Even mental shocks are too much anymore. He knew. He knew I was a spy for the Light Side. Something brushes past my bare foot. I clench my teeth. I am used to the rats. I am used to being here, in a tattered gray robe with Prisoner written on the back. I am used to not seeing light, to not having baths and not sleeping at nights. I am used to constant screaming and pleading from other cells. After all, it has been six bloody months.

The irony is, my father was cleared of all Death-Eater charges. I heard two Aurors talking last month. The Dark Lord was defeated by, whom else than Harry Potter? Others heard the Aurors talking as well. Many bodies were buried that night. I, unfortunately was not one of them. Something is leaking out of my eyes. Blood perhaps? No, it is tears. I have never cried before in my life. Before Azkaban. I try to shake the tears away, running a hand through my greasy blonde hair. They refuse to stop falling. So I finally break down. My wails echoing around the empty cell.

A few Aurors pass. They laugh at me, whispering cruel jokes. How could good…light be so cruel? They laugh, just like Death-Eaters laugh. I cough, feeling the blood on my hands. I fall to my knees roughly. Why can't I just die now? What did I do to deserve this? I know what I did. I was born as Draco Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy's son. I was born to suffer. To be hated. I was born to die.

"Hey you." I hear a distant voice and raise my head. I wince, my neck hurting. A burly Auror is glaring at me. "You have a visitor." He said gruffly. "Don't try anything Malfoy." Then he turned to his right. "You have ten minutes." He spoke softly and the heavy barred door opened, creaking. There in the pale glimmer of a lamp was a figure.

Virginia Weasley.